Roman Ustinova, wonderful are your works, Lord. Tatyana Ustinova: Wonderful are your deeds, Lord! Quotes from the book “Wonderful are your works, O Lord!” Tatyana Ustinova

Wonderful are your works, Lord! As soon as Andrei Ilyich Bogolyubov takes office as director of the Museum of Fine Arts in Pereslavl, truly strange, “wonderful” things begin to happen around him! The former headmistress suddenly dies right before Bogolyubov's eyes! They threaten and do dirty tricks on him: they puncture his tires, plant disgusting notes, they are suspected of trying to close the museum, they even try to kill him!.. It soon becomes obvious: here, in his museum, something inexplicable, grandiose and dark is happening. Bogolyubov has to take the investigation seriously. And to understand his feelings for his ex-wife, who unexpectedly and completely inappropriately appears on the threshold of his new home - truly, your deeds are wonderful, Lord!

...He will understand everything, find new friends and old loves... He will live a full life - after all, the most interesting and rich life happens in the quiet Russian province!..

Tatyana Ustinova

Wonderful are your works, Lord!

* * *

Red Square, house one - this was the address indicated on the piece of paper, and Bogolyubov was very happy, he liked the address. I decided not to contact the navigator; it was more interesting to follow a piece of paper.

Plunging one by one with all his wheels into the most real, authentic “Mirgorod” puddles, Bogolyubov drove around the two-story shopping arcades - peeling columns propped up the Roman portico, between the columns grandmothers in scarves were selling sunflower seeds, rubber boots, camouflage pants and a Dymkovo toy, rushing around on bicycles the children lay curled up, no one's dogs - and drove along the sign with the proud inscription “Center”. Red Square must be the very center, but how could it be otherwise!..

He saw house number one right away - on the liquid picket fence, greenish from time and mold, a brand new poisonous blue sign with a white number stood out. Behind the picket fence there was a garden, poor, spring, gray, and behind the garden one could guess a house. Bogolyubov slowed down near the rickety gate and looked out the windshield.

...Well then! Shall we begin?..

He got out of the car and slammed the door hard. The sound rang out sharply in the sleepy silence of Red Square. Dirty pigeons minced along the ancient paving stones, indifferently pecked at crumbs and, at the sharp sound, lazily ran in different directions, but did not scatter. On the other side stood an old church with a bell tower, a gray building with a flag and a monument to Lenin - the leader was pointing at something with his hand. Bogolyubov looked back to see what he was pointing at. It turned out just for house number one. Along the street there was a row of two-story houses - the first floor was brick, the second wooden - and there was a glass store with the inscription “Manufactured Goods Co-op”.

“Coop,” Bogolyubov said to himself. - That's how co-op!..

- Hello! – They greeted loudly very close.

A man in a checkered shirt buttoned under his chin approached from behind the picket fence. He smiled diligently from afar and extended his hand in advance, like Lenin, and Bogolyubov did not understand anything. The man came up and shook his hand in front of Bogolyubov. He guessed and shook.

“Ivanushkin Alexander Igorevich,” the man introduced himself and added a few watts to the glow on his face. - Sent to meet, escort, show. Provide assistance if necessary. Answer questions if they arise.

– What’s in the house with the flag? – Bogolyubov asked the first of the questions that arose.

Alexander Ivanushkin craned his neck, looked behind Bogolyubov and was suddenly surprised:

- A! We have a city council there. Former noble assembly. The monument is new, erected in 1985, just before perestroika, but the building is from the seventeenth century, classicism. In the twenties of the last century, the committee of the poor, the so-called committee of the poor, was located there, then Proletkult, and then the building was transferred...

“Great,” Bogolyubov interrupted disrespectfully. – Which way is the lake?

Ivanushkin Alexander glanced respectfully at the canvas hump of the trailer - Bogolyubov had brought a boat with him - and waved his hand in the direction where the red sunset sun hung over the low houses.

– There are lakes there, about three kilometers away. Yes, you come in, come into the house, Andrei Ilyich. Or are you going straight to the lake?..

- I won’t go to the lake right away! - said Bogolyubov. – I’ll go to the lake later!..

He walked around the car, opened the trunk and dragged out the trunk by the long handles, like ears. There were still quite a lot of trunks in the trunk - most of Andrei Bogolyubov’s life remained in the trunk. Ivanushkin jumped up and began to pull the trunk from Andrei’s hands. He didn't give it.

“Well,” Alexander puffed, “well, I’ll help, allow me.”

“I won’t allow it,” answered Bogolyubov, without letting go of the trunk, “I’ll do it on my own.”

He came out victorious, slammed the trunk, found himself nose to nose with a creature in dark robes and, in surprise, leaned back, he even had to put his hand on the warm side of the car. The creature looked at him sternly, without blinking, as if from a black frame.

