Time is reversed

Igor Sanych led the boys of his squad to the stadium to play football. “The seniors said that last year there was a swimming pool instead of a stadium,” Seryozha Domrachev said as he walked. “Only once the girls swam there after the boys, and one of them became pregnant from the water.” The camp director was almost sent to prison. He ordered the pool to be buried. The boys, to be honest, didn’t really understand how the girls got pregnant. For the boys, the dramatic story of transforming the pool into a stadium looked quite plausible. Life is hard. — There was no pool! — Gelbich objected not very confidently, but no one paid attention to him. Every shift a football championship was held in the camp. It was always won by the team of the senior squad — first or second. The senior teams consisted of such “belazians” that no one could defeat. But Lyova Khlopov, armed with the theory of football, dared to break this tradition. “In football, it’s not the muscles that matter, but the brains,” Lyova said with conviction to the boys from his ward. — When the players are skilled and the team is united, you can crush any opponent. The main thing is skills and the will to win. Everyone had the will to win, and Lev promised to provide them with skills. “I know such tricks — you can fool anyone,” he assured. Leva entered into negotiations with Igor Alexandrovich. Korzukhin really liked Leva’s idea. Igor, in general, did not know what to do with the pioneers when he, as a counselor, needed to occupy them with something. And it was boring to watch children play when he himself was already out of childhood. Igor took a couple of science fiction books with him to the camp. You can read while the boys are absorbed in their work and do not need supervision. Igor found Ruslan, the main physical education teacher and owner of the stadium. “Listen, give me a field once a day for an hour,” he asked. - For what? Igor explained. Ruslan easily agreed: if the stadium is occupied by others, then his work will be less. But just in case, he warned: “The only gate there is wobbly.” If your morons knock them down, you’ll dig them in yourself. Leva planned daily matches between his line and Venka Gelbich’s line. In this confrontation, Leva hoped to evaluate the quality of all the players in order to then organize a squad team of eleven people. At the championship, at the end of the shift, this trained team would go against the Belazians. And then it will become clear what is more important: intelligence or strength. Having learned about Igor’s initiative, Irina was furious. - This is not a lesson for children! — she hissed. — You, Igor, are simply shirking your responsibilities! - We have an Olympic shift! — Igor answered demagogically. And the boys unanimously supported the idea. Football is more interesting than cleaning up cones at the “labor landing”, rehearsing a play in defense of a peaceful sky, or writing letters to foreigners at the School of International Friendship. - Not fair! — Gelbich’s team immediately exploded. — We are seven, and you are eight! “I don’t have to play,” Yura Tonkikh timidly suggested. “Okay, Yurik, you’ll be a spare,” Lyova readily agreed. This pod is of no use anyway. But Valerka was not inspired by football. It was necessary to think about how to save Levka from the Sickle. And he had one idea, but he needed the consent of Khlopov himself. *** The well-trodden stadium was surrounded by long benches for spectators. There were no markings on the field. The gate stood empty — just two posts and a crossbar. Igor Aleksandrovich led the boys to the stadium. - All! — He spread his hands helplessly. “I can’t help you any more.” In football, Gor-Sanych did not understand anything and did not hide it. “Then I’ll do it myself,” Lyova answered gravely. While Gelbich’s idiots were catching up with the ball on their feet, Leva took up theory. “Gurka, you will be the goalkeeper,” he said. - No! — Gurka yelled. — I want to score goals! “You are the most dexterous,” Lyova explained patiently. “We’re screwed without you.” In Gurka’s soul, passion fought with vanity, and vanity won. “Okay,” Gurka agreed condescendingly. “So, listen further,” Leva continued. — Gray and Kolyan, you will be defenders. You must guard our gates. - And score goals? — Kolka Gorokhov became jealous. — The goals are scored by the forwards. - Make me a striker! - Everyone will take turns. - Then let’s reckon with the rules! - The rules are to listen to me! I’m the captain! - Get drunk on your football! — Gorokhov became furious, walked away and began kicking the ground out of frustration. - Tityapkin and Mukhin, you are attackers. - I’ll take them all down! — Tityapa promised. — They will all be taken from here to the morgue! — And Valerka and I are midfielders. We’re in the middle of the field. The young