Savchuk is the one and only read. Alexander Savchuk - Dunce

Alexander Savchuk

Dunce - the one and only

Here, Petrovich, a bad person, a real radish, didn’t give him time to go home and get a normal tourist backpack! I foisted some kind of American crap from the Vietnam era, but I didn’t think about the fact that the straps were thin. The weight is not small, it hurts the shoulders, and one of the swords rested on the lower back with a cross. No, of course I’m a healthy guy, thanks to my ancestors, but I’m not even-toed, it’s still a long time to drag this damn trunk, it’s time to take a break.

Where can you relax? Having looked around the surroundings, he chose a quite decent and clean bench near the extreme entrance of the high-rise building, pulled the trunk from his shoulders, and, taking cigarettes from his pocket, sat down, stretching his legs with pleasure. Taking a puff of bitter smoke, I began to think through my further route.

Ask where in a modern city does a man with a backpack full of swords and daggers come from? Earnings and prospects for an interesting business. Six months ago, I am a young senior lieutenant, I resigned from the ranks of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of my own free will and, in connection with this, I urgently began to look for work, because I was incredibly hungry. I must say that my dismissal did not happen entirely at my request, rather it was the desire of my boss, into whose machinations with the illegal construction of garages the young operator stuck his nose, and now I am free. And since I did not manage to acquire a decent profession, intending to fulfill my duty to protect law and order until retirement, there was only one way left for me: I became a GUARD! Working for a day or three, although it left a lot of free time, it very sparingly filled my wallet. Actually, I personally don’t need a lot of money; in everyday life I’m quite modest. What did Sherlock say? A piece of bread, a clean collar. True, sometimes you still wanted to snatch the benefits of civilization, and for them you need money. Fortunately, I had an apartment; after my mother’s death, my sister and I exchanged our parents’ apartments, and I got a nice one-room apartment in a quiet area. My valiant father heroically deserted from the family front when I was six years old, and I have not seen him since then. Financial and physical hunger forced me to look for at least some additional source of income, and since, in the absence of education and connections, I had good physical strength, I had to work with my hands, not my head. During these months I worked as a loader, a taxi driver and a laborer at a construction site. And so, about two months ago, I was taking another client and I recognized him as my neighbor in the old apartment, Sergei Petrovich, whom the whole house called simply by his patronymic. I must say, he is an outstanding personality. Recently he exchanged fifty dollars, a hereditary blacksmith and a great swearer, left a dying plant, where he had worked for almost thirty years, sold his dacha and bought a car in a small space in an industrial area, where, having built a blacksmith shop and hired two of his friends as craftsmen, he began to provide for the needs of the population in forged products. The forge, by the way, was equipped very well. There was a pneumatic hammer, a forge with electric inflation and exhaust, and various devices. The master was from God, he could forge anything, fences, trellises, various garden and country tricks, all this brought a small but stable income. At one time, Petrovich made good money from ordinary horseshoes. Previously, almost every home had a cheerful horseshoe for good luck, but then this tradition fell into oblivion. Do you agree, where can you get a horseshoe in the modern world? There are almost no horses left in the villages, so amateurs sometimes breed them. So Petrovich forged several dozen, and even advertised on a local TV channel. People just flocked to him in droves, some to buy for home, some as gifts. Then, of course, the excitement subsided, and Petrovich got bored. Earning money is not everything, he wanted unusual orders. He waited and was bored. Everything changed a few months ago, when in our city, at the local sports complex, a visiting coach organized training in the use of medieval edged weapons. Well, wave your sword, twirl your mace. It's fashionable now. Entire clubs exist. But in our city this was not the case. This sensei-trainer-master arrived on our virgin lands. But, in order to spur interest, I decided to organize a visual campaign. It turned out that he had good connections, and already this summer, a meeting of role-playing teams took place near a local river. Several thousand people arrived. All hotels quickly became full, and private owners made good money renting out housing. The rally lasted five days, almost the entire city came running to see it. Valiant knights with a valiant hoot, greeted each other with strong blows of various swords, the ladies were thrilled, looking at their heroes, the spectators rejoiced and threw their caps into the air. Of course, after this, the youth rushed to the section, with a great desire to learn how to just as beautifully hit the enemy and at the same time the hearts of beautiful ladies. Just like in the 90s, in the wushu and karate sections, and it doesn’t matter that they were led mainly by former wrestlers and boxers. At the same time, the issue of acquiring weapons and equipment arose urgently. The owner of the largest chain of stores, “Hunting, Fishing, Tourism,” quickly got involved, filled out the necessary paperwork, since the recently adopted law allowed this, and began selling various necessary goods. How about that? The trainer assured that success can only be achieved with his own, painfully studied, sword. In principle, he is right, but I am tormented by vague doubts that he simply had a share with a local merchant. Of course, you can order a sword online, but you want to hold it in your hands first, and in our city there is only one person who can sell this business. He bought them in the neighboring region. So Petrovich decided to make some money on this wave; he didn’t have a sales license, but he could forge swords and sell them for sale. But the main problem arose in the required steel. If there were no problems with training swords, they can be forged from springs, then with real, sharply sharpened ones that held this very edge perfectly, it was not so easy. After all, besides those who actually trained and more or less imagined the capabilities of the sword, there were those who simply wanted to hang a “real sword” on the wall, so that they could cut a hair on the water and chop a locomotive rail. We've read science fiction books, watched enough movies, but don't have enough brainpower to talk to specialists. The problem with steel was helped by Petrovich’s friend, a storekeeper in one of the plant’s workshops, who, during his next round of all kinds of closets and nooks, accidentally discovered several dozen unaccounted for steel bars. In distant Soviet times, our plant, in addition to completely peaceful products, worked on military orders, and it was not customary to save money in the defense industry. So they brought in materials in reserve. Of course, over the past time, most of the reserves were stolen, but there were places where no human had set foot for decades. It is in such closets and nooks that one can still find bales with red banners, a cannon barrel and a periscope from a submarine; it is unknown how and when they ended up there. It was in such a forgotten warehouse that the required materials were discovered. The markings on them made it clear that this type of steel, by the way, is ideal for the manufacture of high-quality weapons. Negotiations took place at Petrovich's home, arguments of 0.5 and polishing arguments of 1.5 were used, and as a result, the high parties came to an agreement. It was easy to seize the heritage of the Land of Soviets, because there was always something, and there were always enough holes in the fence of the plant.

