Stories from Lyubavino. Chronicle of an extraordinary Incident

The company burst into unanimous guffaws, while Lyosha, casting a modest glance downward, merely smirked:

“Well, it happens…”

And so Mikhalych, holding forth on the benevolence of the heavenly powers as manifested in the discovery of the copper cable, came to a “sober” conclusion that such a stroke of luck was none other than the doing of Lyosha, their fortunate talisman. For, as soon as he had joined their crew, good fortune itself had simply floated right into their hands. Mikhalych raised a shot to Lyosha and his luck, which seemed to have been stashed in his pocket since the very day he was born. The men unanimously joined in, knocked back their last shots, and, content with both themselves and the presence of such a lucky individual in their ranks, began to leisurely gather their things and head home. Tomorrow was a new workday, the free-for-the-taking cable had been fully extracted, the celebration was over, and the usual work routine awaited them in the morning.

Mikhalych and Lyosha proudly carried home crumpled five-thousand-ruble notes to their wives – an ironclad justification for two evenings missed by the family hearth. The remaining members of the “whoo-hoo crew,” as yet unburdened by family ties, proudly carried their earnings home to themselves – without any need for excuses to anyone.

And so, the morning of the fateful day arrived. There was no sign of trouble – until the site foreman, flushed and agitated, burst in to tell Mikhalych that the inspectors were coming tomorrow and the crew was hopelessly behind schedule, all thanks to their irresponsible deviation from the plan over the last two days!

“What are we going to do?!” wailed Vasily Sergeich – for that was the foreman’s name – for the entire office to hear. “We’re this far behind! And you’re still here with your cables and your drunken orgies!”

Ninochka, the secretary, passing by, shot them a sidelong glance. Her mind operated on a unique and mysterious wavelength. She interpreted the word “cables” in the only way she found intelligible. But her brain failed to connect the image of Foreman Mikhalych with an orgy of drunken male dogs, and so, shaking her mane of curly red hair in disapproval, she hurried on her way.

“Mikhalych, we’re utterly screwed tomorrow if we don’t at least start digging for those pipes…”

“Ah, don’t you worry…” he replied calmly, scratching his stomach.

“Don’t worry?! What do you mean, ‘don’t worry’? ! What kind of ‘don’t worry’ is that?!” Vasily Sergeich was on the verge of hysterics.

“It’s time to take a crap, and we haven’t even eaten!..” Mikhalych grumbled, for the hundredth time repeating his favorite saying about falling behind schedule. “Stop your trembling, Sergeich… The lads and I will put our backs into it now… We’ll sort this out properly, the way adults do. How does it go with them, over the hill? ‘Do or die…’ And how is it with us? ‘Die, but get it done…’ That’s the whole difference, Sergeich! And who are we? We’re Russian! Tha-a-a-at’s it!..” Jabbing a finger toward the sky and proudly lifting his chin, he strode off with a purposeful step toward his crew.

The men had been toiling like damned souls the entire shift, yet the lag behind schedule was atrocious. It was unanimously resolved – or, to be more precise, Vasily Sergeich resolved – that these good-for-nothings, meaning the entire crew, would have to make up for two days of slacking. He ordered them to work until full darkness. It was summer, the days were long, and even at ten in the evening it was still quite light. And if need be, they did have some lighting, however meager.

Mikhalych, not wishing to sour relations with the site foreman, reluctantly agreed. No one wanted a dressing-down or to be stripped of their bonuses. Their pay wasn’t great to begin with. And besides, at this time of year, the evenings were indeed as bright as day. It was June, the peak of the summer solstice. The fine weather was conducive, and so it was collectively decided to stay on until twilight.

With silent steps, the summer night drew near, filling the air with the many-voiced chorus of crickets and the whisper of foliage. With each passing minute, the sky grew a deeper hue, the world grew still, and the surrounding villages, as if on command, sank into slumber. But within the brigade, in defiance of the pervasive tranquility, the work did not cease for a second.

It must be noted, dear reader, that in these parts, one seldom saw light in the windows late at night. The locals had lived since time immemorial by an established principle: “Early to bed and early to rise!” Even in the district center, life gradually ground to a halt: in the freshly painted five-story buildings, the little lights winked out one after another, the streets grew empty, and only rarely did the late gleam of headlights flicker in the distance.

