Thick, acrid smoke filled the entire stadium. As the chemical fog thinned slightly, the residents of Old Kerzaky—still coughing and huddled on their wooden benches—began looking at one another: in mild shock, with ringing ears and eyes wide open.
?When the haze finally cleared, a colossal, smoking crater was revealed where the launchpad had once stood. At that moment, the railroad ties from the platform began falling from the sky like arrows, vanishing into the depths with a loud thud.
?Suddenly, they saw the unthinkable: entangled in the stadium’s soccer net, tossed there by the blast wave, was the blacksmith Innokentiy. Black with soot, he was thrashing about like a massive silver carp caught in a poacher’s net.
?Then, the thick, deafening silence was pierced by the local historian, Karl Karlovich. He stood there with a sheet of paper and a graphite pencil, meticulously recording every event.
?"Comrades, we have witnessed a monumental event!" Karl Karlovich proclaimed, triumphantly raising his notebook. "Now our village will be known to the entire world, not just for the estate of the merchant-speculator Barygin, but for our grand cosmic breakthrough! — Raising his voice, he continued — Well, world space powers, have a taste of our high-tech assault!"
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?At that point, everyone noticed the weeping Agrafia, who was sitting on her backside, legs splayed wide. Sobbing, she uttered: "Where is my dear Vasya?"
?"Do not grieve, Agrafia," said the historian Karl Karlovich, looking up from his notebook. "He sacrificed himself to astrophysics, and perhaps he is already in another dimension! I also promise you, Agrafia, that a monument will stand on the site of this crater. A statue shaped like a bottle with rocket fins, inscribed with: 'Vaska the Bottle, Conqueror of Time and Space!'"
?Agrafia, still sobbing, continued: "My... my Vasyl is not a bottle! He is Vasyl Butylkin!" Karl Karlovich, turning to Agrafia, sternly declared: "History does not tolerate sentimental inventions, Agrafia! Our hero was known to everyone as Vaska the Bottle for twenty-five years, and it is under that name, despite all sorrows, that he must be immortalized in the memory of descendants!"
?Agrafia, not waiting to hear the end of his pompous tirade, suddenly stood up. With a sharp, liberating motion, as if shaking off the dust of all "historical" nonsense, she yanked down her skirt, which had traitorously bunched up at her "backside" during the fall. Casting a look at Karl Karlovich full of tears and contempt, she exhaled through her sobs: "Oh, to hell with you and your histories!" After that, with a sad but proud air, she headed toward her home.
