Ring, ring! Ring, ring!

The clouds in the sky parted, and the car's interior had been lightened up with the first beam of light of the day. A muscular arm emerged from the plurality of blankets scattered all over the car's boot. A hand wearing a gold signet ring started to paw the surroundings in search of the mobile phone. The next moment, the blankets were launched up in the air and the man's head hit the ceiling.

'Damn!' Yakov mumbled a swear word.

Finally, he found the phone. Brushing his fingers through his hair resembling a bird's nest, he pressed the green button.

'Hello?' he mumbled deliriously.

'Oh heck, have I woken you up?' he heard Igor's surprised voice asking. 'I'm sorry, I didn't know you were still sleeping. You know it's already 11 am, don't you?

Instead of giving his answer, Feltsman rubbed his eyes, weary after the harsh night's sleep.

'Yakov? Are you there?'

'Yeaf, eyeam.' His response was a bit distorted with a yawn.

'Umm... everything alright? Are you feeling well?'

'Fucking great,' Yakov mumbled, stretching his arms lazily. 'I'm feeling fantastic. Why are you asking?'

He heard a sigh of relief on his side. 'Listen, I'm calling you because... well... I... I want to say sorry for yesterday,' Igor said shyly. 'I and Pavlo were talking to Tatyana and we've got a bit scolded for not being supportive... actually, we've got very scolded... she threatened she'd curse us, and so on... and we've figured out that even though we think it's a stupid idea and it would be better to give up the rink, 'cause it would be safer... we want you to know that we'll do everything to help you! I mean... we will leave this year anyway, as we'd been planning that way earlier... but we'll try to find the proper people in our place! And help you. With the bet, I mean.'

'What bet?' Feltsman ask in a voice suggesting he'd been high as a kite.

He flinched when his eyes met the sun all of the sudden.

'What... bet?' the manager repeated foolishly. 'You know... The Bet! The Bet written wit capital „B". Don't you remember? You and Vronkov? All or nothing?'

'Aaah.' Yakov yawned once again. 'Yeah, I remember. I know what you're talking about.'

'Erm... are you sure about that? 'Cause, you know... heheh... how do I put it... you sound very weird. You're strangely relaxed. Don't you want to yell a bit? Over the last couple days you acted like a walking nuclear bomb...'

'Maybe I did, but I'm done with that.'

'You're done?' Igor cheered up. 'Oh heck, that's amazing! Jesus, you have no idea how happy I am! So it was a good idea to send Tatyana to meet you... you had a talk and you felt better, right?'

'No.'

'Erm... no?'

Yakov realised he was a bit cold, so he started to look for the car keys. Nothing would happen if he turned the heating on for some time, would it?

'I've just had a completely fucked up dream tonight,' he mumbled, reaching for his jacket.

'A dream?'

'Yeah, a dream. And what happened in that dream crashed my brain so badly that I totally stopped to care about the bet.'

A silence fell for a moment.

'Erm... okay?' Igor said in an „I don't get it at all." voice.

'It's just that when I realised it was only a dream I was so relieved that you couldn't possibly have a fucking idea.' Yakov's hand immersed in the jacket's pocket. 'The God sent me a message. He's made me aware I have nothing to complain about. Maybe a lot of unpleasant stuff happened to me, but now I know there are people whose lives are harder. Such people as Father Frost or Spring the Beauty.'

'Father Frost and Spring the Beauty?'

'Exactly them.' His fingers finally found the key's metallic surface.

'So you dreamt about them? And you figured out their situation is even worse than yours?'

'Of course their situation is worse! When I think how much trouble they have raising up that little, deviant...'

In that moment Feltsman fished out the key and he realised something was attached to it. Something that wasn't there before. A keychain with an inscription.

Yakov could give only one reaction to that. The morning numbness transformed into fury in a second. With a vain showing on his forehead, Feltsman yelled: 'THAT DAMN FUCKER!'

'Eeek!' Igor answered with a frightened squeak. 'Y-Yakov, I'm fond that you're yourself again, but please, don't take the name of the Lord your Christ's lover in vain. Not that loud, at the v-very least. O-or at least warn me first, would you? I-I don't want to become deaf at such young age...'

'Shut up!' Feltsman snapped angrily. 'I'm going to swear as much as I want! Damn it! So that was not a dream. I've really met him.'

'You've met who?'

Yakov clenched his teeth. The hand that was holding the chain started to shiver. 'Who have I met... you're asking me who have I met? The most FUCKED UP eight-year-old walking this Earth! That's who I've met!'

On the other side, Igor swallowed a gulp nervously. 'C-could you share some more details? What exactly has happened?'

With a painful expression, Feltsman pressed his hand against his forehead. 'You don't want to know. Believe me, you don't fucking want to know...'

Right, right, Igor had no idea what he was asking for! He'd better live in his blissful ignorance. Yakov didn't have that luxury. Unfortunately, he could remember what exactly had happened excellently. He could perfectly remember the circumstances in which he'd beaten his own record in sobering up completely.

He remembered everything. Every single, tiny, fucking detail...

A few hours earlier

'Are you a tramp, Mister?'

With excitation on its sweet little face, the mysterious creature smiled at Yakov. If the pixie leaned any further, its long, silver hair would fall into Feltsman's eyes.

But... was it really a pixie?

The drunk man let himself have a moment to have a better look at the odd creature. The colour of its hair and the length of its eyelashes indicated one of the preppy God's messengers, called angels. A Tolkien's elf could do as well. But no, its ears were perfectly normal! The clothing indicated the modern times as well: a white jumper, grey sweatpants with purple straps on the sides, black hockey skates... nothing remarkable. Just some typical attributes of a ten year old child. Oh, right!

What an idiot I am... Yakov thought, resigned. It's not a pixie, it's a girl!

To have been working with brats for thirty years and mistake a human child with an extraterrestrial creature! Eh, he must've really lost his touch in terms of controlling his mind when being under the influence of alcohol... pfft! A pixie! What a nonsense.

On the other hand... even if that thing really was a girl, it didn't have to mean it was normal. After all, normal children didn't lean over strangers' (obviously drunk strangers) heads with expressions indicating they must have found a package of lollipops.

A warning alarm went off in Yakov's head: „Something is wrong with that girl! Run, until you can... run and get the hell out of here!"

But Feltsman ignored these feelings. It was children running from him, not the other way round.

And... what could a little, helpless ten-year-old could do to him? She didn't seem dangerous. Only maybe a bit annoying. Maybe if he ignored her, she would go away?

Giving a sigh, Feltsman closed his eyes. He had no intention of forcing his poor, messed with the alcohol mind to deal with more logical thinking. Come what may, he wouldn't move an inch from where he was!

I'll act like a bloody rock, he decided. Nobody and nothing will force me to lose my peace of mind.

„Misteeer!' he heard a loud chirrup by his ear. 'So are you a tramp, Mister, or are you nooot?'

Yakov's eyebrow shivered, but the exhausted fifty-year-old stayed in the same place. Eh, it seemed like he shouldn't have hoped for peace before giving the answer. 'No, I'm not,' he murmured.

'Ah! You have to be Father Frost*, then! I want a dog! A huge dog.'

WHAT THE?!

Feltsman opened his eyes instantly. That would be it in terms of pretending to be a rock. For fuck's sake... what an impertinent kid! Not only did she take him for a bloody present doner, but also started to make claims! She's got a lot of nerve!'