The “Whoo-hoo!” crew was already well on its way to the desired result when suddenly, let’s not be afraid of the word, IT arrived – that fateful moment!

From under the excavator’s bucket came a deafening “BO-BOOM!” A blinding flash erupted, the ground shuddered and for a moment gave way beneath their feet, and a dazzling pillar of light shot into the sky. Acrid smoke began to pour from the freshly dug pit, and Mikhalych only had time to catch a glimpse with one eye as his faithful eagles – Sasha, Dima, and Valera – illuminated by an infernal glow, were sent flying in different directions like rag dolls.

Sasha plummeted into the nearest bushes like a sack of potatoes; Dima, having spun gracefully in mid-air, landed in a nearby hole; and Valera, as if attempting to break the world record for the long jump, vanished beyond the visible horizon.

Casting a terrified glance toward the excavator cab where Zhenya was sitting (a dramatic image that would be seared into his memory for life), Mikhalych saw the enormous, saucer-wide, utterly deranged eyes of Zhenya the excavator operator.

The settlement with the charming name of Lyubavino and all the surrounding villages were instantly plunged into darkness. An ominous, tomb-like silence fell all around, promising nothing good.

Suddenly, this silence was torn apart by a strange sound – something between a muffled collective shriek and a drawn-out howl. It slowly spread across the land, swelling and filling everything around. The members of the “Whoo-hoo Crew,” already scared out of their wits, felt shivers running down their spines, and the hair on the back of their necks stood on end.

“Folks, is everyone alive?” Mikhalych croaked in a voice not his own, crouching down from fright.

His throat was parched from the shock, and in his chest, his heart, driven wild by terror, fluttered frantically, as if trying to leap out and make a run for it.

“Yeeeah… sort of…” came the discordant, out-of-sync replies from Sasha, Dima, and Valera. Their soot-smudged, haggard faces, with a feverish glint in their eyes, kept peeking out from the most unlikely hiding spots. Their disheveled hair and fear-contorted silhouettes looked cartoonish in the gathering dusk.

“We must’ve hit some power cables! Now we’re in a right mess!..” Mikhalych rasped out again.

“Mikhalych, are you crazy? We’re following the project plan, it’s not our fault!” Sasha and Valera started wailing in unison.

“They told us where to dig, so we dig there. How is any of this on us?” Dima chimed in.

“Oh, sure…” Mikhalych was breathing heavily, his hands planted on his knees, waiting for his heart to gradually settle down.

“Mikhalych, you should just catch your breath, look at you… you’re pale as a ghost…” Lyosha noted with concern.

“Catch my breath… for fuck’s sake…” Mikhalych gave a philosophical smirk. “To stay calm, I’d have to be gobbling down valerian! Striding across a field, tearing it up and swallowing it without even chewing… Roots and all!.. Till it’s sprouting out of my damn ears!”

The crew burst out laughing. Even in the darkest moments, when a situation felt like it was ripped from a horror film, Mikhalych maintained the serenity of a Buddhist monk. His jokes, sharp as a nail in your boot sole, served as an unmistakable signal: panic was hereby declared illegal.

“We’ve got two options, lads: we either laugh, or we panic. And our panic comes with a ‘deluxe’ package – complete with an ambulance, the big bosses, and possibly an exorcist. So laugh, boys, it’s cheaper and far better for your health!” Mikhalych was fond of saying in tough times.

“Now, just hold on, Mikhalych… They’ll figure out tomorrow where these cables came from. And as for us… we’re just the hands… the hired help,” Dima reasonably pointed out, a smile already playing on his lips.

“Only now we’re in for a world of trouble… a real earful,” Mikhalych exhaled with vexation. “And tomorrow, the inspectors will be descending on us… Damn them all…!” He clutched his chest once more. “Zhenya, you alive over there?”

“Yeah, sort of… alive,” Zhenya’s voice quivered. “The bucket was nearly torn clean off.” He wiped the sweat from his face and was surprised to find his hands shaking with a fine tremor. In fact, his whole body was shuddering slightly. He’d been through all sorts of things in his life, but this was a first.

“We’re actually lucky it didn’t turn out worse!” Dima remarked, cautiously peering into the trench. “Holy smokes! There are several cables in here!” he gasped, grabbing his head in disbelief.

