переводя мысли...

Впервые за всю мою литжизнь мой текст [про мечты] из проекта ПИШУ ПРО... был переведен на английский язык. За это огромное спасибо прекрасному человеку и отличному профессионалу Алене Кузнецовой!

Приятного чтения!

***

A calm night was cut by a shrill scream of a siren of a police car that awas rushing along with my thoughts in one direction to that very house, that very flat…

I was sitting in a bar and with my faltering tongue was questioning the barman. It was my five or eight drink, and the young man at the bar was only nodding his head. 

-         Hi, lad! Why it’s all damned?

-         ‘cause, you’re drinking…

-         Don’t teach me! Better pour some more…

One more drink pouring into my inner world brightens it up with new colours. I want to get naked and dance on the bar table.

At 23.47 the policemen were breaking down the alloy door. Neighbours – those mad old women, always yelling and moaning - were crowding at the front door trying to get into the flat. There on the floor was lying a young fellow in a raged shirt, all in blood and giving no sign of an alive man. One old lady happened to be luckier and made her way into the room but sighed and fell down the wall…

-         F…you! Get them away! It’s not a show! – shouted the policeman kneeling down near the body.

My barman was going to and fro between the visitors.

-         Oh, what’s your name, old fellow?

-         Oleg.

-         Oh. Don’t like this name. D’you work here long?

-         About a year.

-         D’you like it to work here?

-         Every dog has his day.

The policemen have been searching the flat trying to find anything about the already cold body. An ordinary flat of a single man, a lot of disks, pictures on the walls. And no one document. A fainted old lady has been recovered with the help of a nurse – the ambulance arrived ten minutes ago and was busy with the corpse. Later, when everything was over one policeman made his way to the balcony and lit a cigarette.

And now I was pestering some body lying comfortably on the left. I couldn’t even make head or tail who it was, the last drink was obviously too many. Later I was vomiting somewhere in the corridor, and for some time I was flat on a sofa finding in the right place and right hour. I came to myself, my fainted body was shaking by an unknown man.

-         Ah, Oleg. Where are you from?

-         I still work here. You, go home!

-         F… you. There’s none there.

-         You are to go.

-         Listen, back off. Don’t teach me how to live.

And again I fainted in alcohol abyss.

-         I won’t drive this body.. he’ll vomit in the car.

-         Go on with you. I pay what you say.

-         So, where drive to?

-         Here is the address on his business card.

Later I don’t remember anything ……only when Oleg was dragging my body into my flat. And then everything was foggy… now I am sitting in a ragged shirt back off. Never I’ve been in that place – some yard, benches, a sandpit. Just feeling blood dropping out of my lip. I close my eyes and all of a sudden I see that I beat someone with all my strength and I hear my own voice:

-         Who are you? What are you doing here in my flat?

Somebody’s calm voice is trying to keep me down but I scare. This man was to kill me, that’s true. He penetrated into my flat to kill me.

I opened my eyes to see those benches…

Finished his cigarette the policeman made his steps towards the door  when he noticed a bag lying under the bed. He took it out and found a passport in it. Oleg Litvinov – this name said nothing to him.

-         At least something - he murmured.

I remembered I hit him, he begged to stop it. I didn’t know who he was. But his face was familiar to me and I didn’t know why. I hit myself. I hated this man and did my best to put an end with him. I went on smoking. There is no place for dreams in this world. Everything collapses as children’s bricks have been built in a pyramid. This infernal word – love… in each sound I feel alloy squeal. I used to watch the stars, as a naïve young boy of 18, I used to unburden my heart. Now there is no place for any dream. Instead of this – a torn wound with bleeding ulcers. And all these because of a single phrase:

-         And now don’t tell anyone I didn’t get interested in your life…