Kitabı oxu: «Very bad English / Очень плохой English»

© Y. Varshavskaya, 2019

© International Union of Writers, 2019

Yana Varshavskaya
Very bad ENGLISH

Yana Varshavskaya

Winner of the 2nd Prize of the national literary award «Writer of the Year» (2013).

Winner of the 2nd Prize and Winner of the International Poetry Competition «The Golden Stanza» (2011–2015).

Holder of S. Ya. Nadson medal «For Personal Contribution to the Development of Russian

Culture and Literature», «65 Years of ISP», Vladimir Nabokov medal «For Contribution to Foreign Literature», Boris and Gleb medal «For Sincerity in Literature» and the commemorative medal «220 Years to A. S. Pushkin».

She took 1st place in the Innocent Annensky Poetry Competition on the 34th International Festival «Aelita» (2017).

Awarded with the 3rd place in Marina Tsvetaeva Poetry Competition on RosCon festival (2017).

Marked with V. Belinsky Special Prize at the RosCon Fiction Festival (2019).

Author of 8 books and 50 collections published in 2011–2019.

Awarded with more than 70 diplomas, gratitudes and certificated from numerous contests and festivals.

This book was published thanks to my wonderful friends who live in Minneapolis-Saint Paul, Minnesota, USA.

Lilia Burleva, Jan Alboszta, I love you!

Introduction

I like novels like this one. Honest and open, like a conversation with a best friend. Maybe not the best, but the one ready to listen to you, which I think means a lot. The female lead character understands everything about herself, and doesn't even try to deceive herself anymore. She adds a little truth, a little bit of humor and completes the dish of her life with an interesting story. Only a woman who is honest with herself can talk about herself like this: «But I have nothing. Rather, I need everything. I have no apartment, no car, no summer house, no husband. Not even a dog. Oh yes… I have a dorm room. Six meters. From the threshold you can immediately collapse onto the sofa.»

It all begins with a letter from the unknown D. Frost, sent from America to Siberia. That's an intrigue! But then the letter story is forgotten, and the girl is waiting for her trip to the sea and Dubrovnik, she finds… a corpse at the door of her dormitory. What an amazing pun: «This stranger was the first dead man I saw…»

I'm very excited to tell you, reader, the whole plot of this first-class novel. It's very name, «Very Bad English», is worth mentioning. But we won't. We will not steal your hours of pleasure from «bathing» in a light, lively and alluring text. We can only add that if you are a fan of diary entries, you will come off to the fullest. Dates, nuances, small details and observations, open emotions are in the notes of the main character's sister. They sound like a separate song.

The author is very good at grasping reality and transferring to paper, conveying the mood and exposing women's internal dialogues. What is the other woman thinking? It's a mystery Yana Varshavskaya solved.

Maria Ziablova, journalist, criticist

The works of Yana Varshavskaya, both prosaic and poetic, retain a special atmosphere of mystery.

The novel «Very Bad English», which is defined as «female mystery,» is a narrative «about intricacies and unexpected turns of Fate…»

The roots of the plot can be found long before the beginning of the story. Two sisters, twins, were separated: their parents divorced, and their mother took one of the daughters with her. Their further fate destroys all accepted stereotypes about twins: they should have certainly become similar, choose the same life path, but this does not happen. On the contrary, they are contrasting, although this does not interfere with sisterly love.

The other twins are Dormidont, nicknamed Doremi, and Donald Frost. They are separated by oceans, borders and many other things… Fate seems to play with them: they meet in an Internet program, then, not allowed to speak or contact each other, they are immediately tear apart when the electricity is off.

At the same time, fate creates a different chain of coincidences, oddities, mystical events or simple surprises. The magic of numbers, the magic of general books, the magic of words – as if all the secret forces of the other world set the goal of connecting two pairs. They are led to each other to meet the «inexplicable secret», «the whisper of the Lord». Led to a happy ending and pairing.

However, «the two most important threads have remained unconnected. Doni Frost and Dorian Cooper… No one was embarrassed by the fact that young people are so alike and were born on the same day!» It seems to be a shadow overshadowing happiness. However, if you think about it, this means only one thing: the book of life has not yet been completed and, perhaps, another story will serve as a continuation.

SELECTION COMMITTEE I AS. PUSHKIN INTERNATIONAL LITERARY FESTIVAL

Crimea, 2019

Part I
Taska

He was still alive when I came in. The man was lying on the floor. His eyes turned to the sky were open. In fact, the sky was replaced by the high ceiling of our five-story dormitory.

Perhaps this was some last impulse… He extended his hand to me and said:

«Now the thread is broken!» His hand trembled, and he somehow immediately changed his face, as if petrified.

I stood right at the door, unable to move. This stranger was the first dead man I've ever seen…

Prologue

It's a dull weekend morning.

I have no need to wake up early today to walk to the university.

Actually, I love to walk. This is one of the few things I really love. I cross familiar streets, adjusting myself and getting used to the idea that I will hardly be able to change anything in this city. After all, there is nothing more boring than the work of an engineer. Well, let me clarify… An engineer of a laboratory.

For three or four years studying at university was a joy to me.

But it was a long time ago. I quickly got used to it and got bored. Now I'm thirty. Actually, a little more… The work now does not cause a faintest reflection of former polar sensations. No fear, no love. Although now I am a leading engineer, I'm still a leading engineer of a laboratory.

I'm thirty. All right! A little more. It's easier to list what I have than what I don't… I don't have anything. Or rather I need everything. I have no apartment, no car, no summer house, no husband. Not even a dog.

Oh yes…

I have a six-meter dorm room. You can immediately fall into the sofa once you enter. There is also a round aquarium with two black telescope carps and three goldfish, measuredly going nowhere. It seems that there is no limit to their indignation… Whenever I look in the direction of the aquarium, I see huge eyes and hear incessant conversations. How much more can they chat? Well, at least fish don't have a voice. So let them chat!

The aquarium has been decorating my home for five years and has replaced the sketchbook easel with aluminum legs, which is now assembled and occupies all the free space between the large tall wardrobe and the wall. The long easel straps occasionally catch my eye, but…

Evening art school is over. Period. No more sketches, no monotypes and drafts. Nothing. I turned this page.

Fish got hungry in the morning, so they swam to the walls of their glass shelter to demand food and, as it seemed to me, promise to fulfill any of my wishes. I automatically opened a box with dry larvae…

«Try to surprise me,» I said, crushing the food over the water.

Going down to the ground floor, I asked for mail with no hope in my voice.

«Just a letter, Tanya. But what a letter!» The duty watchman exclaimed, handing me a weighty A4 envelope.

«Well, well…» I thought, «You did surprise me!»

There were stamps in the upper right corner, just like expected. Remarkable stamps with large yellow flowers and the words: «I LOVE YOU!»

Trembling from emotions suddenly surging, I opened the letter, very carefully, not yet fully believing that it was addressed to me. In any case, it would not be difficult for me to seal it, and no one would have suspected that the envelope had already been opened.

The text of the letter was very neat, but… Good God, it's English! Yes, and it's written in block letters.

Chapter 1
Antipodes

The most common misconception regarding twins is that they all have a similar fate, call their children the same names, though without exchanging a word…

Probably, there is some truth in this. And there are thousands of examples, because they tell about such cases in popular magazines and books. But did anyone mention the dissimilar ones?

