– Mm, well… And the name “Kazashsky”, did everybody call it so from the very beginning?
– I do not understand.
– “Kazakh” would be correct. Kazakh Corner, Kazakh Curve.
– Fuck knows. It just happened so. Actually, I never thought about it.
– By the way why did the main word not catch on if everything was by Strugatskys?
– What main word?
– Stalker.
– Stalker? Is this your question? A-a-a fuck kn… Set that aside, I remember! This Natanovich also asked me… it was disturbing him. That is when we were drinking with him later, already in ninety-five or ninety-six, when I was in Moscow for the last time… Why are you smiling, writer? Understandably that it was interesting for him… It did not catch on because of Americans. It's something offensive, from English slang. Wanker, or something like that. Sat that aside, I remember. A peeping tom. A sexual blackmailer, accordingly. Rubbish. So it did not catch on. And then you, ufologists, immediately appeared in the Pre-Zone, at that time there was an extraterrestrial craze among the people, and there, among you, ufologists, climbers and tourists of all sorts, so the “track”, “traverse”, all this, too. Well “track” is “track” and, accordingly, “trackers”. And it happened. In my opinion, therefore that is how. As for me, I prefer “walkers”, as we, military men, used to say. And aliens. Although there is a subtlety. Well, you know.
– I see. I'm very interested in the intensity called the “Mother's cracks”.
– How did you say?
– The “Mother's cracks”.
– It’s the first time I've heard it. And what is this called scientifically?
– I don't know.
– The first time I've heard it. I bet trackers told you tales again, right, writer?
– It seems not.
– Ok then. Don't you hammer my dying head with nails. Ask precisely,about me.
– Yeah… Who did you meet with first regarding the aliens? Surely with Petrovich? The famous conference in Two Pipes?
– Well, yes. No! I had the aliens to the fullest from the start, almost choked; faced the Father and his terrible daughter. The same day, to be honest… It was on the next day as I presented myself to the personnel at the Commandant's office upon arrival. On the seventeenth of November of nineteen ninety.
– And your “kiss”, by the way, if it's not a secret…
– Pour some water. A single “greeting”, no tongues. Good timing. Fucking paralysis of the fucking eyeball. The left one. My intuition is weak, you can count I don't have it at all. Accordingly, the “kiss” is alike this, incomplete. Just like “get off”.