Dedicated to Lisa.

- Alla Sergeyevna, wait! - A tall, overweight man in his seventies, holding the bottom of his gray coat in one hand and a leather briefcase in the other, pushed his way through the crowd.

Korolevo Airport had just announced the arrival of five flights at once, and there was a huge line at the air taxi stand. Everyone was anxious to get home as soon as possible.

- I think I'm on time, - the fat man exhaled. - Hello to the neighbors!

Cleverly, trying not to look at anyone, he walked over to a fashionable old lady in a lace dress and a bow in her luxuriant blue hair that made her look like Malvina:

- I recognized you at once, your face looks familiar. You are also in Butovo, aren't you? Do you mind if I fly with you, because there are so many people here, - he spread his hands helplessly, almost hitting an elderly neighbor on the head with his briefcase. - It's rush hour...

- Of course, of course, - Malvina nodded. - What objection could there be?

She shifted slightly to give the man a place in front of her.

- Thank you! - The fat man dropped his briefcase to the floor and undid the button on his collar. - It's hot in here. You live at the first entrance, right? Well, I live in the second. You taught Vova, my grandson, to draw at school. The redheaded boy. Do you remember him?

- Simakov? - The old lady looked uncertainly at her neighbor. - Vova Simakov? Of course I remember him! He always drew everything in black in class - birds, animals, trees, even the sun.

- Yes, Vova is a great original person! - laughed the interviewer. - He's just like me.

- Excuse me, what is your name? - "Malvina" asked the fat man.

- Me? Yuri. Yuri Pavlovich, - he corrected himself.

- Nice to meet you.

- Nice to meet you too. Oh, I think our air taxi is here! - The fat man picked up his briefcase and stepped briskly onto the platform. - Alla Sergeyevna, keep up. Do you have a credit card? Oh, good! Will you pay for me? I'll pay you back later. I only have cash, and you know they don't accept it here. I thought I'd have to take the subway. Luckily I met you.

He flopped into the soft leather seat and buckled his seatbelt.

- So, are you going to pay for me?

- Of course, - Malvina assured him, sitting down next to him and holding out her credit card to the driver. - South Butovo, please, Krasnolimanskaya Street, house three.

The air taxi silently separated from the platform and took off.

- Were you on vacation or visiting your grandchildren? - asked the fat man.

- On vacation, - the old lady smiled. - You know, I was supposed to go to Sochi, but there was a hurricane, the flight was canceled, I had to change everything at the last moment, fly to a completely unknown city, find a new guide, and they were all busy, as it turned out.

- Yeah, that sucks! - her neighbor nodded in understanding. - I've experienced this myself recently. You see, my college friend went to a city, and he praised it so much that he convinced me to fly there for the weekend. What a bastard! He said, "Choose your guide carefully, the local guy who knows the city like the back of his hand and will take you to the excursions, the museums, the exhibitions. I wish I had never listened to him! It was terrible!

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- What happened? - "Malvina" was worried. - Was he an unprofessional?

- Ah, - the fat man looked sadly out of the window, where the lights of the evening city passed below. - I don't even want to remember. They're all the same. Bastards!

- I don't think so. - The old lady smiled at something of her own. - They recommended a girl, a tiny girl, only eight years old. At first I was worried too, what can this little girl show me? She does not even live in this town, she comes for vacation to her grandparents. But there was no choice - I hired her, and you know, it was a good idea. She was so interesting! We went to the forest, to the river, to the beach - everywhere. I was thinking - it's March, it's supposed to be wet, cold, snowy, and there's heat. The real summer, can you imagine?

- Well, what's so surprising? - The man jerked his shoulder. - Spring comes early in the south.

- In the south - yes, - "Malvina" blinked mischievously. - But that town lies beyond the Urals.

- That can't be! - The fat man raised his eyebrows in surprise. - I myself have just come from there, from the Urals. The weather couldn't be worse - snow and rain, slush, ice on the river, muddy snowdrifts, puddles. There's dog shit everywhere. Absolutely disgusting. On top of that, my guide, this old-timer, this bastard, laughed at me and said, "Why the hell did you come to our backwoods at a time like this? There was nothing to see here even in the best years, and now it was even worse. Swamp!"

- Too bad you had bad luck, - the old lady patted her companion's hand. - My girl and I even went swimming.

- Swimming, you say? - Yuri Pavlovich hummed. - Where, in the water park?

- No, in the river. The water - is wonderful.

- I don't know, unless you're an ice swimmer...

- You don't believe me? - "Malvina" took a handful of shells out of her backpack. - What do you think they are?

The fat man looked at the river gifts in disbelief and muttered:

- They're just ordinary pearl shells. Maybe you picked them up near the river, I don't know.

- Where? Under the snow? - laughed the old lady. - And how about this?

She reached into her backpack and pulled out a jar of strawberry jam.

- I picked them myself in the woods, and I made it myself.

- I bet you're lying! - The fat man wrinkled his nose. - Strawberries? In March? I'll never believe it! You must have bought last year's strawberry jam at the market, right?

- But it is fresh, Yuri Pavlovitch, don't you see? - His companion took offense. - Would you like to try it?

- Oh, no, I don't eat store-bought things, - he moved away squeamishly. - I don't know who picked this berry, where, and with what hands.

- You're so suspicious, - the old lady put the jam back in her backpack. - Nothing will convince you. But what do you think of my tan? Do you see it on my face? And on my hands, too. Where did I get it?

- From the solarium, - he answered nonchalantly, but when he saw that "Malvina" didn't like his answer, he added peacefully:

- All right, all right. The Urals are big, who knows, maybe you were closer to Kazakhstan, where it is really warmer. What was the name of your town?

- The Forget-me-not.

- Are you joking?

- No, why?

- I was also in the Forget-me-not.

- No way! So we were in the same town?

- How could that be? You said it was summer there, and I was in winter.

- Yeah, it's really weird.

- You're so imaginative, Alla Sergeyevna, - the fat man suddenly laughed and wagged his finger at his neighbor. - It's not for nothing that my Vova told me about you, that you paint your hair with blue tracing paper.

- Why, it's a beautiful color, - the old lady ran her palm through her hair. - Besides, it makes me look younger.

- Well, yes. Who's arguing? But I'm sure it can get pretty dirty.

- Sure, - agreed Malvina. - So, Yuri Pavlovich, you don't believe me?

- About your summer in the middle of winter? No, of course not.

- All right, - the old lady smiled again. - You asked for it!

The darkness outside the window disappeared. The air taxi landed silently on a soft, uneven surface that looked more like river sand with small pebbles than asphalt. Outside, birds chirped, waves splashed indiscriminately, and when the pneumatic door was pulled aside, a warm southern wind blew into the passengers' faces and everything was flooded with blinding sunlight.

- The Forget-me-not town, - the driver announced. - Here we are.