How comparable it was to the relationship between his son and Maria Gora could not determine — for that it was necessary to see
her with his own eyes.
Entering the sector of the transportation hub, Gavriil outlined to himself one of today's problems and calculated with what kind of question the commander of this event would come to him now — the work at the 253rd soma today has not gone well. It was clear why: the people had not slept well, and in addition to that yesterday they had no strength left.
Gora moved a little from the entrance to the corner of the room: there was a wide view, in fact, he himself often stood at this point during his group's shifts.
The pretty girl glared at him for a moment, then turned away, continuing to fill the container with coal. Despite her lustrous golden hair and rather tall stature, she didn't really stand out, but her gaze gave him away. She looked at him like someone she didn't know personally, but at the same time familiar in general. It was hard for Gabriel to get a good look at her face from such a distance, but it seemed familiar.
"Mountain!" — came a shout from somewhere on the edge, which is how everyone greeted him today for some reason: Georgy Volin, deputy chief of the 253rd Som (number 2536484B2), sparkled with joy.
"Volin, of course! — Gabriel cried out in thought. — That's whose daughter she is. Well, that's good. She has a great father. A real actor."
Three seconds later, the zam was already beside him. "Ahhhh…" he cheered, hugging Gabriel. — It's good to see
you."
Volin relaxed his hands, leaned back, still holding on to Gabriel's forearms: "My chief is looking for you. We don't
have any rage here — we're obviously going to fall short of the plan.
"I don't think it's a gimmick to anyone," Gora replied, trying to put his colleague at ease.
#Yes, yes. — Volin couldn't stop playing with his eyebrows. — Except that today we're going to surprise everyone. Ha- Ha-Ha-Ha."
"I like your healthy optimism."
"Who else here can be healthy… Since you like it, take me in with your family."
"And does he know, too," thought Gabriel. — that my son is about to marry his daughter?"
"I'm just kidding! — he was really joking. — Without people like me, people here would die from losing their sense of humor… Really, people like me are almost all catfish here. Don't you think?"
"Our whole column is differentiated by that."
"Here, by the way, is a new anecdote: "A miner asks another, "Who can be considered a coward?" Answer: "He who volunteers for the Maquis." Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. It's true, there's nothing to do here but die: there's nothing to breathe, everything around is exploding, and there's nothing to say about food and water," at the end of the sentence he turned serious and shook his head negatively.
"So is there anything I can help you with?"
"Sure, buddy, sure. Here comes the commander. Talk to him, and I'll go cheer up the people," — Volin retreated and, turning around, rushed towards the locomotive loaded with minerals.
Gora turned his head to the side — the commander of Soma #235, Ivan Dubrovsky (number 547137A2), did not radiate half the optimism of his deputy (a good and effective method in contrasting leadership). As he approached, he reached out and shook his hand, then turned his sad eyes away and mouthed, "Gavriil. I've been looking for you since the beginning of the day. Zhora has probably already told you… and you can see for yourself. Work is just not going well today… Pardon the pun, but that's just the way it is." He sighed heavily: "Gabriel, I hear your team is cleaning twenty-four tons today…"
"Right."
"What the plagues did to those who fulfilled the plan by one-third could be imagined (their norm was 75 percent, for every percentage below that two percent of the soma were punished with five strokes of stones, as the number of strokes increased, the number of strokes reached ten, and the critical level was 25 percent). Ivan's eyes were already filled with impending deaths and the realization that it was not in his power to fix it.
"You shouldn't downplay your abilities. I'm sure your score is between 8 and 10… But it doesn't matter. We'll help you anyway. 14 tons. You can't go any smaller."
"Fourteen?"
"Yes, exactly. That's the most you'll get today. Even if they get all 24." "Mountain… God, you just saved us all."
"You'll thank me later. And not me, but my men. Twenty-seven percent of them to receive five strokes each. There are a total of one hundred and eighty-three men in my team. Twenty-seven percent is fifty men, that's 250 strokes. Of those, mine are only five. What are they worth?"
"Yes, yes, Gabriel. Well you just saved us…"
"Okay, okay. We'll talk about that later, you better go make the most of it, including for us." "Thank you very much again, Gavriil…" — Ivan immediately rushed forward into the labor. Now was the perfect opportunity to chat with Maria.
"Maria? — Gora asked the pretty girl.
She turned, "Yes… And you, I think, are Gavriil Vladimirovich."
"Yes, yes, that's absolutely right. Can I ask you something?" — Gora, like any self-respecting boss, had a knack for and liked to discern the wording of a sentence, such as the one he was using now. The expression "May I talk to you" and its derivatives were common, but he had noticed that the word "talk" not infrequently alarmed the interlocutor, so his interpretation of this address would include the word "ask", which, in particular, was very applicable to women who liked to talk about themselves.
"Of course you can. Just wouldn't want to take a break from work," her eyes were brimming with sincerity. — You're probably already aware of the fact that we're not tucking in today…"
"Altruistic, but partially so. That's a good thing. Will make an excellent mother… and wife too, of course," Gabriel thought and said: "That's alright, you don't have to worry about that issue. Our team will help your…you know what I mean."
"Honestly, it doesn't matter what rank you'd be, but if I didn't know your authority I wouldn't believe you," the girl admitted and jumped off the wagon and onto the ground.
Finally, she stood a step away from the Mountain, the light fully illuminating her. She was even lovelier than before.
She even looked a little like her fiancé, and her eyes were almost the same: They showed a will (internal, to the core, though of a different character), a certain impenetrability (much less than Raphael's, and it covered personal places, not everything that was of interest), as well as the absence of weakness (of course, everyone has weaknesses, but both Raphael and Mary did not show them, he because of his intransigence to himself, she — unwillingness to show it to others, and if something did not work out, they all had "their" ways out: Raphael's was prayer and self-conviction, Maria's was anger up to certain limits; she was angry, in principle, on every occasion, but always exclusively at herself, which moved forward, to achieve the goal, which she could not fail to achieve). In addition to her eyes, her facial expressions were noteworthy, which, if successfully "translated", showed her moods, including her own.
"So, what did you want to ask me?"
"You don't know a guy… blond hair, like yours, skin so white, well quite former, and also his arm has burns on it… left?" — the future son-in-law asked slyly.
"Raphael? Are you talking about your son?" "Yes, yes… And you know him well?"
"Well, I know almost everyone here already… And how well… well, that's not for me to judge."
Gora almost cringed — Raphael, was he specially preparing her for this kind of talk? Or is she that amazingly intelligent? No, she's not. Obviously both.
Gabriel decided it was time to ask directly, "Mary, do you love my son?" "Yes… I love it very much."