'I'm not Father Frost,' he stuttered, treating the girl with the most threatening look he was able to force: 'I hate Father Prost.'

'Oh my, why is that so?'

'Because his birthday is on the same day that Stalin's.'

'And who's Stalin?'

'Asking that question forty five years ago would end up for you getting your arse bruised with a rod!'

'Aah... so Stalin is a... Evil Father Frost?' the girl assumed. 'The one that gives people rods instead of presents?'

It was a very euphemistic way to describe a man who'd been holding the Soviet Union in his grip for thirty years. But Yakov was too tired and too wasted to play a history teacher.'

'Something like that,' he mumbled. 'And now, piss off! I'm busy.'

'Ooh... and what are you doing?'

'Pitying over myself. And waiting for a sign.'

'What sign?'

'Any sign.'

'And that means?'

'Just a regular sign.'

'A road sign? But you know it's not going to come to you by itself?'

Feltsman clenched his teeth angrily. For God's sake, what an annoying creature! Why wouldn't it just piss off?!

'I'll wait. Maybe it will come.'

'If you think so, you must be an onanist.'

That moment, about twenty percent of Yakov's mind sobered up. Feltsman raised to a sitting position. 'I must be WHO?!' he uttered in a choked voice.

'Well... an... optinanist!'

The shocked fifty-year-old scratched his head. Onanist? Optinanist? Aah!

'You mean, optimist?' he snapped.

The kid nodded her head enthusiastically.

'I'm not an optimist,' Yakov barked. 'I'm the greatest pessimist this world has seen.'

'Who's a penisist?'

Feltsman furrowed his eyebrows angrily. 'Pessimist,' he highlighted, 'is someone who is NOT an optimist.'

He wondered whether the brat was mispronouncing words on purpose or whether she was just bubble-headed? Well... the innocence on her face suggested the second answer. The experienced coach shivered a bit. Years of working with many types of people taught him that it was better to deal with a class clown than with a moron who didn't even have an idea they were doing something stupid.

Yakov dealt with a moron like that only once in his life. The said moron was named Tatyana.

Giving an irritated snort, Feltsan returned to lying on the ice and closed his eyes. Like he hoped that when he would open them, the annoying creature would be gone.

Maybe it's just hallucinations? he thought in hope. A sick creation of a mind filled with vodka? Half adults I know wouldn't be perverted enough to come out with „onanists and penisists"... let alone a little brat doing something like that NOT ON PURPOSE! And by the way, I've been treating that kid with a look promising trouble for quite a while. Why hasn't she ran away? There's no way some kid would look into my angry eyes and not run for their mummy. Uh, that's probably because NONE of this is actually HAPPENING! Right, right, the whole situation is simply unreal.

Wishful thinking. The pressure he felt in his bladder indicated that the situation was very much real.

'Shit, I need to take a piss,' Yakov mumbled.

The problem was that in order to do that, he'd have to stand up. And he happened to not have enough power to even move his little finger. Eh, how good that his belt unbuckled itself on its own. And the fly opened by itself... WAIT! Wait a moment, WHAT?!

Realising the little hands were pulling his trouser leg, Yakov raised up to sitting position once again. When he looked at the girl trying to strip him off of the bottom half of his clothing, he was sober in forty percent.

'WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!' he yelled, pulling the trousers back up on his butt.

'Well... I'm helping you to take your clothes off, so you wouldn't piss your pants,' the nymph said in a voice that made her sound like it had been the most obvious thing in the world.

'Fuck, I'll do just fine on my own!'

'Aaah! I see, so you've got a nappy. Dmitri told me old people wear nappies.'

'FOR FUCK'S SAKE! I don't wear a nappy! I've just got control over my bladder, right?!'

Yakov's little finger settled on being able to move, after all. His legs regained strength in a magical way as well. Funny, how a perspective of losing his trousers could motivate a man...

Mumbling swear words, Feltsman stood up and then, stumbling a little, he skated towards the edge of the pond. He opened his fly and started emptying his bladder with a sigh of relief.

It was high time, he sighed in his mind. A little longer and I actually would have pissed my pants.

'Are you going to pee something pretty on the snow?' he heard a child's voice.

'Yeah. A fucking Mona Lisa.'

'WOW! Really?'

'No.'

The girl moaned in disappointment. Her face looked like she'd been told by her daddy she wouldn't get any candy.

Speaking of daddies... something come across the peeing man's mind. 'Anyway, why are you loitering alone in the night?' Yakov asked in a careful voice. 'Have you got any parents, or anyone?'

'Of course I've got parents!' he heard a cheerful answer. 'You really thought that children are found in cabbage patches?'

Hearing the statement, Feltsman hurt his finger with a zip. She's got the mouth, that's for sure, he thought, blowing air on his wounded hand.

He fell to the ice again. But that time he stayed in sitting position, with his legs stretched in front of him – he'd rather keep his eye on the little smartass.

'Let's leave that what I thought,' he sighed, scratching his nape. 'So where are your parents, then?'

'In the theatre. My mummy is an actress and she's got a role in some play tonight. I usually watch mummy's performances, but today daddy told me the play was only for adults so he's left me here. He said that if I don't do anything stupid, I might meet Father Frost.'

Ah, so that's why she thought I was him! Yakov snorted in his mind.

His drunk self felt a vengeful need to bring her down to Earth. 'You daddy pulled your leg,' the fifty-year-old realist stated, looking down at the child. 'There's no Father Frost. Father Frost doesn't exist.'

'He does exist! He gave me a Sony tape player! I've got it yesterday in a package with a pink ribbon.'

'Father Frost, and yet he's giving presents in May?' Yakov teased. 'Knock it off your head, kid... you can't believe every single word adults say. Start using your brains, or you'll end up being a loser. You've got the package probably from your grandma or something...'

He realised saying such things to a little child was a bit mean – not to say: fucky – but he just couldn't find any strength in himself to fight the alcohol pumping in his veins.

'Father Frost visits me in May because my birthday is in December,' the girl said. 'I don't really get it, but mummy said she's come to an agreement with Father Frost.'

Feltsman made a lot more tender expression. Your parents probably just can't afford getting presents for you twice a month, Yakov thought sadly. Adults have lots of worries, don't you know? Bills, and so on...

'On the other hand...' the little witch folded her arms and stared into the sky with thoughtful eyes. 'The package was signed „For Vivi". Only my granny calls me „Vivi". OH, GOD!'

Aha? She must've got it...

'What if my granny is sleeping with Father Frost?!' the girl moaned, grabbing her cheeks.

Yakov bawled his eyes. His expression couldn't get any more idiotic, even if he'd been told the President of Russia would've been given a blow job by Vronkov.

'No chances,' he huffed after a while.

'But you don't get it.' Disappointed, the girl shook her head. 'My granny would seduce even the Easter Bunny!'

'Your granny can't seduce someone who doesn't exist,' Feltsman snapped in an impatient voice. 'She hasn't nicked that tape player from the North Pole. She's just gone to a shop and bought it for her pension. Old people often spend money for toys for their beloved grandchildren. That's their hobby, you know?'

'Not my granny. My daddy always repeats,' the little elf brushed her hair back and started to imitate her father's deep voice, making an annoyed face: 'Your grandma's got only two kinds of hobbies! The first one's pissin' me off, the other's gettin' married.'

'Ah. And how many she had? Husbands, I mean?'

'Four. And one daughter with each of them.'

'Well, fuck, nice, then.'

