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Date Posted: 13:08:04 05/22/09 Fri
Author: V.Glushchenko
Subject: YULIA IVANOVA. Against gun-port

The day happened to be strange, Bulgakov’s one, from the very beginning. Before she had something to do in city. Overnighting in her Moskow’s flat, she on her way to her cottage passing the church decided to come in.
Along the church fence beggars were sitting right on the asphalt among whom Uzbek or Tajik was noticeable; he was in crimson-green striped quilted robe and in boots with galoshes despite the heat. On his knees a skullcap with change was lying; one of his eyes was bandaged with a transparent woman’s headscarf with lurex. When she gave alms to him an old man look asquint at her with his other weak-sighted washy medusa’s kind eye, begin to nod, smiled showing his widely spaced decayed teeth and mumbled something unintelligible in his own language.
The service just began, there were few people at the confession, and she approached recollecting that she hadn’t confess for a long time. After standing at the liturgy she didn’t stay for a public prayer and hasten to her car. An old man with his eye bandaged with a headscarf was still sitting at the fence. He glanced at her from the lurex with his healthy eye, and now it was bright yellow like a warning signal of a traffic light. But the strangest thing was not this eye but the fact that an old man suddenly pronounced in an old-fashioned and ceremonious manner and in perfect Russian like a merchant from Zamoskvorechye,
“Congratulations on the Memorial Day of the saint and the most Orthodox martyrs Boris and Gleb, mother’!
Being perplexed she put into his greasy skullcap all change left in her purse and ran away. Suddenly her surprise changed to a discovery that today is really ‘Boris and Gleb’, and it is a strange southern old man who told her about it, and she herself standing the service somehow shut her ears to it. And now she must phone Varya if she is in Moscow and convey her congratulations to Gleb — today they are surely getting in touch on the phone. And of course let Varya give her regards to Ganya...
Varya turned out to be in Moscow and told Joanna to come by all means, because today Yegorka and Iris will be present — they will celebrate Gleb’s name day and then tonight they will see Iris to an airplane to the USA to give birth to a baby. Her parents insisted on it, and Yegorka (“you know what the use of him is in this regard; he is always too busy) consented to it. So they will sit and celebrate together, put heart into Iris and pray for everything to be all right.
Varya told Joanna to come immediately in order to help her to set the table. Though the regulations of Goldmount country didn’t encouraged eating delicacies, Joanna dared to buy a teacake and some fruit for Iris and future baby.
In Zlatov’s flat everything changed — two adjoining rooms where children once lived with the separate entrance from the corridor were filled with computer desks. Some smart boys worked there; something continuously peeped and screeched. Varya explained that now the press centre of the Goldmound country was there. To the question about icons, library and pictures she with a mild smile assured that everything is taken out and reserved i.e. it works and brings profit and benefit, that now they have their own exhibition hall, reading hall and so on.
About the cake Varya told that it was a dissipation and ‘white death’ but very beautiful; she gave guide lines about setting the table and informed that Yegorka brought Iris out of city to the father Andrey to get his blessing before her long way and childbirth. What is surely known is that there will be a baby-girl, the science is progressing, and it was decided to name a future girl Maria — the most honoured name in both sides of the ocean — Mary.
The entrance door banged, it was Yegorka.
“Mum, I have some things to do here; I must contact some people; could you accompany Iris? She is downstairs in the car; it difficult for her to go upstairs one more time... Vladik and Nikolay (the driver and the bodyguard) are there with her; let them go for a ride; I don’t need him here... My regards to father Andrey and come back as quickly as possible. Hello, Joanna It so nice to see you here...”
Joanna immediately understood that something happened. She had an intuition for such things. She opened her mouth but Yegorka hushed her. And only when the lift with Varya went down he carried Joanna to the kitchen and closed the door behind himself.
“What’s happened”?
Blond-brown and dark-eyed Yegorka, ‘lightweight’, in shabby jean cloth — all their life such people are being addressed as ‘young man’. Yegorka is a person of dominant influence, a liberator of souls and leader of that mysterious CHL- country (Confessors of Heavenly Law), a knight on a white horse.
“How now”? she almost yelled.
“First of all, hush”, he spoke in his ordinary tone which was commanding and imperative, “Are your wheels here”?
“It is there on the embankment like a grey mouse. What next”?
“I see. It’s very good. Now you will go downstairs, get into your car and read a newspaper. Is there any newspaper there”?
“It seems to be so. ‘The News World’”.
“That’s fine. You will read “The News World” as if you will be waiting for someone. Put the mirror so that it can be seen what is happening in front of the house. If you notice something let me know,” he offered a mobile phone to her.
“What will I notice”?
“Wait... Maybe it only seemed so. Well, you know that we have endless shakedowns, threats, and recently it happened very often...”
“What do they want?”
“They want us to disappear, ‘bring the almshouse to a close’ as they say... It’s normal; it means that the process began... Simply it seemed to me that I had seen them. They bent down but I saw them. Three men with submachine guns having something with cuts on their heads like gunmen a la russe. I saw them at a traffic-light then one more time. Something hindered them, I even know what... It’s Mercedes-600, a dark blue one; its number is stained. A dark blue almost black one. They need me... I doubt they followed the car with my boys; they are watching me. They will be hanging about somewhere here until I go out... If you notice a commotion at the entrance door, phone me. Wait for our people and follow them; the boys will replace you.”
“Oh, and what about...” she perplexedly looked at the table filled with food and immediately understood that she had blurted out a stupidity.
“Go, I will do everything. And another thing – their Mercedes has different headlights — white and yellow ones.
The unsmiling maximalist Yegorka chattered very seldom. She understood that everything was very serious.
She exactly performed Yegorka’s instructions but no matter how she gazed at the vicinity of Zlatov’s house — nothing could be seen. She leafed all the newspaper and completely calmed down for a while. “It has different headlights – white and yellow ones. Well, they are different and what of that?” She thought that something like that already happened today. They are different — white and yellow ones. O Lord, a beggar! An Uzbek or Tajik with different eyes and zamoskvoretsky accent... It’s nonsense; what does an old man have to do with it?
But it is he who directed her to Varya; she would long ago have been at her cottage and walked with her dog Anchar...
Unpleasant chill ran across her back. But at this moment Yegorka’s car drove up. Iris and Varya without any problems went into the entrance; the boys duly stayed downstairs at their post. Nothing happened...
Joanna followed them and exchange kisses with Iris who became noticeably roundish and without usual tan (doctors forbid her to get a tan). She admired at the professionally set table thinking that a talented person was really talented in everything. Yegorka again hushed her and she humbly listened to undeserved compliments to her address about table appointments.
Some more guests came from ‘the press department’ and sat down to the table. They tried to get Gleb on the phone bur there were some problems with telephone line. For every case Varya dictated a telegram and said that tonight (the plane departed about midnight) she would try to call again.
At the table they as usual soon began to talk about businesses and problems of Goldmount country, and Joanna saying goodbye going down to the car planned to go to her cottage but for some reason changed her mind. No, it’s better to watch for an hour or other but then her heart will be calm. She will make sure that they left, that nothing happened and cross Yegorka and Iris on their way.
She had no specific action plan if case of emergency — she returned the phone to Yegorka. It is a mere act of complacency...
It has been ten years since her country where she grew up and spent her life and which she loved was captured by the many-headed dragon. He tore the country into parts — by a piece for every head — ruined, defiled, defamed and befouled all things around. He gorged one and all — warriors, adult bread-winners, old people, virgins and children. He gorged not only bodies but souls forcing them to serve not high ideals but making them food for his insatiable many-headed lust. The dragon infected the country with his bloodlust and people excitedly snatched leavings of bloody food from the master’s table not supposing that it was blood of their neighbours. They even gorged these neighbours by themselves.
She got used to the dragon, to his invincibility and to seeing that his victims quietly were digging their own mass grave only imploring to pay for digging so that they could have means for drinking alcohol and eating before their death. She got used to seeing that perjurers were becoming saints and those faithful to death were becoming traitors, that everything was now wrong that artillery fired at our own soldiers, that white swans became black ones at the sight of everybody, a lion surrendered to a gnat and the head voted for its separation from its body. Money are turning into dead papers, half-naked women of all ages in wheels or without them are moving around the city, and nobody now pays attention to sйances of all kinds of extrasensory individuals. Planes fall to peoples’ heads, our bombs fall to our peaceful houses, and old women coming out from its ruins are interested not in the destiny of their neighbours but in the end of one more episode of the film ‘Santa-Barbara’. Heroes of films whom young people formerly imitated live out their days as court jesters and many Ivan Besdomnys with candles and in underwear pursue black cats around Patriarch’s Pools. She got used to seeing this embodied absurdity and that all sensible and reasonable is impossible from now on. She convinced herself that this entire Apocalypse is foretold in the Bible, that it was impossible to withstand the wheel of history and that Yegorka Zlatov with his wonderful CHL-country, the son of Varvara and Gleb only existed in some other dimension inaccessible for the dragon where the way for the dragon is prohibited. In the same way no crazy tank with the mole and the mouse will break into a Fairyland where Thumbelina flew away and it won’t fire from its gun at elves...
