Prince (Royal blood are not considered here) in real life does not exist. Modern girls over 14 this, of course, I guess, but still continue to believe and wait for it: beautiful, romantic, strong and coveted prancing white horse. My dear beauties, it’s official: all your dreams are not in vain! The princes are!
One of them is named Alexander Gushchin, he is a student of the now second-year St. Petersburg state University of telecommunications named after Professor M. A. Bonch-Bruevich. Rents an apartment on the 5th line of Vasilyevsky island, along with his studies, works, plays sports, writes songs and poems, riding quads, hovers on deltalat, loves animals, especially Stafford Oliver – a dog of his late friend Ivan. In Saint Petersburg Alexander arrived eight years ago from Bryansk, where he was raised by his grandmother and brother, and fell in love with this city forever.
In one of the rainy days of may, returning from University, Sasha saw the twisted homeless man under a tree. Got to the house, grabbed the umbrella and held out a dirty black-haired stranger, who, apparently, had no strength to climb, to choose a place drier. The next morning had turned cold, but the poor even in the evening hasn’t gone away, and sat on the old place with an open Sasha’s umbrella. Collecting warm clothes and an old blanket, a guy came up to the poor guy wrapped it on top of plastic bag attached, to not get wet, and, going to the store for food, fed. After two weeks of feeding and care (“I told him even cigarettes bought, but have seen that it is impossible, really bad person, but he asked for it!”) Sasha just sat down, and the stranger talked.
So his benefactor found out that before him the famous Tajik writer, philosopher and healer Mir Zafar Mirzaliev last years living in Yakutia. Having traveled India, China, Tibet – a series of his works called “the Warrior, going to the Sun”, very popular in Russia, – the traveller and the healer started another book and came to collect the material at Petersburg. But a sudden stroke, a few days in the hospital, where he was pushed out, then attack the nationalists… Beating the helpless of the World (he still walks with difficulty), they selected a bag with money and documents. Losing the stress experienced by the memory Zafar only remembered his name and that he was a Tajik, sufferer year wandered the streets of St. Petersburg, in addition to this right hand began to refuse. A few hours before a chance meeting with Sasha 55-year-old Mir Zafar desperate to such an extent that they ceased to understand what is happening and just whispered: “my Lord! What I suffer like this? Take me, please.”
Returning to the unfortunate life, Sasha is thrown into the Internet cry: “he has no Documents, so I can’t help him with the move home – he’s from Yakutsk, Tula had a brother. Another has a son who loves him. We help everyone we can, but would love to return it to a normal human life. Dear friends, if someone knows something about this man, please contact me at…” Message St. Petersburg student excited the Network, Gushchin started calling from Yakutsk, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, the World Zafar everywhere there were familiar. Responded to staff and the Embassy of Tajikistan in Moscow. Today Myrsalieva sheltered in the Cultural and legal center of the peoples of the East in St. Petersburg, with him in constant contact relatives.
“Two days ago he visited, good looking, smiling, – tells Sasha, – he says he is eager to finish the book. To me his books are not very esoteric and not mine. But one piece remember: “Each of you universe. Each of you saves the whole Universe and not just ourselves.” After this story I journalists alone do not leave, and I always help sick children, often the money you send. Well, if you see that asking for treatment of the mother, never I pass, Andrew.”
– Listen, but beggars are parasites on the holiest of things. In Moscow, for example, there is a whole mafia – forever pregnant, the lame, pleading to save
from the death of the brothers, children, fathers, mothers. You know about that?
– My mother died of cancer when I was nine years old and it’s still hard… Feeding these people, my conscience is clear, but if they’re cheating, that’s their business, let the soul think.
The poems you write about what?
“Oh, one is called “On the other, which is not.” Ivan was a good man, a blood clot and die instantly. His 15-year-old son is often seen with Oliver around.
PS I would have taken Alexander to the team of vacationers. And when you talk to him about it, he gets embarrassed, blushes, thanks, but refuses to…
despite the fact that since the childhood fantasy Prince Alexander was to see the sea…
Special thanks for assistance in preparing an interview to the press service of the University of telecommunications and staff Cultural and legal center of the East in St. Petersburg Zafar Mahmudovich Eshmambetova and Muhammad Mirzonazar.