“Give it to the orphans for poverty,” the poor woman in black robes said clearly. - For Christ's sake.

Bogolyubov reached into his front pocket, where small change usually hung out.

“I didn’t give enough,” the wretched woman said contemptuously, taking the coins into her cold palm. - More.

- Go away, who am I telling!..

Bogolyubov looked back at Ivanushkin. For some reason he became pale, as if he was frightened, although nothing special happened.

“Get out of here,” the clique ordered when Bogolyubov handed her a piece of paper—fifty kopecks. – There’s nothing for you to do here.

“I’ll figure it out myself,” Andrei Ilyich muttered, throwing his trunk over his shoulder.

* * *

...Well then! Shall we begin?..

“Coop,” Bogolyubov said to himself. - That's how co-op!..

- Hello! – They greeted loudly very close.

– What’s in the house with the flag? – Bogolyubov asked the first of the questions that arose.

Alexander Ivanushkin craned his neck, looked behind Bogolyubov and was suddenly surprised:

“Great,” Bogolyubov interrupted disrespectfully. – Which way is the lake?

– There are lakes there, about three kilometers away. Yes, you come in, come into the house, Andrei Ilyich. Or are you going straight to the lake?..

- I won’t go to the lake right away! - said Bogolyubov. – I’ll go to the lake later!..

“Well,” Alexander puffed, “well, I’ll help, allow me.”

“I won’t allow it,” answered Bogolyubov, without letting go of the trunk, “I’ll do it on my own.”

“Give it to the orphans for poverty,” the poor woman in black robes said clearly. - For Christ's sake.

Bogolyubov reached into his front pocket, where small change usually hung out.

“I didn’t give enough,” the wretched woman said contemptuously, taking the coins into her cold palm. - More.

- Go away, who am I telling!..

Bogolyubov looked back at Ivanushkin. For some reason he became pale, as if he was frightened, although nothing special happened.

“Get out of here,” the clique ordered when Bogolyubov handed her a piece of paper—fifty kopecks. – There’s nothing for you to do here.

“I’ll figure it out myself,” Andrei Ilyich muttered, throwing his trunk over his shoulder.

“There will be trouble,” the poor woman promised.

- Leave! – Ivanushkin almost shouted. – Still croaking here!..

“There will be trouble,” repeated the wretched woman. - The dog howled. Death was calling.

“Once upon a time there lived a gray goat with my grandmother,” Andrei Ilyich sang to the tune of “The heart of a beauty is prone to betrayal,” “once upon a time there lived with my grandmother a gray goat!”

“Don’t pay attention, Andrei Ilyich,” Alexander Ivanushkin said from behind, slightly out of breath, as they walked toward the house along a wet path covered with last year’s rotten leaves, “she’s crazy.” She prophesies all kinds of troubles, misfortunes, although this is understandable, she herself is an unhappy person, she can be forgiven.

Bogolyubov made a turn, almost hitting his excited interlocutor on the nose with his trunk.

-Who is she?..

- Mother Euphrosyne. This is what we call her, although she does not have a monastic title, she is simply wretched. For Christ’s sake she goes asking, and here she lives, no one persecutes her, and don’t pay any attention to her...

- I don’t pay attention. You are experiencing something!..

- Yes, of course! You are my new boss, the director of the museum-reserve, a great figure, I must create all the conditions for you...

Some iron rattled, as if a chain was being dragged, and a vile, dirty dog with a bared mouth rolled out right under Bogolyubov’s feet, snored and began to limp desperately, falling on its front paws. Bogolyubov, not expecting anything like this, stumbled, the heavy trunk moved, tilted, and Andrei Ilyich, the new director of the museum-reserve and a big shot, fell into the mud right in front of the nose of the raging dog. She choked on barking and began to break from the chain with triple strength.

- Andrei Ilyich, oh, how awkward! Come on, come on, get up! Are you hurt? So what is this?! Get out of here! Place! Go to the place I'm telling you! Hold your hand, Andrei Ilyich!

Bogolyubov pushed Ivanushkin’s hand away, groaning and rose from the liquid mud. The trunk was lying in a puddle. The dog was hysterical right in front of him.

“I wish I could drown her, but there’s no one.” They wanted the veterinarian to put him to sleep, but he says that he has no right to put him to sleep without the owner’s permission, so, Lord have mercy, what a problem!..

“Okay, that’s it,” Bogolyubov ordered, “that’s enough.” Is there water in the house?

Hands, jeans, elbows - everything was covered in black, delicious mud. Once upon a time there lived a gray goat with my grandmother!..

