DR. BOB'S NIGHTMARE Co-founder of AA. The Society's birthday is June 10, 1935, his first day of constant sobriety, and before his death in 1950, he was able to spread A.A. messages to more than 5,000 alcoholic men and women, and to all of them he

WHAT IS A WAR WITHOUT BOB HOPE

WHAT IS A WAR WITHOUT BOB HOPE - Mr. Bob Hope? Secretary of State Alexander Haig is speaking. - Great, Al! Bob is on the phone - I'm sorry to bother you, Bob, but I would be glad if you agreed to go to El Salvador to entertain our guys on Christmas

Elephant in ballet Elephant in ballet Minister of Lebanon as a sponsor of social protest Igor Peunov 01/16/2013

So time flies. It seems that only yesterday I was in the courtyard of 2017 and met 2018, and already he has safely gone into history. And a year ago "The Paper Elephant" entered my life. It all started with the New Fiction-2018 competition. I read about him in the "World of Fantasy" on such a beautiful cover and with some foolishness decided to participate. Apparently the midlife crisis affected. And I had to join the club for the sake of the competition in order to evaluate the contestants from my group. True, I thought that my stay in this corner of the Internet space would be limited to this. But then I was suddenly drawn to write something and put it here. First, he expressed his opinion about the criticism at the competition, and then it started. As a result, 15 publications were published, 23 blogs, took part in 1 literary duel. And in fact, it is a drop in the ocean. Small things compared to more active and frequent club members. I'm a rare ghost here that reminds me of myself in a burst of inspiration (and with time).

And the club denied the myth that only mediocre graphomaniacs write on the Internet. During this year I have read a lot of good and interesting things and I can confidently assert that there are a lot of talents and there are plenty of good works, even if not in print. And there are graphomaniacs. But I myself am somewhat of a graphomaniac, and perhaps I was not meant to be a writer. But I love writing and writing. And this is my passion, my obsession! After all, everyone has the right to a chance to express themselves and express themselves. The paper elephant provides such opportunities. And after the admission of Sasha Bastrykin to the Writers' Union, it is no longer a shame to be a graphomaniac.

I can't appear at the club often because of work and various other activities, but most likely I will still be here with you this year. Maybe I'll write something else.

And of course all the members of the club with the coming New Year! I wish you health, joy, happiness, success, new ideas, great achievements and inexhaustible inspiration! And let this year not put a pig on anyone!

ELEPHANT STORY

So, the formidable hippo turned into a monstrous mountain of meat, of which there were so many that each soldier was able to get a pretty solid piece and cook it in his own favorite way. In the next half hour, on the plain, one could observe many curious sketches, which would have given some artist material for a whole folder of sketches. No one suspected that soon the merry meal would be interrupted in the most unexpected and very unpleasant way.

Schwartz, Pfotenhauer, Father Half, and Khasab Murad sat apart from the others and ate fried hippopotamus lard, which Schwartz found extremely tasty.

Well, how do you like this treat? - asked the Father of the Stork. - For me, even in good old Germany, no butcher or smoker there can offer anything better! And here, on the Nile, I know only one dish that could compare with this, and, perhaps, even surpassed it.

What is this dish? - asked Schwartz.

Which dish? It’s known to be an elephant roast, but it must be cooked according to all the rules. It's all about knowing exactly where to cut the meat from. Have you tried it already?

I ate elephant meat, but I don't know which part of its body tastes best.

Well, I can give you a hint. It is very likely that in this wilderness we may meet one of these giant elephants, and then, you see, and a whole herd. And then, if it comes to shooting here, I'll show you where to aim and how to cook meat. Or maybe you know where you need to shoot in order to immediately lay down the elephant?

Where the trunk goes to the head.

True, although if, for example, you shoot an explosive bullet, then another wound can be fatal for the animal. So the meat needs to be cut out of the trunk, near the place that you named. I swear I have never eaten the best roast in my life.

As if to amplify the effect of his words, Pfotenhauer clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes. His nose swung vigorously from top to bottom, expressing its complete agreement with the opinion of the owner.

Elephant trunk? Schwartz asked incredulously. - I always thought that he should be pretty tough.

Oh no! It is gentle and soft - just like the tongue of a reindeer. But here not only the piece itself is important, you need to be able to cook it. They fry it in a special fat, which is taken near elephant buds, such, I will report to you, this is fat, which cannot be compared with anything else. Eh, I wish that at least some elephant would come running to us now! Then you yourself would have tasted what I am trying to tell you about.

You're a gourmet! - Schwartz smiled. “I’m ready to believe that for the sake of a small piece of meat, you would indeed agree to meet with a whole herd of elephants. Quite a risky wish!

Do you seem afraid?

Of course not, but I can imagine what a commotion these giant animals would have caused here!

Well, when they are in a good mood, you can still get along with them, but if an angry elephant ran in here, we would all have a hard time. Maybe you've heard who is called "vagabonds" here?

Yes, this is the name of the old male elephants, who, due to their evil disposition, cannot take root in the herd and are forced to roam everywhere alone. These are very dangerous animals! Woe to the one who unexpectedly collides with one of them, especially in open space!

Yes, that's for sure! If such a vagabond had thought of visiting us, he would have trampled all our cows in no time, one after the other. And the worst thing is when such an elephant flees away from his herd. Already then he levels everything on his way to the ground, he just loses his mind from rage, and even if you are the most beautiful shooter in the world, it is better for you not to mess with him, but to escape to the nearest bushes, and bury yourself there. so that he, God forbid, did not notice you.

You sound like someone who has experienced all of this first hand.

Yes, it was there, on the Dzhur River. I had just shot a bird, and I was fiddling with it, and two niam-niam helped me. Then suddenly the earth begins to tremble under our feet, and such a roar is heard, as if ... Oh, Lord, what is this? Can't you hear anything for an hour?

Schwartz listened and replied:

It seems that somewhere in the distance a small waterfall is thundering. But here it seems ...

No, this is not a waterfall, but something completely different. Eh, it's not for nothing that smart people say: "Don't cry dashingly while it's quiet!" If only we had time to hide the herds!

The gray one jumped up, put his hands to his mouth like a megaphone and, addressing the soldiers who had been entrusted with looking after the cattle, shouted:

Hey shepherds, take the cows to the plain as far as possible! The elephants are coming! They will trample everyone!

His booming voice echoed throughout the camp. The soldiers jumped up from their seats and grabbed their weapons. The watchmen ran up to the animals and drove them away with their spears, to where Pfotenhauer was pointing, who was still standing in the same place, waving his arms like a windmill.

The noise that Gray and Schwartz heard came from a forest that could be seen on the other side of the bay. Now the noise was drowned out by the loud cries of the panicked soldiers and shepherds. Pfotenhauer drew more air into his mighty lungs and thundered over the hubbub over the camp:

Hush, calm down, everyone, otherwise we will perish!

The action of this order was instantaneous: the people fell silent at once, and deathly silence reigned on the plain.

Now the crash was heard again, it was already twice as strong and was approaching with every second. It seemed that a terrible earthquake was about to split the globe in two.

Oh my God, they really are elephants! - Half's Father shouted in fear.

A whole herd is coming! - picked up Khasab Murad. - We must hide before they overtake us!

He was about to dash towards the bushes, but the Father of Eleven Volosinok, who got in his way, grabbed his hand and said:

If you are not afraid of hunting for slave catchers, then now you have nothing to fear. An elephant is an angel compared to a slave catcher.

Then, addressing Schwartz, Stefan continued in German:

Doctor, you will just see how I was not afraid of a huge elephant. I give him a bullet from a gun, mine, right in the nose, proboscis.

