Kitobni o'qish: «Blue Notebook / Голубая тетрадь. Книга для чтения на английском языке»
© КАРО, 2019
Все права защищены
Kalindov
Kalindov was standing on tiptoe and peering at me straight in the face. I found this unpleasant. I turned aside but Kalindov ran round me and was again peering at me straight in the face. I tried shielding myself from Kalindov with a newspaper. But Kalindov outwitted me: he set my newspaper alight and, when it flared up, I dropped it on the floor and Kalindov again began peering at me straight in my face. Slowly retreating, I repaired behind the cupboard and there, for a few moments, I enjoyed a break from the importunate stares of Kalindov. But my break was not prolonged: Kalindov crawled up to the cupboard on all fours and peered up at me from below. My patience ran out; I screwed up my eyes and booted Kalindov in the face.
When I opened my eyes, Kalindov was standing in front of me, his face bloodied and mouth lacerated, peering at me straight in the face as before.
Symphony no. 2
Anton Mikhailovich spat, said «yuck», spat again, said «yuck» again, spat again, said «yuck» again and left. To Hell with him. Instead, let me tell about Ilya Pavlovich.
Ilya Pavlovich was born in 1893 in Constantinople. When he was still a boy, they moved to St. Petersburg, and there he graduated from the German School on Kirochnaya Street. Then he worked in some shop; then he did something else; and when the Revolution began, he emigrated. Well, to Hell with him. Instead, let me tell about Anna Ignatievna.
But it is not so easy to tell about Anna Ignatievna. Firstly, I know almost nothing about her, and secondly, I have just fallen of my chair, and have forgotten what I was about to say. So let me instead tell about myself.
I am tall, fairly intelligent; I dress prudently and tastefully; I don't drink, I don't bet on horses, but I like ladies. And ladies don't mind me. They like when I go out with them. Serafima Izmaylovna have invited me home several times, and Zinaida Yakovlevna also said that she was always glad to see me.
But I was involved in a funny incident with Marina Petrovna, which I would like to tell about. A quite ordinary thing, but rather amusing. Because of me, Marina Petrovna lost all her hair – got bald like a baby's bottom. It happened like this: once I went over to visit Marina Petrovna, and bang! she lost all her hair. And that was that.
Five Unfinished Narratives
Dear Yakov Semyonovich,
1. A certain man, having taken a run, struck his head against a smithy with such force that the blacksmith put aside the sledge – hammer which he was holding, took off his leather apron and, having smoothed his hair with his palm, went out on to the street to see what had happened.
2. Then the smith spotted the man sitting on the ground. The man was sitting on the ground and holding his head.
3. – What happened? – asked the smith. – Ooh! – said the man.
4. The smith went a bit closer to the man.
5. We discontinue the narrative about the smith and the unknown man and begin a new narrative about four friends and a harem.
6. Once upon a time there were four harem fanatics. They considered it rather pleasant to have eight women at a time each. They would gather of an evening and debate harem life. They drank wine; they drank themselves blind drunk; they collapsed under the table; they puked up. It was disgusting to look at them. They bit each other on the leg. They bandied obscenities at each other. They crawled about on their bellies.
7. We discontinue the story about them and begin a new story about beer.
8. There was a barrel of beer and next to it sat a philosopher who contended: – This barrel is full of beer; the beer is fermenting and strengthening. And I in my mind ferment along the starry summits and strengthen my spirit. Beer is a drink flowing in space; I also am a drink, flowing in time.
9. When beer is enclosed in a barrel, it has nowhere to flow. Time will stop and I will stand up.
10. But if time does not stop, then my flow is immutable.
11. No, it's better to let the beer flow freely, for it's contrary to the laws of nature for it to stand still. – And with these words the philosopher turned on the tap in the barrel and the beer poured out over the floor.
12. We have related enough about beer; now we shall relate about a drum.
13. A philosopher beat a drum and shouted: – I am making a philosophical noise! This noise is of no use to anyone, it even annoys everyone. But if it annoys everyone, that means it is not of this world. And if it's not of this world, then it's from another world. And if it is from another world, then I shall keep making it.
14. The philosopher made his noise for a long time. But we shall leave this noisy story and turn to the following quiet story about trees.
15. A philosopher went for a walk under some trees and remained silent, because inspiration had deserted him.
Blue notebook no. 10
Once there was a redheaded man without eyes and without ears. He had no hair either, so that he was a redhead was just something they said.