“Water,” Alexander Ivanushkin muttered from behind, following Bogolyubov up onto the porch, “we have water, the pump pumps, and there is a water heater, so it heats, so... Excuse me, Andrei Ilyich, for the oversight of what you will do...

Bogolyubov pushed open the white painted doors one after another and entered the quiet twilight, smelling of alien life and old wood. He paused and pulled his shoes off one against the other - the floors were covered with clean rugs.

“The bath is in the kitchen,” Alexander Ivanushkin continued from behind, “there’s a water heater and a sink.” And the toilet is further down the corridor, there’s the last door, I just need to attach the hook, I didn’t have time.

“Toilet,” Andrei Ilyich repeated and began to unbutton and take off his jeans right in the middle of the corridor. – Do you think, Alexander, will we be able to defend my things? Or did the monster drag them into his cave?..

The new subordinate sighed.

“She lives under the porch,” he said and looked away, “they tied her up when the director fell ill.” He, the poor fellow, did not die immediately; he lay there for three months. But she doesn’t let anyone near her! It happened that she would break down and run away, but then she would come and they would tie her up again. I go there, under the porch, we throw it. It would be a good idea to put her to sleep, or even better, shoot her. Don't you have a gun?..

Ivanushkin hesitated and rattled his boots on the painted floors - he went to save the things of the new boss. Bogolyubov pulled off his jeans and, carrying them in his outstretched hand, entered the cramped kitchenette. There was a round table covered with oilcloth, several hard chairs, a gloomy sideboard with a torn off door, a chipped sink, a stove from the times of Ochakov and the conquest of the Crimea, a long narrow brass bathtub with two taps and a gas water heater on the wall.

Andrei Ilyich threw his jeans into the bathtub, turned the faucet - something hissed, strained, and grunted inside the house. Nothing happened for a long time, and then water started pouring out of the tap.

“And thank you for that,” muttered Andrei Ilyich and began vigorously soaping his hands with a piece of pink strawberry soap placed on the edge of the bathtub.

In the end, it's even funny. The goat starts a new life in a new place. No, no, not a goat, but a whole goat. Once upon a time there lived a gray goat with my grandmother!..

Alexander Ivanushkin pulled in the trunk - it was completely wet on one side - and sighed.

-Why are you snoring? - Bogolyubov inquired, fishing out clean jeans from his trunk. “Better tell me how things are going in the museum institution entrusted to me!”

- Have you come to close us? – Alexander asked in a cheerful tone. – Or repurpose it?.. There is talk in the city that the museum is being closed. And not only schoolchildren and pensioners come to us, scientists from all over the country come to us, and foreigners too. We have thematic programs, conduct lectures, our museum is the center of cultural life of the entire region, so to speak.

Bogolyubov, pulling on his jeans, pulled the oilcloth off the round table, rolled it into a huge shapeless lump and looked around with his eyes for where to throw it. I couldn’t find it and put it on a chair behind the stove. Alexander followed the lump with his eyes.

“The old director lived in this house,” he said sadly. - Until he died.

“He lived until he died,” Bogolyubov repeated. - This is logical.

“We thought Anna Lvovna would be appointed, but it turned out they decided differently.” You have been appointed. In Moscow we know better, of course.

“Of course,” agreed Andrei Ilyich. - I sit high, I look far away.

– Anna Lvovna is old, of course, but she is a great specialist; she has worked in our museum all her life. You should talk to her, Andrei Ilyich. So to speak, for starters, to get into the course. Otherwise it will be too late...

- Why late? - Bogolyubov asked absently, wondering when exactly to wash his jeans - right now or wait until Ivanushkin stops surrounding him with care and attention.

Alexander sighed so much that his broad shoulders, squeezed by his plaid shirt, rose and fell.

“Anna Lvovna is leaving,” he said sadly. - To my son in Kislovodsk. I wanted to even before your arrival, but we persuaded you to stay... As soon as I found out that a new director had been appointed from Moscow, I began to get ready. She has been retired for a long time, an honored cultural worker, a respected person. And that’s what they did to her.

“Well, if you’re hinting that I tricked the respected Anna Lvovna,” said Bogolyubov, having not finally decided about the pants, “then don’t try too hard.” I didn't pester her.

“What are you doing, what are you saying,” Alexander was frightened, “how can you do it!” I myself am a new person here, only three months ago, we just didn’t expect your appointment.

“I didn’t expect it myself,” admitted Andrei Ilyich. - So what to do?..

“Ugh,” said Alexander and unbuttoned and fastened the button on the tight collar again. - How awkward...

“Don’t talk,” Bogolyubov agreed.

