ARISE AND WALK*
And here they are sitting and talking, oh yes, about something, well, something, say, the forest fires and projected (down and a little to the right) harvests, and the harvests this year will have exceeded, meanwhile, every imaginable, sadly. They are talking, it might be tea, green and black, leaves and stem, but something else, fierier, maybe, the dull bulb glowing, not heating season yet, music spinning, creaking.
Of what else? "Let's say," says Nina, "no, this is totally impossible, no matter what stories I tell, they're all about him, here's one, for example, about how he left and I kept walking around the apartment and couldn't find a space for myself, there was quite enough space there, it was a new apartment, barely decorated, all but concrete floors, but all of its spaces were somehow tight on me, I don't know. And then I started calling his cell phone, and that's roaming at three dollars a minute which only gets switched on near big cities, like there are any cities there anyway, and screaming into the phone for him not to leave or to come back at least, because there is no space here without him and I can't go on like that."
"Uh-huh," says Lada, "I know, it happens like that, especially somehow in the fall, well, it's hard for me, on one hand, to understand it, because it's a man, I've got a pal who's a boy and I told him once that, well, I can't help it, because I can't talk with him as with a boy, but only with him as him, he was offended, I think, but then, I really cannot do anything about it, you can't suck everybody off, even though I like him well enough. Even though I do understand about the space, yes."
And then another neighbor comes, also a boy of about thirty, his pregnant wife with him, they come just because, seeing as it's Friday night and when else should they come, and Ninka, completely drunk by now, starts to get on their case about how did they dare, a baby in this country and all, and the boy answers that there is no after, there's only now and that's all, nothing else exists, it's an illusion, but she won't leave them alone, she's trying to understand, but it's hard for her to understand, because she hasn't already had three children, all of them with unloved and generally meaningless people, and about the here and now - people have explained this to her many times, but always because they wanted to fuck her, so she begins to puke just because of those words and there she is, puking in the bathroom, and Lada, curled up in an armchair, looks now at the boy and then at the girl and thinks only about her baby that's nearly, but not yet, but almost, just two or three more weeks, here. And the neighbor boy who's going on thirty, like in the song, with his wife a girl of some piddling twenty or thereabouts, are exchanging glances and feeling not quite, but it's awkward to leave, too, having just come in, green and black.
Nina comes back, the bulb the same, but looks like, she says, there are rings around it, the three of them talk about who, after all, was the Alexandr Ivanovich that wasn't there, and how best to say it in English, such kind of conversation, Lada still sitting there in the armchair, thinking about the baby, of course, but won't tell, but will look at the belly of the boy's girl, who's nearly due, two months, give or take a few days (the girl giggles), Alexandr Ivanovich was her step-father's name, no, nothing, of course, never, this is not a B-movie, nor a soap, a wonderful man, and as for her father, she barely remembers him, nothing special, either, took off through the first open door into Alice's garden in the late seventies, she's visited, a good man as well, why not.
The boy and girl leave, because it's probably late and unhealthy, N. and L. stay behind, the two of them again by the messy table with small amounts of all kinds of remainders, L. drinks some more, less than ten sips, but you can't, but it happens, maybe it's all right, and looks at N. and says that, no, I don't understand, I just don't understand, how is it all with you, you could have had it the way you wanted it long ago, what's preventing you? And she takes a cigarette from a white and blue pack which is an obligatory attribute of precisely the kind of girl that N. is, and says that fuck knows how come it always ends up like this, could have, long ago, but no, not since long ago.
And L. tells her that you can't just fuck, you have to think about the baby, and then everything will work out all right, because in general, if it's like it usually is, everything works out all right, and N. says that, look, you have just seen them, haven't you, everything worked out all right, so, is that what you want, really? And L. says that, yes, this is just the way she wants it, but it's a little complicated, but, in fact, yes, things must be like that, and things will be like that, things are looking that way, she hasn't been able to make love for one and a half years, nor fuck, unless she's thinking about the baby all the while. N. smiles, well, not quite sarcastically, but she smiles, smiles and says that, I understand, I guess, yes, but it's unavoidable, having to rely on somebody's assistance, because you know that one, about the kitty and the doggy, because you are both girls.
And then Lada says thoughtfully, staring ahead: no, no, you know, I really love her, a lot. And so, I can have her baby, I will, I definitely will have her baby, it's possible, I know for certain, I am sure, I can have the baby, I will.
"It's just very hard," Lada says, "you know? It's just very hard."
Translated by Nika Scandiaka
* * *
* From the collection of short stories "Word on flowers and dogs" (.pdf, rus)
** From the book "Three months of year two" (rus)
And here they are sitting and talking, oh yes, about something, well, something, say, the forest fires and projected (down and a little to the right) harvests, and the harvests this year will have exceeded, meanwhile, every imaginable, sadly. They are talking, it might be tea, green and black, leaves and stem, but something else, fierier, maybe, the dull bulb glowing, not heating season yet, music spinning, creaking.