He could not speak, for he had no mouth. He had no nose either.
He didn't even have arms or legs. He had no stomach either, and he had no back, and he had no spine, and no intestines of any kind. He didn't have anything at all. So it is hard to understand whom we are really talking about.
So it is probably best not to talk about him any more.
Koka Briansky
Act I
Koka Briansky: I'm getting married today.
Mother: What?
Koka Briansky: I'm getting married today!
Mother: What?
Koka Briansky: I said I'm getting married today.
Mother: What did you say?
Koka Briansky: To – day – ma – rried!
Mother: Ma? What's ma?
Koka Briansky: Ma – rri – age!
Mother: Idge? What's this idge?
Koka Briansky: Not idge, but ma – rri – age!
Mother: What do you mean, not idge?
Koka Briansky: Yes, not idge, that's all!
Mother: What?
Koka Briansky: Yes, not idge. Do you under-stand?! Not idge!
Mother: You're on about that idge again. I don't know what idge's got to do with.
Koka Briansky: Oh blow you! Ma and idge! What's up with you? Don't you realise yourself that saying just ma is senseless.
Mother: What did you say?
Koka Briansky: Ma, I said, is senseless!
Mother: Sle?
Koka Briansky: What on earth is all this! How can you possibly manage to catch only bits of words, and only the most absurd bits at that: sle! Why sle in particular?
Mother: There you go again – sle.
Koka Briansky throttles his Mother. Enter his fiancee Marusia.
On Phenomena and Existences. No. 1
The artist Michelangelo sits down on a heap of bricks and, propping his head in his hands, begins to think. Suddenly a cockerel walks past and looks at the artist Michelangelo with his round, golden eyes. Looks, but doesn't blink. At this point, the artist Michelangelo raises his head and sees the cockerel. The cockerel does not lower his gaze, doesn't blink and doesn't move his tail. The artist Michelangelo looks down and is aware of something in his eye. The artist Michelangelo rubs his eyes with his hands. And the cockerel isn't standing there any more, isn't standing there, but is walking away, walking away behind the shed, behind the shed to the poultry – run, to the poultry – run towards his hens.
And the artist Michelangelo gets up from the heap of bricks, shakes the red brick dust from his trousers, throws aside his belt and goes off to his wife.
The artist Michelangelo's wife, by the way, is extremely long, all of two rooms in length.
On the way, the artist Michelangelo meets Komarov, grasps him by the hand and shouts: – Look!…
Komarov looks and sees a sphere.
– What's that? – whispers Komarov.
And from the sky comes a roar: – It's a sphere.
– What sort of a sphere is it? – whispers Komarov.
And from the sky, the roar: – A smooth – surfaced sphere!
Komarov and the artist Michelangelo sit down on the grass and they are seated on the grass like mushrooms. They hold each other's hands and look up at the sky. And in the sky appears the outline of a huge spoon. What on earth is that? No one knows. People run about and lock themselves into their houses. They lock their doors and their windows. But will that really help? Much good it does them! It will not help.
I remember in 1884 an ordinary comet the size of a steamer appearing in the sky. It was very frightening. But now – a spoon! Some phenomenon for a comet!
Lock your windows and doors!
Can that really help? You can't barricade yourself with planks against a celestial phenomenon.
Nikolay Ivanovich Stupin lives in our house. He has a theory that everything is smoke. But in my view not everything is smoke. Maybe even there's no smoke at all. Maybe there's really nothing. There's one category only. Or maybe there's no category at all. It's hard to say.
It is said that a certain celebrated artist scrutinised a cockerel. He scrutinised it and scrutinised it and came to the conclusion that the cockerel did not exist.
The artist told his friend this, and his friend just laughed. How, he said, doesn't it exist, he said, when it's standing right here and I, he said, am clearly observing it.
And the great artist thereupon hung his head and, retaining the same posture in which he stood, sat down on a pile of bricks.
That's all.
On Phenomena and Existences. No. 2
Here's a bottle of vodka, of the lethal spirit variety. And beside it you see Nikolay Ivanovich Serpukhov.
From the bottle rise spirituous fumes. Look at the way Nikolay Ivanovich Serpukhov is breathing them in through his nose. Mark how he licks his lips and how he screws up his eyes. Evidently he is particularly partial to it and, in the main, that's because it's that lethal spirit variety.