Alexander Savchuk

Dunce - the one and only

Now there was a problem in information, after all, Petrovich was not a gunsmith and he only heard about the differences between swords, balancing and sharpening methods. It seems that all the information is on the Internet, but the conservative Petrovich did not use a computer, calling him “the overseas horseradish.” It was on such an evening, when Petrovich was thinking about overcoming a new problem, that we met. Here I offered him my modest services, having agreed in advance that he would subsequently teach me blacksmithing. Since childhood, I was crazy about any bladed weapon, the shine of knives fascinated me, I only saw swords in the museum. And what man, at least once in his life, has not imagined himself on the battlefield in armor and with a sparkling blade in his hands. And the knife is the younger brother of the sword. And if swords in our time remain only for collectors and lovers of the Middle Ages, then the knife has not gone away, and in general, the knife is the most faithful companion of mankind, it was with him in the Stone Age, and will be in space. Having seen an interesting knife from a friend, I could beg for it for a year, but still received the coveted blade. Also, since childhood, I have not liked mass-produced knives; they are kind of boring, soulless; a homemade knife is a completely different matter! Within the boundaries of our city there were two colonies, and where there were prisoners, there was production. Among the inmates there were many real masters, sometimes they created real masterpieces. And there were enough smart craftsmen at the dying plant. Despite the abundance of piercing and cutting objects in my house, I never found MY knife. How many times has it happened, I’ll order a knife, I’ll give you the exact dimensions, they bring the finished product, and I look and it’s not right! Once again, another knife went into the wooden box in which I kept my collection. I can't say that these were bad blades. Among them there were many excellent examples, with a magnificent blade shape, wonderful balance, amazing sharpening and a grippy handle, but I could not call any of them my knife. To be honest, I myself didn’t know what kind of knife I needed. Therefore, I decided to learn how to forge myself in order to try to make my dream myself.

Alexander Savchuk

The one and only

* * *

Petrovich, a bad person, a real radish, didn’t give him time to go home and get a normal tourist backpack! I was handed some kind of nasty American stuff from the Vietnam era, but I didn’t think about the fact that the straps were thin. The weight is quite large, it hurts my shoulders, and one of the swords rested on my lower back with a cross. No, of course, I’m a healthy guy, thanks to my ancestors, but I’m not a cloven-hoofed animal, I’m still carrying this damn trunk for a long time, it’s time to take a break.

Where can you relax? Having looked around the surroundings, he chose a quite decent and clean bench near the extreme entrance of the high-rise building, pulled the trunk from his shoulders and, taking cigarettes from his pocket, sat down, stretching his legs with pleasure. Inhaling the bitter smoke, I began to think through my further route.

Ask where in a modern city a man with a backpack full of swords and daggers came from? Earnings and prospects for an interesting business. Six months ago, I, a young senior lieutenant, voluntarily resigned from the ranks of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and, in connection with this, began to urgently look for work, since I was incredibly hungry. Well, how about on your own? In fact, no one asked my wishes. This was the desire of my boss, into whose machinations with the illegal construction of garages the young opera stuck his nose, and now I am free. No decent profession, no account in a Swiss bank for a few lemons. I chose the easiest path and became a security guard! The work is not dusty, in three days, there is plenty of free time, but the salary leaves much to be desired. Actually, I personally don’t need a lot of money; in everyday life I’m quite modest. What did Sherlock Holmes say? A piece of bread, a clean collar. True, sometimes you still wanted to snatch the benefits of civilization, and for them you need money. Fortunately, I had an apartment; after my mother’s death, my sister and I exchanged our parents’ apartments, and I got a nice one-room apartment in a quiet area. My valiant father heroically deserted from the family front when I was six years old, and I have not seen him since then. Financial and physical hunger forced me to look for at least some additional source of income, and since, in the absence of education and connections, I had good physical strength, I had to work with my hands, not my head. During these months I worked as a loader, a taxi driver, and a laborer at a construction site.

And about two months ago I was taking another client and I recognized him as my neighbor in the old apartment, Sergei Petrovich, whom the whole house called simply by his patronymic. I must say, he is an outstanding personality. Recently he exchanged fifty dollars, an excellent blacksmith and a great swearer, and left a dying plant where he had worked for almost thirty years. He sold his dacha and car, purchased a small premises in an industrial area, where he built a blacksmith shop. He hired two of his friends as craftsmen and began to provide for the needs of the population in forged products. The forge, by the way, was equipped very well. There was a pneumatic hammer, a forge with electric charging and exhaust, and various devices. The master was from God, he could forge anything: fences, trellises, various garden and country tricks - all this brought a small but stable income. At one time, Petrovich made good money from ordinary horseshoes. Previously, almost every house had a horseshoe hanging for good luck, but then this tradition sank into oblivion. Do you agree, where can you get a horseshoe in the modern world? There are almost no horses left in the villages, so amateurs sometimes breed them. So Petrovich forged several dozen, and even advertised them on a local TV channel. People flocked to him, some to buy something for home, some to give as a gift. Then, of course, the excitement subsided, and Petrovich got bored. Earning money is not everything; he wanted unusual orders.

Everything changed a few months ago, when at our city sports complex a visiting coach began teaching those who wanted to use medieval edged weapons. Well, wave your sword, twirl your mace. It's fashionable now. Entire clubs exist. But in our city this was not the case. This sensei-trainer-master arrived on our virgin lands. But, in order to spur interest, I decided to organize a visual campaign. His connections turned out to be quite good, and this summer a meeting of role-playing teams took place near a local river. Several thousand people arrived. All hotels quickly became full, and private owners made good money renting out housing. The rally lasted five days, almost the entire city came running to see it. The valiant knights, with valiant hoots, greeted each other with powerful blows of various swords, the ladies were thrilled, looking at their heroes, the spectators rejoiced and threw their caps into the air. Of course, after this, the youth rushed to the section with a great desire to learn how to just as beautifully hit the enemy and at the same time the hearts of beautiful ladies. Just like in the nineties in the wushu and karate sections, and it doesn’t matter that they were led mainly by former wrestlers and boxers. At the same time, the issue of acquiring weapons and equipment arose urgently. The owner of the largest chain of stores, “Hunting, Fishing, Tourism,” quickly got involved, filled out the necessary paperwork, since the recently adopted law allowed this, and began selling the necessary goods. How about that? The trainer assured that success can only be achieved with his own sword, studied to the smallest detail. In principle, he is right, but I am tormented by vague suspicions that he simply had a share with a local merchant. Of course, you can order a sword online, but you want to hold it in your hands first, and in our city there is only one person who can sell this business. He bought them in the neighboring region. So Petrovich decided to make some money on this wave; he didn’t have a sales license, but he could forge swords and sell them for sale. The main problem was the required steel. While training swords can even be forged from springs, with real swords that were sharply sharpened and held their sharpness perfectly, it was not so simple. After all, besides those who really trained and more or less understood the capabilities of the sword, there were those who longed to hang a “real sword” on the wall so that they could cut a hair on the water and chop a locomotive rail. We've read science fiction books, watched enough movies, but don't have enough brainpower to talk to specialists.

Petrovich’s friend, a storekeeper in one of the plant’s workshops, helped solve the problem with steel. During my next round of my closets and nooks, I accidentally discovered several dozen unaccounted for steel bars. In distant Soviet times, our plant, in addition to completely peaceful products, worked on military orders, and saving on the defense industry was not accepted. So they brought in materials in reserve. Of course, over time, most of the reserves were stolen, but there were places where no human had set foot for decades. It is in such closets and nooks that one can still find bales with red banners, a cannon barrel, and a periscope from a submarine, it is unknown how and when they ended up there. It was in such a forgotten warehouse that the required materials were stored. There were markings on them, experienced people suggested that a sword made of this steel would be incredibly cool. The storekeeper, knowing Petrovich's problem, offered to meet for negotiations. Negotiations took place at Petrovich’s house, zero-five arguments and one-and-a-half polishing arguments were used, and as a result, the high-ranking contracting parties came to an agreement. It was easy to seize the heritage of the Land of Soviets, because there was always something, and there were always enough holes in the fence of the plant.

But Petrovich was not a gunsmith, and he only heard about the differences between swords, balancing and sharpening methods. It seems that all the information is on the Internet, but the conservative Petrovich did not use a computer, calling him “the overseas horseradish.” It was on such an evening, when Petrovich was thinking about overcoming a new problem, that we met. I offered him my modest services, having agreed in advance that he would subsequently teach me blacksmithing. Since childhood, I was crazy about any bladed weapon, the shine of knives fascinated me, I only saw swords in the museum. And what man, at least once in his life, has not imagined himself on the battlefield, in armor and with a sparkling blade in his hands.

I'm also a knife maniac. I confess honestly. I can’t easily pass by a good knife. Having seen an interesting knife from a friend, I could beg for it for a year, but still received the coveted blade. Also, since childhood, I have not liked mass-produced knives; they are kind of boring, soulless; a homemade knife is a completely different matter! Within our city there are two colonies, and where there are prisoners, there is production. Among the inmates there were many real masters, sometimes they created real masterpieces. And there were enough smart craftsmen at the dying plant. Despite the abundance of piercing and cutting objects in my home, I could not stop. It’s not that I collected a collection; I had almost no copies valuable for professional collectors, I just love knives and I can’t do anything about it. How many times has it happened, I’ll order a knife, I’ll give you the exact dimensions, they’ll bring the finished product, and I’ll look – it’s a thing! A month passed, I had enough of playing with the new toy, and once again another knife was sent to the wooden box in which I kept my collection. I can't say that these were bad blades. There were many excellent examples among them, with excellent blade shape, wonderful balance, amazing sharpening and grippy handle, but I could never get enough. Therefore, I decided to learn how to forge myself in order to try to personally make everything I wanted.

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