Schwartz did not have time to respond to the statement of the Slovak: as always in such situations, every second now counts. From the moment Gray caught the distant rumble, about two minutes had passed. The elephants were already very close. The ground shook with their stomping like the walls of a small wooden house shake when a heavily laden wagon passes by. Then a loud, shrill sound cut through the air, as if a hundred pipes were roaring at once; and from behind the edge of the bush appeared a four-legged Goliath with a belligerently raised trunk, flapping ears and a small funny tail sticking out like a defensive sting.

One tusk was missing from the word, and the one that was available was of a monstrous size and indicated the considerable age of the animal. The height of the elephant was more than four meters.

At the sight of this formidable giant, the Sudanese were seized with overwhelming terror. They threw down their weapons and rushed in all directions with a frightened howl, which alerted the unexpected guest. Until now, the furious beast did not notice anything around him, but now he stopped and saw a small group of people standing motionless in the middle of the rapidly emptying camp. The elephant traced a wide arc with its trunk, then raised it again and, with a furious roar, rushed into the attack.

The brave men who decided to resist the terrible beast were none other than three Europeans, the Son of Faithfulness and the gallant Father of Laughter. All the rest, including the Father of Half with Khasab Murad, hid behind the nearby trees and bushes. The sergeant-major's men, who could not escape, as they were still tied, pressed themselves into the ground and held their breath so as not to attract the attention of the elephant.

However, there was one more person who was not afraid to engage in a fight with a dangerous enemy. It is, of course, about the Son of the Mystery. As soon as the animal jumped out from behind the bushes, the young man threw himself on the ground and quickly crawled towards him.

Run for the sake of Allah! - shouted to him the Son of Faithfulness. - He will trample you! Can't you see it hahshil!

"Hahshil" means in Arabic "vagabond", "staggering". Thus, the beast that so suddenly invaded the former sergeant-major's camp was one of those terrible lone elephants that Pfotenhauer and Schwarz recently recalled.

Yes, that's the way it is, it was hahshil, - confirmed Sery. “Your bullets won't do anything to him. And have mercy on us, God, if mine does not turn out to be deadly.

The people stood shoulder to shoulder and held their guns at the ready. But they could not shoot yet, since the elephant with its raised trunk covered the only place on its head that was vulnerable to it.

Disperse and shoot him from the sides, ”Father Stork shouted in Arabic, when no more than forty cubits remained between people and animals. - It's more convenient to aim from there!

He jumped aside and others followed suit. Only a small Slovak remained in place. He knelt down and directed the muzzle of his "elephant-killer" into the open mouth of the beast.

Allah help my bullet to get stuck in his brain! he said. - Otherwise, this brute will break my skull!

With these words, he fired. As always, the shot had a double success: with a powerful push, the gun knocked its owner to the ground.

Bon Appetit! It's all over with me! - exclaimed the kid, staring at the "tramp" full of horror eyes.

Everyone closed their eyes for a moment, expecting that the elephant would now stretch out its trunk to grab and tear the enemy into small pieces, but for some reason he hesitated. A heavy bullet from the Slovak stopped his deadly run, and he froze as if paralyzed - of course, only for a few moments, but they were enough for Stefan to be saved.

Run! I'll delay him! - shouted his faithful friend - Father of Laughter, seeing what danger threatens the baby. He jumped up and drove a bullet into the lower, strongest, part of the elephant's trunk. This shot only angered the animal even more, and both Jelabis would have inevitably died if the short pause they managed to win had not given the Son of Mystery the opportunity to do what he had in mind. All this time the young man kept a little to the side, and the elephant, not noticing him, ran past. Immediately after the shot of the Father of Laughter, the young man jumped to his feet, ran up to the animal from behind and slashed it with his long knife in one of the hind legs, trying to cut the tendon. Either he missed, or the knife was not sharp enough, in any case, his intention failed, and the elephant quickly turned around to look at the new opponent.

However, not one, but several, many enemies stood before him.

Until now, everyone's attention was completely absorbed in the fight with the "vagrant", and no one else thought that the rumble that preceded his appearance, spoke of the presence of a whole herd. Meanwhile, it was so. The elephants chased an old hermit who dared to cross the boundaries of their domain. Having rounded the bay, he disappeared from the sight of his pursuers, and they did not immediately understand in which direction he ran. Now they, too, passed the brush and stopped at the edge of the plain. Seeing their victim again, they trumpet loudly, triumphantly and rushed to the attack. These enemies seemed to the "vagabond" much more dangerous than people; refusing to take revenge for the injuries inflicted on him, he again fled.

The number of his four-legged opponents was twelve - with such a number, of course, he could not cope. They all clearly belonged to the same family, the head of which, a large, old elephant, ran ahead of everyone. He was followed by four males, the same number of females and three cubs. Seized with rage and excitement of the chase, they did not even notice the presence of people and with incredible speed rushed past them.

The "vagabond" rushing away swiftly almost trampled on Stefan and Haji Ali, but by some miracle they managed to dodge.

Skip the males and only shoot the cubs! shouted Pfotenhauer. - Then the females themselves will come running to meet their death.

With these words, he himself raised his gun and aimed at the trunk of the first elephant calf. Schwartz followed suit and took aim at the second. Both shots were fired simultaneously, and a few seconds later another one, from the second barrel of Sery's gun.

Two cubs, which were hit by Pfotenhauer's explosive bullets, were killed on the spot. The third, the one Schwartz shot at, did not die immediately, although he was struck at the very point at the base of the trunk, where all experienced elephant hunters aim. The baby elephant stopped, several times, like a pendulum, shook its trunk here and there, let out a piercing cry of pain and staggered as if drunk.

And this one is ready! shouted Pfotenhauer. - Now hide behind the big trees! Livelier, livelier!

All, with the exception of the Son of Mystery and Ben Wafa, rushed headlong after the German to the edge of the forest; these two, instead of obeying his order, lay down on the ground and hid in the thick grass.

Why did you have to run? - asked the Father of Laughter, stopping under a tall tree not far from Pfotenhauer. - We won!

To the right, rather to the right, ”the latter ordered shortly, without answering Haji's question. - They are already coming! Reload your guns! Mothers will want to avenge their babies on us.

He was right. Hearing the cry of a mortally wounded elephant by Schwartz, the females broke off the pursuit and returned. Leaning over their cubs, they began to gently fiddle with their trunks. The mother of the dying baby elephant stood side by side with him to support him and prevent him from falling. She examined the wound of her child, gently stroked and caressed him. However, all her efforts were in vain: the baby elephant bent down more and more and finally collapsed lifeless. After a while, the females switched places to look at the other cubs as well. Realizing that all three were dead, the elephants raised their heads to the sky and trumpeted loudly, piercingly and pitifully.

Well, now they want to punish us, ”Pfotenhauer said quietly.

I have a feeling that we deserve punishment, - admitted Schwartz. - Anyone who has a heart could not indifferently look at the grief of these mothers.

I see, and you are not alien to the famous German sentimentality? - Pfotenhauer smiled sadly. - Needless to say, it is difficult to find a more terrible predator than a man. But look there! See?

Yes. One of the females sat on its hind legs and trumpets even more pitifully.

And there the second slides down! Ah, I seem to know what this is about! Haven't you guessed yet?

Could it be the Son of Mystery?

That's how it is, and Ben Wafa is with him. What desperate guys! They already got close to these elephants, and they used their knives. But we, perhaps, should hurry to their aid, while they are not in trouble. Yes, and these animals must be relieved of unnecessary torments.

