Dowry of a shaggy monkey read online. Dowry of a shaggy monkey (Daria Dontsova)

I think of the contempt that accompanies the name of the writer Darya Dontsova among the celestials of literature. Why is it low literature, second-rate literature? Hundreds, maybe even thousands, tens of thousands of people caught on a fingernail last resort for the positive of her books, got out, continue to live. Is this not enough? Write, geniuses, a book exposing Christ on five hundred pages, so much so that I, locked up in the hospital, would want to pray and survive after reading, and not hang myself - and I will take my words back.
Don't read too much Dontsov. There is an offensive feature of her books - they get bored. On the other hand, is the candy factory to blame if, having lost my mind, I ate too much chocolate and I feel sick?

I do not believe in the existence of a special "reader of Dontsova", something uncultured, uneducated is always caustically assumed here. Dontsova's books are read and will be read not because some special “her reader” lives in the world, but because her books are good.
A writer who loves people and dogs and tries to make people's lives easier will always outperform a writer who loves Doukhobors: Caucasian, Canadian, Bolivian, and then, as long as they are Dukhobors, and not a vegetable saleswoman.

The reader has the right not only to "not be able" to read A. Goldstein, but this is difficult, intelligent, biased, "on his own mind" reading, not everyone can afford it, but also "not wanting" to read it. It's just "not wanting". Poincare and Perelman will not get worse if I replace all the mathematics in the world with a calculator in my mobile phone. Not for me they are looking (searching) and writing (writing). Is it necessary to treat with contempt the reader who does not want to read Sorokin, Erofeev, etc. - all our advanced literature, from the covers? Then, and Perelman should hate me for the fact that I use mathematics, only filling out a receipt for gas.

Something is wrong here. A person cuts through poetry from the first line, from the first stanza, and immediately determines: his poet or not, whether he will read it or not. Why can't one "feel" prose in the same way? Why is it supposed that for prose my hearing is duller, my sensations are more erroneous, my desires are secondary? Why, in order to understand that (for me) Sorokin is an alien, uninteresting and harmful writer, should I read the whole of Sorokin? No, I'll understand quickly.

The need for warmth and goodness is the same at all times. The danger, having given kindness and warmth, to be, in return, destroyed, is equally great at all times. What is the point of a smart person who knows about death, for months and years to substitute a letter for a letter, if he is not driven by a desire that sounds naive, but the origin is not simple, but divine - to make people's lives easier. Let it be fairy tales, let it be naive and low fiction stories but easier.

Viola Tarakanova, a socialist realism scumbag and the swan princess of science fiction, is the best brainchild of detective writer Daria Dontsova. There are a great many examples of self-sacrifice, kindness, responsiveness, courage in the books about Viola. The heroine has a lot to learn, with her I want to cross the bleak field of illness, sadness, bad mood, trouble at work. She is alive and clear.

Ulysses, useless for my life, I will gladly replace with Daria Dontsova. I have to live, and Ulysses cannot help me in this.

Books about Ivan Podushkin are completely different, cold, a lot of swearing. These books have a bad aftertaste. If it is true that not everything signed by Dontsova was written by Dontsova, then the books about Ivan Podushkin are the first to fall under suspicion.
However, I don't care about that. I just stopped reading Podushkin, like Ulysses - that's all. Not mine.

Yura and I had to deal with this story. When I went home to the poisoned accountant, I found out that her son Nikita was also dead. And soon Nikita's girlfriend was also killed... It seems that the crime has nothing to do with plush hares, pigs and shaggy monkeys!

Read online The dowry of a shaggy monkey

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excerpt

If your loved one suddenly turns off his mobile and does not answer your persistent calls, do not worry. Do not ask where and with whom he spent the whole day without answering calls, because if in the end you find out everything, you can get even more excited.

I looked at the clock. So, it's already evening, but nothing from Yura. It seems that he not only forgot that we were going to go to the cinema, but also completely threw Viola Tarakanova out of his head, never called her.

Just please, don't consider me a hysterical person with the manners of a domestic tyrant! I do not belong to the category of women who meet a late husband on the doorstep with a rolling pin in his hand and with a tender question on his lips: “Where have you been wandering, cattle ?!” I never rummage through Yura's pockets, I never read SMS messages on his cell phone, I never go into e-mail. To some, I may seem indifferent: why not find out where and with whom my husband spent time?