But take note of the fact that behind Nikolay Ivanovich's back there is nothing. It's not that there isn't a cupboard there, or a chest of drawers, or at any rate some such object: but there is absolutely nothing there, not even air. Believe it or not, as you please, but behind Nikolay Ivanovich's back there is not even an airless expanse or, as they say, universal ether. To put it bluntly, there's nothing.
This is, of course, utterly inconceivable.
But we don't give a damn about that, as we are only interested in the vodka and Nikolay Ivanovich Serpukhov.
And so Nikolay Ivanovich takes the bottle of vodka in his hand and puts it to his nose. Nikolay Ivanovich sniffs it and moves his mouth like a rabbit.
Now the time has come to say that, not only behind Nikolay Ivanovich's back, but before him too – as it were, in front of his chest – and all the way round him, there is noticing. A complete absence of any kind of existence, or, as the old witticism goes, an absence of any kind of presence.
However, let us interest ourselves only in the vodka and Nikolay Ivanovich. Just imagine, Nikolay Ivanovich peers into the bottle of vodka, then he puts it to his lips, tips back the bottle bottom end up, and knocks it back – just imagine it, the whole bottle.
Nifty! Nikolay Ivanovich knocked back his vodka and looked blank. Nifty, all right! How could he!
And now this is what we have to say: as a matter of fact, not only behind Nikolay Ivanovich's back, nor merely in front and all around him, but also even inside Nikolay Ivanovich here was nothing, nothing existed.
Of course, it could all be as we have just said, and yet Nikolay Ivanovich himself could in these circumstances still be in a delightful state of existence. This is, of course, true. But, as a matter of fact, the whole thing is that Nikolay Ivanovich didn't exist and doesn't exist. That's exactly the whole thing.
You may ask: and what about the bottle of vodka? In particular, where did the vodka go, if a non – existent Nikolay Ivanovich drank it? Let's say that the bottle remained. Where, then, is the vodka? There it was and, suddenly, there it isn't. We know Nikolay Ivanovich doesn't exist, you say. So, what's the explanations?
At this stage, we ourselves become lost in conjecture.
But, anyway, what are we talking about? Surely we said that inside, as well as outside, Nikolay Ivanovich nothing exists. So if, both inside and outside, nothing exists, then that means that the bottle as well doesn't exist. Isn't that it?
But, on the other hand, take note of the following: if we are saying that nothing exists either inside or outside, then the question arises: inside and outside of what? Something evidently, all the same, does exist?
Or perhaps doesn't exist. In which case, why do we keep saying «inside» and «outside»?
No, here we have patently reached an impasse. And we ourselves don't know what to say.
Goodbye for now.
The thing
A mom, a dad, and the maid named Natasha, were sitting at the table, drinking.
The dad was undoubtedly an alcoholic. Furthermore, even the mom looked down on him. But that didn't prevent the dad from being a good man. He was smiling honestly while rocking in a chair. The maid Natasha had a lace apron and was very extremely shy. The dad was playing with his beard, but maid Natasha was lowering her eyes shyly, showing, in that way, that she was ashamed.
The mom, a tall woman with a big hairdo, spoke with a horselike voice. Her voice spread around the dining room and echoed back from the yard and other rooms.
After the first drink, everyone was quiet for a moment while they ate a sausage. A moment later, they all started talking again.
Suddenly, completely unexpected, someone knocked at the front door. Neither the dad, nor the mom, nor the maid, Natasha, could guess who was knocking on the front door.
– How strange? – said the dad. – Who could that be?
The mom looked at him with compassion and, even if it was not her turn, poured another glass, chugged it down and said:
– Strange.
The dad did not swear, but also poured a glass, chugged it down and got up from the table.
The dad was a short man. Completely opposite from the mom. The mom was a tall, plump woman with a voice like a horse, and the dad was simply her husband. And above all that, the dad had freckles.
He approached the door in one step and said:
– Who is it?
– Me – said the voice behind the door.
The door opened immediately, and in the room entered a maid, Natasha, all confused and blushing. Like a flower. Like a flower.
The dad sat down.
The mom had another drink.
The maid Natasha, and the other one, the «flower – like» one, got very shy and blushed. The dad looked at them but he did not swear, instead he had another drink and so did the mom.
The dad opened a can of crab paté to get the bad taste out of his mouth. Everyone was happy and they ate until morning. But the mom was quiet and she did not move from the chair. That was very impolite.