“Yeeeah… we’re screwed…” Sasha muttered pensively, squatting down on his haunches and lighting a cigarette.

Mikhalych finally straightened up and with a tragic air, delivered his verdict:

“Yeah… A total clusterfuck!.. And I’ll tell you what, boys, the time has come to look this fuckup right in the eye.”

With a heavy sigh, he waved his hand and trudged off to report to the bosses on the emergency line, despite the late hour.

The following morning, the little town was abuzz like a disturbed beehive. Everyone, from the youngest to the oldest, was trying to figure out where the electricity and other customary blessings of civilization had vanished.

The more advanced pundits, those with but a superficial grasp of the issue, were foaming at the mouth, vehemently insisting: “That’s it, we’re done for! The Mayan apocalypse has arrived!”

And how could it be otherwise? The year was 2012 – the zenith of civilization, a time when humanity, having reached unprecedented heights, was awaiting with the greatest impatience… the end of the world. Surely, such a momentous year couldn’t pass in Lyubavino without a grand cosmic cataclysm!

And as you can see – they had finally gotten their wish! It had come to pass!.. Although, not quite in the form they had anticipated. But who pays any mind to such trivial details?

The local blogger, who fancied himself a sort of Raskolnikov chasing existential truth, or perhaps a Panikovsky in pursuit of the golden ratio of a sensational scoop, was dashing between administrative buildings like a fly in search of jam. He was greedily fishing for details, dreaming of crafting a bombshell report that would blow up the local social networks. The scent of a scandal was in the air! And this hero of our time was just about to rush beyond the district limits – if only to get his hands on the coveted “internet” – to immediately bestow upon humanity the blessing of his exposé.

Alas, the trail of the true culprits behind the collapse stubbornly eluded him. Instead, he found some hot-headed individuals who, threatening to relieve him of his expensive equipment (and, for good measure, a couple of his teeth), quickly explained to the promising journalist that silence is golden, while a scandal guaranteed a hole in the budget and some serious health issues.

As for the town’s mayor, he was beside himself. And not so much because of the sudden energy crisis, but rather because his personal, meticulously laid plans for the weekend had unexpectedly collapsed. Eyewitnesses claimed that the face of the city’s chief magistrate that day displayed the entire spectrum of human emotion – from righteous indignation to theatrical despair. It’s just that concern for the townsfolk seemed to have gotten lost somewhere within that spectrum.

Back at the office where our daring brigade worked, a great commotion had also ensued. It was no laughing matter – to leave an entire district without power. It was fortunate that a backup line existed for the local factory and hospital; the electricians were now working urgently to connect them to it.

The chief power engineer arrived with his entourage. A whole crowd of people with intelligent faces, armed with maps and schematics, was anxiously inspecting the area where Zhenya had stumbled upon the power cable just the day before.

“What the bloody hell is this cable doing here?! It can’t be here, it’s impossible! How on earth did this happen?!” the chief power engineer was indignantly exclaiming, waving his papers around.

Arguing amongst themselves, the noisy delegation spent a long time pacing back and forth across the site. After prolonged and heated disputes, a decision was reached: to dish out well-deserved reprimands to all responsible parties and to shift the trench thirty meters to the side.

Zhenya, who still hadn’t quite recovered from the previous day’s shock, timidly inquired:

“And are you sure… there’s absolutely nothing here?”

To which the chief power engineer replied with utmost conviction:

“Everything that was here, you bloody well pulverized yesterday!!!”

“Well, I guess… The boss is always right!” Zhenya muttered under his breath.

The excavator purred to life peacefully once more, and the crowd dispersed. And literally fifteen minutes later…

Dear reader, can you imagine what happened fifteen minutes later?!!!

Well, this time, against the backdrop of an unbelievably bright, blinding flash – so intense that Zhenya thought, “THAT’S IT!!! This is THE END!!!” – his entire short and somewhat wayward life began to flash before his eyes, slowly, frame by frame. And it must be said, he wasn’t too far from the truth.