I'm afraid it would not seem so interesting…

Our parents decided to arrange a global experiment within a small family. I still don't get what they wanted to achieve. Apparently, there is still some reasonable explanation, but…

We were nearly copies of each other, or at least as similar as a reflection in the mirror and the one who looks into it. My mole is coquettishly located on my right cheek, while Eva has it on her left. My sister's right eye always betrayed her with a slight squint when she thought of a trick. My left eye betrayed me just as treacherously… But this fact was known only to our inner circle.

My sister and I studied in different classes and at birth we were given different last names. So few people at school knew that we were relatives, not to mention twins… I was the proud owner of my father's last name, while Eva carried the last name of her mother. She did not change it even when she got marriage certificate at the registry office, as she simply did not want to bother with a pile of certificates, diplomas and other documents that required replacement and waste of valuable time.

Parents could not spoil our happy childhood with the recommendations read in Benjamin Spock's «Baby and Child Care». Thank God our Mom had enough wisdom and intuition (or intuition and wisdom) to declare this book not only harmful, but deadly. As time has shown, our mom turned out to be absolutely right.

However, different things happen in life that fit poorly in the head of a thirteen-year-old teenagers we were at that time.

Mom was a very beautiful, but extremely straightforward woman. She did not hide her affair at work, divorced our father and left to St. Petersburg with her Romeo. She left taking Eva with her.

It was so dishonest, but no one asked us…

I put all my effort and time to school. I also wrote letters.

Paper envelopes were sent across half the country. Sometimes they crossed at the sorting centers with rare Eva's notes and flew in opposite directions. I could spend hours staring at envelopes beckoning with long journeys, examine stamps and seals, not daring to open the long-awaited letter.

Our parents did not communicate ever since. They did not call each other or see each other. And if it weren't for the Internet, Eva and I were unlikely to ever be able to meet.

When I saw her for the first time after the parental divorce, it seemed to me that my mirror had long since cheated on me with a different reflection… Eva looked like my opposite, a sort of Barbie doll: a good-looking blonde with my dream hair gathered in a ponytail. Impeccable dotted dress and shoes sparkling with Swarovski crystals…

«Eva?!.» I was only able to murmur, involuntarily pulling a crumpled T-shirt and not knowing where to put my hands.

Yes, it was a sentence. Sentence to me. Although I had long ago left my hometown and could not consult with my dad for any reason, it never came to my mind that I had matured, and could somehow work on my appearance.

When I was a child, my father used to say that in life you need to choose the best of what is offered. For example, if it concerns education, it's clear that I chose…

Of course, it was the best university with a renowned school and well-known professors, the most demanded faculty and, naturally, a department booming with world fame. All this was within my power. I studied easily, but then… Little depended on me alone…

So I stayed to work in the oldest Siberian university. Following my father's recommendations, I was in no hurry to arrange my personal life, taking into account someone else's choice, not my own…

I did not marry a widower with two children, who gave me perfumes and mountains of fruit on any occasion. Twice I refused the proposal of professor's son, who was wandering from one night club to another.

Why is that?

Because I was waiting for my Prince Charming. Well, you know, the one and only.

I was not even embarrassed to live in a six-meter room in our university dormitory. After all, this is the city center, and it's much better than renting an apartment somewhere in the suburbs.

Firstly, it saves time and money, and secondly, it gives the ability to temper your character, unless there is a natural tendency to depression or other things.

However, as the global parental experiment showed, the unbreakable paternal theory had a stumbling block…

Now when Eva appeared before me in full force, I realized that time had played a cruel joke on me. It was as if I saw myself from outside: jeans outstretched on my knees, black T-shirt and sneakers dreaming to rest in peace in some landfill…

No makeup, so as not to age prematurely…

Hairstyle? I've never had any hairstyle in my life!..

That was our very first meeting.

Then Eva suddenly got married, graduated from medical university and, thanks to her stepfather, got a job in a fashionable clinic. And now she brings up two boys. By the way, they are also twins!

What an irony.

«Taska, you look cool!» said Eva, meeting me once again at Pulkovo airport. I do not like it when she distorts my name, but this is a long-standing children's showdown.

«I'm glad you agreed to stop by! Your next flight is in a day anyway.»

«Is that mom's car?» I asked unconfidently, pointing to the mocha-colored Audi.

«Yeah… Mine is under repair. How are you? How's dad?»

«As usual. What about mom?» I asked, trying to be polite.

«Getting younger and younger! I'm not a competitor to her. I'll take you to her if you want, without declaring war!» suggested Eva, most likely, also out of politeness.

«Nope. I don't want to upset her.»

«You should! Actually…» Eva thought for a moment, «It's time to change at least something in life. After all, we only live once, right Taska?» she said with a slight sadness.

Now, looking at the mysterious letter, I remembered the recent conversation and assumed that there could be some connection between these two facts…

Chapter 2
The Letter

«I have no idea what you're talking about, Taska!» Eva said when, suspecting her of pandering, I called her without really understanding the essence of this strange and mysterious letter.

«Well then fine! I'll figure it out myself. The only trouble is… my English is very bad! Or, like they say: „I speak English a little!..“»

«Hey, bogey, send my best to dad! By the way… Mom was very upset that you did not call her. That's true, Taska! She has recently become some kind of sentimental,» Eva added before saying goodbye.

Having put the phone in the side pocket of the bag carefully imitating leopard leather, I returned to the letter.

I can't help myself, but this familiar crony American «Hi!» mocks me, to say the least. That is how the letter I received began. And then, despite the fact that the meaning reached me from the second or third reading, the hair on my head stirred.

At least it seemed to me.

There were two lined leaflets torn from a notebook and scribbled in small handwriting. However, despite the fact that it was written in block letters, it was incredibly difficult to perceive the text. I was tormented by a constant question, which distracted me from reading… Who was this? A man or a woman?

That's it, I won't torture myself like that anymore! After copying the letter, I sent it to an online translator. The translation was clumsy, but quick!

So:

«Hello!

I'm afraid to frighten you if I say straight away that I know you.

I'll just tell you one story today:

The Adriatic coast is far behind, with its deserted beaches and incredible shade of turquoise water. Bronze skin and light brown hair bleached under the sun are a reward for hours spent under the rays of the gentle August sun. I am among other tourists. There is some tour planned, most likely a boring one.

I am tormented: to go or not to go? Curiosity, or, I will not flatter myself, ordinary interest prevails.

I'm coming.

Museum. Just an ordinary museum. Our Romanian guide, Justin, is sincerely surprised. I ask:

„Is there something unusual? Moving pictures? Maybe revived statues?“

„No, can you imagine, He will accompany us through the museum.“

„Who's He?“ I ask, almost yawning.

„The director of the museum himself. They say for the first time in many years. Well, why?“ Justin says, still continuing to bewilder.

Foyer of the Museum of Local Lore. We are invited to go to the first hall. Suddenly I get a persistent feeling that we were placed inside a huge velvet box. Ripe cherry walls are decorated with swords and spades. Glass cases contain jewels and crowns.

Everything sparkles and shines, as it should. Insanely expensive and beautiful!

No one noticed him entering.

There's a tall man of about forty-five. Black hair, barely touched by a noble gray, dark blue suit, dazzling white cambric shirt.