She knew from the very beginning that nothing could happen with Yegorka. God’s Intercession is over him because the Lord doesn’t send trials beyond measure and not by chance gave Yegorka to her hopeless perishing country “Not an hair of your head perish”, she convinced and persuaded herself but for some reason couldn’t go away.
As usual they fire at the entrance door when a victim gets into a car. Or in the entrance itself. Or plant a bomb. Or fire through a telescopic sight from a loft of adjacent house... the boys surely checked the entrance... no, she will wait in any way, then go to her cottage, and laugh at her fears. If only our people didn’t notice from the window that she stupid woman sticks here. It is good that it is becoming dark.
In the boring ‘The News World’ it was now impossible to discern any line when they at last went out — Yegor, Iris and Varya. They kissed each other. Iris sat in front near the driver. Yegorka with bodyguards sat behind. She bent down for every case and heard a noise of departing car. The entrance door banged behind Varya.
There now, she can get under way. She turned the ignition key and at the same moment saw in the mirror crawling black Mercedes with its headlights turned on in the twilight — white and yellow ones.
O Lord, it can’t be, it shouldn’t be... But it was happening. As in a nightmare the Mercedes with different eyes coming from unknown place crawled from the black abyss of the arch and turned right. She immediately understood growing cold with terror that there at the chemist’s it would turn around, sweep just under her along the road under the embankment and like a black different-eyed demon swiftly follow Yegorka’s car rushing to the airport. In her enlightenment as quick as lightning she saw the Mersedes coming close to them, hitting the wheels of their car and piercing the driver, Yegorka and Iris with the future baby, a girl by the name of Maria, the most honoured in both sides of the ocean with a burst of machine-gun fire. The motor will roar strikingly, the different-eyed headlights will flash and the unpunished, not caught and not judged Mercedes will rush into the night winning as ever. And there will be no Maria, no Iris, no Yegorka; only the night and this black Apocalypse...
And there is nothing she can do.
Not if I know it. Never! Violent superhuman fury, all hatred of this decade accumulated from day to day, which was formerly supressed by her mind, caution and instinct of self-preservation, suddenly burst, wrung inside her like a nucleus density of incredible similar to that primordial and cosmic one from which all galaxies spread in every which way with a speed of light. A point of monstrous density ready for an explosion. The hatred to this many-headed dragon’s spawn all-defiling and all-gorging — Homeland, sacred things, purity, destinies, bodies and souls.
Not if I know it!
She knew what to do. She had no fear, no hesitation but only thrill and delight due to an anticipation to stop them and to fly into their stinky and voracious throat as a deadly gag and tear them into pieces. Maybe in the same way people went against gun-ports and to ram attacks. To stop up! From far away, from childish past, maybe from some film a light and pure call of trumpet was heard. ‘Arise, drummer!’ and something powerful ‘Stand up and go’.
The blood in the temples of her head strictly counted out seconds — she has already planned them by some supernatural feeling. To crawl down from the embankment as carefully as possible — what happiness that she put her car by the head towards the road! — and then push gas pedal.
The car is crawling and crawling; it stops and dozes... My dear, one more moment! It seemed to her that her Zhiguli car trembles with impatience preparing for a jump; they were now like one body. Different-eyed Mercedes don’t see a danger yet. Turning around it rushes right to her roaring with its powerful motor and picking up speed; its headlights are blinding already. The wheel of history that she is called to stop. O Lord, help... That’s all. It’s time.
The car jumped on the embankment, the steering wheel began to twitch in her hands; the motor roared. The heartrending wail of the klaxon on the right, the headlights beginning to rush about, brake chatter. That’s all, boys, it is finished.
“Gorge, monster”! She shouted or thought with delight throwing this triumphant shout of hers into approaching open fire-spitting mouth, crazy fury which whirled like a sling together with her flesh, consciousness, soul, iron and horrible apocalyptical crash, grinding, fire and ruin of the whole lot.
His teeth pierced her but stunning horrible pain calmed down just beginning, the world turned over, something flashed and banged, fiery reflections began to rush about in the whirling world.
“It’s them, them”! She understood by her weakening consciousness. “Now they won’t reach Yegorka. It’s finished”! sang and shouted all her nature perishing, crushing and whirling together with the car, and inexpressible unearthly delight was in this deadly agony. Maybe in the same way grain dies growing into other dimension. It wins being perished. I have done it. Is it really so?
And when everything stopped, became silent, calmed down, when she being squeezed, crushed from all sides, a small part of consciousness sinking in a large ocean, feeling pain as if it were separated from her, managed to think one more time that yells, flashes, and roar of fire are there at their Vampiria. And her vision of Yegorka’s car rushing along the highway ariving in due time for a midnight transatlantic flight was blissful and paradisiacal.
“Stop, o moment... In this beautiful moment in the pre-war blue sky a kite launched by her father flew eternally, she eternally danced with Ganya on fluffy Regina’s carpet taking off her shoes, and Yegorka’s car eternally rushing along the highway in eternal safe hastening to midnight transatlantic flight.
Then everything was happening in other dimension. Somebody’s voices, touches, responded in her by the same pain ‘that was not her’, anxious but more often curious spots of faces, a stretcher and blinding lamp over her head... Then the lamp began the moon or the sun; it couldn’t be discerned because of clouds crawling from everywhere. The clouds closed up and it rained, the drops were sharp, scorching; they stung mercilessly. Joanna could hardly save herself from them in a half-dark and stuffy orchard or gallery where one could move only along narrow boarded path. If she moved aside, again drops-needles pierced her face, neck, hands... Joanna tried to go only forward paying no attention to tubs with dried stems or empty picture frames along a pavement...
How stuffy it is; it’s harder and harder to breathe, planks creak under her feet but she doesn’t feel her feet. And all of that reminds her of something very old and horrible. It’s a woody brown rectangle, to which she is inevitably comes. Four lozenges with peeled paint, a crookedly nailed handle...
The door with lozenges! O Lord, please no. Now she will wake up and this old childish nightmare will become a simple bogeyman story that was lost in the time...
But she can’t wake up. Going back, right, left — she can’t — everywhere fiery needles pierce her neck and hands. But needles are better for her...
She gasps and has no strength to struggle. The door is slowly opening. Joanna is taken into it like into a black crater, black water half and half with black clay sticks her eyes, nose, lips...
And the door bangs with a boom.
Behind her there are neither gallery-orchard, no fiery piercing needles, no black water half and half with black clay, no Joanna herself. There is only final Joanna’s thought. It stopped like a freeze-frame, a desperate, “It is finished.”
From now on his motionless thought was Joanna herself, all that was left of her now and ever, and unto ages of ages.
“That’s all.” A record broken for eternity and a film frame stopped forever. Eternal Joanna – a thought by the name ‘That’s all’. It’s the end of the film where she played her life. The light is turned off, the audience go home. Everybody go away except her.
That’s what the hell is. No scorching pans, no nonexistence. Only immortal dark thought that nothing will ever happen. And somewhere there is Eternal and Beautiful ‘Everything’, from which she is separated forever.
“Why are you yelling and lamenting”? flattering whisper penetrated into pitch darkness. Has she really cried? The clock hasn’t strike midnight yet. Joanna, you still have a chance to come back. You will only drive by the temple, and there will be no Uzbeks with different eyes, no Mercedeses... You will wake up in Luzhino with light headache, and that’s the end of the matter. Agreed?
“And what about Yegorka”? she didn’t ask but thought.
What do you need Yegorka for, we will dispense with Yegorka,” tenderly rustled the Whisper. We will turn your film back and add two more episodes with happy-end. And Yegorka will be left in the previous episode — can’t it be so? A sudden death of an actor, unintentional correction... You are a professional, Joanna, aren’t you?
Joanna-thought ‘That’s all’ became Joanna ‘No’.
“Well, if that's the case, there's nothing to be done,” the Whisper said with disappointment. My business is to propose.
The door with lozenges, which was slightly open for a while, behind which a Moscow’s street smelled of a petrolic noise, was shut again with a booming sound.
But Joanna knows already that it is not a full end if there is a choice. Then there is another door to the past. There is staircase there leading to the second floor into the childhood, to the sources of Joanna’s being... One must only rewind the tape to the beginning, and her mammy is behind the door as ever... And mammy will surely save. But as before there are neither doors, nor walls, nor no Joanna herself. “O Lord,” calls Joanna-thought.
All at once a thin gold ray pierces the thick darkness like a saving wire and draws her. Joanna turns out to be bricked up into a wall and again feels her body — a concentration of unbearable agony and hellish cold pressed from everywhere by this wall and so there is not a breath of air, under strangely white and blinding sun, around which white masks float and go around in a slow round dance.
And like a spirit from a bottle she must escape from this body, which was stuck in the wall.
“O Lord’!
And a gold ray helps her. In a break of the wall weak she now sees illusory yellowness of a lamp over the staircase, chipped steps, mammy’s silhouette in this yellowness, her stretched hands pulling her precious Yanochka out of agony, cold and tightness...
A narrow neck of a bottle is being squeezed to the last degree.
“Mammy’!
After sudden fairy lightness everything begins from scratch, from the first frame. When she thought for the first time, “I want.” And she surprised at this newborn ‘self’ of hers.

