and others ahead.
Glyba will make short work of them,
then she'll be beat and lag behind.
This can't be helped, Nars.
Art calls for sacrifice.
Mount Esposito, not Glyba.
I won't be watching you.
Nikolayev!
She's so clammy.
There go the losers.
Salute!
Hey, hurry up!
Do you remember Kasyanov?
He was in the hospital.
He is nice, but a little
too simple-minded.
Nikolayev is more aristocratic.
Otradny
from the Kabarda stud farm.
Master jockey Alexander Kasyanov.
Forsyte from the Stavropol stud farm.
Master jockey
Alexei Pozdnyakov.
Musket
from the Beslansk stud farm
with rider Oleg Nikolayev.
Brass
from the Labinsk stud farm.
Master jockey
Sergey Kharchenko.
Esposito
from the Beslansk stud farm.
Master jockey
Nars Narkisov.
A leading group
is breaking away from the rest.
At the head is Musket
with Oleg Nikolayev in the saddle.
Dancing and Otradny
run neck to neck.
Musket's leading.
Racing second is Otradny.
Third is Dancing.
Kasyanov is forging ahead
at the turn to the home stretch.
Forsyte emerges second.
Musket is third,
Dancing is fourth.
Musket is picking up,
covers 500 meters
in 29,5 seconds.
Kasyanov's Otradny
is leading.
Musket is second.
Forsyte is third,
Dancing is fourth.
Racing neck to neck are
Oleg Nikolayev's Musket
and Alexander Kasyanov's
Otradny.
A tough fight! Otradny! Musket!
Again Otradny!
No! It's Oleg Nikolayev's Musket!
Home stretch.
I'm not pretty.
I'm pretty.
I am not.
I am pretty.
Am I pretty?
You are pretty.
Unharness your horses, lads.
That bastard kept pressing you
to the border?
Should I kill him?
The final results
will be fixed by photo-finish.
I missed it again on the third.
- Did you see who came first?
- No, I didn't.
Damn it! Kasyanov!
I'll walk him for half an hour.
Did you see who came first?
Nobody wants to.
So you came first?
I always come first.
I reckon Nikolayevwas first.
What do you mean, Nikolayev?...
He was a good half-head ahead.
Lady, wash your eyes mornings.
You know, because you wanted
to be first...
That guy burned his jacket
with an iron.
Player doesn't stand the singed
smell.
I whipped him
and he made a surge.
That was a sight!
Good for him!
Besides, my spur fell off.
Take care of your spurs
on the 28th.
The winner is Musket
of the Beslansk stud farm.
Under Oleg Nikolayev's saddle
he "won the nose" from Otradny
of the Kabarda stud farm,
with master jockey
Alexander Kasyanov.
The race winner, Musket...
I couldn't care less.
How dusty it is!
Oho, see who's coming!
I came here because
one's got to have friends.
I keep thinking about
coffin-bearers.
- Whose coffin?
- Mine.
Sasha, come here for a minute.
I have no one capable
of bearing such a load.
Should this happen,
will you do it?
Whose coffin?
Mine. I have no one
to take care of that load.
Just in case,
will you do it?
Whence such horrendous ideas?
I have no ideas,
nor facts.
Simply, I want to be
on the safe side.
It's like somebody nudges me
and whispers:
"Ask them - will they bear it?
Be on the safe side, after all
they call themselves your friends."
I can't help sounding weird.
Although I know
how to shape my destiny.
A friend of mine figured that out.
I'm fond of her
and her queer ideas.
She lives in the East.
She feels that one's life-line
should be drawn on the palm,
not necessarily in reality.
For instance, nature gave it to you
short and undeveloped.
You take something thin and sharp,
and follow this line,
make it bold and prominent,
thereby changing your destiny.
Simple.
This girl would carry
something sharp in her hand,
or scratch her palm
with her fingernail.
See you!
So long.
I'm Kasyanov.
Remember?
- How is your leg?
- Completely healed.
How did it happen anyway?
"She was a tightrope walker?"
The Fakir cut it. There's a trick:
A girl is sawn in half.
Mom's cats scratched it.
I fell down from a tricycle.
That was my routine.
I'm even glad you have