stratilate did not want to play at all. It makes sense if he is still faster than the boys. Moreover, Valerka never liked the term “midfielders”. And it’s boring to be a defender, but this is only half the task! It turns out that only Tityapa and Slavik will really play football! But Valerka did not argue. - Serve the ball, Gor — Sanych! — Leva ordered. — We are ready. Igor Aleksandrovich entered the field and put the ball in the middle. On the one hand, Leva’s team was preparing for the fight, on the other hand, the team of Venka Gelbich, whose players, without further ado, were attackers, and therefore the united group of Gelbichs looked much more dangerous than Leva’s technically positioned team. Korzukhin put a whistle, borrowed from the physical education teacher, into his mouth and whistled. The Gelbichi rushed to the ball, Vovka Makerov immediately sent it forward with an accurate blow, and the Gelbichi rushed directly, scattering Tityapa and Mukhin. Lyova bravely rushed to intercept, knocking down a couple of Gelbichs, and Valerka also ran somewhere at random, not yet knowing where. Kolka Gorokhov cowardly jumped out of the way of the Gelbichs, Seryozha Domrachev got lost in the crowd of enemies, and Lyokha Tsybastov hit the goal of Lyov’s team with acceleration. Gurka, with his arms outstretched, flew to one corner of the goal, and the ball flew through the other corner. Gurka fell, jumped up and rushed after the ball, as if he wanted to take revenge on him, and the faster the revenge was accomplished, the more insignificant the defeat would be. “Okay, everything’s fine,” Lyova consoled his fighters. “You can’t start with a victory, it relaxes you,” Lyova sighed heavily and looked accusingly at the Gelbichs: “Why are you attacking with the whole herd?” There are different players: forward, midfielder, goalkeeper, but you have only forwards! You can not do it this way! We are preparing a common team, and we will play against Belaz as one team. Everyone has their own task in it. It needs to be worked out. - Kiss my ass! — the insolent and triumphant Gelbichs responded to Loew. None of his boys said anything to Loewe, but the lesson was learned: the rules only prevent you from winning. Gurka brought the ball and placed it in the center of the field. - Dogs for a fight! — he said. Igor Alexandrovich blew the whistle. The battle broke out again. Slavik Mukhin and Tityapkin left their area of responsibility at the gate and joined the general scrum, and Loew also had to join. The boys were screaming, pushing each other with their shoulders and kicking desperately, trying to hit the ball. Valerka, afraid of breaking his glasses, ran around the carnage, but did not find a way to get into it. All the football players were overcome with rage: they don’t care about the team, they don’t care about the goal, theirs or someone else’s, the main thing is to hit them with a sneaker so that the ball flies to hell somewhere! And the ball suddenly soared into the air above the crowd like a candle, then fell down, and Lyova, jumping up, butted him with his forehead. The ball landed right in front of Valerka and bounced across the field. The young vampire immediately rushed towards him, kicked him and drove him in front of him, rushing towards the Gelbich gate. At the gate, with his arms spread wide, Borka Podkorytov was fussing around in a panic; his face was white. And the crowd of other football players rushed after Valerka, like a yard pack after a cat. - Stop, bespectacled! Stop, you bastard! — both strangers and friends shouted. Tityapa was the first to catch up with Valerka and hit him on the heel. Valerka hooked his foot over his leg and stretched out on his stomach. A crowd of football players rolled over him, seething, and someone stepped on his hand. Fortunately, she began to regenerate and the stratilate boy was not in pain. The battle swirled in the Gelbichs' penalty area and slowly poured into the goal, trampling Borka Podkorytov. - It’s a goal, a goal! — shouted from Leva’s team. — Are you pissed, you bastards? - Not a goal! Not sh-shield! — shouted from Venka’s team. — Greyhound! Valerka got up and left the field. He became uninterested. Yura Tonkikh was sitting on the bench next to Igor Alexandrovich. The counselor was reading some disheveled book with a colorful cover. - Go, Thin, play for me! — Valerka ordered angrily. - I don’t want… - Go, otherwise I’ll hit you in the ear! Yurik trudged onto the field, and Valerka sat down on the bench. — Don’t you like football, Lagunov? — Gor-Sanych looked sideways at him. - I love! — Valerka muttered obstinately. Valentin Sergeich Nosatov, the camp doctor, approached them from behind. “Treat me with a cigarette, Igor,” he asked the counselor. Valentin Sergeich returned to the medical center from Serp Ivanovich Ieronov — two or three times