时间：2021-07-25 13:17:47 作者：贵阳夜网
要说贵阳夜网最好的是哪家，身在贵阳的小编最具发言权。Pusheke bastich died. If his name is spoken, I'm afraid few people have heard of him. In the straschnietzsche crematorium, only a few workers of the dead came to bid farewell. Thanks to barstich's five children sitting in the first row, the farewell hall did not seem so deserted.
Three years ago, I solemnly promised the dead that as long as he was alive, I would keep my mouth shut. However, I didn't think that my promise was lifted so soon.
I met bastich by chance.
It was an evening in the spring of 1965. I went to the shower room on Silesia street to take a bath. At that time, I didn't have my own apartment, so I went there to take a bath at least once a week, at a cost of only one Krone. I had just taken off my coat when a man over 50 burst in wearing a raincoat.
It was obviously an old customer, because he didn't have to open his mouth. The landlady of the shower room immediately asked me to let this gentleman wash first, and said that he would finish soon and wouldn't waste my time. The way the landlady of the shower room does things makes me unhappy. The man, in particular, wore a raincoat and went into the shower room without waiting for my promise. It really annoys me. However, I noticed that the landlady in the shower room kept blinking at me with exaggerated expression. She also pulled me aside with a tolerant smile, like facing the foolish behavior of a child. She explained to me that there was no need to care, because the gentleman who entered the shower room was a strange man.
in truth. After a while, the bathroom door slammed open and the man came out. His wet hair was curled and the water dripped from his raincoat. He hurried out of the door and turned East, leaving water stains all the way behind him.
He is pushemek bastich. At that moment, I was still confused, but my intuition told me that this strange man on the way would certainly become an excellent subject for the Sunday essay column. I immediately put on my clothes, rushed out of the door and followed him.
It was dusk all over the street, but the deep and shallow wet footprints clearly showed me the way.
What's different is that barstich is walking fast, sometimes almost
trotting, as if he was going to an important appointment or in a hurry
to catch a train. Suddenly, he flashed and disappeared into the Supetar bar.
I followed him with a few seconds' time difference, so I saw him
passing through the hall, came to the end of the bar, stopped, looked
around the guests in the bar, and then returned to the bar.
The waitress at the bar, as if she knew he would come back, had poured him a glass of yakamarus. Instead of talking to her, bastich took a sip from his glass. When the waitress went to the back room to deliver wine to the other guests, bastich got up and left the bar. I immediately reminded the waitress that the man had not paid the bill. But I found that my reminder was superfluous, because the waitress said indifferently, "I know, you don't have to worry."
I rushed out of the door and continued to follow bastich. I took two steps at a time, because I had learned how fast he walked. Josh stopped in front of his cafe, but I almost lit a cigarette. I pretended to run across the street.
I watched him walk leisurely towards the bar on vineyard street, turn left at the intersection, and slowly step into the street park. His leisurely pace makes it more difficult for me to track, making it difficult for me to take my time without showing mountains and dew. Besides, the park was empty at this time, and I had to sit down on the park bench. Bastich went to the fountain, stopped and stamped out the cigarette end. Then he looked around and jumped unexpectedly over the fence in front of the fountain.
He walked through the gushing spring with his head held high. Before I could recover from my amazement, he had made great strides towards the city center. He walked so quickly that I had to trot all the way in order not to let him lose my sight. When I got to the entrance of the cellar bar, I realized that if I followed closely, I would inevitably be seen through by him. So I quietly pushed the door of the bar half open and looked in. There was no sign of him at the bar counter. Wet footprints on the ground disappeared under the curtain separating the bar hall and the dance floor.
I had just sat down on the high stool in front of the bar with my back to the guest. Barstich came back wet and sat directly on the seat next to me. Without saying a word, the waiter poured him a glass of yakamarus. When bastich raised his glass and put it to his lips, he caught a glimpse of me sitting aside and turned his head.