The females, busy with their cubs, did not notice the young men hiding in the grass. Taking advantage of this, the friends carefully crept up behind them at a distance of about ten paces. Then Ben Wafa removed his kulbedah from his loincloth - this heavy sickle knife is a very dangerous weapon and is used for both striking and throwing - and, rushing to the first female, cut her hind leg tendons. After that, he cautiously crawled to the second elephant and paralyzed her in two strong strokes. This happened exactly at the same second as the third beast collapsed under the blows of the Son of Mystery.

Roaring with pain and rage, the elephants turned to their tormentors and tried to crawl up to them in order to take revenge, but it was all in vain. It was truly a heartbreaking sight. Fortunately, the hunters who came to the rescue with a few well-aimed shots stopped the suffering of the unfortunate animals.

Well, now it's all over for them, ”said Pfotenhauer, loading his gun again. - It’s a glorious hunt, you won’t say anything! Six elephants in a quarter of an hour is not a pound of raisins for you.

And in my opinion, it rather resembles a cruel, and most importantly, completely useless massacre, - said Schwartz.

And why is that?

Because we simply have nowhere to put such a huge amount of meat. And neither the female nor the cubs have tusks.

Well, I really have a different opinion on this! I mean, meat won't hurt us a lot. At the very least, for the next few days we really need not worry about what to feed all this horde of people who gathered in the camp.

Bah! If my eye doesn't fail Me, each cub weighs about two thousand pounds, and each female weighs at least eight. This all adds up to three hundred thousand pounds of meat. We would never eat that much in two days, and it still cannot be stored longer.

In my opinion, you underestimate our Sudanese! Mark my word, they will smart this meat in no time! Well, besides, the elephant does not consist of only meat. He still has entrails, and a bone, but what a bone! And if we talk about humanity, then let it be better if a couple of elephants die than hundreds of people, even if for a short time, they will go hungry. Well, why are we sharpening fritters here? Load your gun again! Our adventure, I suppose, is not over yet.

Do you think more elephants will come here?

As for the others, I don’t know, but those that have already been here will come to visit us, you can be sure of that. As soon as they find out that their ladies have disappeared somewhere, they will at once leave their tramp and begin to look for them. Elephants know how to follow the trail no worse than people.

But I hope we won't kill them?

We won't, even though their fangs are tempting prey. That healthy elephant that ran ahead has a good one hundred and twenty pounds for every tusk! Bah, look around! No way, our Sudanese friends ventured to stick their noses out? Less than a year has passed!

Indeed, the first soldiers began to carefully leave the forest. Seeing that the danger was over, they called the others, and soon a huge crowd gathered around the killed elephants. Even the Nuers appeared in full force, and this circumstance finally convinced Schwartz that they had no intention of looking for Abul-Mout or any of his people.

Several teams were immediately recruited from among the soldiers to cut the new booty. In anticipation of a delicious dinner, an extraordinary excitement reigned among the people, which, however, did not last long. The soldiers had barely had time to finally recover from the excitement they had experienced and went about each their own business, when suddenly from the west, from where the watchmen had driven the cattle, a loud noise was heard, in which the voices of people mixed with the wild roar of bulls and cows.

What does it mean? Schwartz asked. - Something must have scared the animals?

Who will take it apart? Let's wait, maybe soon everything will become clear, - answered Pfotenhauer.

They did not have to wait long: as soon as these words had been uttered, the soldiers became worried and began to scatter in different directions, screaming. In the blink of an eye, the camp was empty again, and since no one was now blocking the Germans' view, they were able to see unimpeded what was happening on the plain. Along it, straining all its strength and roaring loudly with fear, a bull ran. The old elephant, which had recently been pursued by the whole herd, rushed on his heels. There could be no doubt that it was him: he could easily be recognized by the absence of one tusk.

Damn it, I’m not liking these jokes! cried Pfotenhauer in alarm. - Now it all depends on where the bull turns.

He will not be saved, - said Schwartz. - The elephant runs twice as fast.

The worst thing is that the bull, as luck would have it, rushes right at us, but the elephant is about to catch up with him. We now need to be quieter than water, below the grass, maybe then it will blow.

In the next instant, the "tramp" overtook the bull. Instead of hitting him from behind, he caught up with him and ripped open his side with his huge tusk.

The bull roared and fell to the ground. Despite the terrible wound, he wanted to jump up again, but the elephant inflicted a second, even deeper one, and then began to stomp on him and pry him with a tusk with such force that the unfortunate animal soon turned into a bloody, shapeless mass.

The rage of the "tramp", excited by the skirmish with the elephants, was further intensified by the sight of the cow herds. The reprisal against the bull did not seem to satisfy him, he looked around in search of new victims. His gaze fell on a group of people who were standing near the edge of the bush in the same composition and in almost the same positions as the last time. The elephant roared and lunged at them with a speed that even the best racehorse rarely achieves.

Save yourself! shouted Pfotenhauer. - Run into the forest and climb the trees! It's pointless to shoot him, we still won't have time to aim!

The people followed his advice and rushed away as fast as they could. Eleven Volosinok's father raced ahead of everyone in leaps that were exorbitantly large for his tiny stature, and at the same time yelled in German:

Shoot the elephant, Dr. Doctor, shoot! If he catches us with his tooth, we will fly into the air, atmospheric, and our bones will be ground! Shoot faster, faster!

Father of Laughter never lagged behind his friend. He, too, rushed forward with huge leaps, like a young panther, and this resemblance further intensified the growl that escaped from his lips.

Oh Allah! Oh providence! Oh, eternity! - Haji shouted in one breath. “He’ll grab me now, that damned elephant!” Oh, let it fall into the deepest hole of the underworld, where there is no way out!

As you know, a Sudanese can do absolutely nothing in silence. He must constantly say something, cheer himself up, even if by doing so he mercilessly hurts himself.

The Son of Mystery and Ben Wafa also raised their voices, perhaps hoping to scare the elephant away. They turned a little to the right, while the elephant ran strictly in a straight line, in the direction that both Jelabis had chosen. Schwartz and Pfotenhauer turned left. Noticing that the animal was no longer chasing them, the Germans stopped.

Fuck you, damn it, so I, it seems, never ran, - panting, said Gray. “If we had hesitated a little more, this beast would have trampled and crushed us, and from our bullets it would have been neither hot nor cold. Now the "tramp" broke into the thicket, there he is, see? He aimed at the kid and the connoisseur of villages and peoples! Let's run after him, until the trouble strikes!

Careful! - Schwartz stopped him. - Not from this side! Stefan and Khadzhi have already reached the bush, they will surely be able to find a safe haven in it. We, if we now rush in their tracks, risk face to face with the "tramp" when he returns. We must imperceptibly get close to them from the side. Let's go there!

Now the "tramp" has broken into the bush. He pushed through it with such ease, as if there was soft grass under his feet, and at the same time he pushed apart or simply broke off thin trunks that came across to him on the road. Eleven Volosinok's father heard a terrible crash and crash behind him. It seemed to him that the elephant was already very close, but he did not dare to look back and only tried to run even faster. Suddenly he caught his foot on a climbing plant and fell, Father of Laughter rushed past him. The Slovak jumped up again, made the last convulsive leap - and, having taken off on the shore of the bay, almost fell into the water for the second time that day. By some miracle, the baby managed to slow down; he stopped near a large tree and, raising his head, saw Haji at the top. Eleven Volosinok's father jumped up, grabbed the lower branch, pulled himself up and climbed onto it. The next bitch was not far away, the Slovak climbed on it and wanted to climb higher, since he was still within the reach of the elephant's trunk. However, there was nowhere else to climb: the crown of the tree was blown away by a lightning strike, and the last remaining branch, more precisely, a short stump of a branch, was already occupied by the Father of Laughter, who sat on it with such a face as if he was not in mortal danger, but in seventh heaven.

