We sat in the café.
Not only was there a table between us. There were years.The table stood in front of both of us, separating us from each other. But perhaps it was also separating the past from the present.
It was symbolic.
Poems,stories and pictures by Irina Mouravleva.
Chapter 2
The Café
We sat in the café.Not only was there a table between us. There were years.
The table stood in front of both of us, separating us from each other. But perhaps it was also separating the past from the present.
It was symbolic.
Were we going back to the past, or were we going toward the future?
How many times had I imagined this day in my mind?
He looked at me.
Green garden and butterflies.
Chapter 1
Watch the ButterfliesWatch a butterfly in the garden. At least one.
Look at how flawlessly and lightly she flies from flower to flower. How softly and happily she moves—left, right, it doesn't matter. Wherever she goes, she seems to bring the sunshine and softness of summer with her.
Chapter 10
The Station
My small room.A closet, a bookshelf, a piano, a desk in front of the window, a TV, a sofa bed, and a chair.
Every guest who visited us would stay here.
It was evening.
Lights began to shine in the buildings outside.
I opened the window, and soon the room filled with the fresh, breezy air of the evening.
I sat on the floor.
The first woman was sitting there with me. She was a friend of a friend, and she had brought several colorful books that they had asked me to read aloud.
Another woman was sitting on the chair.
We were sitting on a camel-colored rectangular rug with a dark square in the middle.
“Look. What do you see?” the woman sitting on the floor with me asked again.
“I don't see anything,” I said.
Again.
I really didn't see anything with my eyes closed.
The woman turned toward the other woman.
“She doesn't see anything.”
“Try again,” the woman on the chair said.
I tried again.
Nothing.
The woman on the floor opened the book.
She smiled in a funny way.
And we continued reading.
The book was about ancient Egypt, its history told through pictures.
I had been tracing pictures from this book and keeping them in my album.
After a while, the first woman asked me to try again.
I closed my eyes.
Soon, I began to see black and white colors changing into each other.
Then everything began to feel as if a spaceship were flying straight through space.
Lights on both sides stretched into long lines, left and right.
The lights mixed with something that looked like sunlight.
Then everything suddenly stopped.
All around me was a blue-white sky.
The invisible spaceship continued its journey.
The sky was blue, filled with foggy white clouds.
The clouds touched each other and slowly moved apart.
How long was this journey?
I wasn't sure.
Soon, a black square appeared inside the clouds.
Blue-white sky.
Black square.
The spaceship entered the black square.
Everything became dark inside.
But it wasn't ordinary darkness.
It looked like dark clouds moving around me.
Then, somewhere far away, a golden light began to shine.
It grew brighter.
It pushed forward.
As I moved closer, I saw a long, golden-yellow metal tower.
It looked like a modern electrical tower.
In front of it were metal poles with wires running between them.
The wires began to shine.
And something pulled me backward.
I opened my eyes.
The room was still there.
The women were still there.
And our evening of reading continued.
Chapter 1
The Ten-Cent Coin
Yesterday, at work, I was writing a story about magic during the Second World War.I had only a few minutes, so I wrote on a piece of paper and folded it before putting it into my pocket. Then I went back to work.
Later, I reached into my pocket to continue writing.
The paper was gone.
I checked my pockets again. I looked around me, under the things on my worktable, and everywhere I could think of. Nothing.
Then I noticed something else in my pocket.
A ten-cent coin.
I stared at it.
The coin was supposed to be in the little bin where we kept our work pens. I had no idea how it had gotten into my pocket.
For a moment, I just stood there holding it.
Then I looked into the box in front of me—the box I had been working with.
And there was my paper.
It was lying there as if it had never disappeared at all.
I picked it up and looked at the words I had written about magic.
I smiled.
Perhaps there was a simple explanation. Perhaps the paper had slipped from my pocket, and the coin had somehow followed the opposite path.
Or perhaps not.
I kept the ten-cent coin.
After all, when you are writing about magic, you learn not to ignore small things.
Sometimes magic does not arrive with thunder or a bright light.
Sometimes it is only a missing piece of paper...
and a ten-cent coin.
Chapter 9
The Eyes
The Nazis drove into our small city.They looked comfortable and happy. They looked around as if the city already belonged to them.
A translator announced that from now on, everyone had to register and receive a special identification paper.
I spoke German. It had been part of our school program.
Because of that, I was ordered to work as a maid in the house where one of the female secretaries lived.
She was a German woman in her thirties.
She had a lot of clothes, and my job was to organize them and keep everything clean.
She was calm and confident. She read books and studied our language.
Sometimes we talked.
One day she told me that our land was going to be redesigned for new German settlements.
That was the work of her company.
She asked me questions and promised that I would not be sent to Germany as a slave if I listened to her and behaved well.
I promised.
And then I began secretly watching her.
She was having a romance with one of the soldiers.
They met secretly.
And I secretly listened to them.
One evening, while I was listening, I realized something.
The German woman was afraid.
I could hear it in the tone of her voice.
“We are not going to stay here,” she said. “They are watching us like animals, ready to attack.”
The soldier tried to calm her.
He promised her that they would soon achieve victory over the Soviets.
He promised they would get married.
But the woman began to whisper.
She was talking about civilizations in the West, about different wars, and about the resistance here.
I stopped being afraid of her.
Something had changed in me.
Every look I gave them, every step I took, was the look and walk of an animal ready to attack.
Then the Germans began leaving.
They were running away.
The woman hurriedly pushed her clothes into her suitcases.
“Help me,” she said.
I didn't move.
I looked at her.
There was so much anger in my eyes that they no longer looked human.
They were the eyes of something wild.
Something ready to attack.
For the first time, she didn't say anything.
She quietly grabbed her suitcases and ran toward the truck.
Soon, our city was liberated by our army.