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[> English page on Web-site of Yulia Ivanova -- Semen, 13:13:45 05/22/09 Fri

Texts of Yulia Ivanova in English

http://izania.narod.ru/english.htm

1. Yulia Ivanova. Against gun-port

2. Yulia Ivanova. One who is lost in Babylon (To Edvard Radzinsky, the author of the book 'Stalin')


[ Edit | View ]

[> [> My Appeal to Visitors of Website of Yulia Ivanova -- V.Glushchenko, 12:28:15 05/23/09 Sat

My Appeal to Visitors of our Website

Dear readers,

My name is Vladimir. I live in a Ukrainian town of Poltava.

I would like to share my thoughts with you. I support the owner of this website Yulia Ivanova in her noble attempts to clear the name of the Soviet leader Josef Stalin of false accusations, slander and all dirt that was slung at him during the last decades. In her book 'The Impenetrable Doors' she tries to show Stalin from the other point of view as a person who build a great power, won the war against fascism, delivered nations of Russia from being oppressed and humiliated by worldly capital. All his life Josef Stalin struggled against people-vampires who like devil were seeking whom they may devour. Being obsessed by their lusts and thirst for money they are ready to trample and destroy everyone standing on their way. Josef Stalin managed to deliver Russia from their hands and gave all its nations an opportunity to live a worthy life. Owing to him Soviet people could get free education and medical care. He brought up Soviet people to respect work, help each other and be unselfish. The widespread vices like sexual immorality, gaming, avarice and money-grabbing were condemned and prohibited in the Soviet Union. In fact, Stalin followed God's Commandments and make Soviet people do so. He was a great statesman who dedicated all his life to serving out nation. He was a true God's messenger who built God's Kingdom in a separate country. Even now wicked people who destroyed our great country and came to power can't forgive Stalin all his good deeds for the sake of the nation. In their hatred they accuse him of all deadly sins in order to discredit his name forever.

Our aim is uniting all honest and godly people all over the world into a fellowship of Confessors of the Heavenly Law. Moral values based on God's Commandments are our priority. We invite all people who don't accept modern worldly order to join our efforts. Supporting and helping each other we will be able to survive in this world of vampires and vultures gorging our bodies and souls.

I myself can't accept present-day mode of life. Being a sight invalid I know how cruel this world is and how hard to live in it. I have decided to cooperate with the authoress Yulia Ivanova and translate her writing materials into English in order to familiarize English-speaking people with her ideas and invite all honest people and all seekers of Truth from all nations to join us. Her works will soon appear at our website one by one.

God bless,
Vladimir Glushchenko


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[> [> Yulia Ivanova. Granny Xenia (From book 'The Impenetrable Doors' ) -- V.Glushchenko, 10:09:32 05/31/09 Sun

Granny Xenia

Yana suddenly wakes up and sits down on her bed being on the point of crying of fear. She is alone; in the room it is quiet and stuffy despite the open window. No cool and no sound come from outside, the curtains don't move. There is something unusual and ominous in this adhesive stuffy silence. Suddenly the yard outside lighted up and appeared not like in the daytime but in ghostly, unsteady and unreal light. The yard flashed and was gone out. And immediately something faintly roared in the distance. Gradually increasing the roar blew over the house and the glasses jingled in the window.
And mum is in a night shift.
Already knowing the name of this "something" and its cause, Jana always feared of thunderstorms even in later times.
"O-o, a-a," cries Yana but feels even more fear because of her grievous and alone crying.
"Yanochka, what's up? Come to me", is heard from behind the curtain.
Granny Xenia is ill. Her illness differs from other people's illnesses that come and leave; it's a usual state of her health. She is almost always in bed. She doesn't groan and complaint, and if she had no cough with crackling, whistling and snapping, it's not a cough but a whole orchestra, though granny vainly tries to deafen her cough by her pillow, everyone would completely forget that at the dark corner behind the bed curtain granny Xenia lives.
Granny's corner is in the living room, which is a dining room too, and the room where Yana and her mum live - a vast bed, a wardrobe and a picture over the bed with a green pond, green moon and green bathing girls. "I think this thing can croak," mum once said. The green picture corresponds to the conception 'good furniture', and we must pay additional money for it. But granny Xenia is considered as 'discomfort', and the landlady offers a discount for this discomfort, which is equal to the cost of the picture. So it's an even trade.
Whimpering Yana goes barefoot behind the bed curtain. Granny stretches out her hands, and Yana dives under a patchwork blanket and snuggles up to the dry hot body of Xenia.
"O Lord, save," granny crosses, "Don't frighten the child. Don't cry but say after me and everything will be over... 'Give us this day our daily bread'"
"Give us this day," sobbing Yana repeats. The thunderstorm is raging. The picture of the room is pulsing in disorderly rhythm of blinding violet flashes. It appears and disappears. The roar and thunder are heard. It seems that the house is about to crack and split like an eggshell. Yana covers her head with the blanket and holds her ears with her palms.
"Why are you raging like this?" granny grumbles at God. You have frightened a little already, and that's enough. You'd better sent a rain. You'd better watered the kitchen garden. You know how it is to water it by hand.
"Give us this day, give us this day", Yana repeats it like an invocation. Spiny and burning hot granny's palm touches her wet cheeks and eyes, and her tears immediately disappear and dry out. It's the same as to immerse your head into hay. And it smells of hay.
"It' raining, Yanochka, it's raining".
The room is still pulsing and rumbling; 'something' behind the window is growling and tearing the darkness by its claws but Yana understands that it's not fearful already. It seems as if 'something' was caged and separated from the world by a wall, and that wall was a monotonous noise behind the window; there are also sudden cool, smell and other calm and unshakable 'something'.
"Yanochka, fire and water are separated from each other. Fire runs and escapes from water. What rain it falls! If only cucumbers remained whole. O Lord, save cucumbers..."
"Granny, where is He, God".
"God, He is in heaven."
"And why doesn't He fall?"
"It's late, enough of it, Yanochka, it's a sin. Go to your bed."
"Granny, what is He like?"
"We can't know it."
"Why?"
Granny began to cough and wave her hands.
"Go with God's help... go."
Yana went to her already cold bed, with enjoyment stretched herself after lying in granny's tight bed and yawned.
The wind filled out the wet curtain like a sail. On the floor at the window a large puddle glittered. There in the yard the rain lived. The rain walked. He walked down streets by its wavy feet, sticking in wet clay and foaming puddles. Then the rain ran. He ran faster and faster pursuing the fearful 'something', which ran away roaring faintly. Yana imagined all of that and tried to imagine granny Xenia's God but she couldn't and fell asleep.

***
"For the health of our soldiers Habakkuk, Averkius, Abraham, Agabus," granny Xenia prays muttering.
She asked to pull away the bed curtain so that there can be more light, tied her clean polka dot headscarf under her chin, put on her glasses with a cracked right glass. In her hand she had a church calendar.
"For the health of Ananias, Akepsius" she sings looking into the calendar.
"Mother, you are listing wrong names. Nobody is named so now."
Today is Sunday and the landlady herself is at home. The sound of the samovar is heard. The landlady puts dark slices of stewed beet into dishes. Mum gives Yana a true sweet in wrapper with a butterfly for the tea. A sweet wrapper is considered as riches that are even more expensive than a sweet itself. You can play with sweet wrappers, exchange them or change for colourful glasses, penny whistles, rubber balls; a good sweet wrapper can be changed for many things. Yana is happy.
"Maybe there are people who have such names. Maybe, there is such a soldier Ananias, and I can omit him. One cannot do so. And what names are there now?"
"Pyotr, Sergei, Vladimir, Victor..."
Remember Arkady," mum says.
The silence is hanging over the table; everyone is looking at mum. The landlady's son Kolya advantaging of the confusion grabs a handful of beet slices and pushes them into his mouth.
For some reason the landlady asks whispering. "Sonya, do you think he is alive?"
"Kolya is stealing the beet," Yana snitches but nobody pays attention to her. Then Yana also stretches out for the desired plate.
"Pray for Arkady's health, aunt Xenia," mum repeats. Granny stops coughing and asks carefully.
"Maybe, for the peace of his soul?"
"For his health," mum is fearlessly smiling; she can't bear being pitied. The landlady's son Kolya again stretches out his hand for the beet but this time gets a heavy slap and cries. Yana generously breaks of a piece of her sweet for him.
"For the health of the soldier Arkady," granny Xenia is imploring.

***
"Granny, why are you so hot?"
Granny Xenia writhes and gasps. Her cough breaks her yellow dry body; it crackles like an autumn leaf in the wind.
"I have a fever, Yanochka," granny tries to smile. I feel bad, Fire, fire is in me. Maybe, I'll die, God willing...
"Why?"
Granny catches her breath.
"Yes, I will. Xenia will rest forever, be put into a coffin like a fianc?e in a white dress and covered with flowers, and my soul will fly away on silver wings...
Granny's eyes are shining and she happily laughing.
"Yanochka, I have everything in store already. I have a white dress and I have sewn clean underclothes."
"Show, granny..."
"Open and draw it out by yourself."
Her heart missed a bit. Here is the key to the cherished chest, from which granny Xenia drew yellowish photos, clews of many-coloured threads, buttons, shreds of cloth, old letters and other crisp papers with and without seals, obsolete useless money, cheap glass earrings, beads, odds and ends. All Xenia's past life was there. It was mingled at random like a card batch and interested for nobody except granny herself who looked through this life of hers being at death's door. Leavings, fragments and shreds of once sewn dresses, peoples who once lived with granny and past events.
Yana was her only thankful listener and her friend, and granny told long stories about origin of one or another paper, things or photo not to herself, not to emptiness, but to her, Yana. For granny Xenia it was meaningful and blissful in her last days.
Shreds, rags and fragments are absolutely of no worth for reasonable adult people but they draw old people and children.
Yana stretches his insatiable palm into granny's life fearing that granny Xenia can change her mind and take the key back. Before granny's past became known to Yana by small portions, and the right of choice belonged to the owner of the chest.
Now Yana can own it completely.
"The dowry is here on the top in the cheesecloth - all I have prepared for my funeral" granny instructs inhaling hoarsely. "Be careful and not crush it up... Put the pillow under me...
Reclining in the changeable ring of light of the oil lamp, which is rushing around the walls, around the patchwork blanket, granny Xenia at every attack of coughing lays out her white 'dowry', admires, strokes, smooth it out by her spiny fingers inviting Yana to look and admire.
The "dowry" is for birthday, for wedding day and for funeral day - it's the same word and the same colour.
Mumbling something with delight and sneezing of naphthalene smell Yana rummages in the chest; her arms are in the 'treasures' up to her elbows, and on the very bottom there is something round, smooth and cold... Her fingers have squeezed and drawn something. Oh, it's a bottle! Yes, it's the one with a sticker from the celebration table. It belonged to the landlady and disappeared from the table when everybody had gone to the yard to dance. The landlady searched for it, shouted, was outraged and suspected everyone: guests, Yana's mum and Yana herself... But that bottle is here, that particular one. And wine is splashing in it.
The 'dowry', flowers and wine... the funeral clothes are sewn, flowers can be picked up, in the last resort there are paper ones, but wine is a hard-to-get thing now, and who knows whether they will be able to get it when a time comes to bury granny Xenia? Granny could be guided by these suggestions, and also she could filch the bottle from the celebration table because of her selfish motives to take a drink from it when she feels particularly bad. With some sort of tenth sense of hers Yana understands that it is indecent to ask granny Xenia about the bottle. And she hides it on the very bottom of the chest where it was before.

