By the way, in the Pre-Zone area they already began to call the earth beyond the perimeter of the quarantine zone – Earth with a capital letter. “So what did Gorbachev say on Earth?” “Damn, did you hear that Americans are coming from Earth to search for their people… Wish they brought their rations again…”
Vadim was invited to the table. They squatted, facing each other. Vadim always felt uncomfortable sitting this way, both at home in Spartanovka, and at home in Uralmash. The body was protesting, was not accepting the pose. Vadim was stretching out one leg, getting from Bashkalo's hands a Chinese thermos with a little flower, sipping almost warm tea, passing the thermos over the campfire to Petrovich, changing his legs, munching the stew from the can, rising on the left knee, then on the right, so that Bashkalo suddenly grumbled with his throat that he was tired of his, a goose, fidgeting.
Petrovich said nothing, he was squeezing the aluminum thermos lid with his square fingers, silently ate, silently drank, thinking some sort of thought, and Bashkalo quickly fell silent. However, the expectation of a scolding clearly gathered over the fire, and no one was surprised about Petrovich's resulting words after his, Petrovich, coming out of his spell of contemplation.
– You're such a moron, Vasya Bashkalo, – he said heavily. – It would have been better to trust the cart to the cub, and assign you to go as a bumper, behind the group. So what shall we do now, a j-ass band Vasya? Shall we go three poles further from the last one, and sit there on the spot for nothing, wait for tomorrow's vehicle to go back from this side to that one? Such a successful mission you've ditched, Vasya. We were going so well.
Bashkalo twirled his mustache, blushed again, but, of course, not so terribly this time. He slurped from the thermos till coughing. He coughed, letting brown saliva drip between his knees from under his mustache. Shame in people of this kind is usually expressed through passing the buck. That's why Bashkalo gave the thermos not to Vadim, who was the next in the turn, but pointedly returned it to Petrovich.
– Here, Nikolaich, have a drink. And forgive me. This one, – he nodded at Vadim, – hindered us there, at the rails, I nearly knocked him down, twitched, and here, apparently, lost the handle. It's always like this with geese. Sure you know. I'm guilty, of course.