“The deceased. Also a triumph, but unpleasant. Painful. It's an everyday matter; We'll all be there, whatever. (Sigh.) Vodovatov died with dignity and befitting: deceased. As a member of the secretariat, he suffered in the hospital of the Fourth Department, a single ward, special comfort with a TV, an individual post, a shift vigil of colleagues who followed the rules at the bedside and notified other colleagues about the condition. Well - the state. Seventy-four years old, angina pectoris, second heart attack; below the line - a four-volume collection of “The Chosen Ones” in “Soviet Writer”, a two-volume set in “Hudlit”, two orders and medals, membership in editorial boards and commissions, trips abroad, meetings; formerly young people, children, grandchildren blessed in literature; Charon brought up not a dilapidated regular boat, but a lacquer gondola - a befitting departure from the final station of a completely fulfilled life...”