He walked around the three cramped rooms with long strides. One of them was almost entirely occupied by a lush bed with nickel-plated bumps and a mountain of pillows, with a crocheted bedspread thrown over the pillows. In another there was a desk under a green cloth, a window looking out onto a poor and bare evening garden, bookcases with dull wavy glass without a single book, and a couple of dusty sofas, and in the third a table, not round, but oval, an empty pile of dishes, some... then portraits in frames, another sagging sofa and several rickety chairs. From the corridor a narrow staircase led to the second floor.

“It’s cold and attic upstairs,” Alexander Ivanushkin informed. - The old director set up a cold workshop. He loved painting very much and astronomy too. And there’s just a lot of light up there!.. He painted his paintings there and held a telescope.

- Telesco-op? – Andrei Ilyich was surprised. – Where did you work before?..

“In Yasnaya Polyana,” Ivanushkin quickly answered. - Researcher. Came here with a promotion, deputy director. That is, your deputy.

– Yasnaya Polyana is a famous place. I would even say it’s iconic,” Bogolyubov muttered. – Aren’t you bored here? Still, the scale is different.

“I’m not bored,” Ivanushkin answered with some challenge. – It’s not boring here at all, Andrei Ilyich. It probably doesn’t seem that way after Moscow, you need to get used to it, but a thinking person will always and everywhere find a suitable occupation and the opportunity to continue his scientific work. I am in constant correspondence with the London National Gallery; by the summer we are expecting colleagues from there who study European painting of the nineteenth century. We have an excellent collection, everything is in perfect order!.. Not every metropolitan museum can boast of such a collection as ours.

“Great,” Bogolyubov appreciated. – Where can I buy food?.. Or do you only take spiritual food?

“Why, not just spiritual...” Alexander pulled at his checkered cuffs. – We, like everywhere else, have a large supermarket, right opposite, behind the City Council. It’s called “Mini-market “Luzhok”. There is a market, but now it is closed, of course. All sorts of other stores. There is a bakery next to you called “Kalachnaya No. 3”, right here on Red Square, and then “Meat and Fish”. Modest Petrovich runs a restaurant for tourists, the tavern is called “Monpensier”, it’s also nearby, on the right hand. Tasty, but very expensive. Now everyone is drawn to the old days, especially residents of the capital. They really like taverns and taverns! We have a hotel, and that one is “Furnished rooms of the tradeswoman Zykova”!

- And what? Well thought out.

– So they came to close us down or just repurpose us?..

Bogolyubov, who was tired of his deputy with his ingratiating appearance and ridiculous checkered shirt, announced that the museum would be repurposed into an entertainment complex, and the territory would be divided between a drug treatment center and a shooting range, and he, Alexander Ivanushkin, would head the direction of working with difficult teenagers .

Alexander blinked.

“Thank you very much,” said Andrei Ilyich. – For the warm welcome, for the love, for the affection! Come pick me up at ten o'clock tomorrow. Let's go to the workplace and see what needs to be done in terms of the future of paintball. And now - I apologize. I would like to take things apart.

The guest - or, conversely, the owner?.. - nodded and hastily retreated. A plaid shirt flashed between the old apple trees and disappeared behind a picket fence.

Andrei Ilyich dragged things out of the car and washed his jeans in the basin. Then he left the house. The vile dog threw itself at his feet, choking and barking. The chain did not let her in, but Bogolyubov still shied to the side and almost fell again.

He walked up to the car and couldn’t believe his eyes. The right front tire was cut, making the car appear to suddenly go limp in one leg. A knife protruded from the rubber rim, pinning a dirty piece of paper. Bogolyubov sat down and looked.

“Get out before it’s too late,” was scrawled in black marker.

Bogolyubov pulled out the knife with difficulty, crumpled the paper and looked around.

There was no one in the square, only in the distance a man was pushing a wheelbarrow, rattling along the ancient cobblestones, and a long figure in black clothes was crumbling bread from a bag to the burrowing pigeons.

The Montpensier tavern was like Andrei Ilyich’s house - painted floors, clean rugs, pots of geraniums on the windows, crocheted frills on the tablecloths - and there were no people, only the music was playing loudly. A purple silicone blonde pranced across the flat television screen.

In the center there is a long table set - in the middle there is a bouquet and a composition of bananas and pineapple.

Andrei Ilyich sighed, sat down by the window, touched the geranium and smelled his palm - what a stinking flower it is, it’s impossible!.. Household affairs - and business in general! - finished for today: he got to his “destination”, met the deputy, fell into a puddle, “checked in”, received an offer to get out, washed his pants, dragged things out of the car. Now he wanted to eat and drink. He sniffed his palm again. The smell of geranium was reminiscent of childhood and a disease called “mumps”. Grandmother always put geranium leaves in the compress: for some reason it was believed that they “healed”.

There was some movement behind the counter, a light flickered, a door opened and closed. Bogolyubov was waiting. A lively young man with his hair parted in the middle, with a leather folder in his hands and wearing a long white apron, jumped out from behind the counter. He held the folder in front of him like a shield.

