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Today people flocked to the Church on Konyushennaya, the venue of Pushkin's burial service, to say their last good-bye to Andrei Krasko.
The ceremony left disjointed impressions: foremost, faces. No doubt, there were more faces that we saw and recognized...
...firmly standing Ivan Urgant with a hand near his lips as if to stall an outburst of a sob...
...Semyon Furman against a column, head thrown back and touching stone, tears keep going down the face...
...Pavel Barshak with limp shoulders, but still rising above the others, moist, unseeing eyes...
...unnerved Andrei Tolubeyev with a still face...
...two Ivan Kraskos, of the same stature, the older one seeming to see everything, the younger one - unnoticing...
...Kirill, uncomprehending what it is all about, with marvelous, a kind of fallen, eyelashes...
...his Svetlana, whiter than white...
...sobbing Yury Stoyanov...
...Alexei Guskov with two red roses...
...frozen in disbelief, crying Marat Basharov...
...Igor Sklyar with darkened, even grayed stony face...
...lost Valery Kukhareshin...
...tensely straightened Alexander Polovtsev...
...Mikhail Porechenkov, barely perceptibly swaying from side to side...
...stiffened Konstantin Khabensky...
...shaken Yevgeny Ganelin in tears...
...Leonid Yarmolnik, discomfited by his being late for the ceremony...
When the casket was borne out of the church gate, the crowd waiting outside burst into... applause. It lasted and lasted... We are unaware whether such tradition exists, but an uncanny sensation crept along one's back that this is somehow weirdly proper... People, in passing the black car that glistened in the bright sunlight, pressed a hand to it for a few moments.
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