Oh Allah, what should I do? - the kid cried piteously. - All other trees are taller, and they have more branches, why did you have to choose this? Now the elephant will rip me out of here, like a ripe fruit.

Who made you follow me? - came from above. “I'm safe here. The trunk will not reach me!

And what about me? Oh Allah, Allah, what will happen now ?! He is coming, getting closer, he is already here!

The Leaves Father's fear was well founded, for the crackling sound was already two steps away from him.

From his higher place, the Father of Laughter noticed the head of the word, which grabbed the trees that hindered him with its trunk, tore them out of the ground by their roots and then tossed them aside.

Yes, I climb, climb! - Stefan exclaimed in horror. - I have nothing else to do!

Clinging with his legs and arms, he began to climb with extraordinary speed up the branch, which bent under his weight almost to the very water. Here the elephant could not reach him, and the baby was relieved to take a breath, but only for one second, because at that moment something stirred under him, and, looking down, he saw the nostrils, eyes and ears of a giant sticking out of the water. hippopotamus.

Allah Kerim! the Hungarian yelled with renewed vigor. - God, be merciful to me: I hang over the head of a hippopotamus!

At that moment, the elephant reached the tree, and the cry of the baby caught his attention. But at first he noticed not him, but Haji, who was giving advice to his friend from above:

Hold on tight, as tight as you can, or you're lost! If this khusan catches you, you will have a wet spot!

The elephant gazed at the speaker with its small eyes, emitted a threatening trumpet roar and extended its trunk to grab a man. Fortunately, Father of Laughter sat with his legs tucked under him, two elbows higher than his trunk could reach. Seeing that all the elephant's attempts were crowned with failure, Khadzhi, half-frightened, half-gloating, turned to him:

Come on, try to get me, you son of a dishonest father, you uncle's nephew who has become a universal laughing stock because of you! I laugh at your strength and despise your wisdom! Climb here if you need me so.

Seeing the futility of further efforts, the elephant turned his gaze to the Father of Eleven Hair. He went almost to the water itself and stretched out his trunk to grab it, but he did not succeed either. The kid noted this with satisfaction and asked sympathetically:

Have you got an appetite, you great-grandfather of trunk and big ears? Come to me so that we can finally hug each other after such a long separation! I would very much like to ...

Father Leaves did not have time to convey to the elephant what he wanted so badly, as he made a lightning-fast and fatal decision for a Slovak. He twisted his trunk around the bitch and began to shake it with such force that the Father of Eleven Volosinoks could not resist and, describing a wide arc in the air, flopped into the water.

The elephant was also unable to maintain balance, its front legs slipped off the bank. He tried to grab the trunk with his trunk, but the weight of his body was too heavy: the branch broke off, and the elephant's carcass fell into the water, which soared high, and then closed over him.

In the next moment, he again surfaced, or rather, at first only his trunk appeared from the water, which immediately suffered a terrible fate. The fact is that the elephant fell into the bay, not far from the hippo. For some fractions of a second, the hippopotamus crept closer, opened its wide mouth and, grabbing the trunk of the "tramp" with it, sank to the bottom. For several minutes, huge bloody waves walked through the water, then an elephant without a trunk appeared on the surface. He let out a terrible cry of pain and rage that defied any description, and turned to his opponent, who also emerged to the surface just a few elbows away. The elephant shook its head and plunged the tusk into the hippo's side to the very base. Then both disappeared again.

All further struggle took place under water, from which the back of an elephant, or the side of a hippopotamus, peeped out from time to time. The elephant could not free its tusk in any way, and the hippopotamus strained all its forces to keep the enemy below and drown. The waves rose around like small mountains, between them now and then high fountains of spray rose up, so that the separate movements of both animals could not be discerned.

During this fight between the two giants of the animal world, the rest of the inhabitants of the bay tried to prudently stay at a distance, which was in the hands of the unfortunate Father of Eleven Hair: he flew off to the very middle of the bay, so that if the crocodiles decided to profit from them, he would never have succeeded earlier them to get to the coast. Taking advantage of the fact that no one paid attention to him, the baby worked with all his might with his hands and feet, trying to leave the field of the terrible battle as quickly as possible. Once on land, he turned to face the bay, threw out his hands with clenched fists and shouted:

Allah, I am saved! You wanted to devour me, but now the shaitan will swallow you yourself, and all your offspring too! Come here and see how I defeated the elephant and the hippopotamus!

The final call was for Schwartz and Stork Father, who had just come ashore on the other side of the forest.

Yes, go, go faster! - picked up Haji from his tree. “We don’t even need to kill them, because they will deal with each other! Look at the Trunk Father! He drags the hippopotamus to land, but he cannot free himself from him and is about to say goodbye to his life!

The hippopotamus was dead. The elephant felt the bottom under its feet and, backing away, dragged the corpse of the enemy on its tusk to the shore. Despite all his efforts, he could not free the tusk and shouted in one note in rage, and blood poured like a river from his mortal wound.

So, everything worked out, the thunderstorm passed by, - said Pfotenhauer. - It's time to put an end to this whole story.

He pointed his gun at the elephant and pulled the trigger. At the first shot, the beast staggered, at the second it stepped back and collapsed to the bottom of the bay. It was a matter of one second for Haji to make sure that the danger was over and to slide off the tree to the ground.

Hooray! - he exclaimed in complete delight. - We defeated the terrible and defeated the terrible, they, covered with shame, lie in the water, remembering their inglorious death. They have fallen victim to my cunning and are subdued thanks to my courage. Everyone will praise and praise me as they eat the meat of these giants.

Shut up! - the Father of Eleven Volosinok interrupted him. - What did you actually do? You climbed a tree and waited for the fight to end, and only after that did you decide to climb down again. Remember my courage better, and your song of praise to yourself will end instantly!

I'm sorry, what? - Haji began to boil, and a contemptuous smile shone on his face. - Well, tell us your exploits! You, too, flew up a tree, and even climbed to the very edge of a bitch. Then the elephant shook you into the water, and now you stand in front of me like a wet chicken, inspiring compassion with all your miserable appearance.

Don't talk nonsense! Didn't I, with my dizzying leap, lure the bloodthirsty elephant into the water, where he immediately found his death? Who, if not me, should be credited with the victory in this unequal duel?

Probably, this time, too, it would have come to a fight, if the flaring up skirmish between the two friends had not been interrupted by joyful shouts that arose around. Hearing the shots, the soldiers who fled from the elephants plucked up courage and cautiously climbed out of their hiding places. Seeing that there was nothing more to be afraid of, they uttered a polyphonic triumphal cry of monstrous power. If they strained their throats in this way a little earlier, then the elephant, along with all the hippos that were found in the area, would run away without looking back. People danced and jumped with delight, and it took quite a long time before Schwartz and Stork's Father managed to call the happy soldiers to calm and order.

When this finally happened, ropes were brought from the ships, with the help of which the soldiers pulled both animals to dry land. Some of the people began to butcher the carcasses, while the rest, led by both Germans, returned back to the parking lot. In fact, it was too early to celebrate the victory, since there was a possibility that the surviving males would return to look for their friends.

The old castle in Abo is one of the oldest buildings in Finland. Once King Johan III, being the Duke of Finland, together with his Polish wife, Katarina Jagiellonica, kept a court here, and here King Eric XIV was imprisoned.