Chapter 8
Chocolate People
The old women seemed deeply troubled. The older they were, the more grief was etched into their faces. The eldest bit her lips, frozen in place, one hand covering her mouth.They stood together in a small circle around a rectangular stone monument. The inscription told everyone that a village had once stood there, until it was burned to the ground by the Nazis during the Second World War.
It was late autumn. Cold rain drifted through the wind, and the sky hung low and gray. The women, all in their sixties and seventies, wore similar coats and scarves. From a distance, they looked almost identical, as if they belonged to the same forgotten family.
"The house was here," one of them whispered.
The wind suddenly fell silent.
In that perfect stillness, a house appeared.
It was a wooden house with a terrace stretching across its front. A table and several chairs stood neatly arranged outside. Everything, the walls, the porch, the furniture, was the color of dark chocolate.
People moved across the terrace.
Women.
Children.
They, too, were made of chocolate. Thick chocolate dripped slowly from their bodies, as though they had just climbed from a pool of melted cocoa and had never bothered to dry themselves.
No one at the memorial spoke.
Then the women gasped together.
One of them whispered, her voice trembling,
"This is the least we can do."
Chapter 7
Rivers of Honey
“Rivers of honey,” - a voice said dreamily.“What?”- I asked, surprised that something was there, in this unknown portal where I was looking sometimes before playing the lottery at work.
“Rivers of honey,” - the voice repeated.
The voice felt happy.
Not just the sound. The feeling behind it. The spirit was happy, and that feeling reached me.
I wasn’t planning to talk.
Looking into portals was not new for me. I would look for a few minutes, just to see if something could be found, maybe numbers, something useful.
But this voice made me stop.
After a few minutes, I had to leave.
The next day, I came back.
Not for the lottery.
Only to see what the spirit wanted.
The happiness pulled me back.
The spirit didn’t ask again.
It showed me something small.
An oval shape, like a balloon, with a thin line coming from it.
Then I saw a woman.
She looked to be in her thirties. She was standing in a room with peeling walls. The wallpaper was falling off, showing smooth, light concrete.
Men in worn clothes were standing at the door, trying to close it.
In the middle of the room, there was a wooden table.
A child was sitting on it, a boy.
The woman was still smiling.
The room was broken, but it felt bright.
The child was smiling too.
Then I had to leave again.
The next day, I returned.
“I will help you,” - I said.
But I didn’t understand how.
And after that, I didn’t see the portal again.
Chapter 6
Borte and Oelun
At first, Borte reminded me of a freshly made dumpling.Soft.
Round.
Full of life.
Bright.
Or perhaps she reminded me of a young Asian child, with a round face, small eyes, and full cheeks.
She seemed to be dancing.
Or singing.
Her smile, her eyes, and her joyful expression matched the celebration around her.
Then everything became still.
I could no longer see very much.
Behind the cheerful impression was someone else.
She was not always smiling.
Joy was not her whole personality.
Beneath that gentle face lived the heart of a warrior.
Strong.
Disciplined.
Quiet.
Thoughtful.
At times, even cold.
───
Another woman was sitting on the floor with her head lowered.
Her coat was large.
Her fur hat was long, making it difficult to see her face.
The heavy coat spread around her in a wide circle, making her look like a bird resting in its nest.
She was older.
Her face was delicate.
Beautiful.
Thin, unlike the broad faces I had expected.
A different kind of beauty.
Quiet.
Reserved.
She was Oelun,
Temujin's mother.
Chapter 5
Temujin
"I see it!" someone exclaimed."See what?"
The young man sitting across from him laughed at first.
Then, suddenly, he became serious.
His expression changed so quickly—from an almost boyish face, with only the first signs of a beard, into that of a grown man. His features became hard as stone. His eyes turned cold as ice.
I tried to see him more clearly.
He was wearing a winter hat made of fox fur, orange with touches of white.
He sat on the floor in front of someone I could not fully see.
All I could make out were layers of dark gray clothing.
They were sitting in the middle of a small space whose walls rose upward and curved closer together near the top.
There was almost nothing around them.
Only the two of them.
A young woman entered.
She nodded several times before sitting down.
She wore a brown dress trimmed with yellow fur, and the collar was lined with dark brown fur.
She knelt beside the young man and gave him a quick, playful glance.
For a brief moment, something brushed against the edge of my shirt.
I caught a glimpse of a small, bright shape, almost like a thick ribbon of white air, drifting silently past me.
Then my attention returned to the man the young couple had been speaking to.
He wore a heavy gray coat.
Not large, but thick and bulky.
His fur hat blended into the grayness around him.
His skin was darkened by years beneath the sun.
Gray-brown.
Deeply lined.
Rough.
My eyes slowly lifted to his face.
Perhaps I was beginning to see what the young man saw.
The old man's eyes were blue.
One was slightly larger than the other.
At first, the color reminded me of creamy butter, rich and soft.
Then it became a pale blue sky.
White clouds drifted across it—two larger clouds to the right, two smaller ones to the left.
The sky began to move.
Its color deepened.
The blue grew darker.
Gradually, a round shape emerged.
Then I understood.
It was no longer a sky.
It was our planet.
Floating inside his eye.
Chapter 4
The Souls
She was young and beautiful.She had graduated from school and had all her plans ready for the new chapter of her life: mastering what people calledhealing with witchcraft.
She was the only woman in her family, and her “road” had been designed for her before she was even born.
“Go to university first,” her father said.
He was a warlock himself.
He was educated and believed education was one of the most important things a person could have. People without proper spiritual cleansing, without education, even those who were simply good talkers, meant nothing to him.
He was old-fashioned, proud of his position in the world of magic, and very sure of his opinions.
She was preparing to go to university when the Second World War started.
Instead of university, exams, studies, and books, she went to the military registration center.