The scene unfolded like something out of a top-tier Hollywood blockbuster, only in slow motion. A deafening clap, more akin to an explosion, accompanied by a tremendous detonation. A torrent of blinding light, erupting from beneath the earth and shooting straight up into the bluest of skies. Acrid smoke, lazily creeping out of the half-dug pit. And finally, the excavator’s bucket, now melted and bleached white, scraping metallically as it swayed dejectedly in the smoky haze right before Zhenya’s very eyes… For a fleeting moment, he thought he had died.

The other representatives of the “Whoo-hoo!” crew and other workers, well aware of yesterday’s events, wisely kept their distance from the working excavator this time. Just in case.… And when “all that crap” happened (as Mikhalych later so aptly dubbed the incident), they were all sent flying in an instant, like pins in a rundown bowling alley.

A minute later, the picture took on its final form: the clouds of smoke dissipated, revealing a truly epic scene. In the center of the chaos, sitting in his cockpit like a newly crowned emperor on a throne made of iron and diesel fuel, was Zhenya. However, the throne was swaying precariously, and the emperor had a slight pallor. Petrified, like an ancient statue, with eyes the size of soup plates, he looked around him with unseeing eyes, feeling his hair stand on end all over his body, including hair he never even knew he had.

The excavator’s bucket, now wobbling and missing one tooth, having ultimately failed to endure this second misfortune inflicted upon it in the last twelve hours, let out a drawn-out metallic groan of despair… And finally, the finishing touch: from the ravine, like timid groundhogs, the grimy faces of the workers were cautiously peeking out, clearly uncertain whether they should abandon such a safe haven at all.

As it was later established, those were the emergency backup cables.

Oh yes… Those very ones… For the factory, the hospital, and something else besides…

Chapter II Friday’s Apocalypse

The power went out for the long haul, right over the weekend.

It’s hard to imagine what would become of the world.

But for those with a Russian soul, this fact is of no importance —

A Russian can tough it out, a Russian is fearless!

All this debacle struck with impeccably poor timing – on a Friday. And Friday, as everyone knows, is not merely a day of the week, but a sacred boundary between the heroic labors of the workweek and lawful idleness. This was especially true given that the weekend was looming, and half of the management was already blissfully basking on their vacation shores.

Consequently, no one was in any particular hurry to repair the damages. Everyone understood that the problem would be tackled in earnest only on Monday. Unless, of course, fortune smiled, and someone was given a little ‘motivational push’ to speed things up, in which case, perhaps, a bit earlier.

The people were not spoiled; they could endure a little hardship – it was summer, warm, and for the most part, light outside… these weren’t the nineties, after all. If anything, they’d manage somehow. And so, while there was a fair bit of grumbling, the people, having no means to influence the course of events, were forced to return to their daily routines, dealing with the lack of electricity, gas, and water as problems cropped up for each household.

Some had generators, purchased for their business or for the house, you know, just in case. Others still had wood-burning stoves in their homes. Some, for a rainy day, had stocked up on portable gas camping stoves. And in the villages, almost everyone had a banya and a well in their yard. So, they improvised as best they could.

The whole affair might have passed smoothly and without incident had we been, say, somewhere over there – in the civilized Western countries, where the local folk, with an air of refined resignation, patiently await the restoration of such strategic resources as light, gas, and water. But this all happened in the vast expanses of our God-preserved Mother Russia. In its very heartland. Where dwells a people of a most restless nature, blessed with that legendary restlessness that simply won’t give their hands, feet, or backsides (and most likely all of the above) a moment’s peace!

That enigmatic, unquiet Russian soul, forever thirsting for the unknown, tirelessly striving to break free from the shackles of stability and tranquility, found in this unprecedented collapse the most fertile soil for its unique self-expression. As a result, the local populace saw their already formidable imagination grow tenfold. And with it awoke an insatiable craving for ingenious inventiveness. And all this only served to exacerbate the locals’ peculiar propensity for truly farcical adventures.

To put it bluntly, every single thing that can get aggravated in a Russian in such a situation, did. And these lovely, simple, kind-hearted folks started getting into some fantastically bizarre mischief! Each as best they knew how! A performance dictated by their wits, their strength, and the enigmatic Russian soul residing within each of them…

Chapter III Football, Beer, and The Bucket of Fate

We watched the finale, full of cheer,

Then – darkness! What a nasty trick!

The fans let out a sigh, so sad and sincere.

