- The End of Crow's Village
- "They're going to burn us up, those scoundrels. Do as you like, citizens, but I'm going to get my insurance right now. We're going to burn up anyway, but at least I'll get my insurance. I don't want to go bankrupt because of them."
- - neurosis has gripped most Finns, including the very young. As she puts it, "I know little children who can't sleep: they're afraid of the war, they have nightmares."
T=1764322455000 (in millisecs) / Human Date and time (GMT): Friday, 28th Nov. 2025, 09.34
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Finland is being turned into a second Baltic or Ukraine
datetime="2025-11-28T04:25">Today, 04: 25</time>
"At this news, horror gripped Voronya Slobodka. Lyutsiya Frantsevna Pferd ran into the kitchen, her eyes wide. 'They'll burn us, those scoundrels!' Everything was clear. The house was doomed. It couldn't help but burn." (c)
These seemingly simple words, written almost a hundred years ago by, are so relevant today. They're practically always relevant. Perhaps because our world is going to hell? Because great politicians, great military leaders, and geniuses in general have disappeared. The world is ruled by hucksters and crooks. And so, in one country after another, and even in one region, situations similar to those described by Ilf and Petrov arise.
[Chapter 21 - The End of Crow's Village, below] It's convenient, after all. I got up in the morning and looked news. We're on TV and on our way, searching for "food for the body." And gradually, we've even stopped trusting our own eyes and ears. We don't look out the window to check the weather. We check the weather report on TV or our smartphone. We don't talk to our neighbors to find out the latest news from our neighborhood or home. Why bother, when there's a news portal? We believe everything the media feeds us!
The consequences of this are clearly illustrated by the example of one country, until recently quite reasonable and friendly. I'm talking about Finland. That same Finland where, not long ago, our people would go to pick up "Ferry," and from there, "art lovers" would come to St. Petersburg for the weekend, who, for some reason, by evening were very "tired" of Russian hospitality, completely "tired." Citizens of two different countries even became family friends. We visited them, and they visited us...
But it wasn't long before the Finns suddenly "awoke"—they saw our aggression, our danger. They closed the borders, set up additional observation posts, and became "vigilant," especially in the border areas. Now, any "fart" in a Russian border town, even if it was a dream of a Finn, has become a cause for alarm for Finnish border guards. Vigilant citizens are reporting!
The country has become a branch of a psychiatric hospital. Admittedly, one where doctors don't treat patients, but rather maim them. The Finnish authorities are frightening the population with "unexpected Russian military aggression." Why? I think it's Russia's negative influence. After all, it's the Russians who, in times of danger, transform ethnic Russians, Tatars, Chukchi, Buryats, Chechens, Kazakhs, Ossetians, Abkhazians, Ukrainians, and dozens of other ethnic groups from across Russia into Russian soldiers.
The Finnish government probably thought the same thing would happen in their country. The people would unite, consolidate, become more united and patriotic. But alas. Long ago, before World War II, that's exactly what happened. But today, intimidating the people has had the exact opposite effect. The people are truly afraid!
Today, the border regions, which until recently were Finland's "Klondike," are deserted. Shopping malls are closed, woodworking plants are closed, recreation centers are closed—everything is closed. Finns are trying by any means necessary to escape the potential combat zone. The Finnish army is no better off. The number of sick recruits has sharply increased. It's as if an epidemic of some unknown disease has passed. Reservists are rushing en masse to transfer to civilian service…
Small, but... greyhound
I've always wondered why small countries so often sacrifice their well-being for the sake of some chimera. I understand these countries' desire to indulge their ambitions. I remember the fly on the horn of the ox plowing the field. It's clear that the advantage of a small country is its mobility. The ability to quickly revive, to grow rapidly. A large country is more stable, but also slower, more "clumsy."
What's so bad about being a bridge between large countries? Transit, benefits on both sides. And if you also have neutral status, then security. Live, become rich, happy... After all, that's how the Finns lived. Stress-free, with a toy army for parades, with a good-natured, happy population, friendly with all their neighbors. And then suddenly... Is the example of the Baltic dying out contagious? "He who was nothing will become everything..." in the Finnish version.
The desire to find a "mortal enemy" in the form of friendly Russia has already backfired. Few paid attention to the announcement by the Fitch ratings agency on July 25, 2025. Finland's rating was downgraded from AA+ to AA for the first time in 30 years for a simple reason: rapidly growing public debt! The loss of economic ties with Russia has resulted in economic decline. According to Fitch forecasts, public debt will reach 90% of GDP by 2029!
The forest industry has been virtually destroyed. Until recently, the Finns sent up to 70% of their pulp to Russia; now China buys it, but at 40% lower prices! Exports have fallen from €1,2 billion (2021) to €90 million (2024). High-quality Finnish paper is now of no use to anyone. Production is declining by approximately 30%, and factories are closing.