“After a ten-month program, you can join the army,” a Soviet officer told her, looking at her with admiration.
What a brave young woman,she could almost hear him thinking.
She would hear something similar many times later:
“When people look at you, they want to live.”
The medical school was far away from the battlefield, in a small city where everyone and everything seemed to turn grey.
Many men had already joined the army. The ones who remained had worried, sad faces as they thought about the future.
During the day, the city was almost empty because people were at work.
At night, it was empty again because of the evacuated military factory. Only workers with special passes were allowed to go to work and return home at certain times.
She found a room in a small two-story house.
On the first floor, in a living room connected to an old-fashioned kitchen with a fireplace, lived a music teacher who had been evacuated from the war zone.
She had brought her large piano with her.
It took up a huge part of the room.
There was no school yet, and there was no music school either. So the woman spent her days at home reading cards.
She also knew how to make clothes, and that became her source of income.
She often talked about her hands, about her former students, about the important music prizes they had won.
Everyone felt sympathy for her.
On the second floor lived two young women who worked at the factory around the clock.
They would leave for work early in the morning and return almost at night, exhausted, sometimes carrying heavy bags filled with food.
Only on weekends did they sit together in the kitchen, drinking tea from small round cups.
The two young women were from a local village. They had just graduated from school.
On weekends, the piano teacher read cards for them.
She talked about long journeys, a charming dark-haired man, a gift, a letter.
There was a map on the wall.
Every movement of the Soviet Army was carefully marked and studied.
We all learned the names of cities and places.
We waited for victory.
The victory was not coming.
After about a year, the young woman found herself on the battlefield.
The earth was shaking from the bombing.
Day looked like night.
For the first time, she saw a German soldier.
He was injured and waiting to be sent to a prisoner-of-war camp.
One day, she was changing his bandage at their mobile medical station.
It was actually his last day there.
They were alone.
She took off his old bandage and healed him right in front of the German soldier.
He became frightened.
“I hated him so much,” she later said. “He was in front of me, injured and waiting to be sent to a prisoner-of-war camp. I touched his hand. It was burned.
“I was thinking,How can I harm him?
“But instead, I started to heal him.”
She looked at her hand.
“It changed. It became almost like a chicken's foot. Long nails. Thin and white.”
She had touched the burns and scratches beneath the bandages.
“Slowly, they started to disappear.”
A few days later, she met a young Soviet commander.
She was assigned to his division.
The commander told her that he could see things no one else could see.
He recognized the invisible signs.
The young nurse was ablack magician.
She was practicing black magic.
And the young commander was awhite magician.
They were opposites.
Or so it seemed.
During one battle, he saw her eyes watching him.
She was holding him with her powers.
That was how it felt.
Suddenly, he saw himself as an old man, completely dressed in white, with a long white beard.
And he saw her.
Young and beautiful.
Long black hair.
Dark, beautiful eyes.
She was reaching out her hand to him.
The old man in white touched her hand.
Lightning passed between them.
After the battle, he walked to the medical station where she was working and sat down.
She ran toward him, crying.
He closed his eyes.
He was exhausted from the battle and probably fell asleep.
And he began to dream.
He was a boy.
He was walking with his grandmother toward an underground river.
His grandmother was telling him the old folk stories she had told him when he was a child.
The river was hidden somewhere beneath the earth.
Only an almost invisible fountain of water reached the surface.
His grandmother touched the water.
Then she washed the boy's face and whispered words that only she knew.
The war ended.
He wanted to marry her.
Only her.
She was walking far away across the farmland.
He could see the long veil of her magic stretching farther and farther into the distance.
It was her gift.
Her magical gift.
She was giving everything to him.
Before that, there had been a long conversation between their relatives.
The war had united them.
Afterward came the spiritual cleansing.
And she became awhite magician.
They lived together happily ever after.
Chapter 3
The Folk Forest
One time, a guest entered the yellow house.He was an old man, probably my grandfather's age, wearing a suit decorated with medals. It wasn't a surprise to me. He belonged to my grandparents' generation.
All of my school friends' grandfathers had gone to the Second World War.
The man didn't say anything except:
“Okay. Look.”
He sat on the kitchen stool, put his head down, and closed his eyes.
“A round yellow circle. Like a sun disk without flames.”
He paused.
“A young woman in a green military uniform was dancing in front of it.”
“She was the most beautiful woman in our division.”
Then the woman spoke to me.
“Do you like plums?”
“Why plums?” I asked.
“We have a plum garden.”
“You are the most beautiful here.”
“Everyone tells me this.”
The dancing woman started to laugh.
The picture changed.
Now I could see farmland and a few houses at the edge of it.
Several women were sitting on a bench.
They were talking about the war.
The war had started only a few days earlier, and that day the grandson of one of the women had received a notice to join the army.
“He is going to fight,” she said in a heavy, old-fashioned accent.
That grandson was the man sitting in front of me in the yellow house.
The man continued in the same quiet tone.
“The German army attacked us very fast. We, the soldiers, had to leave the battlefield in small groups, hoping to meet our larger divisions somewhere up north.
“The Germans were everywhere.
“And we had nothing else to do but go through the forests.”
One of the soldiers managed to find civilian clothes and forced us to change.
We refused at first.
Then we changed and hid our uniforms.
“Who is going to fight for you?” he said.
He spoke with my grandmother's old accent, and that made me listen to him.
“We have to check the area,” he continued. “We cannot walk straight. The Germans are here. The only way is through the forest.”
He pointed at me.
“You go first. You look like you're from a village. Check around and come back.”
He gave me a long wooden stick.
And I went straight into the unknown forest.
After a while, I reached a darker part of the forest.
It's probably deeper here, with a swamp or a river,I thought.
The thought came and quickly disappeared because I wanted to turn back and find a different road.