For many years, prisoners languished in the dungeon of the castle. It currently houses an excellent historical museum. Once upon a time there lived an old - seven hundred years old - a brownie. And his beard was so long that he could wrap it twice around his waist. With old age, he was bent all over like an ancient steel bow stretched to overload. The brownie often boasted that he was the oldest brownie in the whole country. And even the brownie from the cathedral, who was only five hundred and fifty years old, called him an uncle. All the other small householders in Finland considered him the head of the clan: he was a good brownie, extremely honest, efficient, although he also had his weaknesses. He lived in the deepest dungeon of the Abosky castle, in the so-called Hollow Tower. There, in ancient times, the most inveterate and dangerous criminals were kept, who were never destined to see the world again. The "apartments" of the house-maker in the Hollow Tower, equipped with all possible amenities, were striking in their luxury. There was no shortage of rubbish heaps, smashed jugs, torn matting, unpaired boots and gloves, broken toys, window sashes without glass, tubs and vats without bottoms, rat-gnawed books without bindings, and much more, absolutely indescribable magnificent rubbish. The tower was meticulously draped with cobwebs of the most exquisite designs and dotted with small puddles that have been continually replenished with water for hundreds of years.
In this comfortable dwelling the domovoy lived so well that he rarely looked for society outside the house - all the more so since the old domovoy father from the dungeon did not give a penny to other domovies and did not consider them worthy of any attention.
“Everything in the world is getting smaller now,” he said. “Brownies are only good for building gazebos in gardens and patching up children's toys, cleaning boots, and sweeping the floor. People despise them and do not even deign to treat them - bowls of porridge on Christmas night. You should have looked at the old people - brownies in my time! We moved rocks and built towers.
The old brownie had only two longtime friends to whom he favored: the cathedral brownie and the old castle gatekeeper, Matts Mursten. He visited the brownie from the cathedral once every twenty years, and in the same way, once every twenty years, the brownie from the cathedral visited the old brownie from the castle. They had the shortest path to each other through the famous underground passage between the castle and the cathedral, a passage that all the inhabitants of Abo tell about, although none of them have seen it. It was not at all difficult for the brownies to sneak through the narrow passage, because they can crawl through the keyhole. Much worse was the case with human beings. Gatekeeper Matts Mursten knew this better than anyone, because he was the only person who managed to crawl through this passage. And it was then that he first met the old brownie from the Abosky castle.
Matts Mursten was at that time an agile and carefree boy of twelve years old. He was looking for old bullets from muskets among the ancient rubbish in the dungeon of the castle, when one morning he discovered a hole in the underground passage. So he decided to find out where this hole could lead.
He had moved quite far forward when the stones behind him collapsed and blocked his way back. This did not upset Matts in the least; because somewhere he, probably, will be able to get out of the underground passage! But it so happened that stones fell in front of him. Matts was trapped, neither forward nor backward. So he would apparently have sat, nailed to this place, and to this day, if all this had not happened on the very day when the brownies from the castle and the cathedral used to visit each other once every twenty years. The brownie from the castle was walking towards the brownie from the cathedral and suddenly saw the little boy who was stuck in a heap of garbage, like a fox in a trap!
And the brownie's heart trembled: although the brownies are terribly touchy, they are kind-hearted.
- What are you doing here? He growled at Matts.
“Looking for old bullets,” Matts replied trembling.
The brownie laughed.
“Hold on tightly to the shaft of my boot,” he said, “and I’ll help you get out of here.”
Matts reached out, felt the bootleg of the brownie in the darkness, and gripped it tighter. They quickly moved forward, deftly making their way between stones and rubble, and then the brownie said:
- Get out through this hole!
Matts, still not seeing anything, grabbed hold of the manhole, which was going up, and soon found himself in the high choir of the cathedral, where the bishop stood in full vestments, preparing to conduct the service.
“Look at him,” said the bishop. - And what did you need in the wine cellar of the cathedral?
Matts thought that the bishop was hardly more dangerous than the old brownie, and frankly replied that he was looking for musket bullets. The bishop felt that it was not fitting for him, dressed in such festive clothes, to laugh. And he just pointed to the back door with his finger. Matts did not hesitate to get away.
From that day on, a kind of friendship began between Matts Murstetne and the old brownie from Abo Castle. Matts did not see him - after all, the old brownie often wore his gray jacket and black merlush hat, which, if turned inside out, made the brownie invisible. The brownie was amused to help - this is the custom of brownies - for Matts' prosperity in this world. And the boy was doing surprisingly well indeed.
When Matts Mursten was thirty years old, he became a gatekeeper at Abo Castle. For fifty years he honorably fulfilled his post, and when he turned eighty, he retired with a pension, transferring his post to the granddaughter's husband, Anders Tegelsten. He lived for many more years in the old castle, where he once looked for bullets in the dungeon.
The friendship between the brownie and the gatekeeper became as intimate as possible between the brownie and the person. Matts, no longer worried that the prisoners would flee from the castle, taking advantage of his free time, wandered wherever he liked, around the old castle, fixing the damage, plugging the broken window frames so that snow and rain could not penetrate through the cracks in the roof. During his wanderings, he often met an old brownie, although he did not see him. The brownie was engaged in the same business as the doorkeeper, because both old men loved nothing in the world as much as their castle. Nobody but them cared about this ancient building. It costs, it costs so, and it collapses - there is a road for him. Fires raged over the castle, time flashed over it, winters burst into it with snow, summers with rain, the wind shook its chimneys, rats gnawed holes in the floors, woodpeckers broke window sashes, the vaults of the dungeon threatened to collapse, and the towers leaned suspiciously downward. Abosky castle would have long ago turned into a heap of rubble, if the brownie did not constantly repair all the damage. And now he had an assistant in the person of old Mursten.
The seven-hundred-year-old heart of the brownie shook. One fine day, he twisted the merlushka hat with its fur out and immediately ceased to be invisible. Where did he come from! When old Mursten saw a small, affectionately grinning old man with a long white beard and a bent back, he almost collapsed from fear from the stairs of the tower. With fright, he wanted to cross himself, as was still done during his childhood, but the brownie with his question outstripped the old man:
- Are you afraid of me?
`` No, no, '' the gatekeeper answered stammering, but still, plucking up courage, he asked:
- And with whom I have the honor ...
The brownie laughed with his characteristic slyness.
- Oh, what, you have no honor to know me. Do you remember someone told you, “Hold on tight to the shaft of my boot!” When you were twelve years old? Remember, someone blew out a candle when you fell asleep over a book, and someone found your boot in the sea when you fell off the dock? Do you remember someone cleaned up the blot when you applied for the post of gatekeeper? Do you know who walked the castle all night long, while you slept, and made sure that all the prisoners' doors were securely locked? It was me. Matts Mursten, I guess we're old acquaintances. Let's become friends now!
The gatekeeper was greatly embarrassed. He, of course, guessed who was in front of him, and as a good Christian he feared communion with an inhuman. But he did not even show his sight and since then he got used to meeting the old brownie here and there during his wanderings around the castle.
In addition, the stories of the brownie about the Abosky castle were worth listening to. After all, the whole life of the castle from the very beginning of its existence passed in front of the brownie; he remembered everything as if it were yesterday. He saw Saint Eric and Saint Henrik. He knew all the Hovdings (leader, leader. - Per.) Of this castle. He saw Duke Johan and his splendid court, he saw the captive King Eric, Pera Brahe, who received the first professors at the Abo Academy, and many other illustrious men. The brownie talked about the many sieges of the castle and the unfortunate fate of its inhabitants during the times of fires and wars.
The worst fire happened when the brownie went to visit his cousins, the brownies from Tavastechus.
After this event, he decided never to leave Abo again.
Listening attentively to the brownie, the gatekeeper followed him from one hall to another, from one dungeon to another. And then one day they came to the Hollow Tower.
- Would you like to come downstairs to me and see how I live? The brownie asked.
“Oh yes,” the gatekeeper replied, not without secret trepidation, but curiosity got the better of him — he had never been to the Hollow Tower.
They went downstairs: the brownie in front, the doorkeeper behind. It was dark below, even if you gouged out an eye, terribly cold, damp and stench.
“Didn't I make myself comfortable? The brownie asked.
“It’s true, if you like it,” Matts Mursten replied politely, stepping at the same moment on the leg of a dead rat, a paw that immediately snapped under his foot.
- Yes, you people have some amazing passion for sunlight and air, - the brownie laughed. - I have something much better. Have you ever breathed more healing air? And the light that I have is much better than the sun, you'll see. Murra, you old troll, where are you going? Come here now and give a light to my fellow craft.
At these words, something black crept with barely audible steps from the most distant corner, climbed onto a stone and goggled out two huge sparkling green eyes.
- Well, how do you like my lighting? - the brownie asked curiously.
- It's a cat? - asked the gatekeeper, obsessed with a keen desire to find himself far away from here.
