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…When the President appeared on the screen, Vera Ivanovna and the guests—except for fourteen-year-old Vladik—stood up and took glasses filled with champagne. The President was revered and respected in the Kuzmin family.
— Vladka, stand up! It's the President! — Vera Ivanovna tugged at the teenager's t-shirt, and he reluctantly rose.
The President remained silent.
“He’s probably nervous,” thought Alexander Pavlovich, Vera Ivanovna's husband, the father of the family and a working man.
Alexander Pavlovich's brother-in-law, Mikhail, looked impatiently at the frosted bottle of vodka. Vladka looked at his cell phone screen with a bored expression; his older sister Ninka was trying to deal with an extremely strong and loud case of hiccups, and from unsuccessful attempts to hold her breath for a long time, she had become red and breathless.
The President remained silent and stared without blinking at those celebrating on the television screen.
Alexander Pavlovich coughed nervously. Mikhail scratched his unshaven cheek. Ninka hiccuped particularly loudly.
The President remained silent. Alexander Pavlovich could not withstand the presidential gaze and looked away.
“Could he really be resigning? — Vera Ivanovna thought fearfully. — Like Yeltsin did back then…” She even wanted to cross herself, but she had a glass of Soviet champagne in her hand, and for some reason, that stopped her.
— Well, why is he stalling? — Mikhail mumbled discontentedly. He wanted his vodka, and the President's silence was beginning to irritate him. — We won't have time for anything…
— Just shut up! — Alexander Pavlovich nervously interrupted his brother-in-law, — maybe a war has started!
From this unexpected suggestion of his own, the father of the family became completely terrified. He placed his glass on the table—right between the herring under a fur coat and the Olivier salad—and began nervously brushing non-existent dust off himself, trying not to look the President in the eyes.
— Some kind of glitch, — Vladik chuckled. — They played the wrong recording. What a screw-up. Someone's gonna be screwed!
Alexander Pavlovich gave his son a clip around the ear.
— “Screwed” isn't a swear word! — Vladik protested.
Alexander Pavlovich did not answer.
— Where is he? — Ninka asked, nodding toward the screen. Only now did everyone notice that the President was not standing against the backdrop of the evening Kremlin, but in some gloomy room.
“Was it filmed in a bunker? — Alexander Pavlovich thought feverishly. — There will definitely be a war. We're totally screwed.” Alexander Pavlovich categorically did not want to fight, and besides, he was afraid for his son.
The President remained as silent as before, and it seemed he had no intention of saying anything, but suddenly the image jerked, disappeared for a second, and reappeared. The President began to speak.
— Dear Russians! Dear compatriots! The year 20… is coming to an end. This year has not been easy for you. The difficult economic situation, the increase in prices and tariffs, unexpected financial difficulties, and problems related to the banking sector—all of this has affected almost every one of you. I could say that the coming year 20… will be better, that it will bring us economic improvement and lost stability. But I will not deceive you, nor myself…
— That bastard! — Mikhail suddenly exclaimed in indignation.
— Dear Russians! — the President continued. — “Even death is beautiful in the presence of others!” This Russian folk proverb vividly and accurately characterizes everything that awaits you in the coming days. I will be brief: there will be no year 20…. Following my address, across the entire territory of the Russian Federation, including Crimea, the Feeding of the Larvae of the Unimaginable Phy will begin. I will not go into details; I will only say that running is useless. And I ask you to accept death with dignity, just as our ancestors did: the Holy Right-Believing Passion-Bearer Princes Boris and Gleb, Ivan Susanin, the family of the last Emperor Nicholas II, Alexander Matrosov, and many others…
— Why is he talking like that? — Vladik looked at his father. Alexander Pavlovich, pale as death, was mechanically rubbing his wrist. He didn't hear his son.
Meanwhile, the President was already finishing his New Year's speech. As promised, he was brief.
— Spend these last hours and days communicating with your relatives and loved ones, studying our native history, engaging in winter sports, and visiting Temples. And remember: you are giving your lives for a great Goal, which is true happiness. Happy holidays.
After the President's final phrase, those celebrating, by some internal multi-year inertia, raised their glasses, but they did not clink them. There was no clarity. Instead, there was distinct fear.
The President disappeared from the screen. In his place, some incomprehensible white signs began to flicker against a black background.
“Twelve,” noted Vera Ivanovna, glancing at the wall clock. But instead of the expected chiming of the clock, an alarming alarm bell rang from the television, and outside the window, the first heart-wrenching screams rang out...