***
The scantily lit kitchen, a clay bowl with tomato sauce is on the table. The cleanly washed burning hot cooker, the burning hot landlady at the cooker with a ladle in her hand. And the delightful smell of these pancakes. The landlady artfully overturns pancakes by a knife, and they already have brownish crusts.
Yana becomes weak in her knees; her tongue is being covered by saliva and her eyes are in tears. She desires for pancakes.
A hot pancake gets into Yana's hands. She can stick her teeth into it, crack its crust and burning her mouth swallow it without chewing...
"Dip it into the sauce."
She has forgotten about the sauce but the pancake is almost eaten; only a very small piece is left. And only now when the burning crust of the pancake is being softened by sour-sweet cool of the sauce Yana at last feels its taste until its last crumb is melt in her mouth. Yana was immersed into something forgotten from pre-war time. A warm earth, fruits warmed by the sun with red sappy pulp; their sap nips at her tongue and runs over her chin and fingers...
And right before her more pancakes are again being bubbled and becoming brownish.
"What I know, what I have seen," Yana says.
Now Yana is going to betray granny Xenia. She is going to tell that she saw that bottle in granny's chest. She will do it in order to get another pancake, and she will get it, dip into the sauce and eat it up while the landlady scolds granny at the top of her voice and throws about rags from her chest. At these moments Yana will again be there in the sunny kitchen garden among huge and warm fruits of the pre-war summer.
Bad, incomprehensible and distressful things will begin not immediately but later. Yana will feel that she can't come in to granny Xenia though nobody forbids her to do so. And she will be perplexed where this 'you cannot' have come from. Again and again she will approach granny's bed curtain and go back every time. That was a hard and shameful punishment, which was devised by somebody unknown.
Yana will comfort herself that it's not she but granny Xenia feels bad because Yana doesn't communicate with her, that Yana has the yard, grass, summer, sweet wrappers, colourful glasses, the dog Tobik, a neighbouring yard and a junkyard where one can find whatever you wants to. But granny Xenia lies alone behind the bed curtain - it looks as if granny is punished but Yana is not.
But when Yana is rushing in the yard, plays with Tobik in colourful shards or sweet wrappers and finds in the junkyard whatever she wants to, all the time she knows that she cannot come in to granny Xenia, and this knowledge is like an illness, like granny's cough, one can't get rid of.

***
Granny Xenia lies on the table being grand and unapproachable. She is in a white dress with flowers as she dreamt. Her wrinkles have been smoothed; the flush on her face is not as usual in unequal spots but like a girl's in all her cheeks. She has a white funeral headband on her combed hair; her closed lips are also painted.
"She is like a fianc?e... she looks like she is sleeping," women are whispering around. They don't go away but wait; there are more and more people, and Yana knows what everybody is waiting for, and she herself is waiting with awe. Now granny Xenia is a chief person. Yana is proud and glad to be her friend. Also she is proud of granny that everything has come true as she wanted, and a misunderstanding between them, this shameful "you cannot' is a trifle in comparison with what is going to happen now.
"Mammy, how will she fly?"
"Where will she fly?"
"To heaven, to God. The ceiling won't allow her to."
She will fly nowhere; don't worry, my little silly."
"Don't you know she will fly to God? He is high in heaven, and so you can't see Him," asserts Yana.
The women near them approvingly smile at Yana; they are clearly on her side.
"She will fly," repeats Yana. "She said so.
"Stop talking or go to the yard!"
The threat has an effect, and Yana becomes silent. But from the yard she won't see anything. And what about the ceiling? Maybe, it's necessary to open the window or the door?"
Mother is called to come to the other room to give valerian drops to the landlady who is 'out of her mind'. It's also something strange; what does it mean "out of one's mind'? And why is the landlady crying? Recently she asked God to take away granny Xenia as soon as possible. Yana herself heard it many times.
Yana comes nearer Kolya who always knows everything.
"Kolya, why is she lying and lying?"
"And what must she do? She has died and is lying now," Kolya with a wearied look chews a piece of chewing gum and spits through his widely spaced and awry teeth. "Now she is being driven to the graveyard and will be lying in the earth."
"In what earth?"
"In a usual one," Kolya stamped his foot down the floor, "They will bury her into a pit, and she will be lying."
"You story!" Kolya's inventions are so absurd that they are making her laugh. "Why then flowers, a dress and all beautiful things are needed? Aha, you have told lies."
"As we have funerals, flowers must be too. And music will be played, and they will drink wine. They will bury her and then drink."
"You story!"
But mum and other woman help the landlady to go out of the next room taking her arms. Yana can see her swollen face with unseeing eyes and completely freeze of her terrible inhuman lament.
"My dear mother, why have you left me alone? I will follow you to mother earth!
Women around also lament quietly, wipe their noses and eyes with brims of their headscarves. Now Yana is also going to cry - mother called this weeping of hers 'eruption' - with ringing in ears and hiccup, with inexhaustible stores of tears that immediately wet everything up to hair and collars. She is going to cry not because she fears for granny Xenia, the landlady, mum and women wiping their noses. This is a lament-protest against horrible absurdity of the scene played by adults in her world where even several minutes ago everything was so reasonable and reliable.
Mum will take her away and even give up her Komsomol atheism. "Of course, Xenia will fly to heaven; she will fly from the graveyard at night when stars appear. To them will she fly, and they will show the way to her."
And Yana will calm down. On the day of granny Xenia's funeral, particularly after instructive words a priest said at the funeral repast that death will take everybody from the earth, and sooner or later everybody will be buried at cemeteries, but God will surely take all those who believe in Him to His place in heaven but the others will remain to lie in the earth forever, Yana made her choice in favour of God. Yes, He created everything. He can do everything what nobody can - to stop a thunderstorm, help our people to win fascists and even to find somebody playing hide-and-seek. He is Sorcerer, the head of all sorcerers. All 'where from', 'why', 'when', 'where' and 'what for' that she began to ask to herself and others converged and were solved only in Him. He is always and everywhere; He is all-seeing, almighty and all-knowing. From now on before going to sleep she will inwardly repeat by heart the mysterious Xenia's prayer, and then ask in her own words for mum's and already killed father's happiness. That the war should finish as soon as possible, that she should become grown up as soon as possible, and, of course, for comrade Stalin who leads us to the victory and will defend mum from fascists who kill Jews. She will get used to talking to God, and He will hear her. She will rejoice together, sometimes be angry, offend and forgive. "And may you always do well!" will she pray to God for God.


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[> [> [> Этот же текст на русском. "Бабка Ксеня" -- Семен, 12:45:35 06/04/09 Thu

Ю.Иванова

"Бабка Ксеня"

(Роман "Дремучие двери". Из цикла "Преддверие". Страница Иоанны)

Яна просыпается внезапно и садится в кровати, готовая зареветь со страху. Она одна, в комнате тихо и душно, хоть окно и открыто. Никакой прохлады с улицы, ни звука, занавески не шелохнутся. Что-то необычное, зловещее в этой липкой душной тишине. И вдруг дворик за окном осветился, обозначился, но не как днем, а каким-то призрачным, зыбким и нереальным светом. Вспыхнул двор и погас. И тут же нечто глухо зарычало в отдалении. Постепенно набирая силу, рев пронесся над домом, звякнули стекла в окне.

А мама в ночной смене.

Грозы Яна боялась и потом, и всегда, уже зная название этому "нечто" и его причину.

- Уу-у... Аа-а...- воет Яна, но от тоскливо-одинокого своего воя ей еще страшнее.

- Яничка, ты чой-то? Бежи, бежи ко мне, - слышится из-за занавески.

Бабка Ксеня больна. Болезнь у нее не как у других, что приходит и уходит, - это ее обычное всегдашнее состояние. Она почти всегда лежит. Не стонет, не жалуется, и если б не кашель с хрипами, свистом и щелканьем, не кашель, а целый оркестр, хоть и глушит его бабка тщетно в подушку, - все бы, наверное, вообще позабыли, что в темном углу за пологом живет бабка Ксеня.