As soon as I looked away from his elegant neckerchief, I immediately ran into his gaze…

It was not just interest in his eyes, there was something else. It happens when you suddenly realize that you have a representative of your clan, your like-minded person. A man who understands everything without words.

I don't know how much time has passed: an hour, a minute… I can't remember. I stayed behind the group, listened to the interpreter, poorly understanding the broken speech. The tour was drawing to a close. We were thanked for patience, and we headed for the exit.

„I want to show you something completely unique,“ he suddenly addressed me only in the purest Russian language, gently guiding me towards the sculpture of young Grace standing in the distance.

I listened to the vibrations of his voice and, as if under hypnosis, answered something.

Our guide, who counted everyone on the bus on their heads, and who did not count one, returned to the lobby. Seeing us, he was dumbfounded, and turned into a „salt pillar“… His face immediately expressed a whole gamut of feelings. When, finally, he restored the ability to move back, he grabbed my hand and literally dragged me from the hospitable museum director.

„Printesa, sunteti invitati si-au dat acordul. Mai mult decat nimic nu are sens!¹“ I heard…

„I studied the ancient dialects of our language, but I don't understand this one well. Where did you learn Romanian?“ Justin asked me, sitting down on the next bus seat.

„Are you kidding? We spoke Russian. He told me that many visitors rubbed Grace's foot to fulfill their cherished desire. It's a sign or something. Me too,…“ I suddenly stopped short, understanding what the last words said by the Grand Duke meant.

„I agreed…“ I whispered…»

This story seemed a little more romantic than the one that happened to me, but… My God, I again felt the light breeze playing with my hair and felt my heart fall down when our bus was looping around the Carpathian serpentine, rising higher and higher into the mountains. Everything was exactly like the unknown author stated, sending this letter to me…

In any case, the guide's name was Justin!

In addition to this mysterious letter, the envelope turned out to be an old newspaper folded several times…

Chapter 3
Under the Magnifying Glass

So what do we have?

First:

Eva had nothing to do with it. Anyway, why would I think that she even lifted a finger, and that her words spoken at a rare moment of frankness would continue in some altruistic impulse. Eva can be consistent only when it comes to her directly.

Alas!

Second:

Nothing follows from the letter. Will there be a sequel?

Maybe someone just made a joke. I remember telling this story to Eva in details at least ten times when I returned from Romania, even when we had guests, and by phone, to somehow dispel my thoughts about being chosen and about the fact that nothing in our world is happening by chance…

And now when I finally calmed down a bit and decided that I had come up with all this unusually beautiful fairy tale and, perhaps, under the influence of «Twilight»… Is that possible? Sure.

Now I get this letter…

Taking an envelope and raising a magnifying glass to it, I began to carefully study the small stamp of the sender's address in the upper left corner of the letter. The firm conviction that someone deliberately smeared the print so that it was impossible to make out anything other than the last name strengthened with every single minute.

D. Frost.

Funny, because the name Frost can be interpreted as Russian 'Morozov'…

Well, dear storyteller, it means we are also namesakes!

But my address was written very carefully, as if a person was afraid that the letter might get lost or fall into the wrong hands.

What an intrigue.

My mysterious stranger can also be a good psychologist. After all, if he sent a letter to my email address, there's a probability of two hundred per cent that I would consider it to be spam and delete it, despite the fact that some signal word would be indicated in the subject of the letter, for example, «Important» with three exclamation points. Noone likes spam.

But I love paper letters. Of course, not official ones, with the text known in advance, or maybe with rare exceptions…

As for trendy Postcrossing, oddly enough, it inspires me little. I'm offline most of the time, unless I make purchases on my favorite Victoria's Secret² website.

So it turns out that the most reliable option is unreliable!

Sending a letter by mail. And just in case, the letter looks like this: beautiful, solid, with a newspaper with colored photos in it… And, of course, more «I LOVE YOU!» stamps.

That's all!

I swallowed the bait, as if hypnotized. And since at the end of the letter there wasn't any «I am waiting for your reply…», I could not calm down until this situation cleared up.

I spent the rest of the weekend reading an old book, constantly distracting and thinking about the letter. Suddenly an unexpected thought literally pierced me: «Is that old newspaper put into the envelope just for weight?» I expanded it, and stumbled upon an article dedicated to the Oscar award, which Leonardo DiCaprio had never received again as the leading actor in «The Great Gatsby». The interview was circled in red marker…

I looked at the sofa. The open book of Francis Scott Fitzgerald in red hardcover was waiting for me. What can I say?

It was «The Great Gatsby»…

I felt helpless. It was like someone was studying me under a microscope, just like me recently, trying to read the return address on an envelope with a magnifying glass. Someone knew more about me and my addictions than I knew… And now, he was gloating!

Unless…

Unless he was trying to say something, but carefully dosed the information. I was completely confused. I turned off the light and cried. And when I fell asleep, I persuaded myself in a dream that all this was an absurd, a stupid dream. The next morning, waking up, I would not find any letter.

Such a naive.

The letter did not go away in the morning. It lay on a windowsill on top of an open novel. I defiantly pushed back the curtains, warmed the kettle and had my breakfast.

I tuned in on Monday, dressed, fed a starving flock behind the aquarium glass as it chatted about the weather, and rushed outside.

Indeed, it was drizzling in the morning, adding colors, or rather, depths to the surrounding landscape. Trees and flowers, washed and elegant, could be depicted on a canvas… I was again agitated by the thoughts of my abandoned painting and saved from other thoughts of an unknown author.

Opening the laboratory doors, I finally calmed down. Strangely enough, I didn't remember about the damn letter until the evening…

Eva's diary:

August 23, 1998.

Sunday.

It can be very difficult to start a conversation, even with the closest.

It seems like the words are stuck in the tongue, clinging to its papillae, and the only thing left is to swallow them.

Mom, I hope you never read these lines.

I write all these words, because otherwise I will suffocate or burst under the pressure.

They are so prickly.

I hate myself because I allow these thoughts appear.

«The world is full of surprises!» you reassured me when I was bored. You made me believe in the most incredible stories in order to cheer me up.

You gave me new books, believing that they could distract me from sad thoughts…

Chapter 4
Something That Remains

August pampered with warm weather. I lived in anticipation of a wonderful trip. I Googled and chose the most interesting tours. A tour to Croatia was my most tremulous and crystal dream.

Actually, I like traveling. All the money I save thanks to my Spartan lifestyle I spend on this particular type of human activity. I also make small sketches and photograph monuments or landscapes from an unusual angle. I collect impressions, writing down the very first thoughts that come to mind, as soon as I set foot in a new country.

Nothing overshadowed my preparations for departure. Nothing extraordinary or even a little unusual. No letters or calls.

Silence.

I decided to drop by Doremi the next day to say goodbye, and arrive to Moscow in two days. I would spend a night in Izmailovo, and get on my next plane in the morning. This time straight to Dubrovnik!

Long live the sea, relaxation, new experiences, meetings and again…

Long live the sea!!!

In the most joyful and carefree mood, I opened the doors of the university dormitory without even paying attention to some kind of a dull blow behind me. Behind the doors leading to my abode…

He was still alive when I came in. The man was lying on the floor. His eyes turned to the sky were open. In fact, the sky was replaced by the high ceiling of our five-story dormitory.