Well, for starters, Yura Shumakov and I are not married, but just live together in my new apartment.

Many women, proudly tossing their heads, say: “The stamp in the passport does not change anything! We have civil marriage, I do not want to formalize the relationship, this is an empty formality. Forgive me, but I do not believe such statements. They are made by those whose partner, despite the long life together, never uttered the cherished words: "Honey, marry me." If a man loves a woman, he will really lively lead his chosen one down the aisle.

You can laugh as much as you like, but the painting procedure is a great discipline for most guys, they immediately understand that now they are real husbands, and become the head of the family. If your lover, after a couple of years of the closest communication, has not presented you with an engagement ring, then I doubt that this jewelry will appear on your hand at all. And if you gave birth to a child for him and still remained unmarried, then you should give up all hope of marriage. I don't want to say that an erratic marriage is a good thing, but when they sing you a song: “Well, what do you care? Why do we need a stamp? I recognize the baby even without formalizing the relationship, ”this means only one thing: your Romeo is afraid to take responsibility, it is much more comfortable for him to feel like a free bird.

Many representatives of the weaker sex are for some reason ashamed of their desire to have a legal husband. They are at a loss when they hear from a dear friend a statement about the imminent death of love under the seal of the registry office, and embarrassedly say: “Well, of course, I am absolutely happy, I don’t need a meeting with my aunt, who will solemnly say:“ I declare you husband and wife! Your friend will exhale noisily and rejoice: nothing threatens his freedom, he is not bound hand and foot and can leave at any moment. But in fact, each of us wants declarations of love, flowers and, of course, white dress, holiday, gifts. It’s just that some honestly voice their desire to become a legal wife, while others portray indifference. That's just the more often they repeat: "Happiness does not depend on the stamp in the passport!" The less I trust them.

Yuri Shumakov has not yet proposed to me, so I do not consider myself his wife. I am a mistress or a girlfriend. This is an absurd word, which in translation means: a woman friend. The proverb immediately comes to mind: "A dog - best friend human,” and the corresponding associations arise.

Just please, don't consider me a hysterical person with the manners of a domestic tyrant! I do not belong to the category of women who meet a late husband on the doorstep with a rolling pin in his hand and with a tender question on his lips: “Where have you been wandering, cattle ?!” I never rummage through Yura's pockets, I never read SMS messages in his cell phone, I never go into e-mail. To some I may seem indifferent: why not find out where and with whom the husband spent time?

Well, for starters, Yura Shumakov and I are not married, but just live together in my new apartment.

Many women, proudly tossing their heads, say: “The stamp in the passport does not change anything! We have a civil marriage, I don’t want to formalize the relationship, this is an empty formality.” Forgive me, but I do not believe such statements. They are made by those whose partner, despite a long life together, has not uttered the cherished words: "Honey, marry me." If a man loves a woman, he will really lively lead his chosen one down the aisle.

Many representatives of the weaker sex are for some reason ashamed of their desire to have a legal husband. They are at a loss when they hear from a dear friend a statement about the imminent death of love under the seal of the registry office, and embarrassedly say: “Well, of course, I am absolutely happy, I don’t need a meeting with my aunt, who will solemnly say:“ I declare you husband and wife! Your friend will exhale noisily and rejoice: nothing threatens his freedom, he is not bound hand and foot and can leave at any moment. But in fact, each of us wants declarations of love, flowers and, of course, a white dress, a holiday, gifts. It’s just that some honestly voice their desire to become a legal wife, while others portray indifference. That's just the more often they repeat: "Happiness does not depend on the stamp in the passport!" The less I trust them.

Yuri Shumakov has not yet proposed to me, so I do not consider myself his wife. I am a mistress or a girlfriend. This is an absurd word, which in translation means: a woman friend. The proverb immediately comes to mind: "A dog is a man's best friend," and the corresponding associations arise.

