Signs of Fate

By Александр Макаров and Aleksandr Makarov

 In the intriguing world of coin collecting, tranquility is often a facade masking a realm rife with legends and crimes. "Signs of Fate" delves into this deceptive serenity, revealing how some coins have brought fortune and luck, while others have led to disappointment, ruin, and even death. The passion for collecting drives many, willing to spend fortunes on rare coins that wouldn't buy a box of matches.

This narrative explores the rarest coins and the tales surrounding them. Perhaps, nestled among the clutter at home, lies an ancient coin worth an apartment in Manhattan? "Signs of Fate" invites readers on a journey into a world previously concealed, unveiling the allure and perils of numismatics.

Embark on a literary adventure that promises to enrich your understanding of a hobby that is more than mere pastime—it's a pursuit laden with history, mystery, and destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aleksandr Makarov
• Release date: May 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224937288

Александр Макаров

Макаров Александр Владимирович — писатель, журналист, живет в Одессе. Автор книг: «Школа юного антиквара», «Орден Черного копателя», «Знаки судьбы», «Зона абсолютного счастья», «Сундучок полный монет», «Двое и любовь», «Сними фильм», «Последняя ошибка императора»,«Компьютерные программы для писателей», и ряда других книг, опубликованных в Украине, России и США. Ведущий телепрограммы «Необычные деньги». Член Национального союза журналистов Украины и председатель секции прозы и публицистики одесского отделения Союза маринистов Украины. Ведет школу для молодых писателей. Дорогой, Читатель! Я буду рад, если Вы напишете несколько строчек отзыва о моей книге, это мне позволит сделать эту и другие мои книги лучше. Всегда Ваш. Александр Владимирович Макаров

Book preview

The story Signs of Fate.

Collecting coins only outwardly seems like a peaceful pastime. Experts know that truly rare coins are surrounded by a whole heap of legends and crimes. For some they brought wealth and success, but for the majority they brought disappointment, ruin and even death. But collectors are still willing to shell out a lot of money for an unusual coin that wouldn’t even buy a box of matches. Passion is what drives most people who collect coins. And if suddenly an unusual coin appears on your horizon, be more careful, perhaps the goddess Fortune herself is spinning it.

I went to Hungary for money. The salary of an engineer at that time was one hundred and twenty rubles. With all bonuses and allowances - one hundred and eighty. That's all. No matter how hard you work, no matter how you come up with it, not a penny more. Well, maybe you become a boss or start stealing. I wasn’t drawn to be a boss; there was nothing to steal. Therefore, when work happened in Hungary, the whole family was happy. Not many people get this chance. It had to be used to its fullest. Double salary, one there, in forints, the other in rubles for a savings book in the Union. My salary of two thousand forints - according to the official exchange rate (17 forints = 1 ruble) was equal to a little more than one hundred rubles. The amount is not too large, but almost all of it could be spent on coveted foreign clothes. You won’t die of hunger - we were given food rations. But petty speculation should have provided no small income. Televisions, radios, electric lighters go there, rags and carpets go back. Officially, I was supposed to repair household appliances.

It was a strange time. The Soviet Union was ready to disintegrate into a dozen states. People sensed the coming cataclysms with a sixth sense, but prepared for them in different ways. Most, like hamsters in a hole, tried to drag more supplies - gold, carpets, crystal. Others, flaunting and neglecting material wealth, sometimes became participants in fantastic adventures. I, too, had a chance to experience one such unthinkable story.

I had just returned from a business trip to the Union. Under our troops, hundreds of shops, so-called retail and household enterprises, operated in Hungary. And I, being a civil engineer, repaired all store equipment. I went and received spare parts for refrigerators. The trip itself was a whole epic, which ended with me almost leaving for Yugoslavia due to drunken conductors. Then I first learned how a train stopped by a stop valve hums and shakes. After that, I had to get to my people in the back of a dump truck, standing ankle-deep in cement. And, of course, I was late, arriving on Friday evening. The management has already left. All that was left was to celebrate the arrival with the guys from the hostel. And then, due to lack of sleep and fatigue, I made a mistake.

I’ll have to carry it with me until Monday, I said, taking out my passport.

This document was supposed to be handed over to the special unit immediately upon arrival. That’s right, so that the crazy idea doesn’t come to go with him somewhere else.

None of my roommates paid attention to my words that they cared about this when there were so many snacks on the table, and not all of the vodka had been drunk yet. Only Laesh flashed his gaze at me. Lajos is Hungarian. For some reason, this long, awkward student hung around among the Russians all the time. Specialists believed that he was working for Canadian intelligence. I don’t remember now why exactly to the Canadian one. After visits to this eternal student, the security officers forced him to write explanatory notes, in which he was required to indicate exactly the content of all conversations.

Perhaps it was simply beneficial for them to have such a pocket spy at their side, write reports and pretend that they were in control of the situation.

After my words, Lajos disappeared, and after a while he appeared with my friend, warrant officer Seryoga. He once served in the Airborne Forces and, upon entering his room, first threw a knife at the closet door, and then hung his jacket on it. After an unsuccessful parachute jump, he had to part with the landing party. But he remained to serve as a warrant officer in the communications battalion. The main thing for me was that he was married to an Odessa woman. The beautiful Tanyukha lived two blocks from me. Seryoga has also been to Odessa more than once, and this one abroad is almost a relative.

-Did you sell the TV? – Seryoga asked me.

I was surprised at the tactlessness of the question. This was my pain point. Let me explain. A television is the most expensive and profitable thing that could be brought from the Union and sold at a profit. This could only be done once, since the documents were stamped with the word TV imported. It was necessary to buy a large color TV, preferably a Rubin. Out of ignorance, I bought and brought a portable Electron TV, which after three hours of use burned out with enviable regularity. I sold it ten times, and each time it was returned to me the next day. In Hungary the voltage fluctuates a lot and the TV's power supply couldn't handle it. Neither our craftsmen nor the Hungarian TV experts could do anything about it.

No, I didn’t sell it, I squeezed out.

-There is a place where they will take it.

-Are you kidding. In my opinion, there is not a single person left here who is willing to buy this miracle of technology.

Seryoga looked at my cement-gray shoes and said:

-Wash off the cement. We leave in an hour.

An hour later, the expedition consisting of me,