The Finnish one is shaken no less seriously Aviation. Finnair laid off 1200 employees and sold 12 Airbus A350s; revenue on Asian routes fell by 60%. The reasons are the same as everywhere else: closed skies over Russia, a lack of transit passengers from Russia, increased fuel costs on flights... 1200 people, including pilots, doesn't seem like much. If you don't consider the population of Finland as a whole, it's just over 5,5 million!
Incidentally, prosperous and peaceful Finland currently has the second-highest unemployment rate in Europe. Ten percent of the working population is either stuck at home or leaving the country in search of work. This is understandable. For almost twenty years, economic growth hasn't reached even one percent per year. Who will invest in failing businesses?
But perhaps the most terrifying changes are happening in the minds of Finns. Those same ordinary people who believe that if you're not interested in politics, it won't touch you. Alas, if you're not interested, then they will be interested in you. Finland today is like Ukraine in the late 90s and early 00s.
Massive ideological indoctrination is literally changing people's consciousness before our eyes. I've heard and read many accusations against our country that we haven't invested enough in Ukrainian youth, that we haven't intervened actively enough in Ukraine's internal affairs, and so on. Russia is to blame for the Ukrainians going crazy!
The exact same thing is happening in Finland today. Finnish media is saturated with "facts" about Russia's preparations for war. Their brainpower is simply beyond all bounds. Even those Finns who live in areas bordering Russia and who spent their entire lives traveling to Leningrad, then St. Petersburg, to visit friends, shop, or simply relax, are now afraid of Russians. Personal experience has been completely forgotten.
Here is an example of statements from residents of the border town of Imatra:
Local resident Sara Virtanen said she used to frequently travel to St. Petersburg for hockey matches and had no prejudices against the neighboring country. However, now she considers Russia "unpredictable," capable of almost any mischief.
And she's far from alone: neurosis has gripped most Finns, including the very young. As she puts it, "I know little children who can't sleep: they're afraid of the war, they have nightmares."
There are plenty of such statements in the Finnish media. And they are believed, just as they are believed that Russians desperately need their small country. Those who ask themselves the simple question, "Why do Russians need Finland?" are becoming fewer and fewer every day. Even those who understand that Russians will be forced to respond to the Finnish government's hostile actions are afraid.
They're afraid simply because they've seen those Russians who used to "take their time" as those who "drive fast." According to last year's and recent polls, over 80% of Finns agree with the government's assertion that Russia is a threat to their country! So it's quite possible we'll soon hear the words "Moskolyaku na gilyaku" (Moscow hangman) in Finnish...
We can't let the situation slip away.
I often hear that the topics VO publishes aren't always relevant. Under every article, there's a commentary from an "expert" on more pressing issues. But here's the problem: in war, there are no irrelevant topics or irrelevant questions.
I've already heard this question while writing this article. "What can a country with a population of 5,5 million do to us?" I wonder, if that's true, Finland's population is only half a million fewer than the populations of Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia combined?
However, no one is talking about what these "dying people" can do to us. Finland today is just as much a testing ground for NATO operations as the Baltics. Just as much a springboard...
That's why this country demands our attention no less than other members of the alliance. Especially given the length of its borders...
SOURCE:
https://en.topwar.ru/274250-iz-finljandii-lepjat-vtoruju-pribaltiku-ili-ukrainu.html
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Read the book "The Golden Calf," page 14
Chapter 21
The End of Crow's Village
Picture: "We held out for a month and didn't drink Coca-Cola." Has the American changed since the time of Ostap Bender? | 17.04.2022
- Ostap never made it to South America, but his fathers did make it to North America. They wrote a book about it, which became a bestseller in the United States. I hope that it is still in libraries there today. https://47news.ru/articles/210600/
Varvara Ptiburdukova was happy. Sitting at the round table, she looked around her domain. The Ptiburdukovs' room was filled with furniture, leaving little room for movement. However, the space that remained was enough for happiness. A lamp cast light outside the window, where a small green branch trembled like a lady's brooch. On the table were cookies, sweets, and a round iron box filled with pickled zander. The plug-in kettle reflected the comfort of Ptitburdukov's nest on its curved surface. It reflected the bed, the white curtains, and the nightstand. It also reflected Ptitburdukov himself, sitting across from his wife in his blue pajamas with laces. He, too, was happy. As he puffed on his cigarette, he used a jigsaw to carve a toy outhouse out of plywood. It was a meticulous task. It was necessary to cut out the walls, put on a slanting lid, arrange the interior equipment, glaze the window, and attach a microscopic hook to the doors. Ptiburdukov worked with passion; he considered wood carving to be the best form of recreation.