Perhaps this was some last impulse… He extended his hand to me and said:

«Now the thread is broken!»

His hand trembled, and he somehow immediately changed his face, as if petrified.

I stood at the door, unable to move. This stranger was the first dead man I've ever seen…

The spiral staircase is not the most successful invention of mankind. It rushes up, steep and narrow.

Oddly enough, I was not sick, and there were no unpleasant sensations. I looked at him like an empty vessel. Like a body that life just slipped out of…

Eva's diary:

January 23, 1999.

Saturday.

Alone. Alone. Alone…

If you ever burned to blisters, and then the skin came off, leaving moist red circles, then you can understand how painful it is! Taska probably cannot accept this decision completely.

But our parents are adamant.

Mom has her new love, father has his insult.

I really wanted to hug Taska goodbye, but she froze like a mummy… No. I literally felt her spines grow. I was afraid to approach her.

I just brushed away the tears, got into the car and no longer looked in her direction. When the car started, I looked around. It seemed to me that my sister, not believing in everything that was happening, extended her neck, looking at the trail of the departing car…

Chapter 5
Doremi

I met Doremi in September two thousand and eight. We were twenty-three, and we came to the first composition lesson of the first year of evening art school.

Doremi was a very handsome young man dressed in a white embodied sweater, which emphasized his natural attractiveness extremely. I was sitting to his right, behind the others by the window, examining the crowd, but from time to time I turned to admire the big brown curls of the stranger.

He felt my tenacious gaze with his back, stood up and, moving his chair, sat next to me. This is how our friendship began.

I believe it was friendship.

Our tastes and habits coincided. All but one… Doremi was a complete romantic and monogamous. His first love, a girl with a rare name Kira, long ago left their native Khabarovsk when Doremi was sixteen, not even suspecting his feelings.

For some time, he tried to find her on the network and did not lose hope, but so far this has not brought any results.

The girl seemed to evaporate… Perhaps, of course, she just got married and changed her name, or even used some strange nickname. Besides, she knew Doremi under a different name…

When his parents, young surgeons who worked at the Oncology Clinical Center, were expecting their first child, they asked God for one thing:

«Lord! Send us a girl. We've come up with a name for her. We'll call her Sophia! God, you will not allow our hopes collapse. And we don't have any suitable name for the boy! Unless it's Dormidont!»

God must not have heard their prayers.

Or he had completely different plans…

Or perhaps he took the appeal of future parents as a challenge or a joke, and thus he made a joke himself. Of course, we can assume that he simply liked this name…

But in due time a strong and healthy baby was born. It was a boy. A beautiful dark-haired boy!

Doremi's parents had no choice but to nod three times in agreement, when an elderly registry office employee who had seen a lot in her life repeated her question three times, wrapping it in various words:

«A very unusual name… Greek. Ancient. So shall I write: D-O-R-M-I-D-O-N-T?»

«Exactly,» the young parents answered, not at all embarrassed.

«Is this someone's honor?» The employee inquired, losing any enthusiasm in her voice.

«It means a condition of the Agreement,» young people uttered simultaneously.

«Agreement? Interesting… You know, yesterday we registered another rare name here. Not as harmonious as yours of course. Imagine a boy named Nestor! So, I shall write „Dormidont“?» Kind woman specified for the last time.

«Yes Yes!» His parents nodded.

Doremi was lucky.

When there was a roll call in the first grade of school number nineteen, a dozen ordinary names were called besides his rare name: Zakhar, Sevostyan, Ilya, Kirill, Vasily, Grigory… Therefore, the boy had no problems with nicknames. No one paid particular attention to the unusualness of his name, which had its own history, moreover, quite beautiful.

The first time young man seriously wondered if he should change his name was when he applied for physics at Tomsk State University. A young girl from the admissions committee could not even repeat it without distorting it.

Therefore, at the age of twenty, when passport replacement was required, Doremi received a new passport which stated:

Dorian Vsevolodovich Cooper.

When Dorian told me the whole story, I remembered my parents and since then no longer believed that their experiment was cruel…

Dormidont's parents were far more inventive.

However, I came up with another short name:

Doremi.

It turned out somehow very musically, and he got used to it immediately. Since we were also involved in high art, being in a good mood I sometimes called him Doremi Gray.

Like Dorian Gray…

This is the story.

In any case, his watercolor portrait painted by me on my third year of art school now hangs on the left side wall of Doremi's huge hallway, right above the large black leather sofa, reflected in the glass cabinets along the opposite wall.

Art teachers often asked Doremi to pose. From time to time, he agreed to pose during painting classes. He continued doing so even when studying at art school became a memory.

I always admired Doremi's kind of sacrifice, or desire to be useful. A rare quality nowadays, isn't it?

I like everything about him.

Absolutely everything.

I'm already used to some of his oddities. I even start thinking that this is exclusively his zest. In general, it's a great blessing to have a friend who thinks just like you, and can tell honestly what bothers him without looking for excuses in order to evade an inconvenient conversation.

I trust Doremi unconditionally. Therefore, I inform about my long-term plans or short-term desires as they mature…

Now, standing outside the dorm, I called him and said that I could not stay at home.

«Something happened?» Asked Doremi. «It's a nightmare… I'll tell you when I come! Do you have something to drink?» I whispered in a broken voice.

«The whole bar is at your disposal!» Answered Doremi…

Eva's diary:

April 23, 2000.

Sunday.

Who invented this Odigo?

The net is full of morons!!!

Taska, don't be such a bore, ask dad for a new computer for your birthday!

Fifteen is no joke…

Mom gave me a dress, a real American Victoria's Secret!

It's so delicate, creamy with small pink flowers!!!

There are fifteen pearl side buttons to make it more beautiful…

HOORAY!!!

Chapter 6
What the Dead Man Said

«So stupid! Imagine the very first thing that came to me when I saw him lying on the floor with wide open, surprised eyes was „Where are his shoes?“»

«His shoes?» Doremi asked.

«Well yes! Shoes always betray the owner.»

I looked at my black pumps with a slight condemnation and continued:

«It literally slips off the feet, like: „I have nothing to do with it!“ Once, though from a distance, I saw a young girl knocked down at an intersection… Explain how a long zipped boot could be five to seven meters away from the body?»

«I never thought of such things… I probably haven't seen anything like it! Thank God!» Answered Doremi.

At that moment, it seemed to me that Dorian's thoughts were far, far away and he was rather an answering machine, absorbed in his kind of gloomy thoughts.

«So what did he say?» Asked Doremi, still scattered, and sat next to me.

«What did he say? He said that now the thread was broken!» I repeated the words of the former resident of our university dormitory.

After a pause Dorian stood up, silently opened the cupboard and took out a bottle of cognac. Then he brought bellied wine glasses and poured cognac without disturbing the silence. He held the amber liquid in his hands for a while and shook it, and then drank, still immersed in thoughts.

I took a wooden toothpick, pierced an olive, so that it did not stick out with a sharp tip, and put it into my mouth.

«I don't understand how you can eat olives!» I was amazed when I noticed that Doremi's olive jar was almost empty, while mine was still quite half!

We almost finished with a bottle of inexpensive cognac that Doremi kept just in case, just to relieve stress, without any frills.

«All this fits very well into one of my theories,» said my incredibly mysterious friend, scratching his left hand.