— Vladka, stand up! It's the President! — Vera Ivanovna tugged at the teenager's t-shirt, and he reluctantly rose.
The President remained silent.
“He’s probably nervous,” thought Alexander Pavlovich, Vera Ivanovna's husband, the father of the family and a working man.
Alexander Pavlovich's brother-in-law, Mikhail, looked impatiently at the frosted bottle of vodka. Vladka looked at his cell phone screen with a bored expression; his older sister Ninka was trying to deal with an extremely strong and loud case of hiccups, and from unsuccessful attempts to hold her breath for a long time, she had become red and breathless.
The President remained silent and stared without blinking at those celebrating on the television screen.
Alexander Pavlovich coughed nervously. Mikhail scratched his unshaven cheek. Ninka hiccuped particularly loudly.
The President remained silent. Alexander Pavlovich could not withstand the presidential gaze and looked away.
“Could he really be resigning? — Vera Ivanovna thought fearfully. — Like Yeltsin did back then…” She even wanted to cross herself, but she had a glass of Soviet champagne in her hand, and for some reason, that stopped her.
— Well, why is he stalling? — Mikhail mumbled discontentedly. He wanted his vodka, and the President's silence was beginning to irritate him. — We won't have time for anything…
— Just shut up! — Alexander Pavlovich nervously interrupted his brother-in-law, — maybe a war has started!
From this unexpected suggestion of his own, the father of the family became completely terrified. He placed his glass on the table—right between the herring under a fur coat and the Olivier salad—and began nervously brushing non-existent dust off himself, trying not to look the President in the eyes.
— Some kind of glitch, — Vladik chuckled. — They played the wrong recording. What a screw-up. Someone's gonna be screwed!
Alexander Pavlovich gave his son a clip around the ear.
— “Screwed” isn't a swear word! — Vladik protested.
Alexander Pavlovich did not answer.
— Where is he? — Ninka asked, nodding toward the screen. Only now did everyone notice that the President was not standing against the backdrop of the evening Kremlin, but in some gloomy room.
“Was it filmed in a bunker? — Alexander Pavlovich thought feverishly. — There will definitely be a war. We're totally screwed.” Alexander Pavlovich categorically did not want to fight, and besides, he was afraid for his son.
The President remained as silent as before, and it seemed he had no intention of saying anything, but suddenly the image jerked, disappeared for a second, and reappeared. The President began to speak.
— Dear Russians! Dear compatriots! The year 20… is coming to an end. This year has not been easy for you. The difficult economic situation, the increase in prices and tariffs, unexpected financial difficulties, and problems related to the banking sector—all of this has affected almost every one of you. I could say that the coming year 20… will be better, that it will bring us economic improvement and lost stability. But I will not deceive you, nor myself…
— That bastard! — Mikhail suddenly exclaimed in indignation.
— Dear Russians! — the President continued. — “Even death is beautiful in the presence of others!” This Russian folk proverb vividly and accurately characterizes everything that awaits you in the coming days. I will be brief: there will be no year 20…. Following my address, across the entire territory of the Russian Federation, including Crimea, the Feeding of the Larvae of the Unimaginable Phy will begin. I will not go into details; I will only say that running is useless. And I ask you to accept death with dignity, just as our ancestors did: the Holy Right-Believing Passion-Bearer Princes Boris and Gleb, Ivan Susanin, the family of the last Emperor Nicholas II, Alexander Matrosov, and many others…
— Why is he talking like that? — Vladik looked at his father. Alexander Pavlovich, pale as death, was mechanically rubbing his wrist. He didn't hear his son.
Meanwhile, the President was already finishing his New Year's speech. As promised, he was brief.
— Spend these last hours and days communicating with your relatives and loved ones, studying our native history, engaging in winter sports, and visiting Temples. And remember: you are giving your lives for a great Goal, which is true happiness. Happy holidays.
After the President's final phrase, those celebrating, by some internal multi-year inertia, raised their glasses, but they did not clink them. There was no clarity. Instead, there was distinct fear.
The President disappeared from the screen. In his place, some incomprehensible white signs began to flicker against a black background.
“Twelve,” noted Vera Ivanovna, glancing at the wall clock. But instead of the expected chiming of the clock, an alarming alarm bell rang from the television, and outside the window, the first heart-wrenching screams rang out...
Where do we go?
Where do we end up when we save the world?
Where do we end up when we save the world?
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