- Yes, now Murra is a cat, but she was not always a cat. She guards my yard and is the only one with whom I communicate. She is a kind creature when she is not angry. For safety's sake, don't get too close to her. I can do without society, but I need a courtyard guard. Do you want to see my treasury?
“Thank you, humbly, I'm not curious,” the chilled gatekeeper replied, and thought to himself that the brownie’s treasure was probably as wonderful as the air and lighting in his tower.
“As you command!” The brownie took offense. - It seems to me that you take me for a beggar. - Come here, look! - With these words he opened a small rusty door, hidden in the darkest corner, under the moss, mold and cobwebs. Murra's cat, like a shadow, slipped through this door and illuminated with its sparkling eyes a dungeon filled with gold, silver and precious stones, expensive court clothes, magnificent armor and other ancient treasures. The brownie looked at all these jewels with a kind of greedy satisfaction. And then, patting the guest on the shoulder, he said:
“Admit it, Matts Mursten, that I am not at all as poor as you imagined in your simplicity. All of this is my rightfully acquired property. Whenever there was a fire in the castle or it was devastated by enemies, I would invisibly run through the halls, dungeons and hide precious treasures, which, as is now commonly believed, fell prey to fire or the enemy. Oh, how wonderful it is, how wonderful it is to be so rich!
- But what do you do with your wealth, you who are so alone? The gatekeeper dared to ask.
- What am I doing with him? I admire him day and night long, I save, I protect him. Am I, who has such a society, lonely?
“But what if someone steals your treasure?
Murra understood the question and snorted ferociously. The old brownie firmly grabbed his frightened guest by the hand and, without answering the question, led him to another iron door. He only slightly opened it, when a terrible growl escaped from there, it seemed, hundreds of predators roared.
“And you don’t think,” the little old man exclaimed in a voice hoarse with anger, “you don’t think that the unfortunate people have more than once yearned to seize my treasures! They lie here, these robbers, bound hand and foot. All of them are now wolves, and if you have the desire to try to do what they tried to do, you will share their fate.
“God save us,” breathed the meek gatekeeper.
When the brownie saw how scared his guest was, his good mood returned to him and he said in an even voice:
“Don't take it so personally. You are an honest fellow, Matts Mursten, and therefore I will tell you something else. You see here the third iron door, but no one dares to open it, not even me. Deep below, under the foundations of the castle, sits someone who is much older and much more powerful than me. Surrounded by his sleeping warriors, old Väinämäinen sits there and waits for his beard, which is much longer than mine, to grow so much that it can twine around a stone table. And then the end of his imprisonment will come. The beard grows every day, and every day he checks to see if it is enough to wrap it around the table. But when he sees that a little more is missing, he is very sad, and then the sounds of his kantele are so clearly audible through the thickness of the rocks that even the old walls of the castle listen to them. And the local river in the wild overflows its banks in order to hear better. And then his heroes wake up, rise to their full height and hit their shields with swords with such force that the vaults of the castle tremble.
“Now, my friend Matts Mursten, it would be wiser for you to go upstairs to the people. Otherwise, you will hear more than you can bear. But I almost forgot that you are my guest and you need to be treated. I can imagine that you are not tempted by such delicacies as cobweb jelly or spiced water from a puddle ... Don't be shy, be honest. Would you like a mug of beer? Follow me, I have a lot of supplies. Often I thought why I keep various unnecessary trash, but now I see that it is still good for something.
The brownie brought out a silver goblet from the treasury and poured into it a shiny, dark brown liquid from a large oak barrel. The doorkeeper was very cold and could not help but taste the cornfield - it turned out to be no worse than the noblest wine. The doorkeeper even dared to ask where the brownie got such a precious drink.
- This is from the barrel of the famous Finnish beer left over from Duke Johan. It infuses over the years, like my water from a puddle. Save the cup to remember me; but don't say a word about it to anyone. I have hundreds of such cups.
“Thank you, little brownie,” old Mursten thanked him. - Can I invite you to the wedding the day after tomorrow? This, of course, is impudence on my part, but my great-granddaughter, little Rose, is marrying Feldwebel Robert Flint, and it will be a great honor if ... if ...
It suddenly occurred to the old man how the priest would react to the appearance of the brownie, and he stopped short.
- I'll think about it, - said the brownie.
Soon they went upstairs, and when old Mursten felt his lungs fill with air, it seemed to him as if he had never breathed so easily before. "No, for all the treasures of the troll, I will not climb once again into this terrible tower," he thought.
And so in the old castle they began to clean up, scrub and wash. After all, there was a wedding. But it was not at all some noble young lady from the castle in an embroidered silver dress gave her hand to a knight with a sultan of feathers fluttering on a helmet and jingling spurs. No! It was only a young girl from Abo in a homespun cotton dress. But you should have seen how handsome and good-looking Little Rose was! A lively sergeant major from a battalion of marksmen made her understand that if she only wanted, she could eventually become a general, after he himself became a general. Little Rosa considered it quite probable and promised to become a Feldwebel first.
But Robert Flint had a rival, a cousin named Chillian Grip. He had plans for little Rose, and so did he! But not so much for the sake of her own little person, as for the money, which, as he believed, she would receive over time as an inheritance. Robert Flint's luck infuriated him, and he decided, after consulting his mother Sarah, the most malevolent old gossip in Abo, to try to figure out how to get the upper hand. But before the sergeant had time to gasp, the announcement in the church and the wedding were announced.
The preparations for the wedding went off without a hitch: wheat croutons rose by leaps and bounds like rolls; the pantries, as if by themselves, were bursting with food; and even the rats that wanted to get close to them all fell into a trap. It seemed that the whole castle looked younger, the broken glass suddenly became whole, the stairs were suddenly repaired, the chimneys blown away by the wind rose again. People were only amazed, but the old gatekeeper understood well who should be suspected of all these friendly concerns. He should have felt a feeling of gratitude, but he thought to himself: "What will the priest say when the old brownie comes in and turns his merlushka hat with its fur outside?"
And then the wedding day came, the guests gathered, but the brownie did not show up. Sighing with relief, the doorkeeper also indulged in wedding fun. And the music, and the dances, and the speeches were so beautiful that they matched a real field marshal, and not just someone who had just intended to rise so high. Little Rose was so pretty and seemed so happy in her simple white dress with a rosehip flower in her hair! Nobody has seen such a beautiful bride for a long time. And Robert Flinta behaved during the polonaise with such dignity, as if he was already at least a general.
And when the time came to drink to the bride's health, all the glasses were filled by themselves. When little Rose entered the circle of congratulations, an invisible hand put a sparkling precious crown on her head. The guests in the hall were just astonished. They all saw the crown, but no one saw the one who put it on the bride's head. And then they began to whisper that, they say, the bride's great-grandfather, the old gatekeeper, must have found the treasure in one of the dungeons of the castle.
Old Mursten kept his thoughts to himself, waiting in fear for the brownie to appear among the guests and, grinning with pleasure, asks:
- Are you satisfied with my gift to the bride?
But the brownie did not go, although no, he was already here. Coffee was being served to the guests when the gatekeeper heard the familiar voice of the brownie whisper in his ear:
- Can I get a crouton for Murra?
“Take four crackers ... take the whole basket,” the stunned gatekeeper answered him in a whisper.
“Poor Murra needs something to cheer up,” the voice continued. “You see, old friend, I accepted your invitation. But I’m not going to turn my hat out with the fur, I don’t really like a priest. How do you think my crown suits the bride?
- She looks like a queen in her.
- Of course, - said the brownie. - This is the crown of Katharina Jagiellonica of the time when she was the Duchess of Finland and lived in Abo. But don't tell anyone about this.
“I swear that I will be silent,” the gatekeeper whispered. “Would you like another pretzel for Murra?”
“Murra only eats once every five hundred years. It's enough for her, - answered the brownie. - Now, goodbye and thanks for the treat. It is so eerily light up here that I want to find myself as soon as possible in my cozy Hollow Tower.
At this the whispering stopped, and the gatekeeper was glad that he had got rid of such a dubious wedding guest.
To celebrate, he drank aromatic wine to the bride's health. But he, honest Mursten, should not have done this, because he was old and the wine had hit him in the head. He became talkative and forgot to keep his mouth shut.
Meanwhile, Aunt Sarah and her son, of course, did not fail to attend the wedding. Without taking her envious eyes off the precious crown, Sarah sat down next to the gatekeeper and began to reprimand:
- Why make a girl vain? It is better to sell the goldsmith's crown and get a lot of money for it than to teach you how to turn up your nose. And if Mursten found the crown in the dungeon of the castle, then it still belongs to the high authorities, since the entire castle is also his property.
“And I didn’t find the crown at all. And I didn’t give it to the bride, ”the gatekeeper replied angrily.
- God save me, who else could give the bride such a jewel?
“Madame is not concerned,” said the gatekeeper.
- Doesn't concern me? It does not concern me if the prosecutor comes to my blood nephew, the groom and says: “Hold an answer for the stolen goods, sergeant major. The crown is stolen. "