Okay, back to Shumakov's pockets and his cell phone. I do not show curiosity, not because we are not scheduled. If on Monday a mark from the registry office appears in my passport, I will not sniff my husband on Tuesday, Wednesday and the following days of the week and inspect his jacket in search of someone else's hair. I find this behavior ridiculous and stupid. Well, I will find a message on the phone like: “Dear, I remember our meeting and tremble with happiness. Your Masha. So what? What to do with this information? Put the receiver under the nose of the traitor and ask menacingly: “Do you go to the left?” And suddenly I hear: “Yes. I'm sorry, dear, I'm confused, I can't understand who I love more, you or Masha "? And again, what next? Where to go after learning the ugly truth?

I sighed and got up from the couch. I'll go get some coffee. September will rain on the street, so the blues attacked me. Instead of philosophizing from scratch, it is better to get down to work. The deadline for submitting the manuscript to the publishing house has long passed, the editor Olesya cut off all the phones of Arina Violova (under this pseudonym I, Viola Tarakanova, is known as a writer), but I can’t write, the ends don’t meet, hence Bad mood. I am quite satisfied with our relationship with Yura, and the fact that he has not yet made an offer suits me perfectly. Once I have already been married and do not want to repeat the sad experience.

I turned on the coffee machine and stared at the thin stream of brown liquid pouring into the cup.

Shumakov, an employee of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, is engaged in difficult, sometimes dangerous work, he can be called to work at any time of the day, and Yura does not always have the opportunity to call home. But he is aware of my personality traits. I am a self-winding system, stupid thoughts often come into my head. It all starts with a glance at the clock and a sigh: it's already evening, but Yura is gone. Poor thing, he works so hard, he must be having a hard day today. Shumakov was called “to the corpse”, he examines the crime scene, and there may be surprises: a bandit hid in the closet, he takes out a gun and ... When around midnight, alive and unharmed, Shumakov tumbles into the apartment and starts stroking the kotops, it is already possible to call the resuscitation team to me.

At first, Yura laughed at me, then he became angry and said:

- Let's agree. If you receive empty SMS messages from me during the day, then this means that I am alive, healthy and unharmed, I just don’t have time for idle conversations.

And now, looking at my mobile, I calm down a little.

But today there hasn't been a single message since eleven in the morning. Yura's cell phone is silent, he does not answer the work phone, night is creeping up, and the cat-dog has been on duty at the door for a long time.

I brought a strange animal that looks like a cat and a dog at the same time from Greece. Catdog is an apathetic creature, his favourite hobby dream. He also loves to eat and doesn’t interfere with me at all - he doesn’t pester, doesn’t climb with caresses, doesn’t require me to throw a ball to him or shake a whisk of bird feathers in front of his muzzle, meekly uses the toilet, doesn’t act up and looks healthy. The perfect pet, more like a living plush bunny. But here's the strange thing: the cat-dog perceives me, the mistress who feeds him, indifferently. I'm sitting at home - good, left - even better. And he rushes to meet Yura from all four paws. Moreover, in the late afternoon, the cat-dog begins to loiter in the hallway and does not leave it until Shumakov enters the door. The illegal immigrant from Greece clearly loves Shumakov, but he does not seem to feel even a hint of tenderness towards me.

The sharp ringing of my cell phone made me jump. I grabbed my phone and, without looking at the display, exclaimed:

- Yurasik!

- You are disturbed from the show by Andrei Balakhov. Can I have Arina Violova? The editor speaks for the guests.

I have been a member several times popular show and immediately remembered a cute red-haired girl with a piercing in her nose, a bunch of rings in her ears and clusters of bracelets on her arms. The guest editor's name is Polya, she's very nice. Once we had an accident with her funny story We broke the heels of our shoes at the same time.

- Polinochka! I rejoiced. - How are you?

“Sorry,” the caller replied, “but Polina quit. Two years ago or less, I don't remember.

"Sorry," I muttered.

After agreeing with the editor about shooting, I put down the phone and decided to have another coffee. And then again there was a melodic trill. This time someone rang the doorbell.

I hurried to the hallway and on the way I ran into a cat dog, who for some reason did not meet Yura, but darted into the living room.