'Isn't it?' Vivi cheered up. 'I like riding in granny's car the most! Granny lives and Paris, and the traffic laws are very, very strict there! Almost every time we get stopped by police. But you know what? Granny's never, ever got a ticket! You should imagine the policemen's faces when granny's telling them her name is Luba Yurievna Tarasova Malherbe Barbarossa Rozhdestvenska!'

Feltsman imagined that, indeed. And he instantly stated that the Frog who would repeat all these names in the first go should get the Oscar! Or the Noble. Or some kind of The Best Poliglote Award. If something like that even existed...

'No wonder your gran's not getting tickets,' he snorted, tucking his freezing hands into his coat's pockets. 'Probably no one feels like rewriting all these names from her driving license.'

'Granny hasn't got a driving license. She's not getting tickets because policemen don't like when someone is trying to take their trousers off.'

Ah, so now at least I can tell who do you take after, Yakov snapped in his thoughts. There's nothing quite like passing your „great features" down to your sweet grandchild.

'I'll remember not to drive my car around Paris anymore,' he mumbled out loud. 'And by the way... which of these names is your mother's maiden name?'

'Rozhdestvenska. Before she's married my daddy, mummy's name was Anastasia Nikolaevna Rozhdestvenska.'

'Pfft! Sure your mother was relieved when she could change her last name. If I was named like her, I wouldn't dare to show myself in...'

Suddenly, something came across Yakov's mind. To be more exact, a chat he recently had with his mate from Poland. Hasn't Ryszard said something that in their country the dick giving out presents was called...?! OH, FUCK!

'Nikolaevna?' Feltsman uttered, looking at Vivi like she'd been an omen of the Apocalypse. 'Wait... so... it means that your gramps is called... Nikolai Rozhdestvenski? *?! FATHER FROST?!'

The alcohol in the man's body chose that exact moment to remind of his presence. For one single moment, Yakov's mind denied any common sense! With his buttocks still pressing the ice, Feltsman jumped (or rather: crawled) a few yards back.

'Stay away from me!' he shouted, pointing at the girl with his finger accusingly. 'I know why you've got white hair and why you're calling me an onanist! It's a plot! Father Frost, my arch enemy, sent down his descendent to make me lose my mind!'

The said descendent of Saint Nicholas blinked several times. And then she covered her tiny mouth and giggled. 'So you think I'm Snegurochka*?' she asked, throwing her long, silver hair behind her back.

Two cheerful sparkles shined in her blue eyes.

'Well, I don't know...' Yakov raised his eyebrow suspiciously. 'Are you?'

'I'm going to be in a week. We're having a play at my school. Our form teacher said I should play Snegurochka. You can come and see...'

Remembering Ostrovski's fairy tale, Feltsman shivered. 'No fucking way! I hate that bloody play.'

'Why?'

'Because it's fucking depressing, you know?! The daughter of Father Frost and Spring the Beauty suffers from her loneliness, so she gives up her immortality to find out what do love and life mean. And how it ends? Well, of course, the Snow Maiden walks out to the sun and she's fucking melting! Thank you very much for a fairy tale like that... I've got enough drama in my own life.'

'There's no need to worry! Our Snegurochka will have a happy ending! My classmate is going to play a prince from a foreign country. We're going to kiss at the end!'

'Ah, so it's romance? Well, fuck, that's even better. I hate romances.'

'Porn rocks!'

'EXCUSE ME?!'

Another dose of alcohol magically left Yakov's organism. The man was sober in at least sixty percent!

Keeping this pace, I'm going to sober up in an hour at most! he thought in anger.

But why the fuck was he supposed not to sober up?! Fuck, how was he supposed not to, if a brat barely sticking out of the ground was talking about PORN?!

'My grandpa has a keychain with an inscription like that,' the girl said, spreading her arms cheerfully. '"I hate romances. Porn rocks!"'

Feltsman's shoulders loosened a little. Ah, so that's where the expression came from...

Well, well... the kind of family you should envy! Deviant grandfather, deviant grandmother... I'm afraid to ask about the parents!

'Do you even know what porn is?' Yakov asked, giving the kid another face like thunder. 'You're ten years old!'

'Eight.'

'Fuck, that's even worse!'

'No, I don't know. But it sounds cool.'

„Fuck communists" also sounds cool, Yakov wanted to say, but that doesn't mean you're supposed to say it left and right. If you were older, I would tell you how a youngster named Feltsman had written that on his lunchbox. Unfortunately... it's NOT a kid's fairy tale.

'Your Father Frost should have taught you not to say something when you don't know what it means,' he said instead.

'Erm... but I meant my other grandpa,' Vivi said. 'Not the grandpa Nikolai, but grandpa Viktor. The grandpa on my daddy's side.'

The blue eyes got darkened with sadness all of the sudden. The hockey blade's tip started to draw little circles on the ice.

'Grandpa Victor taught me to skate...' the child said with a strand of her hair falling down, 'but now he won't teach me anything else. He died a year ago.'

The frozen pond suddenly became incredibly quiet. They could hear only the wind's soft whispers, leading little snowflakes to the dark brown hair of the fifty-year-old and the silver head of the eight-year-old. Feltsman's eyes lingered on his hand resting on his knee for a moment. The gold signet ring shined in the moonlight. So did the black buttons of his coat.

The signet ring was a gift from Artyom Baranovski. The coat used to belong to Vadim Feltsman. Maria Baranovskaya left some books behind. Mister and Missus Feltsman left nothing. Nothing at all.

The temperamental man's eyes – just a moment before, shining and furious – became just as sad as the silver haired kid's eyes.

'I'm sorry,' Yakov said in a soft voice. 'I know how it is. My loved ones left me not so long time ago as well.'

The girl didn't respond immediately. She skated around for a while, with her hands behind her back and her head up, looking towards the sky. Looking at her, the sober part of Feltsman's mind sorted out that whoever he was, Granpa Viktor did a good job. Probably even someone who didn't know anything about skating would notice the ease in with tiny hocked skates moved across the ice. As if they'd been glued to it. Yakov thought it reminded him of someone, but he couldn't remember whom. Eh, damn it... he really shouldn't have drunk that much.

'Grandpa Viktor always played with me.' Vivi's voice interrupted his thought. 'We used to come here. And now than grandpa isn't here anymore, skating on this pond isn't that much fun anymore. I mean... sometimes I skate here with my daddy, but my daddy is a coach and he's always trying to correct me. And he's shouting a lot. And he's very strict.'

Ah? This reminds me of someone...

Feltsman breathed a long sigh. 'Don't blame your father,' he mumbled, massaging his nape. 'I'm sure he shouts at you because he cares about you. That's how coaches express their love. And fathers do as well.'

The blue eyes were lightened up with joy instantly. 'Really?' the girl asked.

She looked at Yakov like he'd been Father Frost, giving out presents. The simile made Feltsman grimace.

'Yeah, really,' he grunted, turning his eyes away. 'You have my word for that.'

'Wow, that's great! It's the first time an adult told me something that wise! Usually, when I complain about my daddy's yells, adults tell me that I deserved it and that several bruises on my seat wouldn't do me any harm.

That's a different matter, Yakov snorted in his mind. I know you only for fifteen minutes, but if someone was looking for somebody to spank you, I'd volunteer for sure.

Eh, that girl's father couldn't have a simple life with her, indeed. Especially if he was her coach as well. Feltsman always wondered how it would've looked in his case... if he'd become a father and if he'd been supposed to coach his own child. Would he be able to keep the distance? Or maybe he'd be one of these blokes telling themselves they haven't got a favourite student, even know they know the truth deep inside? That was the case of Max. And he wasn't even his actual son...