- Good evening! – the young man blurted out. – We are closed for special services, there is a sign on the door.

- Will you give me dinner?

The waiter blocked himself with a folder.

“We’re closed,” he repeated. - There is a sign on the door. We are having a big banquet today.

- I would like something hot. Let's say soup. Do you have solyanka? Well, meat, or something. And coffee right away. Does your coffee machine brew, or do you manage it on your own?.. If on your own, then it’s better to drink tea.

The waiter became sad.

“We have special services,” he repeated. - What are you doing? Don't you understand?.. I'm here now.

And he rushed behind the counter.

- Turn down the volume! – Bogolyubov shouted after him. - Better yet, turn it off completely!

The purple blonde on the screen was replaced by an emaciated brunette and talked about love. A large gray cat silently materialized next to Bogolyubov’s table, sat down in the middle of the rug, thought and began to wash himself. He looked sleepy.

Bogolyubov, who was tired of waiting for the meeting to end in the kitchen, got up and went to the ruined TV. How can I turn it off, huh?.. Unplug it from the socket, perhaps?..

“Good evening,” said a rich bass voice. Bogolyubov looked behind the panel in search of an outlet. – We always welcome guests in our tavern, but today, unfortunately, we cannot treat you! We are having an event...

The socket was high. Bogolyubov, holding the plastic corner, reached out and pulled out the plug. The screen went dark and the chants stopped.

“That’s how wonderful,” Andrei Ilyich muttered in the ensuing silence and crawled out from behind the television panel.

The owner of the rich bass turned out to be a strong, gray-haired man, dressed in a shiny black suit and, for some reason, galoshes. His glasses stuck out awkwardly on his nose. The young man from earlier loomed over his shoulder.

“Hello,” Bogolyubov greeted. - How much I don’t like this music! I don’t like it, that’s all!..

“Many guests love it,” the man answered, examining him. – How can there be a restaurant without music?..

“Modest Petrovich,” Andrei Ilyich said sincerely, “you give me dinner, and that’s the end of it.” I don’t claim a banquet or special services. I really want to eat!.. And it would be nice to drink too. And “Kalachnaya No. 3” is locked. What should we do?

“Even so,” the man said thoughtfully. – So who will you be?..

“I will be the director of the museum,” Bogolyubov said. - Yes, in fact, I am already the director!.. Your neighbor, I live at Red Square, house one!..

“I didn’t even see him come in,” the waiter poked his head in.

-Where is Slava? – without turning his head, Modest Petrovich asked, and the waiter took off and ran somewhere, apparently to look for Slava, who had overlooked Bogolyubov. - Come on in, sit down! Of course, we'll feed you, if that's the case. How long have you arrived?..

- I arrived today.

- So this is your car with a boat on a trailer?

“Mine,” Bogolyubov admitted, walked around the cat and sat down in his original place under the geranium.

- Fisherman? Hunter?

Andrei Ilyich nodded - both fisherman and hunter.

- And... how do you know my name?

- Intelligence reported, Modest Petrovich!..

– What would you like to be called?

Andrei Ilyich introduced himself. Despite all the strangeness and troubles of the day, he was in a good mood. The most important thing is to start. He prepared for a long time, gathered, tried on, knowing that a difficult task awaited him. Today difficulties began, and this is very good. Once they have begun, it means that they will continue to come to an end, there is no turning back. They will go on and on and someday they will end!..

“I would like some hot soup,” Bogolyubov asked. - Fried meat. And vodka... one hundred and fifty.

- Maybe two hundred? – Modest Petrovich doubted.

Andrei Ilyich laughed.

– Two hundred, Modest Petrovich, this is for adventure! And for me to go to bed.

Modest nodded, accepting the explanation, turned and pushed the waiter, who was about to place a folder in front of the client, went behind the counter and returned with a glass of green glass, two shot glasses and a plate on which pink lard was laid out.

- Let me treat the new director. “He placed a plate on the tablecloth and deftly poured vodka into the glasses. - Well, welcome and for your appetite!

They clinked glasses and knocked back in unison.

- Have a snack, have a snack, Andrei Ilyich! We salt the salsa ourselves, people come to us from Moscow for it!

Bogolyubov took a bite.

– Why do people in the capital show us such disrespect and distrust?..

- In what sense?

- Well... they sent you! You are probably a busy person, accustomed to metropolitan life! And here we have silence and boredom. Slowness is observed. It will be awkward for you here. Yes, and you need to delve into it. And Anna Lvovna has been maintaining the museum for thirty years in such a way that it is very expensive, it is indicated in foreign guidebooks! And such dislike towards her suddenly appeared! After all, even under the late director, she did everything herself, everything herself. She got to everything, delved into everything!..