Бабкин угол - в большой комнате, она же столовая, она же комната мамы с Яной - им принадлежит огромная кровать, шифоньер, тумбочка и картина над кроватью, изображающая зеленый пруд, зеленую луну и зеленых купающихся девушек. - По-моему, эта штука квакает, - сказала как-то мама. Зеленая картина входит в понятие "хорошая меблировка", и за нее им приходится доплачивать. Зато бабка Ксеня с кашлем-оркестром считается "неудобством" и хозяйка исчисляет это неудобство примерно в стоимость картины. То есть получается так на так.

Поскуливая, Яна босиком шлепает за полог. Бабка протягивает руки, и Яна ныряет под лоскутное одеяло, прижимается к сухому горячему тельцу Ксени.

- Пронеси, Господи, - мелко крестится бабка, - Не пужай дите. Ну будя, будя, ты повторяй, как я, и все минует... "Даждь нам днесь".

- Аж ан есь, - всхлипывая, вторит Яна. Гроза лютует. Изображение комнаты пульсирует в беспорядочном ритме ослепительных фиолетовых вспышек. Есть - нет, есть - нет. Рев, грохот. Кажется, дом вот-вот треснет, расколется, как яичная скорлупа. Яна натягивает на голову одеяло, зажимает уши ладонями.

- Ну, разбушевался, - ворчит бабка на Бога. - Ну попугал, и будя. Дал бы дожжичку - все б лучше. И огород полил бы, а то ить, сам знаешь, как поливать руками-то...

- Аж ан есь, аж ан есь, - твердит Яна, как заклинание. Колючая раскаленная бабкина ладонь касается ее мокрых щек, глаз, и слезы мгновенно испаряются, высыхают. Будто зарываешься лицом в сено. И пахнет сеном.

- Дождь, Яничка, дожжь:

По-прежнему грохает и пульсирует комната, "нечто" за окном рычит и рвет когтями темноту, но Яна понимает, что оно уже не страшно. "Нечто" будто поймали в клетку, отгородили стеной от мира, и стена эта - монотонный шум за окном, и внезапная прохлада, и запах, и другое "нечто" - спокойное, незыблемое...

- Огнь,Яничка с водой врозь. Бежит огонь от воды, спасается. Ишь как полосует, кабы огурчики не прибило. Сохрани огурчики, Господи ...

- Ба, а где он, Бог?

- Бог-то? На небе.

- А как же не падает?

-Поздно, будя, Яничка, грех. Ступай к себе.

-Ба, а какой Он ?

- Про то нам знать неведомо.

- А почему?

Бабка закашлялась, замахала руками.

- Ступай с Богом... ступай...

Яна пошлепала к остывшей уже кровати, с наслаждением вытянулась после тесного бабкиного ложа и зевнула.

Ветер надувал парусом мокрую занавеску, на полу у окна блестела большая лужа. Там, во дворе, жил дождь. Дождь шел. Он шел по улицам струйчатыми ножками, увязая в мокрой глине, вспенивая лужи, шуршал по кустам. Потом дождь побежал. Он бежал все быстрее, догоняя страшное "нечто", которое удирало, глухо урча. Все это представила себе Яна, потом попыталась представить себе бога бабки Ксени, да так и не смогла и заснула.


* * *

- Во здравие солдат наших Аввакума, Аверкия, Аврамия, Агава, - бормочет бабка Ксеня.

Она попросила отдернуть полог, чтоб было посветлей, крест-накрест повязала под подбородком чистый платочек в горошек, надела очки с треснувшим правым стеклом. В руке у нее церковный календарь.

- Во здравие Анания, Акепсия, - тоненько поет она, заглядывая в календарь.

- У вас, мамаша, все не те имена, так теперь никого не называют.

Сегодня дома сама хозяйка, и мама дома. Воскресенье. Шумит самовар. Хозяйка раскладывает по блюдцам темные ломтики пареной свеклы. А Яне мама выдает к чаю настоящую конфету, в обертке с бабочкой. Если обертку расправить и сложить конвертом, получится фантик, а это уже богатство, едва ли не дороже самой конфеты. В фантики можно играть, ими можно меняться, или менять на цветные стекла, на свистульки, на мячи на резинках - да мало ли на что можно сменять стоящий фантик! Яна счастлива.

- А может, кто и назвал, - говорит бабка, - Может есть такой солдатик Ананий, а я его обойду. Как же, нельзя... А как называют-то?

- Ну Петр, Сергей, Владимир, Виктор...

- Аркадия помяните, - говорит мама.

Повисает над столом тишина, все смотрят на маму. Воспользовавшись замешательством, Колька хватает с блюда горсть свекольных ломтиков и запихивает в рот.

- Ты что, Соня, думаешь все-таки живой? - почему-то шепотом спрашивает хозяйка.

- Колька свеклу таскает, - ябедничает Яна, но на нее не обращают внимания. Тогда и Яна тянется к заветной тарелке.

- Аркадия, тетя Ксеня, - повторяет мама. Бабка перестает кашлять. Осторожно спрашивает:

- А то, может, за упокой?

- Во здравие, - мама храбро улыбается, она не выносит, когда ее жалеют. Хозяйский Колька снова лезет за свеклой, но на этот раз получает увесистую оплеуху и ревет. Яна великодушно отламывает ему кусок конфеты.

Во здравие воина Аркадия, - тянет бабка Ксеня.


* * *

- Ба, а ты почему такая горячая?

Бабка Ксеня, скорчившись, ловит ртом воздух. Кашель ломает ее жёлтое сухонькое тело, оно похрустывает, как осенний лист на ветру.

- Жар у меня, Яничка, - бабка по капле выжимает из пересохшего рта улыбку, - худо. Огнь, огнь во мне. Може, Бог даст, помру...

- Как помрешь?

Бабка переводит дух.

- Так уж. Успокоится Ксения навеки, во гроб ее положат, как невесту, во всем белом, цветами засыплют, и улетит душа моя на серебряных крыльях...

Сияют бабкины глаза, она счастливо смеется.

- У меня уж все, Яничка, припасено. И платье белое, и туфли, и белье чистое пошила.

- Покажи, ба...

- Выдвинь-ка, отопри сама.

Ёкает сердце. Вот он ключ от заветного сундучка, откуда извлекала бабка Ксеня пожелтевшие фотографии, клубки разноцветных ниток, пуговицы и лоскутки, старые письма и другие хрупкие бумаги с печатями и без печатей, отжившие бесполезные деньги, дешевенькие стеклянные сережки и бусы - чего только здесь не было! Вся Ксенина прошлая жизнь, перемешанная наугад, как колода карт, никому не интересная, кроме самой бабки, которая перебирала, уходя, эту свою жизнь. Отзвуки, осколки, лоскуты когда-то пошитых платьев, когда-то бывших с бабкой людей и минувших событий.

Яна была ее единственной благодарной слушательницей, ее подругой, и длинные бабкины рассказы о происхождении той или иной бумаги, вещицы, фотокарточки - не самой себе, не в пустоту, а ей, Яне, видимо явились для бабки Ксени смыслом и благодатью ее последних дней.

Лоскуты, обрывки, осколки, то, что не имеет решительно никакой ценности у разумных взрослых, влечет к себе стариков и детей.

Яна лезет в бабкину жизнь всей своей ненасытной пятерней, боясь, как бы бабка Ксеня не передумала, не отобрала ключик - ведь прежде доставалось Яне бабкино прошлое лишь скудными порциями, причем право выбора принадлежало владелице сундучка.

Наконец-то можно завладеть им целиком!

- В марлечке оно, с самого верху... приданое-то, - сипло втягивая в грудь воздух, наставляет бабка. - Ты уж тихохонько, гляди, не сомни... Подушку подсунь мне, подушку...

Полулежа, в зыбком кольце света от коптилки, которое мечется по стенам, по лоскутному одеялу при каждом приступе кашля, бабка Ксеня раскладывает на коленях свое белое "приданое", любуется им, ласкает, разглаживает жаркими колючими пальцами, приглашая и Яну полюбоваться, восхититься.

Приданое. К рожденью, к свадьбе, к смерти. Одно и то же слово, один и тот же цвет.

Урча от удовольствия и чихая от нафталина, Яна шурует в сундучке. Глубже, глубже, уже руки по локти в сокровищах, и вот, на самом дне... Что-то круглое, гладкое, холодное... Пальцы сомкнулись, тащат. Бутылка! Ой, да это та самая, праздничная, хозяйкина, с наклейкой, которая вдруг в праздник пропала со стола, когда все пошли плясать во двор. Хозяйка прямо обыскалась, кричала, негодовала, подозревая всех и каждого. Кольку, гостей, маму, Яну... А она вот где, бутылочка. Та самая. И вино в ней плещется.

Приданое, цветы, вино... Приданое пошито, цветов можно нарвать, на худой конец, бумажные есть, а вот вино нынче дефицит, и кто знает, достанут ли, когда придет пора проводить бабку Ксеню? Может, этими соображениями руководствовалась бабка, а может, из самых эгоистичных стянула бутылку с праздничного стола, чтоб глотнуть из нее, когда особенно невмоготу? Каким-то десятым чувством Яна понимает, что спросить бабку Ксеню про бутылку неприлично. И прячет ее, где лежала. На самое дно.


* * *


Полутемная кухня, на столе глиняная миска с томатным соусом. Чисто вымытая раскаленная плита, раскаленная хозяйка у плиты с разливной ложкой в руке. И запах, восхитительный запах этих штук, - Яна зовет их "плюхи".

