Hey. This is another fantasy on our not very bright future.

If two years ago the blocking of torrent trackers was a hot topic , now the problem has become Art. 148 of the Criminal Code.

This test is artistic in nature and is not intended to offend anyone's feelings.

Dedicated to common sense.

Vanechka woke up early. While the others were in a sweet captivity of naps, the boy managed to pray not only for his own, but also for the health of the patriarch, his assistants and in general all the ministers of the church, the president, the government and the mother. In that order. Then, with a sense of accomplishment, the boy turned on his small, nameless tablet in a case of gray, cheap plastic and plunged into watching cartoons through the only available children's channel.

A familiar character on the screen is a monk Theophan, an old man with a long beard, a staff and a huge golden cross on his chest, lecturing on hooligans, helping animals and praising obedient children for good deeds. In this series, Feofan explained how important it is to tell priests about visiting bad books that parents can hide when visiting a church. For example, the cartoon hero claimed that not only for reading, but simply for storing works on physics, biology or, God forbid, philosophy, the whole family would burn in Hellfire, which was supported by flames behind the monk's back. Vanya loved this cartoon, while watching it flew by unnoticed. He heard that other children have access to other channels, but he himself didn’t believe it, and even his servants of the church strictly forbade their peers to show their tablet. Vanya was an obedient boy and believed the priests.

- Vania! - Mother called the boy from the common kitchen.

There, in a small room four by four meters, there were a dozen more tomberels aged from three to seven years spinning under her feet. All dirty, dirty, they shouted and strove to knock over one of the pans from the stove.

- Vanya! - Repeated his cry mother, in an incredible movement that contradicts the laws of physics, holding a pot of boiling water in her hands - get up! We are going to church soon!

While his mother called him, the boy had already managed to pull on unpretentious trousers of dark blue color from coarse wool, a shirt and a jacket, which he was two sizes larger than necessary. But he was still lucky. The mother was able to redeem her last labor cards with enviable success, and quite recently the boy had not only this rough and oversized jacket for him, but also new shoes.

The street was crowded. Entire families hurried to the Sunday service, which the church workers prudently announced through loudspeakers, slowly driving around the narrow streets of the working district to the black-colored “Boars” with gold crosses on the sides. Vanya watched as their neighbors, Aunt Agatha and Uncle Nikolai, led by the hands of their four children, with whom Vanya, however, was not particularly friendly. It was generally difficult for him to find friends.

He had heard more than once how her neighbors, as if he was not there, were not particularly embarrassed in expressions, discussed his mother - “still that scam”: she left her husband, does not want to give birth anymore, goes to church reluctantly. The boy did not fully understand the meaning of the word “rascal”, but he suspected that his mother would not like this word very much, therefore he wisely kept silent and didn’t ask any extra questions: his mother didn’t skimp on the slap, just like any adult he encountered in his short life.

Those families that were richer - where the adults worked in the police, church or other public service - went to the bus stop, while the rest of the irregular ranks moved along the dusty sidewalks towards the local parish, whose golden domes towering over the thirty-storey humane columns of residential houses. From any point of the city a view of at least one church; they glittered with gold, like giant beacons for believers, towered over other buildings and served as a silent reminder to all residents of the one to be thanked for their life and health.

Vanya was already seriously thinking about the upcoming long journey, when suddenly there were shouts somewhere ahead:

- blasphemer! Blasphemer! Keep the heretic!

Five minutes later, when the boy and his mother came closer, the picture familiar to any Moscow resident opened to Vanechka’s eyes: devout believers and church and state worshipers were breaking hands with a frail old man in a worn checkered jacket.

- I saw exactly how he walked with books yesterday night! See it for sure! - He squealed the little man, which, however, did not prevent him from twisting the old man's hands behind his back.

“Bozhechki, what is it all going on, everyone will not calm down, non-Christians,” the shapeless woman of indefinite age standing next to Vanya screamed. With equal success, she could have been like thirty and all sixty years old, but the hard physical labor, the constant washing over of the children's bites and cooking sucked the last juices out of it, leaving only the shapeless, vague shell of a noble parishioner.

- Where are the books?! Where are the books, the old devil ?! - In the meantime, continued squealing exposer. - We will find them! Hear ?! We will find and you will answer!

Someone stopped to observe how the old man’s exposure would end, others, who valued their time, avoided the place of detention, but not too quickly: God forbid anyone would think that they were escaping from a place of charitable acts.

Almost immediately after another replica of a vigilant parishioner, a church “Vepr” appeared from around the corner and, burning the rubber, rushed straight to them.

- Look, father! Dangerous heretic detained! - Immediately the peasant was fascinated at the sight of the immense pop-up in a bullet-proof vest and with a cross on his chest. - I swear to you, father, I saw this old man yesterday with old books in his hands!

The priest gave the muzhik a salty look, as if he had been dozing in the back of the whole time, honored the crowd, and only then looked at the intruder.

“Ah ...” He handed the priest, looking at the old man in his shabby jacket. - What, Pacin, you again?

The old man did not answer, and only briefly, glumly, looked at the priest.

“Let him go,” said the priest, addressing him already to the peasant, “this is a blissful local, Sasha Pachin.” The Lord of his mind took him away from his youth, so, now he walks, drags his books. Yes, Sasha?

The old man again refrained from answering, as if he had not heard the priest. But if Vanechka understood what he was talking about in people — and, in his own opinion, he understood quite a lot — this grandfather was far from blissful.

Pop had already begun to turn around to the car, but then his gaze clung to something, and he, like an experienced pickpocket, threw his hand forward — the old man in the bosom — from where he pulled out a little battered little book from a secret pocket.

- Oh, you are the son of Judas ... - I started it, but I didn’t finish the priest, slapping an old man on the face, which caused him to fall on the dusty sidewalk. - Medical reference ?! Again?! Russian man does not need this heresy, his prayer heals!

Pop crossed himself, and after him, and the whole crowd around. The peasant who detained the blessed, hesitated a little, from which he was baptized with double zeal - Vanechka counted at least four or even five times.

- According to the laws of God and the Russian Federation, I confiscate this godless book! In the name of the church and our Lord Jesus! - Pop almost broke the scream. - And you, Sasha, beware! Vladyka forgives everything, but not the church!

The crowd began to slowly disperse - there was nothing to look at. The priest still stood by the car, watching that no one took it into his head to make mob killings over Pacin - the eyes of the people were so burning - and the blessed old man, having risen heavily to his feet and spitting blood, walked to the side, away from the main street and the eyes of his compatriots.

Vanechka looked thoughtfully at the bent figure following. He wanted to ask his mother, who all this time silently stood side by side, a lot of questions, but he understood that now is not the place and not the time. And it is unlikely that this “time” will ever come.

Next was a prayer, a kissing of a crucifix in the hands of a local priest, and obligatory voluntary donations for the construction of a new temple. This Sunday would be no different from any other Sunday, if it were not for the scene with the blessed old man.

Already in the evening, before going to bed, praying for the health of the patriarch, his assistants and in general all church ministers, the president, the government and the mother, Vanechka almost included Sasha Pachin in his address to the Lord, but he stopped. Not because he is a heretic. The boy decided that the old man himself would not be happy that they pray for him. It was visible from the doomed glance from underhand, which Vanechka noticed, there, on the sidewalk. But not evil. The old man seemed to be sorry for them all: the priest, the muzhik, who twisted his arms, and the spectators, including his - Vanya.

The boy decided that during the next walk he would surely find the blessed and ask why he was so sorry for them all.

And he will definitely ask what the "medical directory" is.


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