Dowry of a shaggy monkey Darya Dontsova

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Title: Dowry of a shaggy monkey

About the book "The dowry of a shaggy monkey" Daria Dontsova

I, Viola Tarakanova, never check the pockets of my boyfriend Yura Shumakov, I don’t get on the phone and I’m not interested in the past of my beloved man. His ex-girlfriend showed up on my doorstep! Olya Kovrova, terrified to death, said: the chief and accountant of the Shaggy Monkey soft toy factory, where she serves as a secretary, was poisoned, and now she will be accused of murder, because it was Olya who served the tea! Yura and I had to deal with this story. When I went home to the poisoned accountant, I found out that her son Nikita was also dead. And soon Nikita's girlfriend was also killed... It seems that the crime has nothing to do with plush hares, pigs and shaggy monkeys!

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Dowry of a shaggy monkey
Darya Dontsova

Viola Tarakanova. In the world of criminal passions #26
I, Viola Tarakanova, never check the pockets of my boyfriend Yura Shumakov, I don’t get on the phone and I’m not interested in the past of my beloved man. His ex-girlfriend showed up on my doorstep! Olya Kovrova, terrified to death, said: the chief and accountant of the Shaggy Monkey soft toy factory, where she serves as a secretary, was poisoned, and now she will be accused of murder, because it was Olya who served the tea! Yura and I had to deal with this story. When I went home to the poisoned accountant, I found out that her son Nikita was also dead. And soon Nikita's girlfriend was also killed... It seems that the crime has nothing to do with plush hares, pigs and shaggy monkeys!

Darya Dontsova

Dowry of a shaggy monkey

Just please, don't consider me a hysterical person with the manners of a domestic tyrant! I do not belong to the category of women who meet a late husband on the doorstep with a rolling pin in his hand and with a tender question on his lips: “Where have you been wandering, cattle ?!” I never rummage through Yura's pockets, I never read SMS messages in his cell phone, I never go into e-mail. To some I may seem indifferent: why not find out where and with whom the husband spent time?

Well, for starters, Yura Shumakov and I are not married, but just live together in my new apartment.

Many representatives of the weaker sex are for some reason ashamed of their desire to have a legal husband. They are at a loss when they hear from a dear friend a statement about the imminent death of love under the seal of the registry office, and embarrassedly say: “Well, of course, I am absolutely happy, I don’t need a meeting with my aunt, who will solemnly say:“ I declare you husband and wife! Your friend will exhale noisily and rejoice: nothing threatens his freedom, he is not bound hand and foot and can leave at any moment. But in fact, each of us wants declarations of love, flowers and, of course, a white dress, a holiday, gifts. It’s just that some honestly voice their desire to become a legal wife, while others portray indifference. That's just the more often they repeat: "Happiness does not depend on the stamp in the passport!" The less I trust them.

Yuri Shumakov has not yet proposed to me, so I do not consider myself his wife. I am a mistress or a girlfriend. This is an absurd word, which in translation means: a woman friend. The proverb immediately comes to mind: "A dog is a man's best friend," and the corresponding associations arise.

I sighed and got up from the couch. I'll go get some coffee. September will rain on the street, so the blues attacked me. Instead of philosophizing from scratch, it is better to get down to work. The deadline for submitting the manuscript to the publishing house has long passed, the editor Olesya cut off all the phones of Arina Violova (under this pseudonym I, Viola Tarakanova, is known as a writer), but I can’t write, the ends don’t meet, hence the bad mood. I am quite satisfied with our relationship with Yura, and the fact that he has not yet made an offer suits me perfectly. Once I have already been married and do not want to repeat the sad experience.

I turned on the coffee machine and stared at the thin stream of brown liquid pouring into the cup.

Shumakov, an employee of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, is engaged in difficult, sometimes dangerous work, he can be called to work at any time of the day, and Yura does not always have the opportunity to call home. But he is aware of my personality traits. I am a self-winding system, stupid thoughts often come into my head. It all starts with a glance at the clock and a sigh: it's already evening, but Yura is gone. Poor thing, he works so hard, he must be having a hard day today. Shumakov was called “to the corpse”, he examines the crime scene, and there may be surprises: a bandit hid in the closet, he takes out a pistol and ... When around midnight, alive and unharmed, Shumakov tumbles into the apartment and starts stroking the kotops, I can already call the resuscitation team.