Then someone moved in front of me.
There was a slightly open place in the forest, with a few small green hills.
At first, I was frightened. I thought I had walked into a German base.
For a second, I froze.
I couldn't move.
I could only stare at the place that had frightened me.
A dark figure was standing on one of the hills.
A tall, dark figure, with its back turned toward me.
I was scared first.
I felt as if my heart had dropped down somewhere inside me.
Maybe it's a strange hallucination,my mind answered, as if I had asked it a question.
Quietly, I started to move backward.
After one step, I had a vision.
Brown darkness, like dirt or mud.
Dark hallways with light bulbs somewhere high above us.
Metal grids over our heads.
I could see dirty men in the darkness.
And myself among them.
We were people.
Men.
Trying to lift those heavy grids.
The figure on the hill lifted one hand and pointed in the opposite direction from the one I wanted to take.
I started walking that way.
Soon, I found myself in a different forest.
My grandmother's stories came to my mind.
The forest was green.
The air was green.
Watery, light green.
The leaves of the trees were moving to the rhythm of music.
They were singing, but very, very softly.
Then hands appeared from nowhere, moving together with the music.
Women's hands.
Gentle hands.
I couldn't see much.
I could only hear the quiet music and see the leaves moving and the women's hands moving with them.
I walked toward a green mountain.
The mountain was darker green and smoother, almost watery.
I came closer.
Then I froze.
This time, by myself.
The mountain had one eye open.
And it was watching me.
I stepped backward automatically.
It wasn't a mountain.
It was a dragon.
A dragon waking up on the ground and watching me.
The dragon began to move.
It stood up on its feet and stretched its green wings slightly.
Then, in a second, it turned, almost touching me—
and disappeared into the green air.
I ran back.
I frightened the soldiers who were waiting for me.
They didn't expect to see me, and everyone jumped up from the grass where they had been sitting.
We started walking in the direction where I had met the dragon.
I believed the dragon had been walking straight, because that was how I had found my way back to the group.
And, of course, I didn't see any dragon.
Everyone was laughing at me and making jokes.
After a while, we joined another group.
Soon, partisans found us.
We joined them.
Later, I joined the army again.
Chapter 2
Handsome man
A handsome man was looking at me.
If it hadn't been for his eyes—the windows of the soul—I might have looked at him differently. I might have admired his expensive suit, his necklace, perhaps even said something.
But his eyes told me enough.
I automatically looked away, thinking about the next bus or train.
The Ten-Cent Coin
Yesterday, at work, I was writing a story about magic during the Second World War.
I had only a few minutes, so I wrote on a piece of paper and folded it before putting it into my pocket. Then I went back to work.Later, I reached into my pocket to continue writing.
The paper was gone.
I checked my pockets again. I looked around me, under the things on my worktable, and everywhere I could think of. Nothing.
Then I noticed something else in my pocket.
A ten-cent coin.
I stared at it.
The coin was supposed to be in the little bin where we kept our work pens. I had no idea how it had gotten into my pocket.
For a moment, I just stood there holding it.
Then I looked into the box in front of me—the box I had been working with.
And there was my paper.
It was lying there as if it had never disappeared at all.
I picked it up and looked at the words I had written about magic.
I smiled.
Perhaps there was a simple explanation. Perhaps the paper had slipped from my pocket, and the coin had somehow followed the opposite path.
Or perhaps not.
I kept the ten-cent coin.
After all, when you are writing about magic, you learn not to ignore small things.
Sometimes magic does not arrive with thunder or a bright light.
Sometimes it is only a missing piece of paper...
and a ten-cent coin.
1.
В танце далеком
Ты ворон, шаман,
Сверкает звезда под луною.Ты мой капитан, ты мой капитан,
Иду я в даль за тобою.
Зеркальный ли город,
Задумчивый стан.
В снегах заскрипели упряжки.
Любви капитан,
Царь из волшебной ты сказки.
Суровые ветры, степные цветы
Твоим заворожены танцем.
И смотоят они на тебя так как мы,
Не могут совсем оторваться.
Тайна волшебная, скорость минут.
Шаман или ворон, не знаю.
Я знаю лишь только,
Вдруг ветер умолк,
Ты птицей и в танце летаешь.
Woman and war.
She was young and beautiful, graduated from school and had all plans put together for the new chapter of her life in mastering what people "healing with witchcraft". She was only a woman in her family and her "road" was designed for her before she was born.
"Go to university first", - her father, warlock himself, said. He was educated himself, and proper education, this what he admired first. People without proper spiritual cleaning, education, even good talkers, meant nothing to him. He was old fashioned and high in his magic position and opinion.
Oh bella ciao.
War united them... Second World War united people who would never met in the real life. And twisted their lives in some strange magnificent circle where everything gets connected by invisible special power. When millions of personal stories becomes one and stay one may be forever.
Four shining lights.
Snow, snow, snow… little flakes are drifting down on the road outside my window.
It is January. Dreamy hour at work again. This is what snowstorms create, quiet, romantic, unreal time when you want to think about far away moments, smooth, warm and cold like the weather outside and endless with all the dreams still where they are.
In falling snow, I always think of him.
Although we met in summer, snowflakes remind me of him more than sunlight ever could. Cold, distant, yet caring and strangely happy.
"Portals".
Chapter 1
Chocolate People
The old women seemed deeply troubled. The older they were, the more grief was etched into their faces. The eldest bit her lips, frozen in place, one hand covering her mouth.They stood together in a small circle around a rectangular stone monument. The inscription told everyone that a village had once stood there, until it was burned to the ground by the Nazis during the Second World War.
Chapter 7. Echo across the river.
Chapter 7.
Echo across the river.
We spent every summer here before the Revolution.
