FORBIDDEN LOVENoveletteThe narrative presents the real events in chronological order that occurred with the author of this work. Happy reading, your author V. Speys.Introduction: My grandmother Yevgeny Sribna was born into a Jewish family and, having married, moved with her husband to the estate of the sugar plant Tereshchenko, where my grandmother's husband worked for hire, accompanying the owner of sugar factories in his local business trips not only throughout Ukraine, but abroad. Grandma often traveled with her husband and she had warm memories of Paris, London and other cities of the industrial west. But it all ended with a revolution. Tereshchenko offered my grandfather to immigrate with him to France with his family, but grandfather flatly refused. The revolution made its own adjustments, which my grandmother took, as it is, and at the birth of my mother in 1917, she was recorded by a Ukrainian to hide Jewish roots. My mother, in her time, was an active member of the Komsomol and even became a deputy of the Supreme Council of Ukraine in the post-war period, where she met my father Albert from the Baltic Jewish family in a sponsored Supreme Council military school. My father had a Russian surname, which his adoptive father had given him, after the tragic death of his parent, and wrote out a new birth certificate. So, already at my birth, my parents wrote me a Ukrainian...Chapter one As you know, everything comes to an end. It happened with non-liquids. Their stocks at the former Kiev enterprises of the USSR have been exhausted. What competitors brought to me, what I brought myself, and what disappeared in illegal dumps?So, I remained without earnings, and without means. What to do and how to be in this situation? Categorical measures regarding this state of distress of the budget were taken by the wife, declaring: - Get out and do not return without work! - She pushed me out the door, thrusting a five hryvnia note into my hand. I nevertheless managed to grab my jacket, and with the annoying coma that was suffocating to the throat, I walked sadly towards the Obolon metro station. On the steps of the entrance to the metro trains, thoughts began to come to me. One is muddled than the other, but still, every minute I came to my senses little by little. Having found himself on the platform of the Obolon station, he entered the car from a train that was going to the platform, which was heading towards Khreshchatyk station. I sat down on an empty seat and with the air of a suicide began to look at the passengers, on the contrary. Next to the full middle-aged woman, who stared at me with an oily look of brown eyes, sat a man with a newspaper of city advertisements "Aviso" and carefully read. I looked disgustedly into the eyes of his neighbor, unwittingly flashed the thought, "My leather jacket obviously betrays me as a wealthy man." I could not bear this gaze, stood up, and stood at the door, with my back to the rail. Behind the door glass flashed concrete fortifications of the tunnel, and light bulbs illuminating the space of a moving train with a dim glow. At the station "Taras Shevchenko", a woman and a man came out, and I again sat down at my place. These passengers, as if they had taken away some of my hopeless thoughts, and suddenly I decided to go to Khreshchatyk station. In my favorite cafe in the transition, where in the magazine kiosk you can buy the newspaper "Aviso" and rummage there, in the job ads. I did so, and soon I was standing at a table with a newspaper and a cup of double aromatic Arabic coffee. The rubrique of job offers wasp full of various advertisements, but doubts about payment made me anxious, except for one where weekly calculation was offered and no labor skills were required. Courier service for the distribution of tickets for trains and air passengers attracted me. Without thinking, I dialed the phone number. I was greeted by a lovely voice that rang in the receiver.