Читать книгу Thistle - Rodion Rakhimov - Страница 4

Day surprisingly turned out to be clear. The whole previous day and night, I entertained the hope that there will be inclement weather postponed jumps. But in vain. And here’s an old “kukuruznik”, breaking away from the tarmac, shaking the green peeling wings, gaining height. To jump with a parachute for the person in the chair, put on the table to wrap the light bulb, was already the height was dizzy and shaking hamstring – was a lifelong dream.

This fear was not there before, I said to the instructor, blue-eyed “classmate” Irsuto Sharipova, a former pilot, has retained the optimism, despite life’s troubles, trying to shout over the roar of the engine. – We are with you in flight school came, fear came later. When I foolishly free ticket Union climbed to the Ostankino tower to sit in a Silver room with moving floors. Drinking champagne to admire the evening lights of Moscow.

But when we are, pretty pumped not only champagne, brought to the observation deck with glass floors, heart and skipped a beat. For some reason I feel under a not the height and the abyss of the abyss, and from the fall which was separated by only a thin glass like cracked ice. Had to change the profession of industrial climber a carpenter.

And now the fear of heights even worse than on the mountain AI-Petri in the Crimea. Remember, just trembling knees up there when I wanting to look at the sea from the height of bird flight, the yellow barriers came up only after three glasses of the “Black Colonel”. The wine gave me the courage and strength, began to feel like something new. And maybe, after all, it was necessary to “pull” a hundred and fifty grams of cognac. For courage!?

– Nothing, fight fire with fire, you’ll jump with a parachute, and everything goes!

– Easy for you to say jump, but how to do it? I confess, once I had jumped in Koktebel in the Crimea during summer vacation. Although the feeling was indescribable, to call this jump was difficult. Fifty hryvnia with the parachute caught from shore on a long tether, dragged behind a boat over the Bay and thrown into the cold sea of a mountain Chameleon. And fear did not pass. And I want a free flight as in a dream – to spread my arms – wings and hover above the ground.

– Now fly!

And here I am at the door with the eternal Hamlet’s question, dressed in a jumpsuit, helmet, shoes, glasses and two parachutes: the front and back. I am the last. Leaped before me of colorful umbrellas crumbled beneath my feet, and, describing in intricate circles, flew to the ground. The last instruction of Ireta:

– Counted to ten, and then with all the dope pull here for this ring, if the parachute doesn’t work, unhook the main, as I taught you and pulls here in this ring, yelling can be, but not Mat down after all female athletes. A slight push in the back and I’m on my way to mother earth…

The sensation was strange, first captured the spirit and all the tightened lower abdomen. It happens on a swing, when you go down and in a small plane at the air pits. But there was one endless pit.

– Irsha-a-at! Damn it, – I yelled all around. Then I spun, the air was a mouthful so that it became impossible to breathe. Close your mouth, open your eyes and see a little of what I was hyped, but I still flew face up. And I suddenly realized that my parachute in this position, will not open. Trying to roll – does not work. Don’t know how it happened, but I pulled a ring. Probably with fright. I was waiting for the promised Hirsutum cotton, but it never came. Looking up, instead of the dome saw something like a piece of bedsheet with a pillow, which to my legs stretched “linen” rope. I was seized with wild terror, and before my eyes flashed footage of my past and future lives. Swept years and millennia compressed into moments…