Ivanich Guest House

"Thank you, Ivanitch, for your warm welcome. Everything was fair. And the kitchen is good, and the bed is cozy.

– And we will remember your bathhouse for a long time, – the guest's wife Antonina supported, – it is different with you. I can't explain what exactly is different. They themselves have a bathhouse, and they have visited many different ones, but they have not met such a one before.

"That's for sure," Emelyan continued, " somehow it's all with your Soul, Ivanich, to such an extent with your Soul that you can feel it on the physical level. We will be passing through when we are still in these parts-we will definitely stop by. Thank you again.

After shaking hands firmly and passing something elusive, but very clear and valuable through the narrowing of his eyes, the guest put a few bills on the table and went with his wife to his car.

Ivanich watched the guests go until their car disappeared behind a hill. Then he nodded to himself, and walked slowly into the house.

"Thank you all very much," he said to the staff of the guest house, of which there were three people, " there, on the veranda, the guests left the payment, and a solid tip. Distribute it among yourself. We'll assume that this is your severance package. You don't have to come here for three days. Devote yourself to families, household chores, and pamper your kids. It's not the season, so I can handle it myself. I'll see you by Friday." Let's continue as usual.

The workers exchanged glances and went to the veranda after Ivanich left the room.

…

The workers ' cars left the territory of the guest house. The owner of the estate – Ivanich put the kettle on, and sat down in the kitchen and stared out the window. Monday was rarely a busy day, so today you didn't have to expect anything hectic.

Most of my life is behind me. About a third of Ivanich's head was already decorated with gray hair. But it did not shame his appearance at all, and even on the contrary – it gave charm. Nikolai Ivanovich has traveled a lot over the years. Even in his teenage years, he had a penchant for a philosophical worldview. Once, in those distant Soviet years, he sat like this in the kitchen, why at home, and looked out the window. He looked at the grass, at the dandelions, at the rare Pansies that adorned the front garden, and thought: "Interesting… for whom do herbs and flowers bloom from century to century? For what or for whom, after a long, exhausting Siberian winter, nature gathers its forces again and again and launches its creative mechanisms? To live for the sake of living? I doubt… This system is not so simple to have such simple aspirations»

A few more years passed, and Nikolai Ivanovich, being already a student of the Geological University, answered his long-standing question as follows:"All this is done for the sake of tourists, which at the moment we are."

That is why he came to the conclusion that the role of a tourist should be fully fulfilled. And even if his answer is wrong, then traveling around the world is at least an interesting activity. It's one thing to watch travel programs on TV, it's quite another thing to know for yourself how things are on this or that side of the world. In addition, scientific expeditions made it possible to learn the state of foreign affairs literally from the inside.

Nikolai Ivanovich managed to visit a lot of places, he managed to see and experience a lot of things. There were many funny cases over the years of fruitful favorite work, where without it, there were also tragic episodes. Loyal and not-so-loyal friends, two not-so-simple marriages, an adult child in the capital. Life as a whole turned out well. But the years were taking their toll. My health was no longer the same, although my wealth still allowed me to ride around the world, and my interest began to gradually fade. White, black, and yellow sands have not surprised the wise life experience of Nikolai Ivanovich for a long time. Europe, America, Africa and Australia have become almost native. He even visited the North Pole once, but before he could really understand what was going on, the expedition was urgently returned back to St. Petersburg, which was not the hometown of Nikolai Ivanovich. Something went wrong, and the details of the expedition were never revealed. In addition, as Nikolai Ivanovich learned much later, all the documents on that trip to the icy mainland went to the archive under the heading "top secret". That was all he knew.

There were many blank spots in its history, but the thought of the past was interrupted by the whistle of the boiling kettle. Ivanitch tore his eyes away from the Pansies that were swaying in the wind outside the window and hurried to turn off the stove. The whistling of the kettle gradually died away. But it was replaced by the clatter of the front doorbell.

The landlord looked at his watch; it was a quarter to two. It was daylight outside, but it was rather gloomy. Outside, the rain was beginning to fall. The doorbell rang again. The guests clearly did not want to stand the pause of etiquette. By the time Ivanitch reached the door and clicked the shutter, the bell had already rung a couple of times in the house.

A girl stood in the doorway. The first thing that caught my eye was a tear-stained face, the second – an old, without exaggeration, rare car standing crookedly on the side of the road, although in a very decent external condition, and the third-a girl's strangely clenched hand.

– Hello, something is wrong with the car, I need help, – said the girl and opened her hand. Several fingers of her hand were covered in blood.

"Please come in," Ivanich let her in, after a cursory assessment of the situation in the courtyard of the guest house.

***

Ivanich's car rolled off the road to a safe place in his parking lot. The girl's hand was carefully treated, several fingers were covered with a Band-Aid, fortunately the wounds were not terrible. The boiling kettle was very useful, it just did not have time to cool down yet.

– I…, I'm sorry, – gradually moving away from the state of shock, the girl said, sipping a sip of green tea, and putting the phone aside after making several unsuccessful calls-I am very grateful for your help. I still have a long way to go, but I don't know what to do right now. The car suddenly stalled, having previously released several "death" convulsions. I only have money for gas stations and just a little bit for a snack. I'll finish my tea and go back to my car. There I will already call someone, decide something… I don't know, in general, but something needs to be done. I'll think of something… I hope.

"Don't worry. Get some rest from the road. Put your thoughts in order, I'm not driving you away, " Ivanich replied amiably. – If you don't want to tell me anything, I won't torture you." Make yourself at home. As long as it takes – as long as you stay. The place is there, it's raining outside, and the forecast as I heard for these couple of days is not at all optimistic. Get some rest. If you need me, you will find me upstairs, my door is number eight, by the way, we will be familiar-Ivanich.

The man extended a friendly hand for a gesture of familiarity.

"Ivanitch?" – the girl held out her injured hand in response , – and the name?

"Everyone here calls me Ivanitch. I'm used to it already, so let it be.

The girl showed confusion on her face, but shook hands and introduced herself in response:

– Alina.

"That's nice," Ivanitch winked, carefully holding the girl's hand, then released her and went upstairs to his room.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the number eight door.

"It's not locked," a familiar male voice said.

Alina opened the door, and with a surprised, admiring expression on her face, she asked softly:

"Are you really the same Ivanitch?"

***

"Apparently, we have mutual acquaintances," Ivanich replied with an interesting grin, after a pause.

"I don't have much time, but I have a lot of questions, and I don't know what to do with it.

The owner of the manor left the room, closed the door behind him and began to descend the stairs, knocking over as if by accident:

"Questions are only temporary, and you have more time than I do, my dear girl. Come on, let's continue our conversation in a more inviting place than the doorway.

Alina stood at the door for a while longer, then went downstairs, where the owner of the establishment was waiting for her in a cozy chair, leafing through an old, battered book. Opposite him was an identical chair, obviously prepared for the girl. It was unfolded in a slightly different way than before Alina went upstairs.