Feltsman started to feel nauseous. And it wasn't only because of the vodka.

'...ter!'

No one knows when, the girl's nose materialised a few inches in front of Yakov's nose.

'FUCK!' Jumping back rapidly, the enraged man gave the kid indignant look. 'Don't sneak near me! Do you even know what „personal space" means?!'

'No, I don't know what „personanal space" means. The only thing I know is that you were out for a moment and I couldn't reach you in any way...'

'In moments like these you are supposed to leave a man alone! Have that ever crossed your mind? To simply piss off?'

Vivi just shrugged her shoulders. 'I've got a better idea,' she said, making a heart-shaped smile. 'Because you told me something that wise, I will give it back to you.'

'I'm afraid to ask in what way...' Yakov mumbled.

'We're going to play!'

'And that's supposed to be an ACT OF GRATITUDE?!'

'Of course it is!'

'I'm pretty fucking sure it is NOT!'

'You're mean. You don't want to give me a chance to pay my debt back!'

'Yeah, of course... a debt, my arse! Just admit you're bored and you don't know what to do with yourself!'

He expected the brat to stick with her own. That, just as all the clever girls, she would still try to convince him of her generosity (Lenka and Sonka enjoyed doing that exceptionally much).

To his surprise, the silver haired child wondered for a while, and then she smiled and said with as much honesty as there could be: 'That's right, I'm bored!'

For a moment, Yakov was just sitting and staring at the girl with a silly face. He just couldn't figure out at all what that strange creature was all about. Having thirty years of coaching experience on his back, he managed to encounter a trillion of different, odd behaviours of the snort noses... but it was the first time he encountered THAT.

A total lack of shame.

A lack of any boundaries in terms of personal space.

A complete ignorance of the „fucks" being thrown.

An absolute resilience to murderous looks and raising voice.

Even one of these traits would be fucking problematic, leave alone all at once! Eventually Yakov came to the conclusion he didn't feel like „figuring anyone out". He was simply too tired! He didn't feel like playing an analysis of a weird, little alien she was.

'So you can stay bored,' he snapped, laying down on the ice.

The kid didn't let up. 'But I don't want to be bored.' She was jabbing Feltsman's belly with her finger. 'I want to play! Let's play a game! What would you like to play, Mister?'

'Fuck off!'

'Okay. How do we play „fuck off"?'

Yakov clenched his teeth. He was at the limit of his endurance. You'd better watch out I don't teach you to play „beating the shit out of annoying little girls", he wanted to say.

'"Fuck off" means you're supposed to go away and not come back.'

'That's a stupid game. Let's play something else.'

'No fucking way! I'm drunk, okay? Anyway... a fifty-year-old is not a good companion for a child! If you want to play, play with friends in your age.'

'I don't have friends. And I don't like children my age. I like to play with adults more!'

Yakov, who was just preparing to give another roar, froze for a moment. He couldn't just walk by some confessions. Especially when it was an eight year old child confessing.

„I don't have friends.'

That feeling had to hurt.

Eh, the thing was, Feltsman was hurt too – way too many spots hurt him. His head and stomach were in the lead.

'Okay, listen...' Yakov spoke up in a resigned voice, 'that's sad you haven't got friends and you've got no one to play with and so on... but I'm afraid I can't help you. I'm completely exhausted and drunk, and the unwillingness for getting my arse up overwhelmes the feelings of compassion for you, so just drop it and leave me alone.'

'And what can I do to increase your seat's willingness?'

'FUCK, there's nothing you can do! I'm tired, okay?! That was the worst week in my whole fucking life and I want to end it pitying myself.'

'Pitying yourself and... waiting for a sign?' the girl asked hesitantly.

'Yes, exactly.'

'And when you get the sign, you will play with me?'

'And will you leave me alone until the sign appears?'

Vivi nodded enthusiastically.

Oh, fuck, finally! Feltsman's thoughts groaned in relief. Halleluyah!

'Okay, then,' Yakov muttered, closing his eyes. 'When I get the sign, we're going to play. And now, get lost!'

And it's worth saying I'm not going to get any sign, he thought mockingly. The little smartass must know it as well. Eh, there's no chance for her to simply leave! It would be just too beautiful...

With a face expression like he'd been waiting for an air raid, he was waiting for the annoying girl's retort. And when it didn't come... he experienced the shock of the century! He opened his eyes carefully, looked around him and in shock realised that – oh my! – he was lying on the frozen pond, completely alone.

Jesus... so it was true! Oh, damn, so the miracles really happened! Oh, God... he couldn't believe! He couldn't believe the little girl actually... simply walked off! God, he started to think he wouldn't ever free himself from her. Thanks God... oh, fuck, thanks God!

Breathing out a sigh of relief, he closed his eyes to go back to having a nap on the ice surface. Oh, how amazing! Peace, at lea...

BANG!

Something hard hit him in the chest.

'WHAT... where... who... how?! What the fu...'

A warning for the future: be careful what you say to small children. Especially if you got proof that all your words are taken literally.

Of course the bloody kid wouldn't leave Yakov alone. Of course she wouldn't! He told her he was waiting for a sign, so... she got a bloody road sign and dragged it to the pond! And – what a surprise! – it was the same sign, the same fucking sign that Feltsman had broken several hours earlier. The inscription saying „CAUTION! Slippery road" seemed to be laughing at the temperamental fifty-year-old: See! it told Yakov, you've broken me, so now I got my revenge!

'Here you are, a sign!' the child announced cheerfully. 'And now you should play with me!'

Feltsman gave her a look of an old, battered horse forced to pull the cart by the driver.

'Don't look at me in such way,' Vivi said, waving her finger in a punishing way. 'The sign was already broken. It must've been by a vandal. Don't make such a tired face on me, get up and play with me instead. You promised!'

Damn! Unfortunately, she was right. Yakov would rather that to be quite different, but unfortunately the annoying little girl was right! Let drunkness be drunkness, but an honour must stay how it is! A man shouldn't break his word. And Feltsman was a man. After all, he was the only one to blame – next time he would remember not to flap his mouth without a second thought. Eh, fuck...

God, what sins am I paying for? he told the Creator while rising up from the ground. Is THAT your answer? Is that how it's supposed to be? Tell me, what have I done?! Is that a form of atonement, or what? I've been yelling at innocent kids half of my life, so you've brought to me a creature immune to any possible kinds of rage?!

Damn it, he should've listened his gut feeling... he should've run away the moment the silver haired nuisance stepped on the stage... he should've got into his car and locked himself! Yakov decided that that was what he would do. He wouldn't stay any more time at the damn pond! The moment he keeps his end of the bloody bargain, he would go straight to his beloved Hondie! And until then... eh... unfortunately, he had to suffer.

'So what are we going to play?' Vivi asked with a smile.

Something that won't last long! Something I will be able to win in a split second!

'What about tag?' Yakov suggested carefully.

'Tag?' the girl wondered for a while. 'And who's supposed to chase whom? Me you, or you me?'

'Me you. And when I tag you, the game is over.'

The girl stood without a single move for some time and stared at the old man with a hard to read facial expression.

'Listen, I'm really exhausted...' Feltsman explained in a painful voice, 'I just can't pull out any more rounds, you get it?'

'That's not the problem.'

'So what is?'

