A RassKuzik about what a Desert really is

The filming took place on the border of California and the state of Nevada, an hour and a half's drive from Las Vegas. Wild desert. But every few metres there were posts with signs, with something written on them in English. I think, surely there can't be advertising here too? Turned out, no — it's anti-advertising! On all the signs the same thing: "Caution! Rattlesnakes! Their bite is deadly! There is no antidote!" If you look closely, there really are little holes everywhere — these holes are the snakes' entrances and exits. The desert is dry, that's why it's a desert, but you can't shake the feeling that you're in an extinct prehistoric forest. Everywhere huge, dry trunks — but where do trees come from in a desert? I look closer — these are the remains of giant cacti. At a kick of the foot they crumble to dust, and out of them crawl those same snakes, scorpions and some unknown insects resembling beetles. The beetles run away very fast, yet manage not to lose their dignity — proud beetles somehow! They run off a distance and glance back: "Don't come near! I'll s-sting you!" Everywhere skulls of cows, skeletons of snakes, and right there ordinary "human" rubbish: plastic, Coca-Cola cans… What struck me were the gnawed, half-rotted men's belts — no trousers, but the belts lying about. What's more, not one, not a pair, but you'd come across them often, with a certain regularity… I came across a few more strange objects in the desert: a broken child's doll, a broken toy locomotive... How did they get here? And the belts? Why are there no trousers, but there are belts? Perhaps a little girl with a doll got lost, and a coarse, dirty cowboy decided to take advantage of it, started to take off his trousers, tossed off his belt… But there's only one doll, and many belts. And they'd rotted to differing degrees — it can't be that both the coarse cowboy's great-grandfather and his grandfather all took off their belts in precisely these spots… And the girl, did she just stand there?.. While I was fantasising on the theme of the strange assortment of objects in the desert, the film crew had moved on to the next location. I returned to reality — a scorpion was staring insolently at me. Deciding to show that "Man has a proud ring to it", and that I wasn't afraid of it at all, I kicked another rotted cactus and set off to catch up with my people. The day before, in Los Angeles, I'd bought a radio, a so-called "walkie-talkie", and I decided to test it. Yes, here, in the desert, where nobody and nothing gets in the way. I asked the cameraman Yuri Yuryevich to stay in touch, gave him the second "walkie-talkie", and boldly went deep into the desert… After about a thousand metres I pressed the button, and my first transmission flew out over the air: "Come in! Yuri Yuryevich, can you hear me?" "Come in! Yes, I hear you, Viktor," the cameraman answered. And what reception! Clear, distinct, as if the man were standing right beside me. What a marvellous "walkie-talkie" I have! I thought. And I went onward, "towards the sun"… At the 5th, 6th or 7th thousand metres, the "walkie-talkie" fell silent… My appealing: "Come in! Come in!" went unanswered. Yuri Yuryevich was silent. I felt uneasy — either I'd gone very far, or the walkie-talkie had reached the limit of its range. The desert, I'm alone, and where to go is unknown. In my head Morricone's music began to play and the landscape became a frame from Sergio Leone's films (music to be able to listen to). I decided to look around; not far off were some mountains. It became frightening — what if right now horsemen would appear from behind them: Indians, cowboys, and they'd all shoot at me and hurl tomahawks. I scratched my scalp. In my head there was utter chaos: Morricone rang out unbearably, Clint Eastwood looked sternly at me, and in parallel there surfaced an article from a medical reference book, read in my early youth, saying that without food a person can live more than 30 days, but without water only… seven. Ten if lucky. I desperately wanted to drink. Strange, because before that I hadn't wanted to at all. Evidently from the thoughts… Suddenly, "embedding themselves into Morricone's music", strange sounds could be heard: "Shr-shr-hr…" There was a pang in my lower belly. All the snakes, beetles, scorpions that had feared me and run away when I was among people, had now "decided to attack me". I swear, they were coming closer! They'd found out I was alone in the desert. Again I desperately wanted to drink. The thirst was such as if 30 days without food had passed, and then another 7 without water had been added. In short, "Death drew near with its bony hand". And I ran! For an hour and a half, two hours I ran across the desert and shouted into the damned "walkie-talkie": "Yuri Yuryevich, where are you??? SOS!!! Help!" Evidently I was running in circles, since in the end the mountains turned out to be on the same side as at the start of my flight. Suddenly a shot rang out! Well, that's it, Indians, I thought… "Where are you from, Said?" "There was shooting…" There was shooting. Without hope I trudged "towards the shot". The film crew was calmly at work, they'd filmed the chase scene. The satisfied cameraman handed me my "walkie-talkie" and said quite calmly: "A good thing, hear it splendidly!!!" When I, rescued, weeping with happiness, still asked him: "So, why on earth were you silent, damn it, Yuri Yuryevich? I was out there…" "Well, how could I?" he answered. "The shoot was going on, the command is silence, we record the sound straight away, I couldn't very well talk. But when I didn't switch your radio off, I heard you splendidly. Cracking "walkie-talkie" you've got!!!" "Thank you… for everything!!!" I answered from the heart, waved my hand, but… from then on I wouldn't stray a step from the crew.