Bogolyubov picked up another piece from the plate.

- Your lard is delicious.

- We are trying. Yes, eat, eat!.. Kostya, hurry up the hodgepodge there!.. So that it’s fiery!.. What kind of rumors do we have? They say here that they send a person from the capital for a reason, but for some kind of property!.. Therefore, our museum is now finished.

- Why? – Bogolyubov was surprised.

…It’s actually interesting that the owner of a restaurant “for tourists” is so widely aware of the life of the museum! One might say, he is a fan of museum work!

“That’s what they say,” Modest Petrovich answered evasively. – But you don’t know Anna Lvovna, do you?

Bogolyubov shook his head negatively.

“So let’s meet now!” Andrei Ilyich stopped chewing and looked at his interlocutor. “Everything, we will have everything, Anna Lvovna, and Ninochka, and Dmitry Pavlovich, and Alexander Igorevich, all from the museum!.. And Speransky himself promised! We are organizing a banquet just for them. We are seeing off, so to speak, Anna Lvovna for her well-deserved rest; she is leaving us. You come to us, and she comes from us, that’s how it turns out.

...This is not the point at all. It was not Bogolyubov’s plans to meet the employees at the Montpensier tavern. You need to quickly eat and get out of here. Otherwise Anna Lvovna will get excited!..

“Modest Petrovich,” Bogolyubov asked sincerely, “why am I going to ruin people’s holiday and feast!” Give me something to eat, and I’ll go unpack my things.

- How so? Don't you want to meet?! Somehow it doesn't work like a human being.

Andrei Ilyich, of course, intended to meet, but... on his own territory and on his own terms. He must evaluate each employee correctly; as you know, the first impression is almost always the most correct. Bogolyubov knew that none of them expected his appointment, and first of all he had to see how they would react to him - at work, in the office, anywhere, just not in the tavern!.. And he had already sipped vodka and now I felt my cheeks and ears fill with a hot redness. Vodka always made him look like Parsley from a children's book!

The waiter brought a clay pot, covered with a slice of black bread, and reverently placed it in front of Bogolyubov. Modest Petrovich stood up.

- Well, bon appetit!.. Our Solyanochka is famous, people come specially from Moscow to our Solyanka... Yes, here are the first guests. Dmitry Pavlovich, dear, come in, you've been waiting for too long!..

Andrei Ilyich took the bread from the pot, smelled first a chunk, then the hodgepodge. Salted and peppered. He didn’t want to turn around, and suddenly it became so awkward that his neck became wet. He buried himself in the pot and began to slurp the fiery soup. There was some movement behind him, chairs were pushed back, loud voices were heard:

- Here, here, it’s not blowing here!.. Anna Lvovna, maybe there’s a chair for you? Ninul, look how beautiful this bouquet is! Closer, closer!.. Will there be a julienne? I love Julienne so much!.. Everything, everything will be!..

Bogolyubov was eating. The cat, tired of the noise, twitched its ears contemptuously and softly jumped onto the chair opposite Andrei Ilyich. He made a face at him.

Modest Petrovich began to hum in a muffled bass voice—boo-boo-boo—and Bogolyubov realized that it was about to begin. They are talking about him, now someone will come up. And he got angry.

He put down the spoon, looked at the cat again, stood up and turned around.

“Good evening,” he loudly and cheerfully greeted the company at the table. Conversations suddenly fell silent. Modest Petrovich moved his lips away from the ear of the distinguished young man, stopped humming and stared at him. – My name is Andrei Ilyich Bogolyubov!.. I have been appointed the new director of the Museum of Fine Arts and the entire museum complex, so to speak, as a whole!.. I am not guilty of anything, I was appointed by the Minister of Culture. Although you can manage to add crushed glass to my hodgepodge, I haven’t finished it all yet.

And he bowed. There was silence at the table.

“Witty,” the lady finally said, apparently offended by his appointment, Anna Lvovna. - Join us. Does anyone mind?

- Of course not, Anna Lvovna!

The young man stood up - he was tall, broad-shouldered, with a pleasant Russian face - and walked around the table to Bogolyubov.

– Dmitry Sautin, businessman, I do a little business here...

“Dmitry Pavlovich helps the museum a lot,” they said from the table. - And in the administration he stands up for us, and organizes holidays, and prints books at his own expense.

They met in the middle of the hall and shook hands.

- Come on, come to us! You are a clever man, Modest Petrovich, this is the kind of meeting you organized for us in an informal atmosphere!.. And here you managed to do it.

- What do I have to do with it?.. He came himself and asked for food...

“Good evening,” muttered Alexander Ivanushkin and checked whether the collar of his checkered shirt was buttoned securely.