'Well, I don't know...' Vivi stared at her fingernails, 'wouldn't you rather play something in which... well... you'd have some chance? Because, you know, if you don't catch me, then the round will never end...'

Yakov raised his eyebrow. Has he just heard the girl suggesting him, he wouldn't be able to catch her? That he wouldn't? An Olympian wouldn't catch some kid?

'If you want, I can give you a head start,' the girl suggested, massaging her chin with her thumb. 'For example, I could skate only forward, so that it would be easier for you.'

Only forward, you say? the fifty-year-old mocked in his mind. Simply admit you can't skate backwards!

It's high time he brought that arrogant kid back to Earth. 'Let's set the record straight, you little Brainy Smurf.' Feltsman rested his hands on his knees, so that his eyes would be on the same level as Vivi's. 'I've been skating longer than you live. Even longer than your parents do. Maybe I would get bashed by kids in volleyball, basketball or another dodgeball, but nothing will give me head starts at skating. Do you understand?' he finished in a gloomy voice.

The kid's reaction was quite different to what he suspected it to be. A shimmer of seriousness appeared in the blue eyes, and the small face got an expression that couldn't be mistaken for anything else – the expression of awaking competitive spirit. The energy oozing from Vivi's body became so strong it was almost contagious. Feltsman's heart, against its owner's will, shivered in excitement.

It might've been just his imagination, but Yakov felt that for a second – really, a second! – he could see a violet glimmer surrounding the girl. The same that Tatyana used to have once.

'Okaaay.' The kid put her hand into her pocket and fished out a blue hairband. 'If that's how you see it, then I'll take you seriously.'

Tiny hands tied her hair into a ponytail.

'Oh, I'm so fucking grateful!' the fifty-year-old coach snorted, folding his arms. 'I'm so much moved by your seriousness, I'm basically shaking in my boots out of fear!'

Vivi froze for a moment. At last, her small hands let the tied hair fall on her back. Her blue eyes shone out of excitement.

'I'll give you some more motivation!' the girl said, winking at Yakov. 'If you manage to impress me, I'll give you my grandpa's keychain.'

Yakov rolled his eyes and one second later he rushed towards his opponent. Giggling, Vivi jumped back. The game is on!

Nothing went as planned. Feltsman expected he'd catch the sneaky nymph in just few fast steps... but almost instantly he understood how wrong he was. The brat could skate backwards, indeed – and she could do it fucking great! Seeing how the hokey blades cut through the ice surface, Yakov's eyes almost popped out.

Oh damn, so it IS possible to skate like this?! he thought, overwhelmed.

The thin legs resembled two speeding brushes – painting chaotic patterns on the ice, turning, stopping, then again speeding up and sneak out of the quite out of breath fifty-year-old's reach.

Yakov had no idea what the fuck was happening, but there were only two options: either the alcohol did what it was supposed to and made everything seem two times faster than in reality... or Vivi could skate better than any other eight-year-old child. Or even a ten-year-old. Maybe even a twelve-year-old?! Fuck... giving that second thought, Feltsma knew several twenty-year-olds who should have a look at that girl's edges and take bloody notes! That was fucking inconceivable!

A part of the experienced coach wanted to interrupt the game, stop and ask some questions. Such as: „How is it possible you can move in that way?"
„How on Earth can you change the skating direction on one leg without any effort at eight years of age?"
„Why do I have to shout at my students to make them stop pretending they're bloody aeroplanes and not wave their arms when skating backwards, when you're skating backwards with your hands behind your back, smiling at me mockingly?!"

Yakov might've actually asked all of these. If not for that smiling face.

That weird kid might've had the skills of an alien, but most importantly, she had a natural talent for pissing Feltsman. The fifty-year-old had respect for the young skater, but he was even more angry and frustrated: not only about the goofy smirk of the brat, but also about his own drunk mind.

Damn it, if only he hadn't drunk so much... if only he hadn't let Tatyana convince him! Maybe he could've moved more quickly and finish that fucking game in a few minutes?

But, unfortunately – he had to deal with whatever circumstances there were. After several minutes, Feltsman didn't have a label saying „winner". He had the label saying „retirement centre". With hands on his knees and sweat leaking from his chin, he was breathing heavily as if he'd run a marathon. The fairy approached him with a disappointed expression.

'Oh, my, my...' she chucked, placing her finger on her chin and keeping the tip of the right blade up daringly. 'I think you won't catch me, after all... well then! There's no alternative! I'm going to get my tape player.'

Tape player?! Yakov's mind growled, a tape player?! I need an INHALER!

Vivi started to search a backpack laying by the pond. 'If you can't play tag, we're going to play another game,' she explained with a smile.

WHAT?! Feltsman Felt like he'd been going to pass out. Another game? Fuck, does she want me to get a stroke?!

The girl pulled the tape player out. Well, well... granny Luba didn't skimp on resources! First-rate gear! Small enough to fit into a backpack, and at the same time decent enough to blow ears of a drunk man.

The speakers sung a song by Bonnie Tyler, „Holding out for a hero".

'Let's have a dance-off!' Vivi shouted.

Oh, fuck.

Just when Yakov started to think it couldn't have been worse... damn it, a man should never think so! Why... why always when you think that God won't treat you with anything worse, the Creator must act like a complete dickhead and drop another bloody bomb on you?!

„Holding out for a hero"? Yakov thought, laughing bitterly. What an irony... I've already got a headache, and now I got reminded of the bet! Eh, it's not a secret, I could really use a hero. Preferably one as in that bloody song! Strong, fast and sure! Someone like...

'Why are you still standing like that? Come on, let's dance!'

Feltsman, being interrupted on a deep thought, raised his head and saw the girl taking off her hair band. Her silver hair, released from the tight embrace, was waving behind Vivi like Superman's cape!

For another time that day – or rather, that night – Yakov felt completely overwhelmed. He'd organised loads of performances of ice dancing brats. He'd also watched his novices fooling around accompanied by music – performing a range of weird elements with all mirth no matter, only to wave with their arms and have some fun.

And what Vivi was doing... for some reason he couldn't have them classified! The girl was improvising, that was for sure, but it wasn't in the same way as most little skaters would do. Her movements were so interesting and she was synchronised with the music so well that at some moments she might've seemed to be a professional!

Amongst novices that Yakov knew, only Lyov could skate that prettily. With some subtle differences – young Rykov was more concentrated and stressful. While Vivi's face emanated only with wild joy. Sudden turns, hops, lunges and steps were a perfect combination of creativity and a simple, childish silliness.

Perhaps Bonnie Tyler herself wouldn't mind if that kid's antics were recorded for a music video for her song.

A thought sprouted in Feltsman's mind: What if... that girl was given figure skates?

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to give his idea a second thought, as at the exact moment the girl grabbed his hands and started spinning together with him.

'Come on!' she shouted, laughing loud; 'it's a dance-off! You've got to dance!'

And then, she let him go without saying a word. Yakov, taken aback quite so, lost his balance and hit the ice with his butt.

Vivi stopped dancing immediately. When Feltsman was trying to get up, she skated towards him and shaking her head, said the striking words: 'My grandpa was sixty years old and he could skate better than you can. Eh, what a pity you have to be a loser who surrenders before even trying to fight. I mean it... unless you're persistent, you won't learn to skate ever.'

She stopped smiling when she saw Yakov's face. Cos right then the fifty-year-old coach decided that THAT WAS THE LAST STRAW! The girl's words made him sober up in eighty percent and exceptionally enraged.

