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Reminded Grubas with his story about an old phone on which the last written greetings from the deceased husband. Not even recalled, and nearly pulled out of my mind the story, which is going to be written already about three years.

It was in the fifth year. I had just divorced and explore the role of the Pope Sunday, methodically going around with a little boy parks and playgrounds in New York. At that time, we have chosen a small waterfall in Prospect Park. Timka, spread out on flat stones their toys, organized a decisive battle between the Hulk and Spaydermenom, and I basked in the sun and the dim September saw to it that none of the men fell into the water.

Next to us stood black-eyed boy a little older than Tim. Hardly looking at him, the son leaned toward me and whispered:
 - Dad, let the boy play with me.
 - Ask him yourself.
 - This Russian boy or English?

Usually, I can accurately answer this question with a glance at the boy, if not, then at his mother. But this loss. Both were dressed nice and practical, without excessive glamor inherent in Russian, but without intrinsic Americans deliberate shabby. As facial features they can come from anywhere in the earth's surface from the Adriatic to the Caspian Sea. My doubts were dispelled mother - smiled and said in Russian with a slight accent:
 - Levan, want to play with the boy?
And turning to me, introduced:
 - Tamara.

I must say that during my appearance, in which there is absolutely nothing of Apollo, but a lot of the Pan or whatever the name of the ancient Greek old goat, I prohibitively selective. I not only that a woman comes to me in age, free and objective attractive. We need more "chemistry" that elusive thrill in his chest, which either occurs at the first sight and touch, or is not there, and nothing can be done about it. Not surprisingly, the women in my biography was less than the total solar eclipses.

Tamara chemicals not arisen at all. But we were perfect companions for Sunday walks. For my part, contribute to the concession was a machine and knowledge of the surrounding area, with its - sandwiches and the ability to fill children's activities more meaningful things than plastic superhero fights. The boys from the first meeting friends do not spill water, and could hardly wait for next weekend. We took us everywhere for a family with two children, and I was flattered, despite the lack of desire.

Statement Tamara talked very sparingly. Georgian, but grew up in Moscow, Russian their native language. She graduated from art school, she works with children in one of the Russian art studios. Husband, Revaz, in the stories was present only in the past tense, what happened to him now - I could not understand. Other partners in life definitely was not. With incomes too, not everything was clear, the rate of drawing the teacher did not correlate with any quality Tamarina clothes and toys Levins or the prestige of the area and the house from the porch where I was taking them. Mention benefits and pensions, but for what benefit, and to whom pension was unclear. However, I can not say that I took it a lot.

One day in November, during the walk we came under heavy rain. The boys were soaked to the bone, and in the car excitedly chattering teeth. When arrived at Tamarin home, she insisted that we went into the apartment and changed into dry Timka. Rose, threw the clothes in the dryer, put both in a hot bath, dressed in pajamas Levanova, planted to watch cartoons themselves went to drink tea. When the dryer is done, it turned out that the boy warmed and slept under a working TV. Destiny pushed us to each other's arms with such force that there is no lack of chemistry could prevent.

We were in her bedroom, the bed was already spread out. Tamara went to the bathroom. I looked around and saw on the nightstand beside the bed a strange machine. It was a stand-alone voice mail, it is sold in 90 years, and joined the room telephones. The oddity was that the phone was not around. Answering machine could not record, could only play once recorded. And judging by the deterioration of the buttons Play, reproduced over the years dozens of times a day. I could not resist and also pressed Play.

There was a husky male voice with a strong Georgian accent:
 - Tamar. Tamar! I'm calling to say goodbye. The plane crashed into our building, all lit, we will soon die. Good-bye, take care Levushka. You have to pay compensation, it is enough that you and he in no way needed.

Revaz stopped, I sighed. Now it became clear what happened and where it came from her husband's pension. It was not clear another: why Tamara hide it. I spoke a couple of times on September 11, it was a topical issue in the then New York, but Tamara directly translated the conversation to another. Maybe she just was hard to remember the deceased husband? But there Revaz spoke again:
 - That's what I want to say goodbye. Do not think that I am blind. I know you cheated on me. With Dodik, Mark, Ashot, so the guy from the sixth Brighton, so the waiter. And now, not to raise the cell because someone fucked. So here's a whore, my last farewell. I will die, yes. But you will not be free. You will not fuck, and deal with the child. From today and until his death no one man had on you will not rise. This is my last word. I curse you, do you hear, whore! To the death! Whore! Whore!

Next Revaz moved to Georgia. Judging by the tone of voice, it was an elite abuse. Then the sound stopped abruptly - whether the film is over, whether the building collapsed WTC.

The door creaked. Tamara came in. With wet hair and a light robe barely smell, awesome-smelling. I sat staring at the silent voice mail.
 - Are you listening? - She asked.
I nodded.
 - Do you leave?
I nodded again. Hard rose, pulled from sleep Tim pajamas and began to pull him his clothes. Tamara helped me uncomfortable.
 - Why do not you record erased? - I asked.
 - What's the point, I still remember it by heart. And he was right, so we left to do better.

A month later, when Tim completely got me wondering why we do not see each other with Lyovushka, I decided that children in no way to blame. Called Tamara. The mechanical voice answered that this phone number no longer exists.

© gostrov

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