From the author: Works of his own compositionCrisisHe lost weight. I was in my body all the time, and now I’m melting before my eyes. She hurriedly went to the kitchen and put the pan on the stove. The gas still didn’t want to turn on. Probably renovation work again. It’s good that there is an electric stove that never fails. Something inside her crackled, clicked, and began to feel warm. She fluttered around the kitchen while he wandered around the house. The cat watched as her hands ran through boxes of pasta and cereals, as pepper was sprinkled and salt dissolved. Just a little more, she thought, and we will get you to your feet. You will be there again, she muttered, just like on your wedding day. A wedding is an important event. A white mountain of lace hiding the bride and the rosy-cheeked, embarrassed groom. But this is not about them. She is in sweatpants and a snow-white T-shirt, he is with a huge backpack on his shoulders and mountains. Not everyone accepted this arrangement. But what difference does it make when you are 20 and have your whole life ahead of you? Only mountains, only to heights...and so all my life, hand in hand. He entered the kitchen. I looked at the electric stove. It crackled and clicked. The red light winked and invited us to dinner. We need to fix it, he thought. Otherwise it will explode, he muttered, smashing all the walls brick by brick. I sat at the table. She grabbed his favorite plate and poured some soup. Hot, fragrant. He closed his eyes. I sniffed it. My stomach felt treacherous. She looked at him. Shaggy. He sat for a couple more minutes. He kicked the stool with a sharp blow. It fell to the floor with a crash. The cat fluffed up and rushed away with bulging eyes. She screamed. Quiet. Only my heart is pounding in my ears. He is silent. She reached out her hands to him, trying to calm him down. He staggered back and glared at her. Scary. She was afraid of him only once. They were just dating then. The room was dark and cool. She sat on a chair and looked at the ceiling. It's late and he's still not there. A woman's head can twist itself and on its own. Sometimes you want a scandal, so that plates hit the wall. I sat and thought about which plate I wouldn’t mind. The key turned in the lock and he filled the room. She pretended that his appearance did not interest her at all. That one with the green edge, she decided, I don’t mind it, it’s from an old set. He reached out to kiss her. She chuckled and turned away. Okay, now it's time. She got up from her chair and walked into the kitchen. A minute later she returned, hiding the plate behind her back. “And where do we go?” - She looked through the darkness at his silhouette. “Let’s not now,” he muttered tiredly and began to change clothes. The start clicked in his head and the plate flew into the wall. He jumped to the side and grabbed her hand. She looked into his eyes and was scared. Now she was scared too. But she didn't do anything. Whole plates were crowded in the cupboard. The cat did not let up, shocked by the fall of the stool, and continued to run around the apartment, crashing into sofas and cabinets. Probably, the cat withdrew even more into himself from each new blow, and the cat's grace scattered with sparks from his green eyes. He left the kitchen. She followed him. He sat down on the sofa and covered his face with a pillow. He shouted. Loud. Drawing. Lord, she crossed herself. I wanted to come up and hug. Scary. She once read that at the age of 30, men experience a crisis. They advised not to interfere. Especially wives. Just endure. Just wait. And feed. Standing in the doorway. Doesn't interfere. Tolerates. Waiting. He fell on his side and fell asleep. The pillow fell to the floor. Don't interfere, she mutters. Fear gave way to resentment. For soup, for a stool. And even, a little, for the cat. I wanted to take revenge. Here and now. The cat meowed approvingly. She lifted the pillow. All you have to do is throw it at him and proudly walk away. Subtleties of the female “fi.” She waited a moment. Swung it. And she threw everything she had at him. He sobbed. But he didn't wake up. Well, go to sleep, she thought, slowly floating through the wall. In the kitchen, the electric stove, which never failed, was crackling. The pots were empty. And the mirrors are hung.