And then, looking at me, as if reading the last phrase in my eyes, he said:

«It's all the same. Black and green olives. It's a typical Russian chip. The whole world knows this is the same sort of fruit.»

«Don't tell me they grow on the same tree!» I was almost indignant, knowing what will follow next if I take the wrong berry.

«Absolutely! It's only about the method of cooking and nothing more!» Dorian was triumphant and, apparently, was finally able to «return to reality»…

In any case, he was no longer as indifferent as he seemed when I came. And I got a serious hope that he would help me cope with the unexpected and, in my opinion, completely untimely experience…

«Oh well! What are you talking about, what the hell is your theory?» I almost pleaded.

«People disregard an important fact: everything in the world is calculated to the smallest detail. It is impossible for each and everyone to be on their own! The boomerang of events returns all the missing details, capturing a whole layer at the same time… Losses can vary from a minimum of one person, for example, to an entire people. All in order to return the event thread to the desired segment. Right?

„My God, Doremi! What a philosophy… You want to say that this nice man, leaving his shoes at the entrance and the open family album on the table, stepped into the Abyss just to fulfill some obscure plan of the universe?“ I asked with a note of disbelief.

„… The thread broke!“ Remember?»

«So what? I don't understand what it means!» I got up and, raising my hands to heaven, said:

«Lord, you work in mysterious ways!»

«My dear Tanya, just imagine. On the other side of our planet, or, as you say, „on the edge of the world“, somewhere in America, there is the same kind man, abandoned and completely lonely… And at the very moment of wild despair, when a thick, black hopelessness surging through almost verged on madness, he opened a window on a seventy-seventh floor of a skyscraper and also lost his shoes, but already on the first floor. In a nutshell, this is my theory of the mirror or the strings of astral twins.»

«Wait, Dor, why am I hearing about this for the first time? Well, I can understand the numerology which you are keen on. I almost love it already! Of course, not as much and comprehensive as my wonderful palmistry… But I think that today I am no longer able to accept anything else…»

I looked at the empty bottle, then at the old watch restored by my friend Doremi, and realized that if I don't go to bed now, tomorrow can come only after dinner. The hands of the wall clock in a wooden case depicted a seagull, showing one fifty. A lot of things were waiting for me in the morning…

Dorian brought a blanket. Putting my beloved gray elephant filled with small granules under my head, I lay on the sofa in the huge hallway, and immediately fell asleep.

Eva's diary:

September 23, 2001.

Sunday.

At first I couldn't even believe…

Thank you, mommy!!!

Finally!

Now I have my own, brand new phone!

Not the best color though… But it's not black either!

When I chose a number in the shop, I didn't even notice that it ends in numbers:

…85-23-04.

After all, it's my and Taska's birth date!

I think it's a Sign!

Hope it's a lucky one!

I wonder if dad already bought Taska a phone?

Chapter 7
Boeing 737

I woke up and breathed a sigh of relief…

What a dream I had! A lot of stories simultaneously, and the feeling that my dream was broadcast from different video channels…

First a falling plane at Chicago city airport. It fell so slowly that it flew exactly between two skyscrapers… One wing was broken on the asphalt, the other was directed towards the sky. It seemed that all the passengers survived. I remember in a dream I thought: «Why do they show me all this?…»

But someone behind the scenes said that all this was only a preview or a delayed disaster, a rehearsal… Then I saw myself walking around Belgrade downtown. Old trams overtook me, ringing when making a turn. I was going to the hotel, but instead I found myself in a women's shoe store.

I looked around, but in vain. There were no other shoes except black, of different style.

Then I wandered along the cobblestones until I ended up in Izmailovo. I bought hot wings at KFC and beer in a pavilion next to the hotel, and went to my room…

Number 2323.

Although it was a dream, before waking up, I thought: «What the hell!»

At home, quickly collecting my travel bag, I went down to the first floor and asked the guard to keep all my correspondence until I return, if there would be one.

«Have a good rest, Tanya! You are so pale!» Said Aunt Zoe, our permanent guard.

Time passed quickly in Moscow, and at night I had a flight to Croatia.

Boeing 737, about 180 passengers. At the reception, I asked for the 14th or 15th row. I love when the distance between the seats is greater, after all, it's near to emergency exit. We took off fine, gained altitude, and the whole flight went well.

We flew up to Dubrovnik. The captain announced that the plane was completely ready for a descent…

We were going down, and I could swear I already saw the tops of the trees and the signal lights of the landing strip, when suddenly the plane soared up into the sky again. The city flashed invitingly with the lights of high houses and a dotted line of bright lanterns that seemed to be curves of expressways.

Our plane, desperately flapping its wings, tried to cope with strong gusts of wind and, making another circle, began to descend again, but this time directly to the lane. When the chassis touched the ground, I felt the seat belt tighten, and leaned forward…

How many times have I said prayers while we were landing and before the engines stopped?

I said the Lord's prayer probably a hundred times, and another hundred was a prayer to the Virgin… I think that no one on board even thought about it.

I prayed for everyone. I always feel when the situation is abnormal… For some reason, I am «fortunate» in this sort of things.

«Dear passengers, this is board commander. We landed at the airport of Dubrovnik. The weather is great, plus 26 degrees. I wish you a pleasant stay and thank you for using the services of our airline. The crew hopes that in the future you will choose our company…»

«Yeah!..»

«Ladies and Gentlemen, we are…» the commander continued his greeting in other language.

I felt a thin stream of icy sweat on my spine. Heck! It seems I crossed the line again!

I took a taxi and drove up to the hotel, settled in the room…

My brain was gone! I looked out and stared at the door.

Number 2323.

What could I say? Doremi was right, there are no accidents, everything in the world is played out on notes!

That's it. I need to distract myself… I turned on the TV. There was news…

When I left the shower, the correspondent shared the latest news about the crash of a Boeing 737 over the Alps a few hours ago…

I froze, unable to move. Doremi was right again! The mirror theory worked! I begged for life for the passengers of our Boeing, but the boomerang of death was launched and hit another plane… Perhaps there was not a single person who could fight the curse so fiercely, constantly turning to God?

Or I was very lucky today…

I went down to the bar and ordered coffee with cognac. Then I dialed Eva's number…

Eva's diary:

June 23, 2002.

Sunday.

Mom says medical school is not for me.

And since Taska and I were born on April 23, we are obliged to write poetry and study philology…

So what if Shakespeare was born on April 23?³

Poems… Poetry is not profitable! I don't think you can earn a living with poetry, rather the opposite…: —))

Although Taska writes something and then hides it, since she was a child!

That is nonsense!

Chapter 8
Morning Always Comes of a Sudden…

I went up to my room and called Eva's home, because her mobile phone was unavailable:

«Hello…»

«Is Eva at home?» I asked, without any hope.

«No. She is with the children at the rink today. Will be in a couple of hours. Tanyusha, is that you?» answered Igor, Eva's husband, in his most casual voice.

And again I was indignant… How can one be so restrained with the occupation he had? If I were a pathologist, I would enjoy every manifestation of life… Although, probably, every profession has its own distortions.

«That's me.»

«Why so gloomy, dear?» He asked.

«Listen, Igor Leonidovich, I'm really sick. I don't even know whether to tell you or to leave it…»

«Leave it. I'm telling you! Yes, and go to bed. You know, my girl, morning is wiser than the evening!»