We were standing on a small hill overlooking the river and a young pine forest that had been planted only a few years earlier. The tiny trees stretched across the blue sky like thin green lines.Together with the other village children, all of us barefoot, we listened to two very old people who still remembered the years before the Revolution of 1917.
Chapter 6. Different Eyes
Chapter 6.
Different Eyes
It was summer when I began learning about herbs.An elderly woman was teaching me and another student who was twice my age. We walked through fields and gardens, learning to recognize medicinal plants, when to gather them, and how to dry and store them.
I listened carefully.
At that time, I was planning to study medicine at university.
Chapter 5. Another Man
Chapter 5.
Another Man
Another man came over and started talking.He was more serious than the first one.
Shorter.
Dressed like anyone else.
Nothing unusual. Nothing luxurious.
Just ordinary.
He talked, but he rarely smiled.
1.
Она играла на пианино
Всегда задирая рукав.
И номер рыже синий
Как будто с ней тоже играл.
Я папа первой не стала,
И даже не стала второй.
Я просто пришла с вокзала,
Я просто пришла домой.
Сижу шевелиться не смею,
Есть час еще про запас.
И час закружится в вальсе волшебном,
Напомнив нам что-то в тысячный раз.
Снег на березах, клуб у дороги,
Кружаться пары и папа играет нам вальс.
Мальчик красивый танцует со мною, но только несмотрит в глаза.
Весенней порою, военной тропою,
Уйдет он в болота, леса.
Хороших знакомых сын.
Папа смеется, играет,
Давно за нас все решил.
Зима пролетела и лето.
А осень в пожарах была.
Горел старый клуб,
Забывшийся вдруг старый рояль.
Война в город наш пришла.
И ночью холодной
И в серости дня.
В холодном бараке, всегда.
Закрою глаза и слышу я вальс,
С мальчишкой кружась до утра.
"From beginning to beginning"
Chapter 1.
Old House.
My old house stood outside a small city. Somewhere far away, between two train stations and two rivers.
It stood among farmland, forests, and gardens that were together for hundreds of years, like invisible guards watching over the whole our region wich was older then thousand of years according to found historical objects.
How many times did I come here?
And how many times I did not want to come here.
I was very young, almost a child, and those days felt as though they would last forever.
My grandmother is reading a book. My great-grandmother is sitting quietly, looking out the window. She was always at the window, it was her favorite place when she was at home.
"Я хорошо помню этот день".
Я хорошо помню этот день, точнее вечер, а еще точнее почти ночь. 9 марта 2014 года, воскресенье. Если забежать вперед и сложить 9 + 3 + 2014 будет 2026, сегодня, но это длинная по времени и пространству история.
9 марта я и отец моего ребенка ехали в машине и ругались из-за денег.
Я поставила диск с военными песнями что бы не слушать его.Иосиф Кобзон пел патриотические песни о Великой Отечественной войне.
King of Fools: in the bus.
1.
Mama Mia (secretary): mister Troll!You are taking the bus too!
(sits near, whispering) on the bus you can sit here and there,
And everywhere.
Troll (looking around): the insurance is crazy here.
Mama Mia: right now?
Troll: no.
Then.
Mama Mia: busses are popular.
King of Fools (enters the bus, sits near Troll and Mama Mia): buses balance.
Mama Mia: this is so true.
King of Fools: mister Troll eat more sugar.
(gives Troll a cube of sugar).
Troll: sugar!
King of Fools: brown sugar is not sugar.
2.
King of Fools: mister Troll,
Why are you taking the bus?
Troll: I have reasons.
Reasons are part of communication.
King of Fools: mister Troll, you have to stop your agenda here.
Ночь поет с туманами,
Не звенит рассвет.
Пьяная, август сорок первого,
Я иду к тебе.
У вокзала улица, парни, мужики.
Пусть желание сбудется,
Ты придешь с войны.
Ты в глаза посмотришь мне,
Ночи пелена,
Пусть желание сбудется,
Кончится война.
Голос слышу четкий,
Будто бы во сне.
Поколдуй красавица,
Вспомни обо мне.
Где-то силы грозные будут поднимать,
Эти силы грозные будут наступать.
Поколдуй красавица,
Не допей вина.
Что бы с войной справится,
Стань сильней сама.
Жду письма от милого,
Пусть придет.
Колдовство сбывается,
Ночь свое берет.
Не беру вина,
Пусть желание сбудется,
Кончится война.
Под веткой вишни пьяной
Слова укутал дождь.
Непройденной дорогой
Ты все ко мне идешь.
Стучи ко мне, отвечу.
Слова мои верны.
Ты сон мой бесконечный,
Ты правда в море лжи.
И было что со мною,
Не важно все сейчас.
Ищи меня, отвечу,
Слова нам не нужны.
Ты мой далекий вечер,
Надежды и мечты.
Духи мои вишневые,
Подарок для меня.
Как юная, влюбленная
Под вишнею зеленою
Хочу обнять тебя.
Он был соседей наших сын.
Простой мальчишка,
Не высокий, не красивый.
Меня он даже не любил,
Но стал моей звездой счастливой.
Его в бараке тёмном я ждала,
Ему писала письма до рассвета.
Старик в лохмотьх мне сказал:
Любовь - мечта поэта.
Потом в вагоне воду приносил:
Мечтал я тоже о великом.
Сейчас одна мечта,
Пусть будет родина великой.
Туда где море, где рассвет
И чайки дремлют на прибое.
Тогда скажу своей семье,
Мы знали радости и в горе,
Когда земля остановилась,
И всё что было там, вчера,
Мне словно в будущем приснилось.
А я мечтала о любви.
Влюбилась в мальчика соседа.
Другая я, другая жизнь.
И я ждала его у входа,
Но притворялась как всегда,
Что с ним я даже не знакома.
Потом влюбился он в меня.
