If you replace each component of the ship, will it remain the same object? And if it is new, at what point will it become so – with the first replaced part, the last one, or in the middle of reconstruction? Or maybe it's not the structure of the object at all, but its contents and purpose?
- the Tessei paradox
The frame, covered with dried mud, has been annoying my eyes for a long time. Every time I leave the entrance, I glance at the bell, covered with rust, and two wheels that have repeatedly plunged into oceans of autumn puddles.
My conscience finally couldn't stand it, and I took this red-and-black old man outside with a bucket of water and a worn rag. I spent two long hours scrubbing away all these stains. And here it stands before my eyes – a clean and shiny Mustang, ready to detour along dusty highways and green fields!
Why don't you go for a ride?
I sat on the leather seat, put my foot on the pedal, and gripped the steering wheel tightly. There was a slight jolt and the wind began to cut into two strips when it collided with my face. I had forgotten what it was like to maneuver like Formula 1 at high speed between passersby, avoiding pits and flying down slides. The race turned out to be so energetic and exciting that my first stop after an hour and a half was the gas station next to the tire shop at the entrance to the city center.
Unaccustomed to it, my calves are quite worn out. And my stomach, to be honest, began to grumble. I strapped my transport to a pole and went into the cool room of the gas station. A hearty hot dog in a compartment with an iced coke gave me a second wind, and I decided to continue my journey. But there was a darkening circumstance waiting for me on the street – the wheels of the bike turned out to be victims of a knife attack. They were not just punctured: I found impressive cuts on the tires, like on another corpse in the Hercule Poirot case, a pair of spokes were brutally chewed through with pliers, and along the red stripe there was an obscene expression desecrated with a black marker.
Looking around, I realized that the criminals had actively left the scene of the attack. Rescue was a few meters away from me, and I was forced to visit a tire repair shop. Fortunately, the men politely (just for the mower) brought me two suitable, albeit second-rate, bicycle wheels and one half-empty can of orange paint. The limb replacement operation was successful, and "design" adjustments were also made – the smooth factory red stripe turned into a crooked orange tail. I mounted my horse and rode forward.
By two o'clock in the afternoon, I left the city. Going down to the riverbank, I put down my bike and sat down on the grass to catch my breath. The harmonious silence was broken by a loud argument of people nearby. Looking at the source of the noise without interest, I saw two guys who were discussing something fiercely. The situation would have remained without my intervention if the conflict had not escalated into a serious fight. I'm sorry, I'm a fair person by nature , so I couldn't just leave the incident like that. Jumping on my bike, I hurried to separate the fighters. Well, the result was obvious – in response to my noble impulse, a good hook flew into my jaw , knocking me right back against my iron companion. The fall turned out to be unpleasant for both of us – I almost broke my arm, and he lost the bell, which broke off hopelessly and flew down the slope. The rivals hurried away.
Twenty minutes of searching turned out to be pointless – the call was not found, and I decided to return. As I approached my neighborhood, I drove onto a bridge that runs across the railroad. My mind was lost in thought about tomorrow.…
* * *
My thoughts scattered like bowling balls. The blow landed in the side. When I hit my head on the asphalt, I couldn't understand what had happened. All I saw was a gray sedan slammed into the truck of some hypermarket, and eight steps away was a bike with a broken frame and a chain that had shattered into individual microelements. For two hours, the staff conducted an assessment of the accident and found out how this horseradish managed to make the decision at a speed of 55 km/h to quickly bypass the Chevrolet in traffic and fly into oncoming traffic. After making sure that the wounds were not fatal, I stomped on, leaving my contact number for communication and subsequent testimony as a witness and partial victim (the driver of the van was much more seriously injured than mine).
By 6 p.m., after a tedious walk with a bike by the hand, I went into a sports store that I met along the way. The frame was replaced with a new blue one, and the chain and seat had to be replaced, the verb of which turned out to have an unreliable dent. In addition, I purchased a bell, since the previous one was missing. That's how I spent a few thousand and went home.
The courtyard parking lot was already fully filled, the sun was slowly setting over the horizon, and I was bringing the stallion to the entrance. "What a day. I was an unlucky passenger, wasn't I?" I thought and looked at him. I looked at it and didn't recognize it.
What do you know about fear?
Maybe it's the trembling in front of the dentist's office?
Or the excitement during the exam?
A first date? A broken bottle in the store?
Fear is when you stand on dry branches, look ahead and realize that it's over.
The trampled path led far ahead, into the very darkness of the forest aspens. To where the trees stand more and more densely, until they begin to look like a family of five living in a one-room apartment. It's also cramped and uncomfortable. Without stopping, my feet led me forward to the cawing of crows overhead and the distant howl of wolves. The shining ball under the sky was already rolling behind the birch crowns.
Having gone far enough into the thicket, when the sunlight finally stopped illuminating the barely noticeable path, I began to hear sounds. No rustling of leaves, no snorting of animals, no fluttering of bird wings. It was something else. It came from the trunks of trees, from under the lying stones. From a distance and near the ear. From everywhere and nowhere. The sound that you feel with all the atoms of your body. Something between a shaman singing and a rumbling train.
My throat was dry from dizziness and increasing disorientation. I took a canteen from my belt, took off the lid, and began to absorb the water like a thirsty man in the desert. And only on the last sips did I feel the taste of swamp mud.…
After 20 minutes, I realized that I had stopped hearing any sounds other than the mystical hum, and snow-white bones were no longer crunching under my feet. The right path was finally lost in the gloomy forest. The dense horror was embodied by a thin coyote. With his ribs sticking out, sitting humbly under an aspen tree and looking gloomily at me. He stood up and moved forward, beckoning for me to come with him. There is no turning back. I rushed after him. The coyote got lost among the birches, and reappeared behind the bushes. Visions began to sparkle in the darkness. It's a white mushroom with worms instead of a leg. It's an eel swimming out of a hollow. Either a boy with a dog's head running across the path, or the laughter of a girl chewing a rabbit and sitting under a bush. There's a car sinking into the ground, and there's a face watching me. I was chased by spirits until I found myself at the edge of a forest clearing.
The moon covered the field with a white haze of light. Bright flowers sparkled in the grass. There are remains scattered all over the area. The raven's cry mingled with the singing of the depths. The trees lined up around the wall. The coyote was lying down. And he was dead, if I'm not lying, for five years. The sound that accompanied me half the way reached its peak. And he was standing in the middle of the clearing. A ragged cloak, crows on his shoulders, big claws and a white deer skull instead of a head. The skeleton trembled from his hum. The vibration under his feet was ready to tear the earth apart. He's whispering to the roots beneath me. He instills fear in the growing grass. He inhales the musty smell and exhales the dead flies. The deer that had given him his skull presented it as an offering. His eyes were empty, but there was a twinkle in them. In which my soul will burn.
