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Eduard Dolgunov

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Troubadour

Troubadour "Fate plays with a man, and a man plays the trumpet." I. Ilf and E. Petrov "The Golden Calf"

"Dr. Mironov?"

a hoarse voice croaked into the receiver. "Hello! This is Dr. Popov, head of the district hospital in the settlement of Niz-Chebula."

"Yes," Mironov answered, "I'm listening."

"We are not personally acquainted, colleague," there was a cough in the receiver, "tell me, you are the head of the psychiatric department of the regional hospital, am I right?"

"That's right," the doctor answered, "I'm listening?"

"I am actually calling about a certain matter," he hesitated, "the issue is somewhat delicate.... you see...."

"Of course," the psychiatrist said after listening to Popov, "I understand, the case is indeed extraordinary, I will order a car from the head doctor and I will definitely come."

"Well, yes," Mironov sighed, looking at the shaggy, bearded man sleeping in the bed on a sagging mattress, and looking up at Popov standing nearby asked, "is this your doctor?"

"Our surgeon," the other shook his head, "also gynecologist, therapist, ophthalmologist..... and waved his hand, - yes, if necessary, then the pathologist too! There are two of us doctors here, me and Volodya - he nodded towards the sleeping man - Dudnikov is his last name.

"So many abrasions," the psychiatrist frowned, "he was badly beaten."

"Yes," sighed Popov, "beaten 'from the heart'. Whatever else, our men know how to do that. But what is there to be surprised at?"

"he grimaced, "so historically predetermined, after all, our settlement was founded 225 years ago by a fugitive convict from the Urals, then settlers from the Don and other 'free brethren', Russians, Cossacks, Tatars joined him. So, their descendants are dark, fierce people, they know how and love to fight, well, and they drink of course, as they say here - 'into a stupor'. True, our colleague was also, to put it mildly, not sober, although," he sighed again, "maybe that saved him from more severe injuries, he probably fell immediately. Thank God there are no fractures, just hematomas, bruises, abrasions, but," he shook his head, "there is a traumatic brain injury. He was brought in unconscious in their arms straight from the wake, moreover, he was brought by the direct participants in the fight. When he came to, he remembered nothing of what had happened, but became very restless, so I had to medicate him heavily, and while he is sleeping, I called you. Now the police are dealing with this 'conflict', but I doubt there will be any results. It's the Easter holiday, so there is no one to investigate, and besides, everyone is drunk, including the policemen. Well, wild people," he sighed and raised a finger, "but, they don't beat to death and if they see that they've gone too far, they'll always help, so they dragged Vovka to the hospital.

"Nightmare," Mironov grimaced, "why was he beaten, especially a doctor? What is the cause of the conflict?"

"Oh, colleague," Popov lit another cigarette and sighed deeply, "you won't believe it, a terrible story, just some kind of nonsense. Okay, I'll tell you, but, please, this must stay between us. You see," he hesitated, "Vova was drinking, heavily, you know, he went through a harsh school in the army. And when he drinks, he doesn't remember later what happened to him, sometimes he can't even remember who he was getting drunk with. So, a few days ago, he was fishing with an acquaintance from the village, on our river, on the Chebula. Well, how can you not have a drink while fishing, especially if it's overnight, a campfire, fish soup made from fresh fish," the doctor sighed, "in short, they reached 'high altitude' in the evening and our doctor fell asleep. In the morning he wakes up, and his friend is lying a little way off on his stomach in a pool of blood, and a branch is sticking out of his back. Volodya ran up to him, but he was unconscious, his pulse was thready, barely breathing. Well, he ran to the nearest house, in short, they called an ambulance, the police, and took them both to our hospital. As it was later written in the protocol: 'In a state of severe alcoholic intoxication, the victim went to relieve himself, tripped over a stone and fell on a wooden stake sticking out of the ground and received a severe penetrating abdominal wound, which can be qualified as an accident. No corpus delicti was found'. As I have already told you," Popov sighed, "Dudnikov and I are the only doctors in the settlement, it's 124 km to the nearest city, so there's nowhere to expect help from, I'm not a surgeon and he had to operate, and I assisted. Unfortunately, the injury turned out to be severe, a ruptured liver, the patient lost a lot of blood during the wound and died during the operation, unfortunately. Volodya was terribly upset," he waved his hand, "but..... The police opened a case, called a forensic expert from the city, and he, as it turned out, literally the day before went down with severe pneumonia and could not come. In connection with these circumstances and given that it was a proven accident, the prosecutor allowed an autopsy to be performed by local forces, that is, again this was entrusted to Dudnikov.

"Wow," the psychiatrist shook his head, "just some kind of detective story."

"That's not all," Popov sighed, "the most interesting part is ahead. The case was closed, the body of the deceased was given to his relatives. The whole settlement gathered for the funeral. They read the funeral service in the church, but it is not customary to see them off on their last journey without an orchestra, and musicians from the city refused to come, as they were celebrating Easter those days. Nothing to do and the relatives were forced to invite a local orchestra, the leader of which, unfortunately, was our doctor. So on his last journey, the deceased was escorted by Dudnikov."