Мои стихи читал ночами.
Он утром уходил, а ночью сном мне возвращался.
Однажды утром будит он меня,
Уставший, грязный и седой,
По-русски тихо говорит:
Ну что ты спишь,
Вставай.
Победа.
Где реки сливаются вместе
И сказки столетья звучат,
На фронт провожала невеста,
Сама как те реки журча.
В тяжелую пору солдатом,
Я видел её как мечту.
Я видел её как колдунью,
Влюблённую в юность мою.
Меня она крепко держала.
Преграды ей не страшны.
И знала, всегда она знала,
Приду я домой с той войны.
Я видел дома наши, реки,
Леса у лугов заливных.
Сквозь огненный воздух, удар артиллерий,
Я слышал её громкий смех.
Она усмехалась снарядам,
Она усмехалась врагу.
Колдунья, пусть знает, колдунья,
Я душу твою заберу.
Ей ветер поддакивал только,
Врагов от меня отгонял.
Шумели снаряды, но были они не страшны.
Колдунья, пусть знают, колдунья,
Надёжные чары мои.
Никто на пути не посмеет
Ни встать, не обидеть тебя.
И с этой далёкой мечтою,
Далёкой невестой моей.
Всегда беспощадно, с боем,
Я шёл до победы моей.
Четыре прошли долгих года.
Приехал в родные края.
Меня встречает невеста,
Сама как все реки журча.
Лица простые,
Улыбка судьба,
Готова сказать мне о многом.
Как шли поезда,
Как шли поезда,
Дорога сменялась дорогой.
Богатства здесь нет,
Рабочий уклад, стол, диван, телевизор.
Картинки красивые в книгах
В далеком году, в далекой стране,
Как будто сквозь годы я вижу.
Бежала всегда на третий этаж.
Дом слева, окно с ярким светом.
На кухне смеется цветной попугай, болтает про чьи-то секреты.
Хозяйке теперь не до меня,
Чай на столе и разговоры с соседкой.
А для меня смешной попугай с каким-то новым секретом.
Потом за столом простой разговор.
На все вопросы ответы.С<
Смешается все, это было всегда.
Года пролетевшие ветры.
И не понятно что было вчера,
А что за тысячным летом.
Потом мы молчим,
Просто так, хорошо.
Вот птица, которая знает.
Еще чашка чая, торт на столе.
Пластинка о чем-то играет.
Я засыпать начинаю, мечтаю о новом пальто и помаде.
Но разве я знаю, что этот вечер простой пойдет со мной через годы.
На старых полках книг чужих страницы.
Сейчас начнется тихий пересказ.
Сияют снова радостные лица,
Как будто все читают в первый раз.
Вот путник у забытого колодца.
И видит вдруг он радости глаза.
И снова свет и снова льется солнце,
И сказка эта без начала и конца.
Глаза другие.
В них танцуют тучи, глаза сверкают звездами в ночи.
Ну что же ты!
Уставший путник.
Смотри на небо, правду там ищи.
Вот праздник где веселье бесконечно,
Но почему-то хочет остаться он один.
Пусть будет вечность,
Пусть будет вечность,
Для нас для всех.
Мой друг, мой господин.
Смотря на всех,
Одну лишь замечает.
Волшебны песни юности влюбленной.
И для нее ночами он не спал,
И для нее одной работал.
Потом снова праздник
И солнца рассвет.
Веселый и грустный.
Ну что же.
Ты просто был пьян.
Мила, не мила.
Что делать, законы такие.
Придут времена,
И скажут про нас,
Что вскормлены мы все хлебом единым.
Потом свет зажгут,
В окошке луна.
Растянутся дни и годы.
И будут шуметь в дали поезда
И будут гудеть параходы.
Потом снова вечер, свеча на столе.
Вот книжка забытая мною.
И ты улыбнешься конечно же мне,
Бывает с учебой такое.
Она играла на пианино
Всегда задирая рукав.
И номер рыже синий
Как будто с ней тоже играл.
Я папа первой не стала,
И даже не стала второй.
Я просто пришла с вокзала,
Я просто пришла домой.
Сижу шевелиться не смею,
Есть час еще про запас.
И час закружится в вальсе волшебном,
Напомнив нам что-то в тысячный раз.
Снег на березах, клуб у дороги,
Кружаться пары и папа играет нам вальс.
Мальчик красивый танцует со мною, но только несмотрит в глаза.
Весенней порою, военной тропою,
Уйдет он в болота, леса.
Хороших знакомых сын.
Папа смеется, играет,
Давно за нас все решил.
Зима пролетела и лето.
А осень в пожарах была.
Горел старый клуб,
Забывшийся вдруг старый рояль.
Война в город наш пришла.
И ночью холодной
И в серости дня.
В холодном бараке, всегда.
Закрою глаза и слышу я вальс,
С мальчишкой кружась до утра.
Я вспомню о вас словами
В чистой новой тетради.
Пускай за нас кто-то в свадебном платье кружиться.
Прошло такое время
И кто теперь рассудит.
Не все мечты сбываются.
Так было, есть и будет.
Слова мои ты просто,
Ты просто вольный ветер
Который вдруг разбудит мечтами на рассвете.
Пройду по шумной улице
И все здесь по-английски.
И не стихи пишу тебе,
Пишу тебе я письма.
Читай подруга юная,
С любимым не прощайся.
Через года всегда он будет возвращаться.
Уставшая с работы,
Захлопнув дверь,
Мне восемнадцать лет и
Я в любовь все верю.
Маленький город,
Старый вокзал.
Теперь здесь давно все закрыто.
Помнишь, мне тихо сказал,
Ты пой, мое сердце открыто.
Запела я вдруг о странах других,
Дорогах, дорогах, дорогах.
Где пальмы и солнце,
И море вдали, что с детства
По снам мне знакомы.
