In general, Mandelstam is cautious and even meek in his treatment of sacred topics. But at the same time, he is very honest, and in a conversation on these topics, honesty is the main virtue. Take, for example, the following lines:

Oh, how we love hypocrisy

And we forget without difficulty

That we are closer to death in childhood,

Than in our mature years.

It was said in 1932, six years before his death. But it was extracted from that early experience, which was indelibly imprinted on the search for his path, and on his literary work, and on his whole life.

386 Wonderland

For the second night in a row, Petrovich slept with half an eye. He did not toss and turn from side to side and did not get up to smoke, but he woke up often. He lay there, looking at the light of the lantern outside the window, and thought. Then he forgot himself for a short sleep, only to wake up again an hour later. He, Pavel Petrovich Dronov, a driver with 30 years of experience, a man who had exchanged fifty rubles, for the second night in a row was disturbed by the words he heard at the sermon.

It was in July, on the day of the feast of the Holy Apostles. Petrovich, being a double birthday boy (personally and by the priest), decided to go to the service. First of all, the mother-in-law pestered me: go and go. Secondly, the church in the neighborhood was Peter and Paul. And thirdly, Petrovich thought, enough to indulge in vodka in the garage and in the yard with the peasants, you can go to church once on your name day. This unexpected and good thought came to Pavel Petrovich also because the name day was an anniversary. Dronov turned 50. But he did not want to think about it, and therefore refused to put the anniversary date among the reasons.

In the church, as always on a holiday, there were people - you can't push through. Dronov stood near the lectern with the icon of Peter and Paul, and he, fairly squeezed by the pilgrims, was often given candles with a short "for the feast." The heat and crowds did their job. Petrovich, who did not really know the service and did not know how to delve into the common prayer, soon got tired and repented that he celebrated his name day in a new way, and not as usual. He would have left long ago, but it was far from the door, and there was no other way to pass through the crowd of parishioners than with a fight. I felt better when they sang "I believe". Petrovich talked to the people about the words of the Symbol that he knew, and at the same time he felt some invigorating and unknown joy, from which he wanted either to cry or to hug everyone. The same thing happened at the Lord's Prayer. And then something happened that later took away sleep from the 50-year-old driver Pavel Petrovich Dronov, a man who bent a weaving nail with his fingers and was not distinguished by sentimentality.

The priest said something from the altar and fell silent. The veil was closed. A boy in a long robe came out and placed a candle in front of the closed Gate. People somehow immediately began to fuss, moved, whispered. Petrovich thought that it was time to leave the church, but he heard a loud "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit" and decided to stay. He had heard sermons before. Through the efforts of his precious mother-in-law, a little old woman, both mischievous and pious, Dronov listened to many cassettes in the car. During Great Lent, again at the request of his mother-in-law, he went to church on Sunday evenings to hear about the sufferings of Jesus Christ. But he did not like the sermons. I did not like the tone, solemn and loud. I didn't like words like "beloved in the Lord" or "my dear." Pavel Petrovich has already lived to see the years when words about love are more annoying than warming. The fact that people live out of habit and without joy, that no one really loves anyone, and priests are no exception, Petrovich understood long ago and had long come to terms with this.

But this time the words of Priest Dronov caught my attention. The priest was a stranger, apparently he had come to visit for the feast. He looked non-saintly, taller than average, large. Younger than Petrovich, but not a "child" (Petrovich's mother-in-law called those frail and beardless young priests who can be seen so often in our churches under construction or under renovation "children").

The priest began to talk about Peter and Paul, but quickly changed the subject and continued about Christ. That Christ is alive and that He is the same forever. That He is closer to us than the air we breathe and the clothes we wear. At the word of clothes, Pavel Petrovich shrugged his shoulders, felt his sweat-soaked shirt cling to his back, but instead of stuffiness he felt a cool breeze on his face, almost breath.