When the dad was about to sing a song, something hit the window. The mom jumped up terrified and yelled that she could clearly see someone looking through the window from the street. The others tried to convince the mom that that was impossible, because they were on the third floor and nobody from the street could possibly look through the window, as he would have to be a giant or Goliath.
But the mom would not change her mind. Nothing in the world could convince her that nobody could have been looking through the window.
In order to calm her down, they gave her another drink. The mom chugged it down. The dad also poured a glass and drank it.
Natasha and the maid, the «flower – like» one, were sitting, looking down in confusion.
– I cannot be happy when someone is looking at us through the window – said the mom.
The dad was desperate; he did not know how to calm the mom down. So he went down in the yard and tried to look through the window on the first floor. Of course, that was impossible. But that did not convince the mom. She did not even see that he couldn't reach the first floor window.
Finally, confused by the situation, the dad ran into the dining room and had two drinks in a row, giving one of them to the mom. The mom had her drink, and said that she was drinking solely because someone was looking at them through the window.
The dad spread his hands.
– Here – he said to the mom, and opened the window.
A man with a dirty coat and a big knife in his hands tried to get in through the window. When the dad noticed him, he closed the window and said:
– There is nobody.
But, the man with a dirty coat was outside looking into the room through the window, and furthermore, he opened the window and got in.
The mom was extremely disturbed by this. She started acting hysterically, and, after she had a drink that the dad gave her and ate a little mushroom, she calmed down.
Soon the dad calmed down, too. Again everybody sat at the table and continued to drink.
The dad took the papers and spent a long time flipping them up and down trying to determine what comes up and what comes down. But no matter how long he tried he couldn't sort it out so he put the papers aside and had a drink.
– Nice – said the dad – but we're out of pickles.
The mom made a sound like a horse, which was pretty inappropriate, and made the maids look at the table cloth and laugh silently.
The dad had another drink and suddenly grabbed the mom and put her on the cupboard.
The mom's gray, big, light hair was shaking, she got red spots all over her face, and, generally speaking, she was pretty upset.
The dad adjusted his trousers and started on a speech.
But at this point a secret hatch opened down on the floor and out from it crawled a monk.
The maids were so confused that one of them started to vomit. Natasha was holding her forehead and tried to hide what was going on.
The monk, the one that got out of the floor, aimed at the dad's ear and hit him so hard that everybody could hear the bells ringing in the dad's head!
The dad just sat down without even finishing his speech.
Then the monk approached the mom and with his hand, or leg, somehow from below, he kicked her.
The mom started to scream and cry for help.
Then the monk grabbed both maids by their aprons and, after swinging them through the air, let them hit the wall.
Then, unnoticed, the monk crawled back into the floor and closed the hatch behind him.
For a long time neither the dad, nor the mom, nor the maid Natasha could get their compoure again. But later, when they got some fresh air, they had another drink while adjusting their appearance, they sat down at the table, and started to eat salad.
After another drink everyone was talking quietly.
Suddenly the dad got red in the face and started to yell:
– What! What! – the dad was yelling. – You think that I am anal! You look at me like at a devil! I do not ask for your love! You are the devils!
The mom and the maid Natasha ran out of the room and locked themselves in the kitchen.
– Go away you drunk! Go, you son of a devil! – whispered the mom and the totally confused maid Natasha, behind the door.
And the dad stayed in the dining room until the morning when he took his bag, put on a white hat and quietly went to work.
A sonnet
An amazing thing happened to me today, I suddenly forgot what comes first – 7 or 8.
I went to my neigbors and asked them abou their opinion on this matter.
Great was their and my amazement, when they suddenly discovered, that they couldn't recall the counting order. They remembered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6, but forgot what comes next.
We all went to a commercial grocery store, the one that's on the corner of Znamenskaya and Basseinaya streets to consult a cashier on our predicament. The cashier gave us a sad smile, took a small hammer out of her mouth, and moving her nose slightly back and forth, she said:
– In my opinion, a seven comes after an eight, only if an eight comes after a seven.
We thanked the cashier and ran cheerfully out of the store. But there, thinking carefully about cashier's words, we got sad again because her words were void of any meaning.
What were we supposed to do? We went to the Summer Garden and started counting trees. But reaching a six in count, we stopped and started arguing: In the opinion of some, a 7 went next; but in opinion of others an 8 did.
We were arguing for a long time, when by some sheer luck, a child fell off a bench and broke both of his jaws. That distracted us from our argument.
And then we all went home.