Well, screw the headache... screw the nausea... screw everything! Nobody would ever tell him that he can't fucking skate!

I can feel his approach like a fire in my blood! Bonnie Tyler sang.

Oooh, yeah, Feltsman could very well feel the fire in his blood... oh, yes, how bloody good he could feel it!

Like a fire in my blood... like a fire in my blood... like a fire in blood... like a fire... aaah!

'ENOUGH!'

I need a hero!

With Vivi watching him, shocked, Yakov Feltsman started to dance.

The fifty-year-old veteran had no idea how he was able to do that, but somehow he managed to find the combative, twenty-year-old version of himself, and then he ordered it to move its fucking arse and come out from the very depths of his mind. And then... oooh, that's when it all started for real!

A sequence of steps... taking off his coat theatrically... using a stick as a microphone... and finally, a flying sit spin! Spinning on his axis, Yakov held the piece of wood right by his mouth while singing out loud. He heard an awed child's squeak somewhere in the background.

And what are you going to say now, little weasel? He thought thriumphantly. Feeling silly? Grey? You'll see what I'm fucking able to do!

During the next „I need a hero!" he took off for a double toe loop. When he landed clean, encouraged by his own success, he dared to attempt a double Salchow as well. And for a dessert, a double Lutz! Cos what fucking sort of harm could it do?

'Gosh, that was so amaaazing!' Vivi whined.

She was so amazed by what Feltsman had done that she completely gave up the dancing. Hopping in one place, she didn't stop clapping for a single moment.

And that was when it happened.

Right then came the moment when twenty percent of Yakov... that unfortunate twenty drunk percent started to give the dancing man some stupid ideas. Or rather one. One stupid idea. Or rather it should've been called – as the embarrassed fifty-year-old concluded the next day – a completely irrational, fucking dangerous and absolutely messed up idea.

Why wouldn't I try a triple Axel?

Yes, yes! the alcohol encouraged him, come on, do it! Why would you limit yourself? Just think about how that little kid's jaw will drop when you do something that great!

Excited by the thought, Feltsman speeded up and took off. He was halfway through the first revolution when he remembered a certain important detail.

Hold on... but I can't land the triple Axel? OH, HOLY SHIT, I really CANNOT land the triple Axel! I couldn't land it even as a competitive skater, cos back then to be quite honest no one could, and by the way I'm fifty years old, and of course I go to the gym and so on, but I still weigh almost two hundred pounds, and, damn, oh God, fuck, have I gone completely mad, no, it's fucking impossible, I'm going to kill myself at a bloody pond, and I haven't even WRITE MY WILL YET!!!

He had no idea how many rotations he'd managed to do. He didn't even think about that. The moment he his the ice with his arse emptied his head of whatever thoughts that could've been there. With one exception: Oh, fuck, how it HURTS!

He had no time to get himself all together after the fall, as Vivi jumped onto his knees and started to yank him, holding his sweater's halves.

'Jeeeez, it was so cool!' she screamed, looking at Yakov with her eyes full of awe. 'What was that? How have you managed to do that? First, you were like shooo, puff, then wham! Oh, pleeease, teach me how to do that!'

She was babbling like a little automatic rifle, after each word shaking Feltsman's body like with a rag doll. When she noticed the man wasn't responding, she tipped her head.

'Why aren't you saying anything? Are you alright? Do you need help with standing up?'

'No, mummy, you don't have to make Strogonov...' Yakov mumbled with a goofy smile of a junkie, '...pierogis would be just fine.'

After saying these words, he passed out.

He woke up after about five minutes. At least it felt like that, as he wasn't sure how much time had exactly passed. Someone was pulling his ears.

'Hellooo, are you there?' the silver haired pixie sang. 'Mister? Misteeer? When are you going to... oh! You're up, finally!'

God, when will it finally end?

'God damn it, stop pulling my ears!' Yakov hissed, 'and get off my knees at once!'

Thanks God, the kid did what she was told to. Oh, and it seemed like the bloody music stopped. Oh, God... at least that!

Grunting, Feltsman forced his painful body to get up from the ice. He felt like he'd been run over by a tank.

Not a big tank, he thought, looking at Vivi with murderous eyes. A tiny, annoying, silver-haired tank! Damn, I'm so full of all of this! I'm going back to my car!

'Jeez, that jump of yours was sooo cool!' the girl said in a dreamy voice. 'Will you teach me how to do that?'

'Yeah, I can't fucking wait to do that,' Yakov blurted out, picking his coat up.

'Yaaay! So, when are we going to start?'

'Never.'

'Huh? Never?'

'I'm not going to teach you anything.'

'Why?'

'Because no!'

'But, pretty please...'

'No means NO!'

'Uh, you leave me no choice! I'm going to use my weapon of mass destruction on you!'

Feltsman, being in the middle of putting his coat on, blinked in shock. Weapon of mass destruction? What the hell is a weapon of mass destruction?!

The girl took a deep breath, and then, she covered her mouth. When she moved her hand away, Yakov was hit with a weapon... which turned out to be „puppy eyes".

'Pleeease, will you teach me?' Vivi whined.

The fifty-year-old man gave her an ice-cold look.

'Huh?' The girl tipped her head, confused. 'It didn't work? Odd...'

'I deal with things much worse than your „weapon of mass destruction".' Yakov shook his head, giving a sigh. 'I've been dealing with little, tricky girls like you for thirty years. And that's why I'm NOT going to teach you! I'm just done with women, you get it?! Don't get me wrong, love, I'm not a chauvinist or anything like that... I don't have any problem with you either, even though thanks to your bloody dance-off I fell down and almost lost my life... and, that can't be hidden, throughout my whole career I've never met any girl with such fucked up personality as yours... but all right, I don't have any problem with you. Maybe if I wasn't drunk I would've said you're a nice child. But as a matter of fact, I am drunk, and my arse hurts, and I'm fed up with everything, especially with my annoying skaters who managed to piss me off to a maximum today, so for the next ten years I intend to keep away from anybody who's got tits! I played a game with you, I've kept my end of the bargain, and now I'm going to my car to have a nap, 'cause after all I've been through I should be allowed to get some fucking sleep!'

Well! So much of his talking. He didn't want to spend any more time at the pond. Just... just when he was to turn around and walk away, when Vivi declared: 'Mister... but I'm not a girl, I'm a boy.'

Yakov stopped in half a step. He was sure he overheard.

'I'm sorry, you are who?' he asked.

'A boy.'

'A boy?!'

'Mhm.'

It was a joke, right? Something like these onanists and penisists?

Feltsman had a closer look at the silver-haired child... a very, very close look. Huge, blue eyes, thick eyelashes, cute face... pfft! No, no fucking chance.

'A boy, right?' the fifty-year-old said in a pitying voice. 'Yeah. You wish!'

'But I'm telling the truth.' The girl tilted her head. 'Do you want me to prove it?'

'How? You'll wear a wig and glue a moustache?'

A ten-year-old Sonya did something like that once as well – hoping she'd manage to get to the men's locker room in that way. Ah, the childish folly.

'You, my dear annoying lady, can be a tomboy at the very best, but certainly not a boy,' Yakov mumbled. 'I've been dealing with women all my life and I can smell estragon from a mile away! As a busty monsters specialist I declare there is no... not even a slightest chance for me to believe such a sweet creature like you is a...'

The sweet creature took its pants off and shouted „Tah duh!" with its arms opened cheerfully.

'For... God's... fucking... SAAAAAAAKE!'