Ты вдруг замолчал,
Посмотрел на меня.
Зачем тебе дальние сраны.
Вот дом наш, родной наш причал.
Зачем нам моря, океаны.
Здесь осенью лужи,
Ответила я,
Дожди проливные и тучи.
Работы тут нет хорошей.
И дни друг на друга, одни за другим,
Похожи, похожи, похожи.
Тебя я любила,
Меня ты любил,
Но что-то стало такое.
По лужам, холодным дождем,
Ты шел веселый с другой
И свадьба твоя весною.
Сейчас у меня город другой
И адрес мой на английском.
Каждый день думаю я,
Нет это уже привычка.
Ты, наш маленький город
И старый вокзал, что с детства в мечтах мне знакомы.
Ночью звездной,
Ночью странной,
Ты пришел ко мне незванно.
Весь был соткан из тумана,
Весь был соткан из обмана,
Цвет зеленых глаз твоих.
Говорил про то что было,
И про то что позабыла.
Про чужие дали, страны.
За моря и океана,
Шли верблюдов караваны.
Вижу берег я далекий,
Волны, солнце, воздух теплый.
Поцелуев и объятий,
И из роз богатых платьев.
Золотые амулеты, на руках моих браслеты,
Драгоценные брилинты,
Тихих слуг моих таланты.
Говорил красиво, много.
Сквозь года пронес и горы.
Соглашайся, не стесняйся,
Нас закружат в старом вальсе.
Говорил ты одинокий.
И задел меня рукою, и обнять хотел наверно.
Только свет лампады строгий ...
Не хочу, сказала прямо,
Все что может быть и было,
Все ушло, все я забыла.
Дорога знакомая,
Радости дня.
Нет не ищу я покоя.
Спасибо за то,
Что ты для меня
Сияешь яркой звездою.
Пораньше проснусь, кофе налью.
Нет, утро начну я с зарядки.
У меня есть где-то звезда,
Значт все в порядке.
Работа, работа,
Летит и летит.
Улыбка играет как пламя.
А вечером я на звезды смотрю.
Сияют они и сияют.
Мне очень нужна твоя звезда.
Одной мне звезды не хватает.
Ромашка, ромашка,
Ты мне расскажи,
Любит не любит.
Ах что же.
Люблю я сама проливные дожди.
Дожли веть неверные тоже.
Бывает пройдут далеко далеко.
Бывает подойдут очень близко.
Потом посмеются тихонько в глаза:
Искали тебя по прописке.
Снова уйдут ничего не сказав.
Я утром проснусь, как жемчуг роса.
Искали меня по прописке.
Может быть нам с тобой
Очагом одним не согреться,
Из ключа одного родниковой воды не попить.
Но любовь счастья круг,
Как срасательный круг в моем серце.
Новые мысли, мечты.
Я полюбила другого.
Нет я полюбила себя.
Значит юность не ушла без ответа.
Снова голос знакомый первой чистой любви.
И в душе поет лето, снова блеск дискотеки, платье яркое, красивые туфли мои.
Улыбнусь я прохожим, кольцо подороже и тайна,
Улыбаюсь сегодня я только ему.
Привет, привет.
Ты послан был зачем-то мне.
Все хорошо и у тебя и у меня.
Я не ищу и не спешу в любовь играть.
Скажу я прямо в первый раз,
Я замужем, а ты женат.
Зачем скрывать
И эти мысли отгонять.
А для чего-же ты в моей судьбе.
Возник как ветер перемен,
Счастливых, верю я.
Привет.
Мне тихо зеркало в ответ.
Красивей не найдешь.
И свежий ветер, солнца свет,
Пора вставать, открой тетрадь,
Бегом в спортзал.
Так я сказал.
Привет.
Весна пришла, любовь, ура.
Любовь к себе, весне, красе,
Под синим небом маленькой листве, и лужам и ручьям, цветочкам на лугах где я гуляла в юных снах.
Привет, привет,
Позвольте мне сказать,
Холодный крепкий зимний день.
Да где-то, кто-то,
С кем-то где.
Так было много раз.
Позвольте вас спросить.
Нет, спроси себя,
А нужно ли вот это мне?
Да, много там всего,
Там в жарких странах,
Праздник и всегда жара.
А нужно ли всегда вот это мне, но соглашусь и да и нет.
Привет, я лето,
Праздник до утра.
Ты празнуй, веселись.
И согласись, спроси себя,
А что потом.
Как в песне,
Новый поворот и что он принесет.
Ответ простой,
Сначала полюби, любовью новой,
Ты себя.
И книжка новая, спортивный клуб, и что-то яркое,
Вот первый друг, привет.
Подожди, подoжди, подожди,
Без оглядки уходит время.
И дожди, проливные дожди
Мне давно надоели.
Дождь нахмурится.
Я же весна.
Свежий отдых листвы
После жаркого лета.
Вспомни тихий голос
У первой любви,
Что поет целый век в нашем сердце.
Теплым ливнем моим
Все бессонные ночи до блеска отмыты.
Без дождя нет цветов, нет зеленой травы.
Снова чистое все,
Для тебя, для меня
И для нового лета.
Winter.
Winter. She is looking straight and far. No smile, no any emotions in her face. Only the eyes, thoughtful, that go deep, studying and understanding.
What is she thinking about?
May be about the time when this village didn't know what electricity is, was mostly illiterate and uneducated.
How she shyly walked in the room filled with old and young people who were loud reading together book now parents reading to the small children. Where she first time met people talking about equal rights and freedom.
Summer.
Always happy, fresh looking in colorful clothes with fuchsia color lipstick. And with solution for everything. Everything is easy with her. Long time ago, I was studying, after the Second World war, and living in a room rented by my parents from an old woman. A young man started to follow me, we became friends, he would met me in the evening, we would go my house together. One day he didn't meet me, I was surprised and went home by myself. Everything was gone from my room, food, clothes, food cards.
