But it will be after. At first there will be that, the first exhibition on which we will meet. I with anybody will not confuse it. It will
slowly pass by pictures and when will approach to that, my favourite, I will ask it:
- You are Ulrike?
I knew that this meeting will be, I waited. Ulrike too have foretold that the husband at it will be the artist that they will live
happily, only here... Excuse, Ulrike, has told to it mum, having postponed fortunetelling cards, but it will be...
It has made a pause, and has then exhaled:
- It will be - a scoop.
During that epoch we were not Russians, we were scoops. I do not know, who has entered this term meaning into the
reference, probably, reduction from words "the Soviet person", but the term ingeniously corresponded to an essence,
designating not only the Soviet person, but also the Soviet system, both the Soviet state, and a way of life in a scoop.
Certainly, for a scoop to snip off such bride as Ulrike, is more abruptly, than to win "Volga" on the state lottery or to receive
from the state free of charge apartment.
- Oh, mum, I do not want for a scoop, - Ulrike has moaned, but to groan was late. Or early.
- Anything, the daughter, - calmed her mother. - there is no escaping fate. Scoops too different happen, and what get here,
to us, uneasy scoops, they - are clever, active, talented. It can be a variant more abruptly, than many of ours.
And Ulrike has calmed down. Also began to wait for me. And when it has come on an exhibition, it long stopped at each
picture. And when has approached to that, my favourite, I did not doubt that it it has approached, I could not confuse it with
anybody. And I have asked:
- You... You are Ulrike?
And she has understood that it - I. That predictions of mother that its universal outline is now carried out have come true:
always to be with me. She has learnt me. And she has asked with strong accent, but in Russian:
- And you?. You - a scoop?!