Igor seemed to be smiling. I smiled at him too.

But no! I just tried to smile back, but my strength somehow suddenly left me. I slowly walked over to the mirror and removed the hoop earrings.

Then I pulled off my jeans and threw a worn top. I fluffed the pillow and fell asleep.

The last thought that flickered in my blurred mind was: «Thank God I'm alive!»

Morning always comes of a sudden…

First there is night, night and darkness… And suddenly, cannonades of sounds explode at once: the sound of a tram, the howling of the wind, the rustle of car tires… The head is buzzing, but you can raise it.

God, how could I become so limp! I opened the window. Morning burst into my room with a cascade of unusual sounds and smells. It smelled of sea and flowers. An amazing cocktail of incredible freshness and triumph of nature.

It seemed that the Universe had long ago forgiven me for yesterday's weakness and was already preparing the most fantastic adventures. I only had to show a hint of interest. But…

I went to the mirror.

The mirror obviously flattered me: no dark circles under my eyes, no bruising on my face. Like an innocent baby! I looked closely…

You are old, mirror! Just like I love. I love to look in slightly unclear mirrors like this one. My face looks as if covered with an invisible film of time and acquires some inexplicable radiance coming from within… Either the soul, as I believe, or the mirror itself, which is also quite likely.

Winking at myself in the mirror, I unpacked my suitcase and chose a dark blue gauze dress. It was pretty cool, and it was perfect for the first outing in the city.

That day I planned only a walk and a trip to the Aquarium. Doremi talked my ears off, talking about his last year's impressions, and took my word that it was on my first day in Dubrovnik that I would go straight there and report back online.

Doremi, of course, had his own oddities, but this did not compare with his merits. Therefore, I did not complain. If he wanted me to be in the Aquarium, well, so be it!

As soon as I gathered my hair in a bun, the phone vibrated:

«Why didn't you call back yesterday?» Eva asked, trying to sound serious, but I felt she was smiling.

«Well, I'm sorry. I got nervous. That damn plane barely landed on the second attempt,» I replied.

«Typical you! Flew somewhere again. Where are you this time?»

«I'm in Dubrovnik! Didn't I tell you? Well this was my dream since last year!» I exclaimed.

«Don't forget to bring me a magnet! When are you going back?» My sister asked.

«I'm planning to go to Spain for a short while… But I will be home in two weeks.»

«Have a great time there!»

«Roger that!» I closed the door and headed for the elevator.

Eva's diary:

November 23, 2003.

Sunday.

It's 1 a. m.!

Mom just went to bed…

This histo⁴ will drive me crazy!

It's good that mom is so pitiful. I gotta kiss her tomorrow.

We spent the whole evening drawing cartilage and bone tissues!

I didn't expect mom having such a talent…: —))

Pasha said she could draw a map.

Pasha's mother arrived at the November holidays and also helped him draw connective tissues!

That's it!

I'm going to bed.

Chapter 9
The Aquarium

The most remarkable thing that, without a doubt, makes the morning good, is a cup of the right black coffee. Thanks to my student mate Olga, I acquired this good habit and stick to it until now, especially on vacation.

There's also another habit which is not that good… After the first meeting with Eve, I started wearing heels. Even in paving stones of an unfamiliar country. It's terribly inconvenient, but I can't do anything about it.

Three years ago, when I was on a 12-hour walking tour of Amsterdam, although with a 2-hour sunset from the tavern, I was almost dead on my feet, but I didn't take off my stiletto ankle boots. However, late at night, waiting for the bus, for the last half hour I was literally clinging to the hand of Dmitry Sokolov, a young guy from Krasnodar, a beginner and a very talented poet, who also arrived in the capital of the Netherlands that day…

Now my heels gave a soft knock at an unfamiliar street of Dubrovnik. I walked and looked for a sign of some decent cafe for locals, not for tourists like me.

I opened the door of a small coffee shop after evaluating the nice smell emanating from it and floating in the air, like a genie escaping from a jug… Like ether. Almost tangible and thick.

Strange thing…

I wonder if anyone except me and psychologists pay attention to the fact that men visit cafes in the morning to have a cup of coffee?

It was pretty early. They were not hurrying anywhere, sitting and watching the news on tablets. Of course there were eccentrics reading newspapers, but they were older.

A kind of testosterone parade.

This is as true as the fact that in the morning it is difficult to notice the same number of women with a cup of coffee in their hands…

As for men, here they are! Calm and self-satisfied. I do not understand why males do not like to drink coffee in the morning at home…

After all, are they all alone?

Or is this because in the morning they are as relaxed as possible and should not show their dignity to anyone or prove their significance…

I don't know.

I just like to watch. They definitely don't understand that this is my favorite part of the morning in another country! I collect impressions. And then I compare it with past observations. It can be very funny.

I ordered a double Americano and a chocolate muffin. Enjoying this morning, coffee and company, I felt an incredible pleasure from life, the fruits of civilization and, anticipating a wonderful tour, smiled at my thoughts, sitting at the last table of a small coffee shop.

Having estimated that Doremi woke up, I sent him a picture on Instagram. Then I looked at my route. It turned out that the Aquarium was a kilometer away. I could do that…

I stood up, finished my coffee and bought a bottle of water so that I could leisurely set off to admire the marine creatures…

Morning had just begun. Cool. Rare passerbys smiled to me. I smiled back at them.

And there was the Aquarium.

In summer it was open from nine to twenty-one, and you could take your time looking at eels, tuna, breams and mullets, maragotas, scorpion fish, lobsters and sea turtles…

I wonder who was the first to think that such a museum can be placed in the medieval fortress of St. John? It turns out to be two in one!

A stone gallery, a fairly wide corridor…

Aquariums were installed in the walls, probably not less than thirty of them. Fish: large and not that large, constantly chatting, opening their mouths wide, and each time sincerely amazed when people for some reason throw coins into the outdoor Aquarium pool. I also could not resist and threw a metal ten cent into the water. It fell next to the puzzled turtle, which flinched, blinked or winked at me with the lower eyelid, and then, as if nothing had happened, slowly rubbed its eye with its front paw…

«Wow!» I thought, «can you do that!»

As soon as I got out to breathe some fresh air, I noticed Doremi sitting on the entrance steps and waiting for someone, constantly looking at his favorite Swiss Mondaine⁵ watch.

Really, Doremi?!

Eva's diary:

May 23, 2004.

Sunday.

Our rector repeats the same thing…

«If you finish your third year, you can consider yourself PhDs!»

In the meantime, no clubs and discos! Nothing but studying…

Easy to say!

Pharma⁶ is the death of fascism!

How can someone remember all this: hybridodemirunatazine, for example.

And this is just a new drug against sclerosis…

Part II
Eva's diary

Chapter 1
Taska… And Epicurus

February 23, 2014.

Sunday.

Lord, why didn't you give me Taska's brains?

Or rather, why didn't you divide our brains equally?

My dear little sister never gets distracted by all the fake stuff and does not even try to please the whole of humanity…

Forget humanity! Does she even love herself?

Well, no. She probably still loves herself, but does not care about how she looks, and what others think of her. As for me, a broken nail is a tragedy of the day! I can cry all evening because of a strange look or a seemingly cold intonation of my husband or boss.