Плюх, плюх - из ложки на плиту, пузырясь и растекаясь, вываливается жидкое беловатое месиво. Корчится, вспухает пузырями, твердеет. Хозяйка ножом ловко переворачивает плюхи на другой бок, а у тех уже румяные корочки, и с другой стороны будут такие же румяные...

У Яны подкашиваются коленки, слюна обволакивает язык, слезы на глаза наворачиваются, так хочется плюх.

- Да отойди ты, горе голопузое, - беззлобно ворчит хозяйка, - уйдет, а дите как хошь. Оставила картошки мерзлой! А у дитя самый рост, его питать нужно... Говорила вот мамке - была б поумней, тоже б мучицей разжились. Вроде нация оборотистая. Так ей, вишь ли, совестно, а дите мучить не совестно? Конечно, Матрена добрая, Матрёна угостит...

И в руку Яны попадает горячая плюха. Можно вонзить в нее зубы, хрустеть корочкой, глотать не жуя, обжигаясь...

- В соус-то обмакни, горюшко.

Соус, про соус-то она забыла, а плюха почти съедена, остался малюсенький кусочек. И только сейчас, когда обжигающая хрусткость плюхи размягчается кисло-сладкой прохладой соуса, Яна наконец-то чувствует вкус, и на те несколько секунд, пока последняя крошка не растаяла во рту, Яна окунается во что-то забытое, довоенное. Теплая распаренная земля, нагретые солнцем плоды с красной сочной мякотью - от их сока чуть пощипывает язык, сок течет по подбородку, пальцам...

А прямо перед ней на плите снова пузырятся, румянятся плюхи, дразнит глиняная плошка на столе.

- А я чего зна-аю, - говорит Яна. - А чего я видела-а...

Сейчас Яна предаст бабку Ксеню. Она расскажет, что видела у нее в сундучке ту самую бутылку. Расскажет, чтобы получить еще одну плюху, и получит ее, и обмакнет в соус, и съест, пока хозяйка будет на весь дом распекать бабку и расшвыривать тряпки из ее сундука. В эти минуты Яна опять будет там, на распаренной солнцем грядке, среди огромных теплых плодов предвоенного лета.

И не сразу, а потом начнется плохое, непонятное, мучительное. Яна почувствует, что не может войти к бабке Ксене, хотя ей этого никто не запрещал. Будет недоумевать, откуда взялось это "нельзя", в которой раз подходить к бабкиному пологу и в который раз отступать. Тяжелое постыдное наказание, неизвестно кем придуманное.

Яна будет утешать себя, что не ей, а бабке Ксене плохо из-за того, что Яна с ней больше не водится. Что у нее, Яны, есть двор, трава, лето, фантики, цветные стеклышки, собака Тобик, и соседний двор, и свалка, где чего только не найдешь. А бабка Ксеня лежит себе одна за пологом - выходит, бабка наказана, а не Яна.

Но когда Яна будет носиться по двору, играть с Тобиком, в цветные черепки или фантики, и чего только ни находить на свалке, она будет все время знать, что ей нельзя к бабке Ксене, и знание это будет как болезнь, как бабкин кашель, от которого не избавиться.


* * *

Бабка Ксеня лежит на столе, торжественная и недоступная. В белом платье, в цветах, - всё, как ей мечталось. Морщины разгладились, румянец не как обычно неровными пятнами, а как у девушки, во всю щеку. На причёсанных волосах белый венчик, сомкнутые губы тоже подкрашены.

-Будто невеста... Как есть спит. Красавица!.. - шепчутся вокруг бабы. Они не расходятся, ждут, наоборот, народу всё больше, и Яна знает, чего все ждут, и сама с трепетом ждёт. Сейчас бабка Ксеня - главная. Яна горда и счастлива их дружбой. И за бабку, что всё сбылось, как она хотела, а их размолвка, - это постыдное "нельзя" - такая мелочь по сравнению с тем, что сейчас должно произойти.

-Ма, а как же она полетит?

-Куда полетит?

-На небо, к Богу. Ведь потолок.

-Никуда она не полетит, глупышка, успокойся.

- К Богу, ты не знаешь, Он на небе, высоко, вот и не видно, - убеждает Яна.

Женщины рядом одобрительно улыбаются Яне, они явно на её стороне.

-Полетит, - повторяет Яна, - Она сама сказала.

- Перестань болтать, или живо во двор!

Угроза действует, и Яна замолкает - ведь со двора она ничего не увидит. Как же, всё-таки, будет с потолком? А может, надо открыть окно? Или дверь?

Мать зовут в соседнюю комнату, отпаивать валерьянкой хозяйку, которая "не в себе". Тоже нечто странное - как это "не в себе"? А где? И почему хозяйка плачет? Она ведь просила Бога поскорей забрать бабку Ксеню - Яна сама сколько раз слыхала.

Яна пробирается поближе к Кольке, который всегда всё знает.

-Коль, а почему она всё лежит да лежит?

-А чего ей ещё делать? Померла, вот и лежит, - Колька со скучающим видом растирает челюстями комочек смолистой жвачки, сплёвывает сквозь редкие, вкривь и вкось, зубы, - Сейчас отвезут на погост, будет в земле лежать.

- В какой земле?

- В обыкновенной, - Колька потопал по полу ногой в грязных подтёках. - Зароют в яму и будет лежать.

- Врёшь ты всё! - Колькины измышления до того нелепы, что смешно. - А цветы зачем?.. Платье?.. И всё такое красивое зачем?.. Ага, наврал?

- Похороны, вот и цветы. Ещё и музыка бывает, и вино будут пить. Зароют и будут пить.

- Врёшь ты всё.

Но тут мама и ещё женщина под руки выводят из соседней комнаты хозяйку. Яна видит её лицо, опухшее, с невидящими щелками глаз, и вся цепенеет от её страшного нечеловеческого воя.

- Матушка ты моя ро-одненькая! На кого ж ты меня покинула одну-одинёшеньку! Брошусь я за тобой во сыру зе-емлю!

Бабы вокруг тоже тихонько подвывают, сморкаются, вытирают глаза краями платков. Сейчас Яна тоже заревёт - мать называла этот её рёв "извержением" - до звона в ушах, до икоты, с невесть откуда взявшимися неиссякаемыми запасами слез, от которых мгновенно промокало всё вплоть до волос и воротников. Заревёт не только от страха за бабку Ксеню, за хозяйку, за маму и сморкающихся бабок. Это будет рёв-протест против чудовищной нелепости разыгрываемой взрослыми сцены в её мире, где ещё несколько минут назад было всё так разумно и надёжно.

Мама уведёт её, и даже поступится своим комсомольским атеизмом: - Конечно, полетит Ксеня на небо, с кладбища и полетит. Ночью, когда звёзды выглянут. Она к ним и полетит, они будут дорогу указывать.

И Яна успокоится. В день похорон бабки Ксении, особенно после назидательных слов, сказанных на поминках батюшкой, что да, смерть всех заберёт с земли, и всех зароют рано или поздно на кладбище, только Бог обязательно заберёт к Себе на небо тех, кто в Него верит, а остальные вечно останутся лежать в земле, - Яна раз и навсегда сделала выбор в пользу Бога. Да, Он всё сотворил, Он всё может, чего не может никто - остановить грозу, помочь нашим победить фашистов и даже помочь кого угодно найти в прятки. Он - Волшебник, самый главный волшебник над всеми волшебниками. Все "откуда?", "почему?", "когда?", "где?" и "зачем?", которые она уже начала бесконечно задавать себе и другим, упирались в Него и разрешались только в Нём. Всегда, везде, всевидящий, всемогущий и всезнающий. Она будет отныне каждый раз перед сном повторять Ему про себя наизусть таинственную Ксенину молитву, а потом своими словами просить о счастье мамы, уже убитого отца. Чтоб скорей кончилась война и они вернулись домой, чтобы скорей стать взрослой, и, конечно, о товарище Сталине, который ведёт нас к победе и защитит маму от фашистов, которые убивают евреев. Она привыкнет разговаривать с Богом, и Он будет слышать. Радоваться вместе, иногда сердиться, обижаться и прощать. "И чтоб Тебе тоже всегда было хорошо!" - будет молиться она Богу о Боге.

© Copyright: Юлия Иванова, 2000-2009

Весь роман можно прочитать на сайте Ю.Ивановой
http://izania.narod.ru/main.html


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[> [> [> [> Спасибо! Побывала в детстве... -- Татьяна Столяренко-Малярчук, 15:44:58 07/04/09 Sat

Спасибо! Побывала в детстве, поговорила с бабкой Дуней! Спасибо!


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[> [> Yulia Ivanova. The Blue Embankment (From the book 'The Impenetrable Doors' ) -- V. Glushchenko, 10:12:58 05/31/09 Sun

The Blue Embankment

She didn't remember how the war had began; in her memory there were left only a dug yard and a deep ditch where one had to go down a staircase - maybe it was an entrance to a bomb shelter. Older kids played their own games there; they took Yana with them only once because she had her father's pocket flashlight. Of course, boys took away the flashlight at once and ran away somewhere, and Yana was left alone in the underground.

The water is squelching under her feet. Her sandals have completely got wet and sink in disgustingly champing clay. Shivering with cold and fear she is pondering, isn't it better to begin to cry? But suddenly she can see an underground tree. It grows right in the earthen wall. Its thick trunk that is thicker than an arm and its bare trees are clearly seen. Some of them were stuck out the wall lifelessly hanging down the water, other are chopped off like round white seals. It's a tree without leaves... the higher it is, the thicker its trunk is. The tree grows head first!

