"Thank you, Ivanitch, for your warm welcome. Everything was fair. And the kitchen is good, and the bed is cozy.
– And we will remember your bathhouse for a long time, – the guest's wife Antonina supported, – it is different with you. I can't explain what exactly is different. They themselves have a bathhouse, and they have visited many different ones, but they have not met such a one before.
"That's for sure," Emelyan continued, " somehow it's all with your Soul, Ivanich, to such an extent with your Soul that you can feel it on the physical level. We will be passing through when we are still in these parts-we will definitely stop by. Thank you again.
After shaking hands firmly and passing something elusive, but very clear and valuable through the narrowing of his eyes, the guest put a few bills on the table and went with his wife to his car.
Ivanich watched the guests go until their car disappeared behind a hill. Then he nodded to himself, and walked slowly into the house.
"Thank you all very much," he said to the staff of the guest house, of which there were three people, " there, on the veranda, the guests left the payment, and a solid tip. Distribute it among yourself. We'll assume that this is your severance package. You don't have to come here for three days. Devote yourself to families, household chores, and pamper your kids. It's not the season, so I can handle it myself. I'll see you by Friday." Let's continue as usual.
The workers exchanged glances and went to the veranda after Ivanich left the room.
…
The workers ' cars left the territory of the guest house. The owner of the estate – Ivanich put the kettle on, and sat down in the kitchen and stared out the window. Monday was rarely a busy day, so today you didn't have to expect anything hectic.
Most of my life is behind me. About a third of Ivanich's head was already decorated with gray hair. But it did not shame his appearance at all, and even on the contrary – it gave charm. Nikolai Ivanovich has traveled a lot over the years. Even in his teenage years, he had a penchant for a philosophical worldview. Once, in those distant Soviet years, he sat like this in the kitchen, why at home, and looked out the window. He looked at the grass, at the dandelions, at the rare Pansies that adorned the front garden, and thought: "Interesting… for whom do herbs and flowers bloom from century to century? For what or for whom, after a long, exhausting Siberian winter, nature gathers its forces again and again and launches its creative mechanisms? To live for the sake of living? I doubt… This system is not so simple to have such simple aspirations»