Taska is reasonable.

Moreover, she reasons sensibly. And at some point, she can refuse everything, because she believes that these are not the options. And then she patiently waits for the stars to come together in the correct sequence to promise her something for which, perhaps, it was worth waiting so long… After all, if you think about it, we all feel different.

I've always believed that the expression «Studying the world through senses» belongs to Immanuel Kant…

But no!

It turns out that Epicurus spoke about this in the third century ВС!

For some people, the world is just a decoration for their own game. Or, like Epicurus said:

«Some prepare their livelihoods for their entire lives…»

The pompous and egoistic Narcissus directed all his abilities and skills only toward the achievement of one goal: creating maximum comfort for his own living in this favorable world…

He simply didn't care about what other small characters feel in this performance.

But nature takes revenge on such people, cruelly robbing them of sensations, making them flat and blurry like reflections in the water…

They always lack the volume and colors, and throughout their lives they are haunted by subtle and eluded memories of smells and sensations from childhood, when the soul still remembered something else…

«It is better to endure some suffering in order to enjoy great pleasures; it's useful to refrain from certain pleasures so as not to endure more severe suffering…» This aphorism is also taken from Epicurus philosophy.

But sensitive creatures like Taska see the world differently.

It shines with billions of faces and shades, filled with magical sounds. You can go crazy trying to describe this beauty, each time picking up some exquisite metaphors and comparisons.

Taska manages to do that.

She manages to do that without much anguish and effort. As easy as breathing. I promised her to publish a poetry collection, but she waived my words aside… She does not have the courage to declare herself, or she simply does not attach much importance to what she writes…

But I am delighted!

Let's take a category like pain…

How can you describe in unusual words or, resorting to specific terminology, in a way that it sounds like poetry? Quite difficult.

Pain

 
My temples are throbbing with pain
like poles and like expectation:
it's end or beginning… in vain
don't seek for a justification…
My temples explode, but I
I grab my head with my hands
I feel it now with my skin
This rampant tide that enhance…
 
 
It starts filling entire world
And even the world's reflection.
I can't remember a word…
But I feel it coming in my direction…
 
 
Now my temples seems to freeze
and the pain subsides in an instant…
But the worlds seem to know
that the pain is always persistent…
 

It hurts

 
It hurts so much
To be a captive bird:
Left in cage
Without saying a word;
It's ephemeral
But it leads you astray…
You can fly out
But you never fly away…
 

The Furious Surging Sea…

 
The sea of pain, so furious and surging
Made up of desperate words that turn to emptiness…
I don't know where all this pain's emerging
It burns my lips to tears that I suppress.
 
 
But now I've got companion to guide
The one I met in my own darkest depths…
For all the rains we'll find a place to hide,
My hope's the only thing that I have left…
 

What else can I say?

Taska is an expert!

Chapter 2
The Meeting

January 23, 2015.

Friday.

I suddenly remembered how we met…

Of course, it was not all of a sudden.

After all, tomorrow is your birthday! And we owe this acquaintance to my precious sister, who was returning from another country and decided to pass the time between flights with me.

It was our second meeting with Taska after my mom and I moved to St. Petersburg.

I was in a hurry to the airport, and I had to miss two classes. But when I arrived, it turned out that Taska's flight arrived with a two-hour delay. I just wanted a cup of coffee…

You stood there, waiting for your espresso. I haven't seen your face yet, but for some reason (what a nonsense!) I wanted to snuggle up to your back, hug you and die from the tenderness that suddenly surged over and was completely inexplicable.

Although you can explain everything. It's just instinct worked faster than reason.

It was only later that I put everything in order and decided that at that moment my subconscious mind capitulated to the fact that if there was really something left of animals in us, it was the ability to choose partners by smell.

I came close indecently, and when you turned to me, I realized that I was lost forever. Perhaps you also understood everything and just played along with me…

But all this looked quite plausible: you looked into my eyes, and the cup of coffee, balancing on the saucer, could not resist to fall to my feet. I involuntarily bit my lower lip, so as not to scream.

«Does it hurt?» You asked.

«Not much. But I'm sorry about the shoes!» I answered.

«You won't believe it, but this is the first time with me! I'm so clumsy!» You exclaimed, looking at my red suede pumps. Dark brown splashes have now been absorbed, and turned into ugly stains with small grains of black coffee.

«As far as I understand, there's no use in cleaning them…»

«Probably,» I sighed.

«My name is Igor!»

«Eva,» I answered.

«Eva? Really? Cool! I owe you shoes, at least… And coffee, if you don't mind?»

«I don't. Anyway, I'm here to meet my sister and I have a lot of time…»

How many years have passed since then?… It seems that all this happened yesterday!

And if it weren't for our boys, I could swear it was yesterday!

Tomorrow you will be thirty, Styopa and Daniel are seven! Who could know you were born on the same day! There are three men in the house and all are birthday people!

Mom always sympathizes with me, thinking that on this day I fulfill all your whims…

Of course, I will give you your, no, my favorite perfume, Baldessarini… The very one that I felt in the coffee house when I met you…

Taska is smart.

She has a whole classification of meetings:

1. Fateful meetings…

2. Meetings that do not oblige to anything and leave a kind of bright sadness…

3. Meetings that you remember all your life, but nothing can be changed for a number of reasons…

Meeting number 1.

 
Your each and every touch
Is like an electric discharge.
Your look, relentless and sweet
And a moment that's infinite…
You stopped at the door for a while
And burned my cheek with your tip
Thousand candles of love fire
And the flame of hottest lips…
The lighting pierces my soul
So I can't utter a sound…
My trusting gaze turns to yours:
It's eye to eye, and we're bound.
It's not an electric discharge,
But the gravity of the earth…
Your gentle eyes plead me at large
Surrender without remorse.
And the earth seems to swing…
I sometimes forget to breathe
I love you! I love you more than anything…
I walk on the edge with ease…
 

Meeting number 2.

 
The colors mixed into a filth:
Gray heavy clouds above the earth…
 
 
Beautiful words turn into mist,
We met against all odds…
You're too polite, and very sweet
But my heart remains calm and still…
I had the strength to cool the heat
To stay impregnable and chill…
My goodness! What a rapid change…
The sun has barely touched your glance!
Now I must seem so cruel and strange…
I pray to give me one last chance…
Alas! You'll never look at me…
Though I was just a moment late!
So sorry… Now you cannot see
One touch of love that still awaits…
 
 
Mixed colors make everything gray:
Dull heavy clouds above the ground…
But I'll be happy anyway
I'll be around, I'll be around…
 

Meeting number 3.

 
Big square of an ancient city
Azure silky sky;
You couldn't find a decent reason,
So you freely came by…
 
 
Although you spoke in English,
I understood you without a word,
You seemed to be very near
Coming from recent thoughts…
 
 
Big square of an ancient city,
I'm surrounded by pals
Why do I need a good reason
To send Colosseum to hell?
 
 
I quietly apologized
Came up with stupid excuses
And rushed without ending the talk,
So clumsy and so confusing…
 
 
Columns, arches, ancient city;
Fountain, steps… I see you sit…
I could find another reason
Paris could wait a little bit…
 
 
Then you smiled as we were walking
Putting sunglasses aside
Touched your hair as we were talking
And lights sparkled in your eyes…
 
 
The circle of columns and buildings…
Changed tomorrow to yesterday;
You smiled goodbye to my feelings
And, just like a dream, flew away…
 

Lord, I just don't understand how can she build and systematize such a gamut of human feelings!!!

