– He lives in the fourth, opposite.
Vasily rang the fourth.
- Now, now! – was heard from behind the door.
“Where did ours go missing?” - Vasily only had time to think, and the door opened. The little gray-haired old man, who looked like the professor from the movie “Deputy of the Baltic,” was, of course, surprised (he was expecting someone else), but he didn’t slam the door in his face and greeted him politely:
- Good morning.
“I would like Fyodor Nikolaevich...” Vasily said humbly. “I’m actually from places of deprivation...”
The old man stepped aside, letting him into the apartment.
“And, you know, I’m drinking tea,” he said as they walked along the dark corridor. “So you’ll tell me everything at the table.”
“Tea,” Vasily suddenly thought with sudden melancholy. “Tighten up, I suppose, and there’s nothing!”
The kitchen was small, clean: white walls, white curtains... And the light, the light!.. As if outside the window it was not mid-November, but the real May Day!
Vasily looked at the table and swallowed the drool that had come up: wow, tea! One amateur sausage, two eighty grams, four hundred sliced... Exactly, waiting for someone!..
“Have a seat,” Fyodor Nikolaevich warmly invited, pouring tea from a shining nickel-plated teapot.
Vasily was about to sit down, but immediately jumped up, as if from a hot frying pan, and hastily crossed himself with either two or three fingers.
- So, you're from prison then? – asked Fyodor Nikolaevich.
“Yeah,” confirmed Vasily, choking on his sandwich. “What if he asks for a certificate?” - flashed through his head, but the old man apparently didn’t guess.
“You and I never met,” he said, sitting down opposite.
Vasily lifted his butt off the stool and extended his long-unwashed hand over the table:
- Vasya.
- And how old are you?
Vasily tensed up, but still remembered:
