dictator. episode 1

“Everything described below was carried out by me, Karl Medvedev, exclusively for the benefit of the citizens of twin beach. I do not agree with any of the accusations against me, allegedly I worked exclusively for my pocket. All my orders, decrees and decisions were made by me for the prosperity of my beloved island.”
***
"Get out of here, and don't you dare!" - mom was on edge today.
I sighed miserably and pulled my head back into my shoulders. It's coming! I earn little, I do not help!
Since my father left three years ago, my mother started drinking. A little at first. Just for dinner, for appetite. Then to drown out the longing for the bastard father.
Next came the bars and the search for a new man. But all of them appeared briefly and each was worse than the previous one.
Now mother was going through a quarrel with another, like he was seventh.
"Learning everything, huh?" Teaching? she shook her head angrily, her eyes glazed. "You're our student!" And who will buy products? Mother? A mother must hump? Raised a fool!
"Mom, I'm in session!" "I'll Pass and get a part-time job!"
"Oh, mother must endure?" Believe in the son of a jerk? - mother was getting even stronger, after all on whom the need to was vent offense.
— What do you do instead of studying?" Are you playing with your toys again? she nodded angrily at the monitor, which showed a tropical island. "Turn it off and go to work!" And to without money not returned!
I realized that in this state, to argue it is useless.
"Now go away and pay later!" — thought.
"All right, I'm going!"
He shut down the computer, gritting his teeth. Resentment choked his throat. Paradise island disappeared and became dreary.
"Ah that for life the, and?"
"Good-bye, mother!" he put on his jacket and snapped the lock. Cold and cigarette smoke wafted from the porch.
The mother angrily walked, his arms crossed over his chest and swaying. I put on my sneakers, went out, and closed the door.
"Put on your hat!" "what's the matter?" came a voice from behind the door.

The island with the white sand was very close. I looked up from the fish-scented plank floor. He felt a couple of splinters in his cheek and squinted at the blinding light. The rattle of the antediluvian engine pounded in his temples, as did the splash of the paddle wheel to his right.
I blinked, trying to clear the mist from my eyes. My right cheekbone hurt — it looked like I'd slept on it.
I sat on the deck and looked around. An old ship, behind the wheelhouse, with some gray-haired helmsman, a large chimney, spitting clouds of black smoke, right flying spray from the spinning wheel. Some reach me and I open my parched lips-I want to drink incredibly! Ugh, it's salty!
Besides, I'm all wet with sweat, the sun is baking at the Zenith and the breeze is quite weak. Before eyes nose ship and broad swathe of dense jungles from horizon until horizon, which slowly approaching.
In sight sandy Bank, what the ramshackle shack and a small plank jetty, on which froze three bulky figures.
"Hey, dad! I turn to the helmsman. "Give me water!"
He nods at the open hatch on the left. I crawl up to him, the bottom pot-bellied barrel. Length hands lack reach until a wooden mugs. I lift the lid — there's water shimmering. Quickly I draw, greedily I drink.
Here it is-bliss! Cool water irrigates the parched throat. Now you can live!
It remains to determine what is happening here at all? Last night, as usual, I crawled into the Dorm drunk, there still added, but I remember exactly that I fell asleep on my bed.
Then why the fuck am I on a ship!? And old enough to sink." The rotten boards creak piteously with every movement.
The deck sways, and my head begins to ache. My stomach is churning, I feel hiccups. I jump up, lean over the side. The contents of the stomach fly into the clear sparkling water.
Ugh, captain Morgan, rum! Mixed with coke. They were to catch up with in the morning, remember the hard. And a new exchange student from Cuba brought it. Forgot the name, but I remember the teeth and tan.
At night was delicious rum — now understand that for good reason his saws. I lean over the side again.
After a couple of minutes I feel much better, even breathing easily salty sea breeze. Except that the old boards creak with my weight.
A second later I fly down and dive into the warm water. Sweat immediately washes away, it becomes easy and pleasant.
Therefore I relax under water, I slightly open eyes. Visibility, of course, is not very, but flocks of colorful fish funny whisper against the background of a maroon coral reef.
"Well, at least I didn't fall out from the side of the paddle wheel, and then I would have received a vertebral massage and a new hairstyle!"- such a thought comes to mind, hands smoothly rise and fall in warm water.
Then it's not funny when I see a big shadow writhing in the distance. That there is forces'm floating to the surface.
I emerge, spit. My boat sailed a little farther, leaving a trail of white foam behind it. The shore is a stone's throw away. But the gray fin on the opposite side is even closer.
Three men on the dock start shouting and waving at me. Galloping on a rickety platform, lest they join me, with such eagerness.
I look back, the fin starts to move in my direction. A lump rises in my throat, goose bumps run down my spine, my lips stretch in a nervous half-smile.
Yes, captain Morgan, damn you! Still lacked Moscow student, that comes up on any exam, be here eaten what the malokholnoy shark in an unknown sea!
I row as hard as I can to the dock. Men throw me a rope. I cling to it with a death grip and soar upward. I hear a clatter behind me. I laugh hysterically.

