"Valery Gorban. No one wanted to kill " - читать интересную книгу автора

automatic weapon on his knees. He fixed his eyes on something distant above
the heads of his men, but without really seeing it. Squatting in a group by
the BTR, his troops talked in hushed voices and passed around the last
cigarette from a pack that they had crumpled and thrown away.
A young, 25-year old nurse came out onto the porch and sat down next to
him. She was astonishingly attractive but had a tired, sullen face.
"The grandmother didn't make it. Heart failure. But the girl's all
right, and she won't even have noticeable scars."
"That's good - a little girl shouldn't have scars, especially on her
chest. It doesn't really matter while she is small, but she could develop
complexes when she grows up," said Chopin, nodding his head knowingly.
Suddenly the nurse tensed up and turned her face away, straining to
hide her tears. But they poured forth regardless, and she abruptly rose and
ran back inside.
Confused, Chopin turned to the young medic smoking beside him, who had
heard the conversation: "What's wrong with her? Is she new? Hasn't she
gotten used to things yet?"
"Oh, damn, was that ever a direct hit!" he drawled out with a mixture
of reproach and sympathy. "In January, she herself was wounded while pulling
troops out from under a mortar barrage. Cut her stomach all apart. They
sewed her up, all right, but what kind of plastic surgery can you do in a
cellar by candlelight? So now she can't have children. Her husband found out
and left her. But then Mikhalych, our chief doctor, got rid of him, saying:
`I can find other physicians, but they should be human beings too.' And
imagine, her husband served right here in this hospital," the outgoing
informant explained, adding with gusto "the j-jerk!"
Chopin got up and nearly raced after the nurse, who was standing by the
window at the end of the corridor. She was no longer crying but quivered
spasmodically from repressed sobs.
Chopin clutched her to his breast and stroked her hair, saying, "I'm
sorry, but I didn't know."
"It's okay. Have you come for something?" She made an attempt to smile
and wiped away what remained of her tears with the palm of her hand. "It's
just that I'll never get used to the fact that I'm not really a woman
anymore... just a sort-of gutted flounder. Something for temporary
gratification."
Chopin suddenly grew angry. "Don't be a fool! When was the last time
that you looked at yourself in the mirror? Someday you'll meet someone -
maybe even more than one "someone" - who will just kiss your feet! And if
he's a real man, not some shit like your ex, he'll adore your scars. As for
children, there is your Goddaughter - an orphan - along with half a town of
kids just like her. Gather them together and give them love. They'll be more
precious to you than even your own could be."
Following on the heels of the standard expressions of consolation that
she had come to despise, this unexpected dressing down affected the nurse in
an equally unexpected way. Suddenly, she smiled naturally and openly at
Chopin, placed her hands on his shoulders, and gazed into his eyes.
"Do you really think I still look alright?"
"You look lovely. And you're a real human being. The guys who survive
this war will be searching for women just like you. They'll beat a path to