Of what else? "Let's say," says Nina, "no, this is totally impossible, no matter what stories I tell, they're all about him, here's one, for example, about how he left and I kept walking around the apartment and couldn't find a space for myself, there was quite enough space there, it was a new apartment, barely decorated, all but concrete floors, but all of its spaces were somehow tight on me, I don't know. And then I started calling his cell phone, and that's roaming at three dollars a minute which only gets switched on near big cities, like there are any cities there anyway, and screaming into the phone for him not to leave or to come back at least, because there is no space here without him and I can't go on like that."
"Uh-huh," says Lada, "I know, it happens like that, especially somehow in the fall, well, it's hard for me, on one hand, to understand it, because it's a man, I've got a pal who's a boy and I told him once that, well, I can't help it, because I can't talk with him as with a boy, but only with him as him, he was offended, I think, but then, I really cannot do anything about it, you can't suck everybody off, even though I like him well enough. Even though I do understand about the space, yes."
And then another neighbor comes, also a boy of about thirty, his pregnant wife with him, they come just because, seeing as it's Friday night and when else should they come, and Ninka, completely drunk by now, starts to get on their case about how did they dare, a baby in this country and all, and the boy answers that there is no after, there's only now and that's all, nothing else exists, it's an illusion, but she won't leave them alone, she's trying to understand, but it's hard for her to understand, because she hasn't already had three children, all of them with unloved and generally meaningless people, and about the here and now - people have explained this to her many times, but always because they wanted to fuck her, so she begins to puke just because of those words and there she is, puking in the bathroom, and Lada, curled up in an armchair, looks now at the boy and then at the girl and thinks only about her baby that's nearly, but not yet, but almost, just two or three more weeks, here. And the neighbor boy who's going on thirty, like in the song, with his wife a girl of some piddling twenty or thereabouts, are exchanging glances and feeling not quite, but it's awkward to leave, too, having just come in, green and black.
Nina comes back, the bulb the same, but looks like, she says, there are rings around it, the three of them talk about who, after all, was the Alexandr Ivanovich that wasn't there, and how best to say it in English, such kind of conversation, Lada still sitting there in the armchair, thinking about the baby, of course, but won't tell, but will look at the belly of the boy's girl, who's nearly due, two months, give or take a few days (the girl giggles), Alexandr Ivanovich was her step-father's name, no, nothing, of course, never, this is not a B-movie, nor a soap, a wonderful man, and as for her father, she barely remembers him, nothing special, either, took off through the first open door into Alice's garden in the late seventies, she's visited, a good man as well, why not.
The boy and girl leave, because it's probably late and unhealthy, N. and L. stay behind, the two of them again by the messy table with small amounts of all kinds of remainders, L. drinks some more, less than ten sips, but you can't, but it happens, maybe it's all right, and looks at N. and says that, no, I don't understand, I just don't understand, how is it all with you, you could have had it the way you wanted it long ago, what's preventing you? And she takes a cigarette from a white and blue pack which is an obligatory attribute of precisely the kind of girl that N. is, and says that fuck knows how come it always ends up like this, could have, long ago, but no, not since long ago.
And L. tells her that you can't just fuck, you have to think about the baby, and then everything will work out all right, because in general, if it's like it usually is, everything works out all right, and N. says that, look, you have just seen them, haven't you, everything worked out all right, so, is that what you want, really? And L. says that, yes, this is just the way she wants it, but it's a little complicated, but, in fact, yes, things must be like that, and things will be like that, things are looking that way, she hasn't been able to make love for one and a half years, nor fuck, unless she's thinking about the baby all the while. N. smiles, well, not quite sarcastically, but she smiles, smiles and says that, I understand, I guess, yes, but it's unavoidable, having to rely on somebody's assistance, because you know that one, about the kitty and the doggy, because you are both girls.
And then Lada says thoughtfully, staring ahead: no, no, you know, I really love her, a lot. And so, I can have her baby, I will, I definitely will have her baby, it's possible, I know for certain, I am sure, I can have the baby, I will.
"It's just very hard," Lada says, "you know? It's just very hard."
Translated by Nika Scandiaka
- WELL HERE WE ARE* *
That's two and a half hours left to us and then winter. What I was going to say is. What with the pines in Saulkrasti, with swapping places, with dropping the mask sometimes, with the child. That it's over with those, with these three months of year two, that with minus twenty out the window there's a migraine and no way of opening eyes.
That, anyway, we've been reading, we've been (say) writing, nodding rhythmically, blinking, spilling ink, sleepy time. Don't freeze, you'll sleep, as Lena once wrote, so, anyway, as if this made any sense: don't freeze. As if this made any sense: don't sleep, for here are olive trees and the dark and grass and a grasshopper of sorts in it, see. With stiff little wings, scary and saying
– What? – Well, saying that it's time, see, running out, as if this meant anythying. That, lo, the gloaming sea of sleep, saying. That in a cold train on December's tracks on a sheet like sleet under one like rain.
- the window and beyond the urals the low hills
the years beyond fake conversation stills
don't keep silent or not no man's this land i dream
heavy seas of sleep the chill in the stream
Just a little time left. As though.
I only wanted to say: don't sleep.
Translated by Nika Skandiaka
* From the collection of short stories "Word on flowers and dogs" (.pdf, rus)
** From the book "Three months of year two" (rus)