The roar of (at that moment completely sober) Feltsman spread all over the area. The birds rose from branches, and a scared to death squirrel jumped out of bushes ran away up on a tree. The silver-haired boy only blinked.

'Why are you so hysterical? You've never seen a willy?'

'ARE YOU COMPLETELY FUCKED UP?!'

'You can yell so loud. Could you scream loud enough to make glass break?'

'My vocal chords' abilities should be the last of your concerns right now! Who would ever walk in front of a stranger with a bare arse?! Do you want someone to take me for a paedophile and put in custody?! Put your pants on at once!'

Vivi put his trousers on as he'd been told to... but it didn't change much, as the harm to Yakov's mind had already been done.

For fuck's sake, Feltsman should've written a book entitled „Five steps of getting sober". He'd give an instruction with these exact steps:

First – listen to an eight-year-old kid calling you an „onanist".

Second – confess you need to take a piss, encouraging the said kid to try to take your pants off.

Third – let the child teach you that the quickest road to happiness is by watching porn.

Fourth – get angry when the little brat with ADHD suggests you can't skate.

Fifth – find out that the annoying creature you believed to be a fucked up little girl is, in fact, a fucked up little boy who takes his pants off without any warning and treats strangers with the view of his todger.

The dangling proof of having a Y chromosome was transferred to the very same chamber in Yakov's mind where the posters incident had been put. It was a chamber reserved for the most traumatic events... for completely messed up incidents and just so messed up people. The fifty-year-old didn't think he'd ever place something in that chamber ever again. He was sure of that, until he'd met the silver-haired lad. And now, for some reason, he got a feeling that the said chamber would soon get filled up to the brim!

But, hold on a little, where did that idea come from? Feltsman thought nervously. Why would there be more of such incidents? It's not like I'm going to meet that kid ever again... is it?

'You're so hypersensitive...' the boy stated.

Yakov snorted loudly. He opened his mouth to talk back, but Vivi interrupted him.

'... but you're definitely not a loser! I take back that thing i said before. You're a real soldier! I'm glad you played together with me! I hadn't been so lucky since the last time I skated with grandpa.'

Feltsman's eyes widened. The annoyed fifty-year-old suddenly forgot all the insults he wanted to throw at that peculiar brat. With surprise, he realised he wasn't able to utter a single word. He just stood there without a move, like a statue, and observed the boy as he searched his backpack. At some point he found what he was looking for.

'Here you are, you deserve that!' he said, giving Yakov a keychain.

The man's hand reached for the prize by itself. The words „I hate romances. Porn rocks!" were flashing on a golden background.

Well... a golden keychain is not the same as a gold medal... and there was nothing big in statement „you're a real soldier", but...

But Feltsman felt devilishly good with all that. And not only good. He also felt proud in some way, for making that weird kid happy. It helped him find something new in himself. Something new, but at the same time old, familiar... something he used to have when he was skating with Tatyana, and then he started to lose in result of many different events. Relatives' death, the divorce, the en of his work with Max... ah, especially the case with Max.

Yakov wasn't entirely sure what it was – the thing or trait he gained back – but he was glad he had it again. Actually... suddenly he realised there were also other things that made him happy.

He was happy he got drawn into a dance-off. He was glad he got provoked. He was glad of that stupid attempt in jumping a triple Axel. For hell's sake, in some way he was also glad about having his arse bruised!

Eh, that was probably because the pain around the coccyx brought so many memories...

Being a competitive skater. The hellish practices. The fierce fight. The rivalry! The thought you cannot give up!

Yakov Feltsman all of the sudden understood why he got dragged into the bet with Vronkov. Why he got dragged into the bet with Vronkov for real! It wasn't just about the rink... it was also about feeling all these things again. Yakov's soul – resembling a dead one after the divorce – needed to feel alive!

And now, it actually did. But not thanks to friends, work, or even the risky bet. Thanks to an encounter with the peculiar silver haired lad – who was probably the strangest kid that walked this world.

'Vivi...' Yakov whispered, gazing at the keychain. 'What sort of name is that for a boy?'

'I'm not really called Vivi.'

Feltsman sent the kid a questioning look. The boy grinned.

'I told you, it's only my grandma who calls me that. Actually, I'm called...'

'VIKTOR!'

The fifty-year-old and his little companion jumped. They could hear barking in the distance. In a moment, two large dogs ran towards the bank of the pond – a fierce-looking, long-haired German shepherd and just so impressing Moscow watchdog.

'Don't get any closer to them,' Yakov warned the boy. 'Be careful so they wont bi... HEY!'

Ignoring the warnings, Viktor skated towards the dogs... who apparently knew him very well. When he got near enough to their muzzles, they turned him over to his back and started to lick his face. The boy kissed the first, and then the second wet nose, giggling.

'Did you miss me?' he asked in a caring voice. 'I missed you, too. Here, here... good dog!'

The fluffy tails kept wagging happily. Giving a sigh, Viktor hugged the shepherd and nudged his face into its hairy neck. The boy's free hand petted the watchdog's muzzle. The picture seemed bloody sweet to Feltsman.

But the cuddling didn't last so long. A whistle came from the top of the hill, and then some man shouted in a military voice: 'Muna! Bismark! Come!'

With visible reluctance the dogs glued off from Viktor and ran up the hill. Yakov looked there. His white Honda wasn't the only car parked on the shoulder – now it had a company of an ugly, old Volvo. Between the two cars there was a scary looking man, standing with his arms folded and in a company of an exceptionally beautiful woman. Feltsman couldn't see the two quite well, but he figured out easily they were the little devil's parents. And – what was quite remarkable – they actually looked a bit like Father Frost and Spring the Beauty.

The well-build, short-haired bloke with Sean Connery style beard – but without the moustache – gave an impression of a calculating man who'd easily put people on their place . He completely didn't match his slim, long-haired wife. With a smile from ear to ear, the woman had a veil of unspoilt happiness surrounding her. Despite the temperature being below zero Celsius, she was wearing a skirt and at least eight inches high stilettos. She look like nothing could spoil her good mood... just like Spring the Beauty! Although Yakov could remember her name was Anastasia.

Even the voice she used to call her son made him think of a field of flowers. 'Vitya! Honey, come home at last!'

'Five minutes!' the boy yelled back.

'Vitya... you had enough skating for today. You don't want to spend the night here, hmm? If I can't kiss you goodnight, I'll be veeery sad!'

Yeees... and it became clear that she was a professional actress. She pronounced every syllable very characteristically – like she'd got used to chanting the text. She was also clever enough to smuggle a good amount of mother's drama into the last sentence. But her son didn't let her full his leg.

'I'm coming!' he yelled. 'Just a moment!'

'Oh, your toys will be sooo lonely without you, you knooow?' the woman sang with pretended sadness.

Viktor completely ignored her. Instead, he turned to Feltsman. He was just opening his mouth to say something, but then the sweet mother's pleas were replaced by the father's harsh order.

'VIKTOR! If you don't get your skinny arse here at once, then I'll have to go there and get you, and you'd rather I don't fuckin' do that, cos if you force me I'll take scissors with me and I'll have no mercy... d'you fuckin' get what I'm sayin'?!'

A spark of fear appeared in the kid's eyes.

'Okay, dad, I'm coming!'

Oh, heck, so it was that easy? Yakov thought, feeling like a complete idiot. Boy is scared of getting his hair cut? Eh, I should've thought of it! But, on the other hand... now I know why he was completely unimpressed by my „fucks".