Honest Matts Mursten got angry and rashly said more about the treasure in the tower than prudence demanded. Sarah, who found out the secret of the brownie, immediately went up to her son and whispered to him that great treasures were hidden in the Hollow Tower. They must be possessed before anyone else knows about them. Chilian Grip volunteered to go for the treasure. Mother and son secretly got out of the hall, got a lantern, a shovel, a pickaxe, a rope ladder and, unnoticed, went down to the Hollow Tower.
In a deep dungeon it was dark, every step echoed, and the rats scattered in fright to their burrows. The headlamp threw a false light on gray, dusty walls covered with cobwebs in which spiders swarmed.
- Someone is following us ... Can't you hear the steps? Sarah asked.
“It's the walls that echo to our footsteps, mother,” Chilian replied.
Yes, this is little Rosa, both in the dark and in the daylight, she could wander here, in these deserted halls, alone, fearing nothing. But when your conscience is unclean, you tremble at the slightest sound!
After a long search, they finally found the Hollow Tower. An icy, stinking air blew at them from the depths. Do they dare to go down into this gloomy and cold hole?
“Don't go there,” their conscience ordered them.
“Get there,” greed commanded them.
The sergeant took a rope ladder, tied it tightly at the entrance to the dungeon and was the first to climb down, the greedy mother following on his heels.
They had not yet gone downstairs when the lantern went out. Black darkness enveloped them like a sack. And then suddenly a pair of glowing coals flared up in front of them. These were the eyes of Murra's cat.
“I think it’s better for us to climb back,” Sarah whispered, trembling.
Her son thought the same way. But as soon as they put their foot on the rope ladder, the castle shook with a terrible roar. Stones and gravel fell into the tower and blocked the way back for people. At the same moment, in the light of the cat's eyes, they saw the small, gray and gnarled figure of the brownie, his small, tiny red eyes and a long beard.
- Welcome to my home, - the brownie grinned. - How kind of you to want to visit me, but I, in turn, will leave you with me forever. I will show you my treasures, the very treasures that you liked so much, but which will never be yours. Murra will purr to you. You should know, Sarah, that five hundred years ago, Murrah was exactly the same old gossip and skagalig as you. And she stayed with me for the same reason as you. And after she lived through the human age allotted to her, she became a cat. The same honor will be awarded to you, my friend! See how Murra's eyes glow with joy that she finally has a girlfriend! And you, Grip, since you are a thief, after you have lived your human age, you will become a wolf among all other wolves. Hear how they howl for joy!
So Chilian Grip and his mother had to stay forever in the Hollow Tower. People wondered where they had disappeared, but who will grieve for the gossip and who will mourn the thief?
The next day, the old porter Mursten said to his great-granddaughter:
- Rose, the wedding was wonderful yesterday, the bride was beautiful. Guess, my child, who once wore your crown? Nothing less than Katharina Jagiellonica, Duchess of Finland.
“Grandpa, you're laughing at me,” Rose said.
- You do not believe me? I know this for certain. Bring the crown here and you will see that it is marked with the royal monogram.
Rose went to the closet where she kept her wedding dress, but, amazed, returned back. The crown has disappeared. Instead, there was only a piece of rusty iron.
“Oh, I, you old fool,” sighed the doorkeeper, who could not keep silent. - I swore to keep the secret that was entrusted to me, and I betrayed her. Child, child, never betray anything that you have entrusted to you under an oath of silence.
Rosa decided that her old great-grandfather had fallen into childhood. After all, he was already eighty-eight years old.
However, Matts Mursten lived for two more years, but he no longer walked into the dungeon and the stairs of the tower. He did not have the slightest desire to meet with his old friend the brownie. Because according to many signs, he realized that the brownie was no longer as friendly to him as before. The chambers of the castle were never again cleaned with an invisible hand, flowers were not watered, and the walls that had collapsed were never restored. The castle fell into disrepair. It was useless to patch and repair it, because nothing could withstand the destructive force that now raged in the ancient castle. One day old Mursten said to Rose:
- Take me for a walk to the castle!
“Okay,” Rose replied. - Where do you want to go, grandfather? In the dungeon, in the halls or in the tower?
“No, no, not in the dungeon or even in the tower. I can meet someone on the stairs. Take me to the open window on the Luru. I need fresh air.
- Then let's go to the western hall, the windows of which overlook the mouth of the river. I will take the baby with me, I will take him in a wicker stroller.
(Rose already had a little boy named after King Eric.)
They walked slowly towards the castle. The rays of the sun illuminated the mighty gray walls and the almost ninety-year-old old man, who for the last time wandered through the castle dear to his heart. Looking out the small window, he saw the bay at the foot of the tower, shimmering and calm. Glorified by so many, Aura rolled its sparkling waters into the bay, and in the distance hundreds of white sails were seen that swayed the evening summer winds.
With eyes full of tears, the old gatekeeper looked at all this splendor.
- Ax, - he sighed, - soon this beautiful old castle will crumble to dust. The oldest castle in Finland will soon turn into a heap of stones, and jackdaws will look in vain for a wall where they could build their nests. If I could save the old castle from destruction, I would willingly give my life for it.
“Well, it wouldn't be very expensive then,” said a voice that was well known to the gatekeeper, and an old brownie, in a hat turned with fur outside, crawled out of a crack in the wall.
- It is you? The gatekeeper asked in surprise.
- Who else! - the old brownie laughed. - I just moved from the Hollow Tower to another rat hole. I could not stand the incessant chatter of old woman Sarah. Such a gossip will make even a brownie take flight. Wow, I’m now hard of hearing, I’m getting old, and everything in the world has grown smaller now, all nonsense and nonsense.
“It's true,” the gatekeeper sighed. - The world is getting worse and worse. But how do you let the castle fall into disrepair?
- May I? - grumbled the brownie. - There are reasons for this, I was in a bad mood. But I cannot forget my old castle. I must, surely, withstand several hundred more years, until the beard of the old man sitting below is wrapped around the stone table. Did you say something like you were ready to give your life for the old castle?
“I would gladly do it, if you continue to preserve his power.
- And what is your life to me, you old junk, - the brownie burst out laughing. - Your life is now counted in hours. Better give me the baby in the wicker stroller. He can live his seventy to eighty years and become a good servant to me.
Hearing these words, little Rosa turned pale and bent over the child, as if trying to protect him.
“You can take my life a thousand times,” she said, “but don't you dare touch little Eric.
“You people are an amazing tribe,” the brownie muttered, frowning his bushy eyebrows, “I don’t understand you! What is human life? Where was this child yesterday and where will this old man be tomorrow? No, we brownies are much better. I do not want to change with you.
Rose looked at him.
- Brownie, - she said, - know that if you were a thousand years old and you lived a thousand more, we will still live longer than you.
Such impudent words enraged the touchy brownie.
- Well, beware, you ant! - he exclaimed and hit his hand against the wall with such force that a fragment of the wall, huge as a rock, broke off and with a terrible crash fell from the round slope.
Another such blow, and the entire wall would have collapsed, crushing all living things in an instant.
Rose and her old great-grandfather fell to their knees, ready to die. But then the brownie's hand, suddenly raised upward, froze and fell powerlessly down. His recently so stern face became surprisingly sad, and the gatekeeper and Rose saw large tears roll from his small, red, blinking peephole.
From below, from the very depths of the rock, the distant sounds of music were heard, and a song so sweet, the likes of which no one had ever heard, quietly poured from under the foundations of the castle.
- Do you hear? - whispered the brownie. - This is the old man in the bowels of the mountain, the one that is much older than me!
They listened for a long time in complete amazement. Finally, the song ceased, a clatter was heard, weapons seemed to be crossing, and the dungeons of the castle shuddered.
“The elder finished the song,” the brownie explained, “and his people are striking their shields with their swords. It's good that he sang on time. Otherwise I would have done something for which I would have bitterly regretted it later.
The gatekeeper, meanwhile, sank to the floor.
- Get up, old man-father, - coming to a good mood, said the brownie.
“Get up, grandfather,” Rose asked and took the old man's hand, but she immediately fell lifelessly. Matts Mursten died while the song was being sung.
The evening sun shone on his gray hair.
- So, so, - said the brownie with a strange grimace and with such a strange intonation in his voice, which had never been heard from him before. “My old friend took this cruel joke seriously. I swear by my treasure. I didn't mean to offend you or your baby. But I want to keep my vow, old comrade. This castle will not crumble to dust for another five hundred years, as long as my hand retains its strength. But you left me, your old fellow in the craft, - continued the brownie. - Who will help me now to take care of our old castle?
“I’ll do it instead of grandfather,” Rose cried. - And when my little Eric becomes an adult, he will also love the old castle and will help you just like his old great-grandfather.
“Then Eric will become my servant anyway,” the brownie said.
- No, - answered Rose, - until the end of his life he will be a servant of God and people.
The old gatekeeper Matts Mursten was buried with full honors, bells ringing and the singing of psalms. After his death, the castle began to regain its former comfort again. The collapsed wall once again regained its former appearance one morning. Bricklayers easily dealt with other collapsed walls. Each stone seemed as light as a piece of bark. All holes and cracks were closed as if by themselves, and often at night it was heard how someone was dragging gravel and stones across the deserted halls.
This was done by the brownie, faithful to the oath he had given to the old gatekeeper.
And Abosky castle stands to this day.

