“- Is this Stepan? - an unfamiliar old man croaked from the receiver. Misha doesn’t use his home phone. Previously, my mother’s acquaintances and colleagues called. They expressed condolences. Those who didn’t know about my mother’s death were surprised how this could happen, she was still so young, what happened, bad doctors, but I have a good doctor, he got me back on my feet. Misha was tired of these calls, tired of the surprise of unfamiliar people, surprise behind which the joy of superiority gleamed: they were alive. Many were curious, asked for details of the disease and were very disappointed when they learned that there was no disease. There was no suffering, paralysis, false hopes, quack healers, stinking sheets, bedsores. The vessel burst. That's all. There were still enough people interested in Misha at the funeral; one of her colleagues kept looking into the coffin to check whether her colleague looked good in her latest makeup. One day Misha stopped picking up the phone, and the calls stopped by themselves. This time the call woke him up, he tossed and turned for a long time and hid under the blanket, he was about to pull out the cord or pick up the phone and immediately put it down, but he gave up and put the phone to his ear...”