Viktor quickly took his skates off and put the shoes on. Grinning, he waved at Feltsman to say goodbye and with the backpack put on his shoulder, he ran towards his parents. When he was by the car, Anastasia started brushing his hair.

'Honey,' she said with a mix of careness and reprimand, 'I've told you so many times not to bother the homeless.'

'But that man isn't homeless, he's a penisist!' Vitya protested. 'And he's an amazing skater. Even better one than grandpa Viktor! And earlier, he did a suuuper cool jump! He was like, shooo, puff, then wham!'

'A penisist?' the woman repeated in surprise. 'Didn't you mean a ?'

'No. A penisist! And, you know, he did that cool...'

The boy stopped unexpectedly. With his face all serious, he was gazing at his dad. The strict man raised his eyebrows. 'What's the matter?' he mumbled.

Viktor sighed deeply. 'Dad, your scarf doesn't match your sweater. And you're wearing tracksuit trousers. If you were going to mum's performance, you could've dressed better.'

'I'm not a fuckin' woman and I'm going to dress how I like. I'm not goin' to act like a preppy fag only cos I'm goin' to the theatre.'

'Your father is a lost cause, Vitya,' Anastasia said, shaking her head. 'But don't worry... we don't have to admit knowing him in public.'

'For fuck's sake, woman! I told you to fuck off from my clothes!'

'We could meet halfway, Sasha.' With a sweet smile, the woman leaned over her husband's ear. 'I wouldn't mind you walking around naked all the time.'

Even from that long distance, Yakov noticed Sasha's cheeks going purple.

'H-how many times do I have to tell you not to bring up things like that!; Anastasia's husband hissed. 'And stop gropin' me in public!' He knocked his wife's hand off his buttocks angrily.

'What public? There's no one here.'

'No one, except for mister penisist!' Viktor highlighted.

'Uh... that's it!' Sasha mumbled. 'We're goin' home!'

The family consisting of three people and two pets goy in the Volvo. Before they drove away, he heard some pieces of talk from inside of the car:

'Dad, when I'm going to get my dog?'

'We've got two dogs,' he heard the grumpy answer.

'But they are yours and mummy's. When will I have my own dog?'

'Someday.'

'So when?'

'When you're older'

'When is that?'

'In a couple of years.'

'So how many years?'

'FOR HELL'S SAKE, VIKTOR! Don't distract me when I'm drivin'!'

To think that bloke had to take care of the silver haired source of chaos for almost twenty four hours per day... and how was he supposed not to sympathise with him? Yakov's problems started to seem funny. Maybe it was a bit harsh for Feltsman, but at least he didn't have to bring up a weird, little exhibitionist. He wouldn't change places with that Sasha for any amount! God, that man was really simply screwed!

To listen the annoying childish chirruping every day and deal with the horny wifey impulses! Who would like to have a life like that?!

You would, a voice in Yakov's head whispered.

Feltsman's cheeks covered with a red layer. The divorced man looked to the ground. He didn't want to openly admit that deep inside he knew that in real, what he felt was not compassion, but jealousy.

He peeked at the keychain reflecting the moonlight. To think about it, that kid... wasn't that bad, after all.

At present

'Yakov? Yakov? Are you there?'

'Yeah, I am.' Feltsman's hand moved some strands of hair falling on his forehead. 'Listen, I'll call you in the evening, okay? It's bloody freezing in this car. If I stay in my place, I'll turn into a popsicle.'

'Fine. So, till the evening!'

Grunting, the man dug himself out of the car. He should call Pavlo later and set an appointment for . What a pity Kapustin had only a physiotherapy diploma. But anyway, after everything that happened at night, a psychiatrist could be not enough... some problems called for an exorcist only!

A couple of sparrows were chirping happily on a branch of a nearby spruce. The melting snow was dripping from the branches, revealing some buds ready to bloom. Through a tiny gap between the trees, a single ray of sunlight pierced in. The beam reflected in the golden keychain attached to Yakov's key.

It seems like the bloke from the radio wasn't lying, after all, Feltsman thought, looking at the lewd inscription. The thaw has really come.

He loosened his scarf and undid his coat. When the warm air tickled his neck, he suddenly felt incredibly relaxed and content.

Maybe it was thanks to the weather, maybe thanks to the encounter with that silver-haired weirdo... but it was the first time in a while when Yakov had a feeling that everything was going to be okay. That it would be what it would be. The battered by life coach saw the light finally. He was ready to face Vronkov.

But first, he had to change the tyre. Eh, that would be bloody annoying...

'Oh? Hello again. How is your day?'

Yakov turned his head and saw the very same cyclist he'd met the day before. Today, the youngster gave up his hat – his red, thick hair waved, moved by the wind. The bicycle stopped by the Honda.

'I had worse,' the fifty-year-old mumbled, giving the flat tyre a hateful look.

'And? Have you met the pixie?'

Feltsman shivered. 'Yes, I have.'

'He gave you a hard time, didn't he?' The boy grinned.

For some time, Yakov stood without moving, keeping his mouth pursed into a thin line. His pride was firmly against giving the details of yesterday's Armaggedon.

'A bit,' he murmured finally. 'Tell me, do you know that kid? He plays hockey, is that right?'

'Well, yeah... why are you asking?'

'No reason.' Feltsman shrugged his shoulders. 'I'm just curious how he'd do with figure skates.'

'Eh... what a pity you won't ever find out.'

Yakov, being in the middle of digging a spare tyre out of his boot, froze for a moment. He looked at the youngster in confusion. 'What do you mean?' he asked, raising his eyebrows.

The cyclist put his forearms on the handlebars and shook his head. 'I mean, that boy will probably never wear figure skates.'

xXx

*Father Frost – women change, so I suddenly decided Father Frost would be a better translation than Father Christmas. They're basically the same, but Father Frost relates better to the original Russian term and Russian culture. I've changed the previous chapter as well, so if you've read it after the update, nothing changed.

*Nikolai Rozhdestvenski – Nikolai means Nicholas (in Poland Saint Nicholas (Święty Mikołaj) basically means the same as Santa Claus); Rozhdestvene means Christmas. Nicholas of Christmas is a literal translation.

*Snegurochka – the Snow Maiden, a character from Russian fairy tales, since Soviet times depicted as a granddaughter and helper of Ded Moroz [(Grand)Father Frost]. The play Vitya is talking about later is called 'The Snow Maiden', written by Alexander Ostrovski, with Tchaikovsky's music.

xXx

[Author's Note]

I'd like to thank all the amazing people who left comments (even the short, single-sentence ones). You helped me believe in myself :3

I'd also like to thank everyone (both registered users and guests) who clicked the heart icon and left kudos. Every time I see a new kudos, my heart starts beating faster. Thank you :3

See you next time!

[Translator's Note]

It took me SO LONG to translate this part! I'm so, so, so, sorry. Things happened. Like, a lot of things. Hope the next part will be delivered to you faster... Next two weeks are going to be a huge marathon of skating competitions and I'm also having my prom in only a little over a week (and I still can't dance, so there's a huge probability my partner would kill me), but later I will have a little slot of something I would consider 'a surprisingly large amount of free time', and after that I'm going to have a two-week holidays at the time of Olympics – that's quite a lot of time for working on the translation!

Oh, and by the way – if you were wondering who drew the pictures attached to the story – it's Jora! And the banner telling you how long you need to wait for the next chapter's translation is my job :D