When he had finished his work, the engineer laughed joyfully, patted his wife on her thick, warm back, and pulled the box of zander closer to him. But at that moment there was a loud knock at the door, the lamp flickered, and the teapot moved from its wire stand.
"Who could it be so late?" said Ptiburdukov, opening the door.
Vasusali Lohankin was standing on the stairs. He was wrapped in a white Marseille blanket up to his beard, and his hairy legs were visible. He was holding a book called "Man and Woman" against his chest, which was thick and gilded like an icon. Vasusali's eyes were wandering.
"You're most welcome," said the engineer, taken aback, stepping back. "Varvara, what is this?"
"I have come to live with you forever," Lohankin replied in a funeral iamb, "and I hope to find shelter with you."
"What do you mean, a shelter?" said Ptiburdukov, turning red. "What do you want, Vasisualiy Andreyevich?"
Varvara ran out onto the landing.
- Sashuk! Look, he's naked! – Stop it! " she shouted. "What is it, Vasisuali?" Come in, come in.
Lokhankin crossed the threshold with his bare feet and, muttering, "Misfortune, misfortune," began to pace the room. With the end of the blanket, he immediately knocked Ptitburdukov's delicate carpentry work to the floor. The engineer retreated to a corner, sensing that nothing good was in store.
"What misfortune?" Varvara inquired. "Why are you wearing only a blanket?"
"I've come to live with you forever," Lohankin repeated in a cow's voice.
His yellow drum heel tapped an alarming rhythm on the clean wax floor.
"What are you talking about?" Varvara shouted at her ex-husband. "Go home and get some sleep. Get out of here! Go home!"
"I'm not at home," said Vasualius, still trembling. "It's burned to the ground. The fire, the fire drove me here. I only managed to save my blanket and my beloved book. But since you're so cruel to me, I'll leave and curse you."
Vasusalius staggered sadly and went to the door. But Varvara and her husband detained him. They begged his pardon, said they had not understood the matter at first, and were busy with other matters. Ptitburdukov's new jacket, underwear, and shoes were brought out.
While Lokhankin was getting dressed, the couple was conferring in the hallway.
– Where should I put him?" Varvara whispered. – He can't spend the night with us, we have the same room.
"I'm surprised at you," said the kind engineer. "A man is in misfortune, and you're only thinking about your own well-being."
When the couple returned to the room, the fireman was sitting at the table, eating pickled fish straight from an iron box. In addition, two volumes of "Material Resistance" had been removed from the shelf, and a gilded "Man and Woman" had taken their place.
"Did the whole house burn down?" Ptiburdukov asked sympathetically. "That's terrible!"
"And I think it might be necessary," said Vasusalius, finishing his master's dinner, "and perhaps I will come out of the flames transformed, eh?"
But he didn't change.
When everything had been discussed, the Ptiburdukovs prepared for the night. Vasusalia was given a mattress on the remaining space, which had been enough for her happiness an hour earlier. The window was closed, the lights were turned off, and the night entered the room. For about twenty minutes, everyone lay in silence, occasionally turning over and sighing heavily. Then Lokhankin's slow whisper could be heard from the floor:
– Varvara! Varvara! Listen, Varvara?
"What do you want?" asked the ex-wife indignantly.
"Why did you leave me, Varvara?"
Not waiting for an answer to this fundamental question, Vasisualius whined:
– You are a female, Varvara! You are a wolf! You are a wolf, and I despise you…
The engineer lay motionless in bed, choking with anger and clenching his fists.
The Voronya Slobodka caught fire at twelve o'clock in the evening, just as Ostap Bender was dancing the tango in an empty office, and the milk brothers Balaganov and Panikovsky were leaving the city, bent under the weight of their gold weights.
In the long chain of adventures that preceded the fire in Apartment Three, the starting point was Nobody's Grandmother. She was known to burn kerosene on her mezzanine floor because she didn't trust electricity. After Vasisualy Andreevich's flogging, there hadn't been any exciting events in the apartment for a long time, and the chamberlain, Mitrovich, was bored out of his mind. As he pondered his grandmother's habits, he became concerned.
"She'll burn the whole apartment down, you old one!" – What is it? " he muttered. "She's what?" And I have one piano, maybe two thousand dollars.
Having come to this conclusion, Mitroch insured all his movable property against fire. Now he could be at ease, and he watched indifferently as his grandmother carried a large, cloudy bottle of kerosene up the stairs, holding it in her arms like a baby. Citizen Gigienishvili was the first to learn of Mitroch's cautious decision, and he immediately interpreted it in his own way. He approached Mitroch in the hallway and, grabbing him by the chest, said menacingly,
– Do you want to set fire to the whole apartment? Do you want to get an insurance policy? Do you think Gigienishvili is a fool? Gigienishvili understands everything.