- Yes, we have already met.

- We saw each other during the day, and now it’s evening...

And then everyone spoke at once:

– Should I serve the ladies some champagne?.. There is semi-sweet, good.

- Come on, come on, Modest Petrovich! Bring whatever the protocol stipulates!..

– Anna Lvovna, guardian angel of our museum, an invaluable person, a great expert in her field. In Europe they know her and take her into account.

– Stop chatting, Dima.

- So this is the pure truth, Anna Lvovna!..

…Strange affair. Bogolyubov imagined his former and... O. The museum director is completely different. He imagined a haunted museum aunt in a shawl, grabbed glasses and with a fig of poor hair from which hairpins were coming out in all directions. For some reason he also saw a jacket, certainly green and certainly with rolled up sleeves, and a plaid skirt. Anna Lvovna turned out to be not at all old, a representative plump lady in loose silk clothes. His blue-black hair is tied into a ponytail, his eyes are heavily lined with blue, and his lips are scarlet. She looked at Bogolyubov appraisingly and as if with mockery. There was strength and calm confidence in her. It was she who was now receiving Bogolyubov with his new appointment, and not he Anna Lvovna with her just accomplished resignation.

She extended her hand as if for a kiss. He gently shook his hand and let go. She chuckled slightly:

– I hope that under your leadership the museum will continue to flourish.

– Is it thriving? – Bogolyubov could not resist.

“Yes,” answered the girl sharply, looking just as little like a museum worker as Anna Lvovna, “imagine!.. If it doesn’t occur to you to actually manage it, it will continue to flourish.”

– Anna Lvovna, I’m not a saint! It seems to me that after everything that happened, it is indecent to force yourself into our company.

“Ninochka,” Dmitry Sautin, an assistant in all museum affairs and a guardian for all endeavors, either asked or ordered. - Do not rush. A person sees us for the first time, he’ll think who knows what!..

– I don’t care, let him think what he wants. If he doesn't understand, I'll leave.

“Nina is a researcher and one of the best tour guides,” recommended Dmitry.

“Excuse her, Andrei Ilyich,” said Anna Lvovna, who seemed amused by this scene. “She’s just caring.” Life is easier for indifferent people, right? We were all somewhat discouraged by your appointment and such a quick... arrival.

Bogolyubov, who had decided to leave at any cost, and to hell with them, with half-drunk vodka and uneaten meat, pulled out a chair from the table and sat down thoroughly. Leaving now means admitting defeat. Tomorrow in the office he will have to start not from scratch, but to get out of the hole into which he is about to be driven.

He didn't want to start from the pit.

“Well, Alexander Igorevich met you today, you have already met,” Dmitry Sautin continued the introduction of the museum staff.

...Why is he representing, and not Anna Lvovna? Because he is more important? Because a businessman gives money for samizdat?

– Asenka is also a tour guide, and an excellent one too!.. She works very well with children. Yes, Asenka?..

The girl nodded without looking up. She just looks like a tour guide from a provincial museum, Bogolyubov appreciated, in contrast to the bright, big-eyed Nina. Gray hair, gray face, gray jacket, old-fashioned glasses on his pointed nose. She sat on the edge of the chair, her hands folded in her lap, completely indifferent. Conversations, movements, movements around the table did not seem to concern her, flowed around her from all sides.

Bogolyubov looked away and looked again. She froze like a mummy.

- Well, these are our graduate students! The museum is actually carrying out serious scientific work, Andrei Ilyich!.. Mitya is from St. Petersburg, helping with the restoration of some paintings, and Nastya is a Muscovite, like you!.. She is writing a dissertation on ancient Russian art.

“Hello,” said Mitya from St. Petersburg. He was chewing something, his eyes were cheerful. – Where did you work before? Did you go through the construction part or the bath trust?

Anna Lvovna laughed and shook her finger at him. Mitya, realizing that he had pleased, fished a cucumber out of the salad and crunched it triumphantly.

Nastya extended her hand to Bogolyubov and vigorously shook his palm.

“Morozova,” she introduced herself. – The collection of ancient Russian icon painting here is not very large, but significant. I am very grateful to Dmitry Pavlovich for the idea to do the work using local material. In Moscow, little is known about this collection, and no one mentions it at all! So Dmitry Pavlovich suggested...

And she looked at Sautin either with adoration or with gratitude, Bogolyubov couldn’t tell clearly.

A waiter with a parted hair was placing tin bowls with yellow contents on the table. Bogolyubov remembered that the bowls were called “cocottes”, and the contents were called “julienne”. Julien in the cocotte maker in the Montpensier tavern on a spring evening in the most literal Russian province - beauty!..

Wonderful are your works, Lord! Tatyana Ustinova

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Title: Wonderful are your works, O Lord!