"Sorry," I said after a pause, "I don't want to give you the impression of voyeurism. I'm a reporter. Your behavior interests me very much." Bastich ignored me and just turned the stool under him a few times. I tried to convince him that the profession of journalist would inevitably make me appear rude to some extent, because we often interfere with other people's privacy. He remained silent. So I thought that excessive entanglement and step-by-step pressure might backfire and screw things up.
I decided to gamble with wine and close the distance between us with the power of alcohol. When the bottom of barstich's glass came out, I tried to see if he could have another yakamarus with me. He readily agreed. I turned away from the wine and praised the taste of yakamarus. He only smiled bitterly. Now, when I uncover the mystery of bastich's life experience, I know how naive I was. In fact, he has already seen through my tricks.
After midnight, when I glimpsed the bottles of aromatic spirits and felt sick, bastich moved his heart to me“ I'm sorry, sir, you're a newspaper reporter. " He said, "even if you are a policeman, I have no reason to hide anything from you, because I never do anything illegal. Everything I do can be aired in front of the law, and I am also worthy of my conscience. Only if you publish an article about me in the newspaper, it won't work. "
Among barstich's relics, the cellar bar wine list may also be found. On that day, I made a statement on the back of the wine menu: all that barstich stated to me, I only leave it to myself, hide it in my heart, and can only be made public after his death.
That day, he took off his already dry raincoat and began to tell me.
"Sir, I am a widower and a staff member of the small town home decoration cooperative. I try my best to make my five children live a decent life. Every day, I will send my eldest daughter Olga to learn dance and my youngest son jaroshek to kindergarten. When I get home from work, I want to clean the house, wash clothes and cook. I also want to supervise the children to do their homework and see if their words are correct. I want to explain algebra to them, test their English, Russian and German words, cut their nails, wash dishes, tell fairy tales and mend seams. You said try remarriage? I have no hope of remarriage. Did you hear of a woman who would put a yoke of five children around her neck? In this endless cycle of life, every week, I set a night for myself, just like a squirrel jumping out of the spinning wheel, escaping to drink a glass of yakamarus, and running back before the wheel is about to stop. Sir, this night is one of them. "
"How do you explain the shower and fountain?" I tried to keep his account short.
"I'll tell you everything slowly, sir." "The night I choose is not fixed, provided it doesn't rain that day," bastich said
"Why must it be such a premise?" I asked eagerly, because his slow narration raised my curiosity to my throat.
"Sir, my conscience doesn't allow me," he continued, "to spend my money on a glass of wine. When I think of the liquid poured into my throat, I can buy a pair of socks for kveta or a pair of skates for yaroshek. Then even the most delicious wine is bitter through my tongue. One night, I was sitting in the black bird's nest bar when a wet guest came in. The drinkers in the bar saw him and exclaimed: it's raining so hard outside! Those guests who were ready to check out sat down again and asked the waiter for another drink, so as not to go out and be poured into a drowned chicken. It inspired me. I calculated that it was a very cost-effective deal for the bar owner to provide me with a glass of spirits for free, because as soon as I appeared in the bar - you must have noticed, I went to those bars without windows - I was wearing a wet raincoat, which gave a real impression. It was raining cats and dogs outside, and the consumption of wine and water was increased immediately. "
"The idea is really good," I said, "but in essence, you are deceiving the public for profit. Aren't you afraid? " Alas, bastich, I still remember his expression today. My questioning made him blush with anger. Indeed, my words touched his most sensitive nerve.
"I didn't deceive anyone, sir." He said, "more than once, someone looked at my wet coat and asked, 'is it raining outside?' To this question, sir, I always answer, 'no, I took a shower just now.' I'm telling the truth, and I admit that people usually don't believe that I just took a shower before I came to the bar, but it's none of my business. I read the criminal law carefully. Sir, there is no mention in the code that if it doesn't rain, people can't wear raincoats! "
This is pushemek bastich. An honest man, a thrifty man, and a creative man.
Due to the negligence of the sprinkler driver at night, Prague lost a unique character, and the city lacked a magical and poetic uncertainty.