И она принялась рассказывать, и чудовищен был стиль...

And she began to tell, and the style of her story was monstrous ... - Everything began with Pushkin. A Komsomol Evtyushkina was sent to us, he pinched and read poetry, and once he grabbed my calves and asked: "Did my marvelous look torment you?" - I say: "Well, suppose I tormented ...", and he again for his calves: "In my heart did my voice sound?" Then he grabbed me in an armful and dragged me somewhere. And when I was already dragged out - I went all my own days all the time, I kept saying: “Pushkin — Yevtyushkin — was tormenting — I heard”. "I heard - I tormented - Evtyushkin - Pushkin". And then again: "Pushkin - Evtyushkin ..." - You are closer to the point, closer to the front teeth, - the black-haired one cut it off. - Now, now there will be teeth! There will be teeth for you too! .. What's next? .. Yes, from that day everything went so well, I was angry with him at the hayloft of God for six months, everything went well! And then this Pushkin again messed up everything! .. I'm like Joan of Arc. She, too, does not have to feed the cows and reap bread - so she sat on a horse and rode to Orleans, to look for adventure on her ass. So that's how I get drunk as a little bit, so I approach it immediately: “And who will bring up children for you? Pushkin, or what?” and he snaps: "But what other children are there? After all, there are no children! And Pushkin is here?" and I told him: “when they will, kids, it will be too late for Pushkin to remember!” And so every time - it cost me a little drunk. - Who is behind you, - I say, - kids? .. Pushkin, is it? .. - and he - is furious all over: "Get out, Daria, - shouts, - get out! Stop cutting fire from the soul of man!" I hated him at that moment, so hated that my head was spinning. And then - all the same nothing, she loved again, she loved so much that she woke up at night from this ... And then one day I really got drunk. I fly up to him and shout: "Pushkin, perhaps, will you bring up children for you? Eh? Pushkin?" he, as he heard about Pushkin, turned black and shaken all over: "drink, get drunk, but don't touch Pushkin! Don't touch the kids! Drink everything, drink my blood, but don't tempt the Lord your God!" while at that time I was sitting on a sick-list, brain concussion and twisting of intestines, and in the south at that time there was autumn, and this is what I screamed at the time: “Get away from me, murderer, get away from me completely! the train will be thrown! And then I will go to the monastery and I will accept the schema! You will come to ask for forgiveness to me, and I will go out in all black, such a charming one, and you will scratch your whole face with your own fig! and then shout: "Do you even love the soul in me? The soul - do you love?" and he is all shaking and blackening: "with his heart, - he yells, - with his heart - yes, with my heart I love your soul, but with my soul - no, I do not love!" And somehow wildly, in an operatic way he laughed, grabbed me, broke my skull and left for Vladimir-on-Klyazma. Why did you leave? To whom did you go? My bewilderment was shared by all of Europe. And my grandmother, deaf-and-dumb, from the oven says to me: "You see, how far you, Dasha, have gone in search of your" I "!" Yes! A month later he returned. And at that time I was drunk in the smoke, when I saw him, I fell on the table, laughed, rolled up my legs: “aha!” She screamed, “pulled Vladimir-on-Klyazma over me! And who is the children for you ...” - without saying a word - he came up, knocked me out four front teeth and left for Rostov-on-Don, on the Komsomol voucher ... Case for a swoon, honey. Pour some more ...

(V. Erofeev. "Moscow-Petushki").