Little Yana is stunned - how can one grow head first? Intelligent Joanna doesn't care about a birch root; she is waiting for her father. It's he who should go down to her and take her out to God's light - she well remembers it. Maybe, she will manage to discern him at last.

There he appears in the hole of the entrance, peers into the darkness; the staircase is creaking under his feet... The damned darkness! Little Yana purposely steps back and hides herself but couldn't help giggling.

"Joan, is it you? Well, I'll teach you!

"Joan" - he insisted to naming her so in honour of his favourite Maid of Orleans. But her mum couldn't tolerate foreign words, and in her birth certificate they have written a Russian version - a seldom name "Joanna".

How many people there are! End everybody is hastening and running to somewhere... with suitcases, bags, trunks, shopping trolleys. A platform and carriages are seen. These are those carriages from childhood with steps, with window glasses, shutting with a grinding sound. People travelled by them on their tops, hung on their steps, waived from their windows. Yana is still at her father's hands as if he carried her out of the hole of the bomb shelter to the platform, from which they left for an evacuation zone. Her memory united these moments in one but maybe several days or a week separate them from each other.

Father is in his military uniform already. Today he is seeing them off, tomorrow he will go to the war front, and in several days a "killed in battle" notice will come to their empty flat. It will be show up white in the post box, get by mistake to the Snezhins instead of the Sinegins, and then one envelope inside another will catch them up in a small Ural settlement. "Forgive me but my husband is not Sinegin Arkady Ivanovich but Snezhin Arkady Ionovich. I brought documents to the post office, and they asked to apologize to you," was written in the letter. "They asked to apologize"...

Mum is still counting the trunks. She is dressed in a grey gabardine dust coat and a hat with small brims. And it is in July's heat. Maybe, they didn't get into the suitcase. Now Yana can clearly see her face redden and roundish in a childish manner with ringlets in permanent wave stuck to her forehead and droplets of sweat on her upper lip.

Mum is 27 and father is 26.

"Why have you taken so many things with you? Oh, these women! The war will come to an end in two month but you... Why have you taken so much soap; is it for to bathing an elephant"?

The soap will end in a year and a half. Mum will divide every peace in four parts, grate it and pour it up with water. Several pieces will be exchanged for sugar.

They are chatting about some trifles. About boots, receipts and keys... Mum is even laughing. In many years her stepfather when they visit somebody will offer lemonade to her because after one or two small glasses of alcohol she will begins to cry and tell one of guests about the great inimitable love of the Jewish girl Sonya and the Russian boy Arkady. And how grandma and grandpa who were also killed during the war locked you at the second floor and you, a Komsomol member and a sportsman, went down from the balcony being barefoot, and father drove you away by his motorcycle as a barefooted and dowerless girl.

"He is in Australia," you will say, "He was taken captive, and now works at a closed laboratory. He simply isn't released because he is so talented"!

A usual railway station's bustle is all around, and no tears are seen. Everybody really believes that the war isn't for long. Won't she really be able to discern her father?

Yana feels bored and begins to whimper. Father seats her down the trunk and says good-bye to mother. Yana is bored and doesn't look at them.

"I have got something..."

Next to her a girl with her panama is sitting. Yana at once understands that she really has got something unusual - such an appearance a girl has. From this moment on a girl's something turning out to be a tortoise transforms little Yana into one continuous "Give!" having nothing to do with her father and evacuation.

"Oh, how pretty it is! Let me hold it... May I stroke it? Oh, it's moving! Mammy, it a tortoise! It's alive! Daddy, it's a tortoise! I want it! Please buy it!

Yana who is deafened by her own howl and blinded by her tears is seized and dragged into the carriage. Persuasions of her mother, her angry clip on the back of her head, parting kisses of her father, reasons of people around "You will be taken by a militiaman" - all of that is nothing in comparison with a desired live box on feet, without which her further life is senseless. And nobody wants to help her. Nobody cares about her inconsolable sorrow.


***

What flowers they were! I won't see them again ever end anywhere. Of course, there will be something similar, approximate and reminding but there will never be no such blue ones and in such plenty. The railway embankment was blue. It seems you can stretch out your hand and touch them that are wet from rain, warm from the sun, fresh from the wind blowing from some fields.

Yana knows if a field is endless it is called steppe, if a pool is endless it is called sea.

The train has stopped for a long time already but everyone is afraid that it is about to set out, and therefore nobody goes out of the chock-full and stuffy carriages to pick blue flowers. Mum has explained so.

Yana is lying with her elbows and breast on the window frame; her arms are in steam engine's soot up to her elbows. Yana talks to the blue flowers. She says that they are going to an evacuation zone - it's a town where there is no war - and they left daddy because daddy is needed in the war but she and mammy are not needed there. She and mammy can't shoot but in the war you must shoot and shouldn't afraid of bombs. And there you should give your life for the Homeland. And when daddy gives his life for the Homeland he will come to an evacuation zone and take her and her mum home.

"Mammy, mammy"!

"Leave me alone, can't you see you mammy has no time. I'll teach you to dirty yourself. I'll teach you to sit in a draught..."

"Such flowers don't exist - why don't you look at them?" Or maybe I, Yana, can see them in a different way? Not so as all adults can? However, do you have time for flowers? And you have no time for me. If I'm alive and healthy that's well and good. It came to pass so - the war began. We will soon hardly see each other - our landlady will take me from a kindergarten and feed myself, her son and granny Xenia with suppers. Lentil kasha, herring heads soup or potato chips - a wonder of wonders.

After suppers granny Xenia will tell me about her God and teach me obscure and mysterious words, with which one must talk to God. I will blurt them out before going to bed as a password and then speak in my own words of what has happened during a day - to God of granny Xenia, not to you - consult with Him and beg Him of something.

You will be coming back from the factory when I'm already in bed and go out when I'm still in bed. Only at nights in my sleep I will be feeling the warmth your body beside me. Even on Sundays you work either in a field of a sponsored collective farm, or at home at saucepans, washing tubs and landlady's sewing machine.

"Let's leave it until later, Yana. You can see how busy your mum is. You are a big girl already and must understand. Go, Yana..."

I become estranged from you. "Wait until the war ends..." We live off the future. When the war ends I'll see daddy again, and an ice-cream will be bought for me, and our train on the way back will stop at the blue embankment with blue flowers. It will stop for a very long time, and we will pick very big flowers...

Before falling asleep I ask granny Xenia's God that the war should finish tomorrow, and then everything will come true.

We will return in autumn of 1943 - what flowers can be in autumn? At Kazansky railway station you will buy an ice-cream for me. Father won't be alive then. And you...

After work you will study at night branch of your institute. You will make up and make up for these lost years. In your mind a bold idea will appear - to finish father's dissertation. And again I will hardly be seeing you.

For what's sake is it? Though you will graduate from your institute but a postgraduate course will be lost by itself because it will become clear that somebody will have successfully elaborated and finished daddy's subject already.

And you will give in. You will be sitting at home in the evenings, not knowing what to do with yourself. You will become estranged from your own home, and I will become estranged from you, and we will only disturb each other.

Then you will remember that you are over thirsty already, and if nothing came out of the postgraduate course and science, you must assert yourself in other way, and you will rush to search for a husband as fervently as everything you have ever done. Some boxes, bottles, dress lengths will appear in our room and the names of different women from a hairdresser's will be heard, our neighbours will begin to say that you have grown much prettier, and it was really as if a demon got into you. You weren't so thin even in your youth. Your pencilled eyes seem to be dark and huge like a Gipsy fortune-teller's, you beautiful exposed forehead, slight shadows on the hollows of your cheeks, a bright cherry red dab on your lips, and you are all bright, lithe and slender in your tight cherry dress with embroidery, in which it's hardly possible to make a single step (anyway, I couldn't do that when I tried it on), but you flew and slid in it, crossed your legs as if you were born in this incredibly tight clothes and as if it were your other skin.

And I will remember you so, girls will say, "How beautiful you mum is," and you will finally find a husband for yourself in that post-war lack of men, quite a decent husband, a kind and attentive widower, an outwardly pleasant one who even work as a boss. He and I will do arithmetical sums about fishers and pedestrians, and I was on excellent terms with him, and when you begin to run away from both of us to some female friends or become an inveterate theatregoer or a voluntary group activist or delay at the office with or without reason in order not to go home, I will judge you and feel sorry for my stepfather. And only many years later will I understand that you need neither postgraduate course, nor tireless activity, not the best husband, that you need only Arkady Sinegin, that being his wife or his "half" on the earth was your own predestination and calling in the best sense of this word because great scientists (the father was expected to have bright future) should have this kind of wives. And who knows how many great people humanity got only thanks to these "halves". Only many years later will I understand that his death wasn't a loss of your husband and beloved man for you but a loss of your vocation and the meaning or purpose of your life, and that's the reason of your blind disorderly rush from one work to another, from one man to another and from one role to another like a ship without a compass...

You will play dozens of unsuccessful roles, not of your own, and when you at last recall the role of mother and decide that it's your own sole role I will be almost in other dimension; several thousand days will divide me from the blue embankment. Those days will be without you.

I will be shocked by this sadden hailstorm of parental emotions, by your kisses and other endearments. You will seem funny and odd to me like an old maid with ruffles and grimace of a schoolgirl, to me, Joanna Sinegina, who will publish her inspired opuses on the mental and ethical themes in a town paper, to an expert in human souls and your daughter.