a week Nosatov visited the all-Union pensioner to measure his blood pressure. Ieronov is an elderly man: eighty years old, the same age as the century, he needs to keep his health under control. Otherwise he will die in a pioneer camp, like Palmiro Tolyatti in Artek, and then the doctor will be kicked out of work. Taking a drag from his cigarette, Nosatov watched the game. - What a disgrace! — he said with feeling. “How rich are they?” Igor Alexandrovich shrugged. — Take them to me after the match. You need to bandage it and smear it with green paint. The battle continued on the field. The disheveled and screaming horde darted from gate to gate. Valerka understood that the basis of football is passing, when players pass the ball to each other, deftly avoiding crowds, but now no one wanted to give up the ball, everyone wanted to take possession of it and score a goal on their own. A fierce battle raged around the spinning ball. The boys seemed to be fencing with their feet, breaking the knees and shins of their own and others. Red Chinese sneakers and sloshed sandals flashed by, sand flew from under the soles. The use of hands was strictly forbidden, but in the chaos the boys inevitably pushed each other aside and used their elbows. Having lost his composure, Kolka Gorokhov grabbed Lyokha Tsybastov. — What are you doing, Tygydym horse! — Lyokha screamed indignantly. Tityapkin pulled himself out of the crowd with the ball and, wheezing, rushed towards half of the Gelbichs, but they caught up with him and he disappeared in a heap. Gurka at the gate was torn to pieces with excitement. Gurka either ran in circles, then jumped up and hung on the crossbar, as if on a horizontal bar. If one of the Gelbichs made his way to the line of attack, Gurka would gallop in a half-squat in front of him in the penalty area and shout madly, like a hero being shot: - Let’s! Come on, you bastard! And Lyova Khlopov poured all of himself into the fight, although something could have been left behind. Leva played skillfully and deftly: he cut, dribbled, easily took the ball, dodged with a turn and made feints. But Leva’s problem was selflessness. Leva wanted to show class and involve everyone who was on his team in the game. He generously distributed passes, sending the ball to his comrades with a cross or cross. He bravely rushed into the very thick of Rubilov, did not spare himself, protected his boys from the blows of the Gelbichs and often fell, remaining writhing and lying alone on the ground when the crowd ran away, but then he courageously got up and, limping, again troted across the enemy horde. He was out of breath. His knees were bleeding with bruises, his T-shirt and stretched tights were stained with soil, his hair was disheveled, the tongues on his sneakers had fallen out. In general, Leva played nobly — not for life, but for death. On the field he was “one for all,” but alas, alas: these “all” were not “for one.” The boys fought each for themselves, and Leva’s team uncontrollably gained goal after goal. Valerka felt sad for Lyova. The tormented Khlopov gathered the boys of both teams in the center of the field. - Why are you so small? — he asked. — We don’t need to defeat each other! We are learning to play together! Here you are, Tsybastysh, why didn’t you pass to Vovchik? He was right opposite our gate! And you, Yurik, why did you jump back? You must guard your zone! We all need to be at the same time!.. The ball lay on the ground next to Leva. The boys looked at each other nervously. Tityapkin could not stand it, rushed to the ball and kicked. And the whole crowd immediately rushed after the ball, howling, abandoning Lev with his useless teachings. Igor Aleksandrovich, placing his finger in the book, looked at the boys, looked at Valerka and grinned knowingly. — Disappointed in the team? — he asked. - You can’t say that! — Valerka snapped. — You are a counselor! - A counselor, but not a fool. Valerka did not answer, looking angrily at the game. What does the team have to do with it? The team is always right. The team is a team. Smarter, more honest, braver. But there, at the stadium, is there really a team? Is it a team? Not a team, but a flock of macaques fighting over a banana! Valerka, getting up from the bench and turning around, walked away for a walk to the river, but Leva caught up with him at Reika. - Valerie, I wanted to ask. Have you defeated the thousand-year-old stratilate, Father Gleb? — Khlopov asked Lagunov. - Le… Leva? — Valerka was taken aback — The same Leva Khlopov from 1983, who ended up here in 1980 after his death. — Lev answered with a kind smile. Valera, not believing his happiness with tears in his eyes, rushed into the arms of his best friend - Everything is fine, Valer. I’m alive. “Everything is fine,” a taken aback Leva reassured his best friend. The boys stood