When my parents moved away from John’s perambulator at least a couple of steps the ear membranes could be broken from his cry. But parents were used to it, and his father got earplugs at night, and slept peacefully… and the mother? She did not sleep at all, and when she fell asleep her place was under the cradle baby. In the morning he had to go to work! My father did not understand the children, it was alien to him. He drank a lot. Because of the constant scandals (even then the psyche of the child was broken down), he left home and abandoned his mother. But she didn’t keep her head, did not send their children to the boarding school (she had not even thought about it) and decided to bring them up by herself. My mother had a sister and got on well with her. And her husband drove John and his sons to the sea three (or even more) years, to the warm blue sea. He felt so good there. Years passed and passed, but memories remained. Uncle John was a wonderful man (really a man, not his father). John had for his uncle sympathy and sometimes even imitated his uncle, who was for Smith a perfect example of a man, but he was destined to die in the full vigour. That was a great grief to John. He cried almost all the night. It seemed that he wept all the tears. An absurd death was a great misfortune not only for John but for all the relatives and friends, because he was a man who did good things and people came back at him. It seemed he had done everything that every person should do in this life (most likely, every person should live more than one life): to acquire a family, have children, builda house and plant a tree.