About the book “Wonderful are your works, O Lord!” Tatyana Ustinova

“Wonderful are your works, O Lord!” is an easy and very exciting detective story from Tatyana Ustinova. “Living” language, ironic narrative style, dynamic adventures and unpredictable endings have become the reason for the enormous popularity of the Russian writer. She already has more than 40 novels in her collection. Most of them are written in the detective genre.

In addition, Tatyana Ustinova received many awards, including the prestigious TEFI award for the script for the television series “Always Say Always,” based on the author’s novel of the same name. Today, most of the writer’s books have been filmed. Her works sell in huge quantities. Thus, some novels are published in more than 33 million copies.

The author's works have several common characteristics. For example, many of them raise eternal questions of good and evil. The writer talks about important life moments, proves that happiness cannot be bought with money or with the help of power. The heroes of her novels necessarily change for the better or strive for this. It is quite interesting that the prototypes of individual heroes are real people.

Thanks to the ironic style of narration, the author’s works are charged with a positive mood and optimism. Tatyana Ustinova helps readers believe in love and goodness, in the victory of good over evil and gives a true description of the most different aspects of life and human character. These are pleasant and surprisingly light stories, and the book “Wonderful are your works, O Lord!” was no exception.

This novel introduces us to Andrei Ilyich Bogolyubov. A stately and handsome Muscovite decides to leave the capital for the outback. There are several reasons for this, however, the main one is divorce from your beloved wife.

So, our hero becomes the director of a successful art museum. However, having reached his destination, Bogolyubov encounters incomprehensible hostility: starting from the museum employees and the restaurant owner and ending with his predecessor’s dog.

But this is not all the problems that await the man - the former director of the museum dies before his eyes. Her colleagues blame the newly arrived director for her death. They threaten him and do dirty tricks on him: they puncture his tires, plant disgusting notes on him, suspect him of trying to close the museum, and even try to kill him!.. After this, the main character of the novel “Wonderful are your deeds, Lord!” realizes that something dark is happening at the museum, so he takes crime investigation seriously.

On our website about books you can download the site for free without registration or read online the book “Wonderful are your works, O Lord!” Tatyana Ustinova in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.

Quotes from the book “Wonderful are your works, O Lord!” Tatyana Ustinova

- About the fact that I am so smart and brave that I don’t need anyone’s advice. I don't need support either. I myself, I can do everything myself!.. I have an education and, as it were, a profession!.. I got married, stayed married, then stopped being married, and all by myself!.. Just think, it’s a deal! There was one husband, there will be another, even better than the previous one, but I deserve more! It’s just some kind of brain disease, you know?.. It’s called “I deserve more”! And give me this “more” this minute, and not in some distant future, for which I need to work, build it, invent it, implement it. “I had everything,” she continued, as if surprised. - And nothing happened!.. And no one told me: stop what you’re doing, come to your senses! They told me: that’s right, that’s how it should be, you deserve more.

You think you have forever, so you're wasting your time. You think you have a million chances left, and that’s why you throw them away so recklessly. You think you have so much joy of being in reserve that you have the right to throw it left and right.

- Despite the fact that now the men and I are brothers in mind, and not creatures of different sexes. We are so independent and confident that it doesn’t even occur to us... to stop. And think. Think with your head what's next?..

…You're stupid. Brainless idiots. Cretins.
You think you have forever, so you're wasting your time. You think you have a million chances left, and that’s why you throw them away so recklessly. You think you have so much joy of being in reserve that you have the right to throw it left and right. Well, okay, let's see.

When forced, the most natural and strong desire is not to obey. Break out, so to speak, from under pressure and oppression, and even pull the nose of those who force. What to do if forcing is the only way to a bright future? This is a question that no one has ever asked! It seems that throughout the entire twentieth century people have only tried to make each other happy by force, to force their own kind to work for this brightest future. Those who refused were first forced - in various ways - then they began to kill, then they began to kill everyone in a row and those who agreed too. What happened is what happened, and instead of a bright future - today's present, in which the brave mayor forcibly forces the townspeople to sweep the streets.

A noble nature does not know how to distinguish between traitors and scoundrels, because it itself is not capable of anything like that!

* * *

...Well then! Shall we begin?..

“Coop,” Bogolyubov said to himself. - That's how co-op!..

- Hello! – They greeted loudly very close.

– What’s in the house with the flag? – Bogolyubov asked the first of the questions that arose.

Alexander Ivanushkin craned his neck, looked behind Bogolyubov and was suddenly surprised:

“Great,” Bogolyubov interrupted disrespectfully. – Which way is the lake?

– There are lakes there, about three kilometers away.

Yes, you come in, come into the house, Andrei Ilyich. Or are you going straight to the lake?..