hugging each other for about five minutes until the young stratilite calmed down. Lyovka asked again if they had won and listened to Valerka’s story. Lagunov told how he and Igor found the last piece of the slab in the estate of Lydia Govshi, that she was the vampire leech of Gleb, about how they learned that the dark thousand-year-old stratilate was Father Gleb. About the battle with the dark one and Valerka’s desire to fix everything. Lyova listened silently and was surprised by his friends, and even more he was surprised by his best friend, Valerka Lagunov, how could such a quiet and shy boy become the one whom Khlopov met then at school, in the fall of 1983. “And I have an idea on how to protect you from the Sickle.” But your voluntary consent is needed. — the young stratilite finished his story - What’s the idea? — asked the intrigued Leva - My Family, the ancient royal family of vampires of the Soviet Union. Many centuries ago, due to the betrayal of a friendly clan, we lost our vampire blood, and this story became a family legend. At least that’s what I thought, but it turned out to be true when I brought the vampire blood back into my family by defeating Sickle. And I, as Stratilates the King, can accept new members into my family, while turning them into immortals. But not into the Leeches, but into members of my family with the same rights as other Prince-Stratilates. I can convert you and accept you into my family, but I need your consent. In the human world you will remain Left Khlopov, but for the stratilate vampires you will be Left Lagunov. — Valera explained to him. “I agree,” Leva answered after thinking. - Do you swear, Lev Khlopov, to maintain honor and loyalty to the Lagunov Clan and to me as Stratelate the Tsar and the head of the Lagunov clan. — Valerka began the ritual of adoption, taking out a Finnish knife from his pocket. “I swear,” Leva answered. “Do you swear, Lev Khlopov, to honor the laws and traditions of my clan and all immortals,” continued young Lagunov“I swear,” Khlopov answers. - I, Valery Lagunov, Stratelates the King of the Immortals of the Soviet Union and the head of the Lagunov clan, accept Lev Khlopov into my Family and clan. From now on, you are Prince Stratelate Lev Lagunov, Prince of the Supreme Council and my personal assistant and deputy — Valerka said, cutting his right palm and letting him drink his blood. When his sworn brother drank his blood, Lagunov cut his right palm and sealed the bloody ritual handshake with the words: “Blood for blood — the royal Family.” And Leva-former-Khlopov continued on a whim: “Let it be so forever and ever.” From now on, Lyova Khlopov remained only for mortals; for immortals, he became Prince Stratelate Lev Lagunov, a member of the royal family and the Supreme Council. Having completed the ritual, the named brothers went back, and Valerka threw the bloody knife into the middle of the Reiki out of harm’s way. And at this time in the camp, after the candle, they lost the guys. - Igor, where are you Khlopov and Lagunov? — asked Irina. - Where? — Igor asked stupidly. They stood on the empty veranda. Irina glared at Igor through her glasses. The “candle” ended, the pioneers went to their wards. Igor went outside. The sun had already set, but the sunset beyond the Volga did not have time to fade, and it was light. The lights on Pioneer Alley were not yet on. In the deep blue sky, the shaggy crowns of the pine trees glowed with infrared warmth. It’s strange, where did Lyova go? He was a good boy: people like him don’t run away from home, don’t get involved with bad company, and don’t get reported to the police. And Valerka? He seems like a quiet, reserved guy. Igor was stomping along the alley, deciding where to go, and noticed a movement in the acacia tree behind a large stand with the slogan “Create! Make it up! Try it! - Khlopov! Lagunov! — Igor immediately called out at random. Lyova and Valerka emerged from behind the stand. -Where have you been? — Igor asked sternly. The boys didn’t answer anything, although Valerka was trying to tell his older comrade everything, but he was stopped by the fact that Gor — Sanych would hardly believe him “Everyone searched you,” Igor said accusingly. — Let’s go to the building. Irina attacked the guys on the porch. - Do you want to be kicked out of the camp?! — she hissed. — Where have you been?! “Okay, Irina Mikhailovna, don’t scold them,” Igor tried to calm the leader down. - You can’t indulge children, Igor Alexandrovich! — Irina snapped. He pushed Lyova and Valerka forward and was briefly surprised at how cold and hard Lyova’s shoulder was. With relief, Igor ushered the boys into the room. The next morning, Valerka faced the fierce gaze of Serp Ivanovich on the street - “Remember, Serp. “I don’t bite, but I kill for my friends and family,” Valerka said to himself