Why does Gerhard Schroeder never mention the name of Dali Grybauskaite and others?

In the Baltic Sea, specialized pipe-laying vessels have laid on its bottom more than a quarter of the total duration of the Nord Stream 2 gas pipeline - amid the noise of statements by American and European politicians about how harmful and dangerous this project is, under their calls to stop the project for the implementation of this new the Russian-European highway.

Unfortunately, there is a chorus of comments from all kinds of analysts about how great the risks of stopping construction are, why the United States arranged all this fuss, what prospects await the gas transport system of Ukraine in the near future.

It's a shame that these comments and assessments continue the myth-making of Western politicians, taking our attention to words that mean nothing in the real world. Myths are becoming more and more, efforts are already required to get to the very prose of life, but this must be done, otherwise we, following the Lithuanian dreamer Dalia Grybauskaite, will also tear ourselves away from the Earth and rush to the country of pink fairies and snow-white unicorns.

The work on clearing the mind is serious - we will move consistently, as when cleaning the head of an onion from the husk.

Let's start with the very "childish" question of the network: who, in fact, is building Nord Stream 2? No, Gazprom's answer is not correct. The Swiss company Nord Stream 2 AG, headed by its Chairman of the Board of Directors, Gerhard Schroeder, is and will be responsible for the construction and future work of SP-2. It is he who is responsible for working with European politicians, and it is against such a political heavyweight that the prime ministers and presidents of the Baltic republics, Poland and Ukraine are trying to speak out.

Until recently, the direct operational work of the company was in charge of the Executive Director Matthias Warning, who from 2006 to 2015 carried out the same work with the first Nord Stream. And before that, from 1990 to 2006, he worked at Dresdner Bank AG, and even earlier worked in senior positions in a German company with a fairly well-known name and an excellent business reputation - Stasi, which we used to call Stasi in Russian.

Stasi, Dresden, a completely unexpected invitation from Gazprom to work on the construction of gas pipelines. What can I say - the person was lucky, just lucky, because Alexey Miller could not agree to his candidacy, right, right? Director of the SP-2 project as part of a Swiss company - Henning Kote, from 1996 to 2006 he was the head of the department of control of investment projects and operating activities in E.ON Ruhrgas AG, since 2006 he came to the Nord Stream project, now he is working on the implementation of the Nord stream-2 ".

CFO - Paul Corcoran, Research Fellow at the Institute of Chartered Management Accountants in the UK, Commercial Director - Reinhard Ontid, who previously held executive positions in the legal support department of the German company E.ON Group for 20 years. Such is the team - every person is a bison of politics and a pillar of the European economy.

So they don't get distracted - they need to work, they have this political chatter like the sound of the wind outside our windows. The headquarters of the company is an excellent litmus test: while they are silent and working, it makes no sense for us to spend time analyzing texts from ministers, chancellors and other presidents. Doesn't this argument seem convincing enough? There are additional ones, we will discuss.