At first, Yura laughed at me, then he became angry and said:

- Let's agree. If you receive empty SMS messages from me during the day, then this means that I am alive, healthy and unharmed, I just don’t have time for idle conversations.

And now, looking at my mobile, I calm down a little.

I brought a strange animal that looks like a cat and a dog at the same time from Greece. Catdog is an apathetic creature, his favorite pastime is sleep. He also loves to eat and doesn’t interfere with me at all - he doesn’t pester, doesn’t climb with caresses, doesn’t require me to throw a ball to him or shake a whisk of bird feathers in front of his muzzle, meekly uses the toilet, doesn’t act up and looks healthy. The perfect pet, more like a living plush bunny. But here's the strange thing: the cat-dog perceives me, the mistress who feeds him, indifferently. I'm sitting at home - good, left - even better. And he rushes to meet Yura from all four paws. Moreover, in the late afternoon, the cat-dog begins to loiter in the hallway and does not leave it until Shumakov enters the door. The illegal immigrant from Greece clearly loves Shumakov, but he does not seem to feel even a hint of tenderness towards me.

The sharp ringing of my cell phone made me jump. I grabbed my phone and, without looking at the display, exclaimed:

- Yurasik!

- You are disturbed from the show by Andrei Balakhov. Can I have Arina Violova? The editor speaks for the guests.

I have already been a participant in a popular program several times and immediately remembered a cute red-haired girl with a piercing in her nose, a bunch of rings in her ears and clusters of bracelets on her hands. The guest editor's name is Polya, she's very nice. Once we had a funny story with her - we broke the heels of our shoes at the same time.

- Polinochka! I rejoiced. - How are you?

“Sorry,” the caller replied, “but Polina quit. Two years ago or less, I don't remember.

"Sorry," I muttered.

After agreeing with the editor about shooting, I put down the phone and decided to have another coffee. And then again there was a melodic trill. This time someone rang the doorbell.

I hurried to the hallway and on the way I ran into a cat dog, who for some reason did not meet Yura, but darted into the living room.

As always, without looking at the intercom screen, I shouted:

Forgot your keys again? Well, which of us is Masha the confused one? And she opened the door.

On the threshold stood a pretty young woman - brown-haired with brown eyes and slim figure. The stranger was probably in her thirties, she smelled of perfume, she had a leather jacket on her shoulders, jeans and elegant ankle boots on her legs.

There was a strange hiss behind me and I turned around. The cat-dog leaned out from around the corner and, unequivocally raising upper lip, bared small uneven teeth and snorted. I don't know what surprised me more - the appearance of a woman or the first demonstration of the aggression of a Cotops.

Are you Viola Tarakanova? - Forgetting to say hello, the stranger asked. - Hey!

She handed me a box of Assorted Chocolates and added:

- It's for tea.

– Good evening- I answered cautiously, trying to figure out who she was, this visitor unknown to me.

I am not eager to establish close relations with all the neighbors, I managed to get acquainted with only a few, and even then by accident. Maybe the lady in jeans lives on the third or fifth floor and wants to borrow salt? Although no, for the sake of such an occasion they will not wear a leather jacket. Or is it a fan of the writer Arina Violova? It’s also unlikely: I’m not a pop singer, I don’t have crazy fans who can barge into my house without an invitation.

- I did not recognize? The stranger smiled openly. - I'm Olya Kovrova. Well, will you let me in or will you start scratching your cheeks with jealousy?

- To whom? I blinked. - You or yourself? And who should I be jealous of?

“Yurka,” Olga cut her off.

- Shumakova?

“Him himself,” Kovrova nodded. - Do not be afraid! Everything has passed and bylem overgrown.

Catdog snorted even louder. I was infinitely grateful to the animal, which tried to scare the impudent one, and decided to pretend to be a fool:

- What has become overgrown with past?

- Come on! - the unexpected guest waved her graceful hand. - I suppose she found my photo a long time ago and gouged out my eyes. Don't be jealous. Our relationship with Shumakov is a thing of the past. I left him because it's impossible to live with a cop. I need a real husband, not a virtual one. Yura twitched for a long time, called me, then stopped. I found out in a roundabout way: my ex-boyfriend now lives with Viola Tarakanova, she is the writer Arina Violova, and was glad that he was doing well.