• Fucking shark! Suck my fin! "yelling on my hands and knees." I spit and snort, water pouring from me in rivulets onto the smooth boards.
  I raise my head, wildly smiling, well, like, not every day you wipe the fin of a shark. Two healthy tanned men look at each other in bewilderment. They are dressed in frayed light shorts and look like Tajiks.
  Behind them, a guy in a white shirt and a long-brimmed hat stretches his thin lips in satisfaction.
  "Greetings, Steward." his thin moustache follows his lips, his small beard quivers, his teeth gleam in contrast to his tanned face. The voice is soft, whiny, and why it was hissing.
  "Let me introduce myself, sir, I'm Ricardo Maria Diego Lopez Santa Gonzalez, but you call me Ricky!"
  "Hey, Ricky." I said, and stood up a little unsteadily. His head was a little dizzy, and his heart was pounding, filling his skull with a ringing sound. My house shorts and Polo, soaked through, clung to my body.
  — Welcome to our home island of twin beach, Mr. Manager." I hope, sir, you will love it as much as all its inhabitants, sir, and I will give you a tour, sir, and introduce you to the course of Affairs, sir!
  "What tour, Ricky?" I glanced back at the wreck of a ship that was moored to the pier and watched as two of the buggies slowly tied ropes to rotten piles. "Tell me, how did I get here?"
  "I asked for you from the capital, as usual," Ricky said. "I sent a telegram to the Ministry asking for a new Manager, sir, and they sent you, sir-standard procedure."
  I frowned, trying to gather my thoughts together. Great hindered this process Tajiks-movers that with a roar threw on Board the ship plank ladder. Their footsteps on the boards vibrated and I involuntarily tensed the muscles of my legs to keep my balance.
  The pier was only a couple of meters wide and I absolutely did not want to be in the water again, where the familiar dark fin was slowly circling.
  — Uh, I think there must be some mistake. I said. Although swimming is refreshed, but agility was thinking tight. — I'm not a Manager, I'm in Philology!
  — Philo, what's that? Ricky asked, frowning. "Your dossier came in from the Ministry yesterday!" Manuel Santa Cruz, student, honors! Must arrive on this ship! I personally received-with Fax!
  — Fax, said I, thinking to himself. — "At how it all started, the technician class here!"
  Yes, indeed, like so and a yesterday's student. Son of a bitch! Where did he send me? He must have put something in the rum.
  At this moment the porters, stamping loudly, dragged the huge trunk between us, forcing us to part. The dais vibrated. I balanced precariously on the edge of the dock, but caught the wooden pile in time.
  Hit his teeth, coughed sawdust.
• Here's a new chest-with a budget! Ricky's voice came through the fog.
  "Budget..."- floated out of the fog in my head in Golden letters.
  "Uh, Ricky! Well, how much is it? I asked a minute later, as the fog cleared.
  "Ten thousand pounds, sir," said my assistant. — We're an English island, sir, a colony, and that's why the pounds are English."
  — Then why do you speak my language?" — I was surprised.
  "It's all game-implant-s!" Ricky's eyes widened. "I thought you'd been briefed, sir?"
  "Yes, Yes," I stammered. — But can you still show it?
  I watched wistfully as the Tajiks hauled the heavy trunk ashore and hooted it into the back of a pickup truck.
  The car was so old and rusted that scraps of native red paint were barely discernible. Behind the wheel I saw another guest worker in a cap.
  "Of course I will, sir." Ricky said eagerly. — But you'd better get to your Palace first." There you would have rested-from the road and ate!
  "Good idea, Ricky. I hesitated again. "Let's go!"
  "I also have a Palace! Well, the week has begun!”
  We walked briskly to the pickup. Especially potoraplivaya I as wanted to quickly leave the unstable structure.
  I often looked back at the floating fin-it seemed to bend as if beckoning me back to him, calling: "Hey, Hey, kid, come back, not finished!” He kind of waved goodbye.
  I shook my head. That kind of nonsense? Was it the rum?
  Feeling the solid ground under my feet, I rejoiced. But not for long. The white sand began to burn my bare feet, and I hopped up to the truck, grunting.