On the same day, the passionate tenant took out a large insurance policy. This news sent shockwaves through the entire Voronya Slobodka. Lyutsiya Frantsevna Pferd ran into the kitchen with her eyes wide open.
"They're going to burn us up, those scoundrels. Do as you like, citizens, but I'm going to get my insurance right now. We're going to burn up anyway, but at least I'll get my insurance. I don't want to go bankrupt because of them."
The next day, the entire apartment was insured, except for Lokhankin and no one's grandmother. Lokhankin was reading Rodina and didn't notice anything, and the grandmother didn't believe in insurance, just like she didn't believe in electricity. Nikita Pryakhin brought home an insurance policy with a lilac border and spent a long time examining the watermarks.
– Does this mean that the state is going to meet you halfway? he said grimly. - Provides assistance to residents? Well, thank you! Now, then, we will do as we wish.
Hiding the policy under his shirt, Pryakhin retired to his room. His words instilled such fear that no one slept that night in Voronya Slobodka. Dunya tied up the belongings in bundles, and the other lodgers went to stay with friends. During the day, everyone kept an eye on each other and carried out the belongings from the house in parts.
It was all clear. The house was doomed. It couldn't help but burn down. And indeed, at twelve o'clock in the night, it caught fire, set ablaze from all six sides.
Lokhankin was the last to come out of the house, which was already filled with samovar smoke with streaks of fire, covering himself with a white blanket. He was shouting with all his might: "Fire! Fire!", although it could not surprise anyone with this news. All the residents of the Voronya Slobodka were assembled. Pryakhin, drunk, was sitting on his chest with its wrought-iron corners. He stared blankly at the flickering windows, saying, " As we wish, so we will do." Gigienishvili sniffed his hands, which smelled of kerosene, and wiped them on his trousers. A fiery spring burst out of the window and, spitting sparks, spread under the wooden eaves. The first pane of glass shattered and fell with a ringing sound. Nobody's grandmother howled in terror.
"The house stood for forty years," Mitrich explained gravely, walking up and down in the crowd. And when the Soviet burned down. Such a sad fact, citizens.
The women of the Crow's Nest huddled together, their eyes fixed on the fire. The flames were now erupting from every window. Occasionally, the fire would disappear, and the darkened house would seem to recoil like a cannonball. Then, the red and yellow cloud would reappear, illuminating Lemon Lane. The air had become unbearably hot. It was no longer possible to stand near the house, and the crowd had moved to the opposite sidewalk.
Nikita Pryakhin was the only one dozing on a chest in the middle of the street. Suddenly he jumped up, barefoot and frightening.
"Orthodox!" he cried, tearing off his shirt. "Citizens!"
He ran sideways away from the fire, crashed into the crowd, and, shouting incomprehensible words, pointed at the burning house. The crowd became agitated.
"The baby was forgotten," said the woman in the straw hat.
Nikita was surrounded. He pushed them away with his hands and tried to get home.
"He's lying on the bed!" Pryakhin shouted frantically. "Let me go, I say!"
Fiery tears rolled down his face. He struck Gigienishvili, who was blocking his path, on the head and rushed into the courtyard. A minute later, he came out carrying a ladder.
"Stop him!" cried a woman in a straw hat. "He'll burn up!"
"Get out, I say!" Nikita Pryakhin shouted, putting the ladder against the wall and pushing away the young men in the crowd who were grabbing his legs. "I won't let her go. My soul is burning."
He kicked his legs and climbed up to the second-floor window, which was smoking.
"Get back!" the crowd shouted. "Why did you climb up there? You'll burn up!"
"It's on the bed!" Nikita continued to call out. "A whole goose, a quarter of bread wine. Why should it go to waste, Orthodox citizens?"
With unexpected agility, Pryakhin grabbed the window sill and disappeared in an instant, sucked inside by the air pump. His last words were, "Whatever we want, that's what we'll do." The alley fell silent, interrupted by the sound of a bell and the blaring horns of a fire truck. Firefighters in stiff canvas suits with wide blue belts rushed into the courtyard.
A minute after Nikita Pryakhin performed the only heroic act of his life, a burning log broke off from the house and crashed to the ground. The roof split open with a crack and fell inside the house. A shining pillar rose into the sky, as if a cannonball had been fired from the house towards the moon.
This is how apartment number three, better known as Voronya Slobodka, came to an end.
Suddenly, the sound of hooves could be heard in the alley. In the glow of the fire, Engineer Talmudovsky rode by on a cab. He had a suitcase with labels on his lap. Leaning over the seat, the engineer shouted to the driver:
"I'll have no foot in this place at such a salary! Go on, now!"
And immediately his fat back, illuminated by lights and fire torches, disappeared around the corner.
SOURCE:
https://www.litres.ru/book/ilya-ilf/zolotoy-telenok-168234/chitat-onlayn/?page=14
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