Spring.
She is like spring that always comes after winter. How cold it is, its March, the spring is here, and the warm days are coming. Strong and stubborn, taking no “no" for answers. She always gets what she wants, mostly its not much, but still, its her way. Born before Russian Social Revolution in 1917 in the wealthy family, she received education most girls in her time didn't have. After the revolution, she married a very funny man, how she described, who supporter the revolution and was a revolutionary himself. The life was changed, everything went in to hidden until the early 1980th when it became popular to look and remember the secret family roots. The family tree was made into big picture and put on the living room door.
Kingdom of Hrucks.
Wizier Swinuk: there are two owners is in here.
Big Swinuk:
sugar!
Big Hruck:
war!
Wizier
Swinuk: exactly.
Bingo.
Big Swinuk:
we gor the wrong pig.
Big Hruck:
we are going to get our free sugar tomorrow!
Kingdom of Hrucks.
Big Hruck: when you are pigs are done?
Hrucks: can
this job be more boring.
Wizier
Hruck: crazy bees.
Big Hruck:
give them candies.
Wizier
Hruck: be careful, it has alcohol.
Big Hruck: this
what we need.
Kingdom of Hrucks.
Wizier Swinuk: who blocked the exit?
Big Hruck: things change, bye.
Hrucks: we are going to Manila bar
To the red lights district. Big Hruck: yeah.
Lets go and get our free sugar!
Kingdom of Hrucks.
Wizier Hruck: the weather looks weird.
Its
raining!
Big Hruck:
all I want rain and alcohol.
Hrucks:
rain and alcohol!
Bees: they are
getting stupid by day.
Bee: they
are stealing our honey!
Big Hruck:
we only want to check sugar!
My grandmother's memories about the Second World war.
We got to Moscow and I understood why all the war we were thinking about being strong for our capital.
Feeling of happiness was flowing everywhere, it was in the
air.
We went to his house. The room was golden, the brightest,
the sunshine.
“My grandfather and uncles are Priests. My mother like this
style and we keep it like this.
And they had piano. Here, in this house, the war was over
for me. I felt we won and we will have happy life and good future for our
country. We will rebuilt and built again everything.
My grandmother's memories about the Second World war.
It was 1949, after the war. I was studying in medical university and at summer, as usual, back home, helping my parents.
We were on the
farm working with other girls.
My aunt ran
to me, sweating from the long run.
“Where's is
your mother?! A man from Moscow is looking for her. Go, met him, he is in my
house. Wear this."
She said, breathing heavily and pushing me her the best blouse.
My grandmother's memories about the Second World war.
In February 1942 my brother got a note that he has to go for medical exam to join the army. He was in the last year of school. He was leaving in about one week. I made him a small towel and stitched it with roses.
“Bring it
back" – I told him when he was leaving to the military centre.
“I
will" – he said.
And he
brought the towel back in 1946.
My grandmother's memories about the Second World war.
Two men, father and son, were sitting at the our table. My mother poured little bit vodka in tiny grass. The father and her drank together.
The son was leaving to the war. A bag was near his feet.
“To the recruiting center” – the father said.
“Too far", - my mother replied.
“We walk" – the father replied.
And they started to talk about the old days, before the revolution in 1917.
My grandmother's memories about the Second World war.
At the end of simmer we stayed somewhere on the fields near forests preparing grass for winter. It was very warm and women were wearing open tops. Some women had scars on their shoulders. They were pulling metal pieces to dig up the soil and prepare it for the planting, on the farm and were they had own land. My mother had the same scars. She always worried about our cow more then she cared about herself. “Our feeder “ – she would say petting the cow.
My grandmother's memories about the Second World war.
The room was full of people. Simple food on the table, potatoes and vodka in long glass bottle. It was some dinner together. May be twenty people. First everyone was talking about the war, and our army. A man in military uniform gave a speech. And then we wished everyone come back home. Its was long talk, everyone wanted to say something, to wish and promise.
My grandmother's memories about the Second World war.
The war changed everything. Women and children replaced men.
We had harvest in August and September 1941, two months before the war had started and women were everywhere. Even driving trucks for pickups were women. In my school, post office, the farm, almost everywhere. Only men who couldn't be replaced and old men, they stayed. And young boys, teenagers who were too young to join the army. Every day when I looked or we looked at each other, we knew there is war.
My grandmother's memories about the Second World war.
We went to the train station. There were trains, many trains. One were going to the war, on the west from us. With soldiers and military equipment. I have never seen so many trains before, at the same time. Rocket launchers were going on and on, on the trains, in front of my eyes. I was looking up, military trucks, tanks.
My grandmother's memories about the Second World war.
Every few day my mother would ask me: "Go see if there's fire.”
She would mean, go to the hill from where you can see the other side of the river. She was waiting for someone on the different side of the village, in the forest.
She would mean, go to the hill from where you can see the other side of the river. She was waiting for someone on the different side of the village, in the forest.
We had small house in the forest. It wasn't very far, I knew how to get there, hidden tiny road, and my mother was waiting for someone to start fire place near the house. It was autumn already, started to get cold, we wearing boots and jackets.
My grandmother's memories about the Second World war.
In few days, very short from the time the Second World war had started, my uncle stopped by our house.
The though of war was known, people thought about it, it was in the air, because Western Europe was already attacked and occupied. Only thing, we didn't believe the German would attack us too, and it will be very fast and massive on the amount of land they quickly invade.
The though of war was known, people thought about it, it was in the air, because Western Europe was already attacked and occupied. Only thing, we didn't believe the German would attack us too, and it will be very fast and massive on the amount of land they quickly invade.
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