“The engine is buzzing, the screw is whistling, the lining is vibrating, something is cracking, as if rivets are about to start flying... The helicopter clearly survived its first youth, and quite a long time ago. As, however, almost all mechanisms in the country of another business trip . I sit in the flight engineer’s chair, staring in black, with horizontal stripes cut out in local fashion, the dense back of the pilot. His neck is also powerful and black, and his strong hands, shaking the wheel, are black. Not from coal dust embedded in the mine pit, and not from dirt, but from nature. With a monolithic broad-shouldered figure and equanimity, it resembles a statue cast from volcanic lava. In two hours, the pilot did not utter a single word and almost did not move. Only sometimes, slightly turning his head, he transferred his gaze from the screen of the GPS-navigator to the map, then looked at the porthole for a long time and returned to the map again. It seemed to him that the window was more informative than the satellite orientation.