That evening, a considerable portion of the male population of the settlement was forced to live through one of their most terrifying nightmares – a nightmare that any devoted football fan could only conjure in their most feverish dreams.

Just minutes before Zhenka stumbled upon that ill-fated cable, the television was broadcasting a football match that the settlement’s football-crazed males had been eagerly anticipating. The men, heated and intense, with a beer in one hand and dried fish in the other, were frozen before their television screens in a state of the highest possible mental tension, at times even forgetting to breathe.

Zenit was playing against Spartak, and the broadcast was at that very moment showing the match’s climactic peak. A player from one of the teams was taking a free kick from thirty-five meters out. He began his run-up from the center circle and, covering the long distance with immense, powerful strides, made an impressive wind-up with his kicking leg and, with all the passion of his footballing soul, connected solidly with the ball…

It was a curling shot… The ball spun and soared towards the goal on a trajectory known only to the two of them. The stands erupted in a frenzied roar… The supporters – both of Spartak and of Zenit – in a single, unrestrained surge, leaped from their chairs and sofas in unison with the fans from the television.

Frozen in ridiculous, contorted poses on half-bent legs, with bulging, crazed eyes and agape, twisted mouths, they were suspended in a paroxysm of rapturous ecstasy – some in anticipation of imminent victory, others in the face of inexorably looming defeat. A moment later, practically in an unconscious state, they were already completely and utterly glued to their television screens…

When suddenly, at this very (and let us not shy from the word) MEGA-DRAMATIC moment, the iron bucket of Zhenka’s excavator treacherously severed the television broadcast!

The light died in their eyes – both literally and figuratively… A sound, something between a piercing shriek and a heartrending wail of disappointment, tore from the chest of every poor soul who had jerked upright in convulsive agony before their now-darkened TV screens!

This collective cry of despair, bursting from the open windows of numerous houses, rolled like a thunderous rumble over the settlement, suddenly plunged into the darkness of night. It instilled a most unpleasant feeling in the entire “ooh-ah crew,” who were standing in utter, pitch-black silence beside the freshly severed power cable.

But this football-related disappointment was the most harmless of what was to unfold in the settlement thereafter…

And now, dear reader, we shall delve, step by step, into the abyss of the ensuing events, so as not to disrupt the integrity of the picture – so endearing, at times absurd and comical, yet so dear to the heart of every Russian. For in the place of each hero described below, any mortal could easily find themselves – including you and I…

Chapter IV Night, a Naked Doctor, a Cat, and a Frying Pan

A naked fall right through a hatch!

What a situation!

For a decent doctor, it’s

A shame and indignation!

So, having somehow survived the nerve-shredding tension of the abruptly ended match, a young doctor named Sergey – who had recently moved to the area under the “Zemsky Doctor” program – downed the last of his now-warm beer in frustration, trying to soothe the emotional pain of a true fan.

Tormented by the uncertainty of the match’s outcome – the internet had finally given up the ghost – Sergey decided to get some fresh air on the balcony to clear his head. He had just washed up with the last of the warm water from the boiler, and since the apartment was stifling, he hadn’t bothered to get dressed.

So, he stepped out onto the balcony, naked as the day he was born, hoping to cool off. He paced leisurely, enjoying the cool night air, his mind circling back to the final moments of the interrupted match. He even recalled an old joke:

“The Champions League final, the climactic moment, a cold beer, and a comfortable chair. Perfection! Suddenly, a knock at the door. Cursing his luck, the man rushes to answer it, only to find an incredibly beautiful woman standing there. She throws her arms around his neck, whispering, ‘Darling, I want to be yours!’ And he groans, ‘Damn! Nooo! Why now??!!’”

Sergey chuckled to himself, picturing the poor man’s face, and was abruptly yanked back to his own dismal reality… What a letdown! He didn’t even have a beautiful girl at his door – just a power cut. That was it!

He paced the balcony, lost in thought, until his foot suddenly landed on something fragile… With a sickening crack, he lost his balance and plunged through the floor, his naked body now dangling from the ceiling of his neighbor’s balcony below!

But, dear reader, we must now step back from the further narration of this, to put it mildly, extraordinary curiosity that befell our young man, and tell you the story that preceded it all, so you can understand how this respected citizen ended up in such a comical – if not downright farcical – predicament.