Taska, I remember my promise.

Chapter 3
A Miracle…

If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine. It's lethal.

(Paulo Coelho)

January 23, 2016.

Monday.

You know, I always envied you. Not just because of the way you feel about life and know how to color gray dull everyday life.

No. I envied your dreams…

How do you do it?

Today… You just came up and told your dream, without resorting to various tricks and metaphors, in casual words.

You only mentioned that the dream was colorful as always.

And then I saw what you dreamed…

My imagination added brightness to its colors and space to its volume.

I even felt the wind play with my hair.

And also the smell. The smell of ripe wheat…

Yes.

But in a dream, all this is absolutely obvious things. Objects that have become significant for some reason become the same height as secondary ones, those that are much higher… Those that are now in front of the eyes or lens. A twenty-story tall wheat.

I see it in every detail, as if looking at it through a magnifying glass.

I remember once Taska and I went to a plein air… Having set a sketchbook somewhere on the high river bank, she began to paint…

Sky. River bend. Steep coast…

And then for some reason she wanted to draw some buttercup in the foreground.

The yellow buttercup seemed to have the same height as the dark tree on a high slope.

The law of perspective.

Unlike wood, the buttercup was more alive…

After all, she wanted to write out every vein on his petals…

And now you told me your dream.

I don't know, maybe you already forgot about it. Maybe you saw it a little different. But my imagination, like a hungry puppy, continues to return to that situation in search of a place where the «bone» was once buried… In this case, the imagination does not let go of the picture that has appeared and is now overgrown with details.

Sounds. Different sounds.

And then there are poems. Either they are born in my head, or this is how air fills the space…

They seem so perfect that remembering and reproducing them is almost impossible. They have a completely different philosophy and categories that seem to be understandable… But they are so unusually simple, concise and pure…

All Horoscopes claim that Aquarius is romantic.

This is true.

You are Aquarius!

You're also a romantic.

I've never met a bigger romantic. You always surprised me. And, as a rule, in moments when I was not ready to be surprised.

What does it mean: not ready?

It's just that the texture of those moments was too flat and not yet containing shoots for a future miracle…

How do you manage to mask something in this reality so that it doesn't give a sign of a holiday?

I cannot explain this parallel world where you, like a magician, take a magical object out of your sleeve, allowing the «northern lights of the holiday» to enter our house, filling it with a sense of happiness and magic… And at first this feeling makes you sit deeper or lean against the wall.

I am always unarmed.

How do you do it?

Miracle

 
What I can still believe and trust in…
 
 
With all regards and skepticism,
Provided that you cannot check it
Or find a proper mechanism
For things called Miracles or Magic,
The one you touch… but do not ask…
And it is not about the public
 
 
It's something you're afraid to bust!
 

Miracles Happen, You Know…

 
Miracles happen, you know
just when you don't expect it
right when you cross off the list
all the efforts the stars invested…
Miracles happen, you know
if you put soil to hearten
fertilize it with ashes and tears,
and not just believe it will happen…
The cynicism of nature is clear:
after all, it could connect
something that is immense
with something that remained intact…
 

I am a bad sister.

Another year has passed. And I'm still there!.. (((

Chapter 4
The Quintessence of Love…

March 23, 2017.

Thursday.

Yesterday, while I was lying in the bath full of sea salt and foam (though, alas, without rose petals or a foggy high glass of red dry wine), I thought:

«This activity is to my liking, as well as lying on a sunny Turkish or Thai beach…»

Well, I'm not a lazy one!

Although I can lie in the bath for 2 or 3 hours!

I'm going down into the water, very carefully: first one leg, then another. I try to sit down and then I go to bed slowly, because the water very hot, but not so as to leave burns…

You quickly get used to the hot bath, and after a couple of hours it only cools to body temperature. Igor scolds and spoils me at the same time:

«Eva, my fish, you know how harmful it is! Stop cooking yourself! Jump out, I've prepared something delicious here!»

«Darling, you know this is my office!» I answered once again.

Exactly, my office! During these two hours I manage to systematize my problems… Think about the things that concern me, and set up plans for the whole week!

Yesterday I thought about why I became a doctor…

Since I was a child my Mom inspired me that the doctor is the first man after God, while a priest or a pope is the second. Of course doctor sounds better, but physician is fine too…

The way people look at you walking in a whitish starched robe! As if you possess secret knowledge that is beyond the reach of mere mortals…

Indeed, it is!!!))

Some of them have awe and fear in their eyes, someone can barely cope with their excitement and constantly blush, others look at you with poorly disguised distrust.

I like to read these emotions in the eyes of my patients and find a key for each of them in order to let love into my heart…

At least to myself.

After all, all illnesses are caused by dislike, dislike of ourselves in particular… You can starve and be an absolute ascetic and at the same time have enviable health, or, conversely, suffer from chronic diseases with an abundance of funds and a set life, and think that this is okay…

But comprehensive love is also akin to disease…

Surpri singly.

What a paradox!

Taska has one interesting poem, a kind of test.

Few pass this test. The whole damn catch (!) is that 99.9 percent of those reading this poem take it literally!

But those who understand what kind of feelings the author is trying to tell find the quintessence of love…

 
Afraid to land when I take off…
Or feel no hands when I'm awake;
Afraid to ever be afraid
Thinking about you all the way…
Afraid to choose and to decide
And disagree against all odds
Afraid to lose the winter time
Afraid of river streams so broad…
Afraid to fear when I'm afraid
Afraid of friends that go back on…
Afraid to frighten, all in vain,
The brightest thoughts that rush upon…
Afraid of good luck to depend
To know the answer right away…
And that the cold gazpacho soup
Is not something you want today…
Afraid to go when looking back,
And see that you're not there even!
To say that everything's on track
But this is not what I believe in!
Afraid to trust to chance or passions
Or be dependent on desire;
Afraid to torture you with questions:
«To whom, by whom, what for and why?»
Afraid to even seem indifferent
Or when the others seem detached…
And shyly wait at the reception,
Although no chances seem to match…
Afraid of an invented fear
Though one day it will fade away…
Afraid that my last shirt I give you
Would never fit you anyway…
Afraid to lose and not recall
The memory of your sweetest arms
And that I give this huge whole world
To the possession of your charms!
Afraid that I might leave unnamed
Or be unable to find out
The names of all the feelings tamed
To know what they are all about…
I'm not afraid of reassurance
But I'm afraid I cannot take
The things I leave without regretting
And leave it for my enemy's sake…
Afraid to miss the very meaning,
Afraid of taking the wrong turn;
That there will be no more pages
Behind the page that has been torn…
Afraid to suffer and dissemble
Afraid to be afraid of heights;
Afraid to part with dreams and tremble
That I will never see them bright…
Afraid to insult by not listening,
Afraid to be afraid to die…
Of the desire close to hatred!
Of seeing when I close my eyes…
Afraid to leave without returning
Afraid to stumble and to blame…
Afraid to fall asleep forever…
Afraid to be completely tame!..
 

I finally agreed with the publisher!!!

I think that the collection will be ready for our 33rd anniversary!

Taska will be surprised!)))