"Yeah," I nodded in confusion. - Why did you come at night looking? I wanted to make sure family happiness former lover?

- Did he marry you? Olya was amazed. - Did you sign at the registry office?

Well, now admit it, which of you, finding yourself in such an idiotic situation, will answer “no”? I didn’t even have time to think about what to say, as my mouth opened on its own and I blurted out:

- Yes, of course, we played a wedding. And what did you think?

- Well, you must! Olga was delighted. - I remember once I overheard Yurkin's conversation with his aunt Varvara ... well, you know her, since you arranged the wedding.

“Mmmm,” I mumbled, having no idea that Shumakov had an aunt named Varvara.

- So he told her: "Varya, there will never be a woman with whom I want to live until old age." I then realized that Yurka was a dead option. And she faded. Well done! Che, got pregnant, right? When are you expecting an addition?

I calmly listened to her and answered:

- Sorry, I am very busy. Nice to meet you. We'll chat some other time.

Kovrova clung to the joint:

- I always talk nonsense and spoil relations with people ... Don't be angry!

I shrugged.

“It would never occur to me to be angry at a stranger.

“You and I are almost relatives,” Olya objected. - Slept with one man!

I could not find what to answer, but Kovrova rumbled:

- Understand, I have no one, no mother, no sister, and my friends are bitches. Only Yurka and you remained. I'm in trouble, I ran away from the police! Probably the cops are already looking for! I can't go home. Let me in, please, I have nowhere else to hide. Yurka is the only close and dear person. Oh, how bad everything is!

The guest covered her face with her hands and suddenly wept bitterly. I stepped aside.

- Come in, take off your shoes. The bathroom is on the right, the guest towel is pink, don't take the blue ones, they are ours. Wash your face and go to the kitchen.

A quarter of an hour later, when Olya calmly accepted the cup from my hands, I asked:

- What have you done? Stole clothes from the store?

“I poisoned my boss,” Kovrova shivered. - To death! And also an accountant. In general, two dead.

A vase fell out of my hands, the kurabie scattered across the floor. Olga jumped up and rushed to pick up cookies, at the same time she kept saying:

– You not so understood. Oh, I'm a fool, I can't explain the situation properly. I didn't poison anyone! It's up to the cops to decide! They will certainly suspect me!

I plopped down on a chair and ordered:

– Immediately clearly and articulately state the events.

Kovrova poured the remains of the cookies into the garbage pail and brought me up to date.

Olya works as a secretary for the director of the toy factory, Nikolai Efimovich Uskov. When she came to work two years ago, the production was a workshop where several women sewed freaks out of cloth. Why Uskov decided to produce teddy bears, dogs and bunnies, Olga had no idea. She did not know what Nikolai Efimovich had been doing before. She herself tried to break into the fashion business, wanted to become a fashion model, but did not pass either in height or in appearance. Realizing that she would not be a catwalk star, Kovrova decided to become a fashion designer, but again nothing came of it, although the girl graduated from college with a degree in seamstress. For several years, Olga moved from one atelier to another, never staying anywhere for a long time. It is not enough to have the desire to design clothes, obviously, talent is also needed, and the good angel clearly did not kiss Olechka at birth. In the end, Kovrova gave in. She did not want to work for someone else's uncle, sit at a typewriter and sew countless blouses for a small salary, and Olga decided to radically change her fate. She chose the career of a secretary, but did not want to silently bring tea and coffee on a tray and disappear like a shadow. No, Olga wanted to become right hand boss, an irreplaceable person, a kind of gray cardinal. And, of course, thoughts about the fashion business did not leave the dark-haired head of the beauty. Olya began to hit the thresholds of glamorous publications. And about a miracle! Fortune finally smiled at Kovrova: she was hired as a secretary in one of the most significant fashion publications on the Russian market. The girl rubbed her hands and began to actively declare herself.

Read online The dowry of a shaggy monkey

About the book "The dowry of a shaggy monkey" Daria Dontsova

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