And later, in several more thousand days, in my hard and belated yearning your 'my little girl' and 'put on your jacket' and feeling ashamed of my hard-heartedness I will cowardly postpone a meeting with you, which should unite us, mother and daughter. And in the meantime I will be sending holiday postcards to you to the town of Kerch.

"Dear mum, I congratulate you..."

I never liked and could write letters.

You will move to Kerch after your marriage. There Arkady Sinegin was born and grew up. There you met him on a beach. He came up and said, "Miss, it seems you've got sunburn." Something symbolic seemed to you in this phrase.

The telegram from Kerch won't find me - I will be in a tourist journey in Italy. Taking counsel with each other they will decide not to inform me of it and not to upset me because nothing can be changed in any case. I will be late for you again. For the last time will I come late to you, mum!

"I have a tortoise," Yana brags to blue flowers. It wears houses. It has a lot of houses: a coat-house, a dress-house... The flowers are surprisingly swinging on their unusually long stems.

"Oh, mammy, mammy, we have started off already...

In a moment mum will rise to shut the window; she fears for Jana's ears. From her knees scissors will fall with a jingle, and when mum bends down to pick them up, for five second only, Yana will be still seeing the blueness rushing behind the window.

http://izania.narod.ru/english.htm


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[> [> [> Этот же текст Ю.Ивановой на русском. "Голубая насыпь" -- Семен, 12:51:08 06/04/09 Thu

Юлия Иванова

Голубая насыпь

(Роман "Дремучие двери". Из цикла "Преддверие". Страница Иоанны)

Она не помнила, как началась война, только остался в памяти разрытый двор и глубокая - преглубокая канава, куда надо было спускаться по ступенькам - видимо, щель бомбоубежища. Ребята постарше играли там в какие-то свои игры, а Яну лишь однажды взяли с собой - у неё был папин карманный фонарик. Фонарик мальчишки, конечно же, сразу отобрали, убежали куда-то, и Яна осталась одна в подземелье.

Хлюпает под ногами вода. Сандалии совсем промокли, вязнут в противно чавкающей глине. Дрожа от холода и страха, Яна-маленькая раздумывает - не лучше ли зареветь? Но тут видит: подземное дерево. Оно растет прямо в земляной стене. Ясно виден толстый, толще руки, ствол, голые ветви. Некоторые выбились из стены, безжизненно свисают к воде, другие обрублены - круглые белые печати. Дерево без листьев... Чем выше, тем толще ствол. Дерево растет вниз головой!

Яна-маленькая ошеломлена - разве можно расти вниз головой? Иоанне-знающей нет дела до какого-то берёзового корня, она ждет отца. Ведь именно он должен спуститься за ней и вытащить на свет Божий - это она хорошо помнит. Может, удастся, наконец, разглядеть его.

Вот он появляется в отверстии щели, вглядывается в темноту, скрипят ступени... Проклятая темнота. Яна-маленькая нарочно отступает, прячется но, не выдержав, прыскает.

- Жанна, ты? Ну, держись, вражья сила!

"Жанна" - так он настоял её назвать в честь своей любимой Орлеанской девы. Но мама терпеть не могла иностранщины, и в свидетельстве записали русский вариант - редкое "Иоанна".

Сколько народу, и все куда-то спешат, бегут... С чемоданами, мешками, узлами, тележками. Платформа, вагоны. Те вагоны, из детства, со ступеньками, с оконными стеклами, со скрежетом задвигающимися, вагоны, в которых ездили на крышах, висели на подножках, махали руками из окон. Яна по-прежнему на руках у отца, будто он так и вынес её из щели бомбоубежища на платформу, с которой они уезжали в эвакуацию. Память объединила эти мгновения в одно, а между ними, наверное, несколько дней, неделя...

Отец уже в военной форме. Сегодня он их проводит, завтра - на фронт, а через несколько месяцев в их пустую квартиру придёт похоронка. Долго будет белеть в почтовом ящике, попадёт по ошибке к Снежиным вместо Синегиных и, уже конверт в конверте, настигнет их, наконец, в маленьком уральском посёлке. "Вы уж простите, но мой муж не Синегин Аркадий Иванович, а Снежин Аркадий Ионович. Я на почту документы носила, они просили перед вами извиниться" - было в письме. "Просили извиниться"...

Мама всё пересчитывает узлы. На ней серый габардиновый пыльник и шляпка с короткими полями. В июльскую-то жару. Наверное, не влезло в чемодан. Сейчас Яне хорошо видно её раскрасневшееся, ещё по-детски округлое лицо с прилипшими ко лбу кудряшками перманента, бисеринки пота на верхней губе.

Маме - 27 лет, отцу - 26.

-Ну куда ты столько набрала - ну, женщины! Война через пару месяцев кончится, а ты... Куда столько мыла - слона купать?

Мыло кончится через полтора года. Каждый кусок мама будет делить на четыре части, натирать на тёрке и заливать водой. Несколько кусков выменяют на сахар.

Они болтают о какой-то ерунде. Боты, квитанции, ключи... Мама даже смеётся. Через много лет отчим в гостях будет наливать в твой бокал лимонад, потому что после одной-двух рюмок ты начинаешь плакать. И рассказывать первому попавшемуся гостю о великой неповторимой любви еврейской девочки Сони и русского парня Аркадия. О том, как бабушка с дедушкой, тоже погибшие в войну, заперли тебя на втором этаже, и ты, комсомолка, со значком ГТО, спустишься с балкона по простыне, босиком, и отец так и увезёт тебя босоножкой-бесприданницей на мотоцикле.

Он в Австралии, - будешь рассказывать ты, - Попал в плен и теперь в какой-то закрытой лаборатории. Его просто не выпускают - он такой талантливый!

Вокруг обычная вокзальная суета, никаких слёз. Все и вправду верят, что война ненадолго. Неужели она так и не разглядит отца?

Яне скучно, она начинает хныкать. Отец сажает её на узел, они с матерью прощаются. Яне скучно, она не глядит на них.

- А у меня чего есть...

Рядом на чемодане девчонка в панамке. Яна сразу понимает - что-то у неё в самом деле есть, что-то необыкновенное - такой уж вид у девчонки. И с этого момента девчонкино "что-то", оказавшееся обыкновенной черепахой, превращает Яну-маленькую в одно сплошное "Дай!", не имеющее ничего общего ни с отцом, ни с эвакуацией.

- Ой какая! Дай подержать... Можно погладить? Ой, шевелится! Мама - черепаха! Живая! Папа - черепаха! Хочу! Дай! Ну купи!..

Яну хватают, тащат в вагон, оглушенную собственным ревом, ослепшую от слёз. Уговоры матери, её раздражённый подзатыльник, прощальные поцелуи отца, урезонивания окружающих, что "милиционер заберёт" - все ничто по сравнению с вожделенной живой коробочкой на ножках, без которой дальнейшая жизнь не имеет никакого смысла. И никто не хочет ей помочь. Никому нет дела до её безутешного горя.


* * *

Что это были за цветы! Больше никогда и нигде я их не увижу! То есть будет нечто похожее, приблизительное, напоминающее, но таких голубых и огромных и в таком изобилии - нет, никогда. Железнодорожная насыпь была голубой. Кажется - протяни руку - и коснёшься их, влажных от дождя, тёплых от солнца, прохладно-свежих от ветра, дующего откуда-то с полей.

Яна знает: когда у поля нет конца, это называется степью, когда нет конца у пруда , это называется морем.

Поезд стоит уже давно, но все боятся, что он вот-вот тронется, поэтому никто не выходит из битком набитых, душных вагонов нарвать голубых цветов. Так объяснила мама.

Яна лежит локтями и грудью на оконной раме, руки по локоть в паровозной саже. Яна разговаривает с голубыми цветами. Она рассказывает, что они с мамой едут в эвакуацию - это такой город, где нет войны, а папу они оставили, потому что папа на войне нужен, а они с мамой не нужны. Они с мамой не умеют стрелять, а на войне надо стрелять и не бояться бомб. И там надо отдать свою жизнь за Родину. А когда папа отдаст свою жизнь за Родину, он приедет в эвакуацию и заберет их с мамой домой.

- Ма-а... Ну, ма, же!..

- Отстань, не видишь - маме некогда. Вот я тебе выпачкаюсь! Я тебе поторчу на сквозняке...

Ведь не бывает же таких цветов - почему ты не смотришь? Или я, та Яна, вижу их другими? Другими, чем ты, чем все взрослые?Впрочем, разве тебе до цветов? И не до меня тебе, жива я,здорова, ну и ладно. Так уж получилось - война. Скоро мы почти не будем видеться - из детского сада меня будет забирать квартирная хозяйка, кормить ужином - меня, сына Кольку и бабку Ксению. Чечевичная каша, или суп из селёдочных голов, или картофельные дранки, чудо из чудес.

После ужина бабка Ксения будет мне рассказывать про своего Бога, научит непонятным, таинственным словам, которыми надо разговаривать с Богом. Я буду выпаливать их перед сном, как пароль, а потом уже по-своему рассказывать, что случилось за день. Богу бабки Ксении, а не тебе. Советоваться с ним, что-либо клянчить.

Ты будешь возвращаться с завода, когда я уже сплю, и уходить, когда я еще сплю. Только ночью сквозь сон я буду чувствовать рядом твое тепло. Даже по воскресеньям ты или в поле подшефного колхоза, или дома над кастрюлями, корытами, хозяйской зингеровской машинкой.

- Потом, Яна, потом - видишь, сколько дел у мамы. Ты уже большая, должна понимать. Иди, Яна...

Я отвыкаю от тебя. "Вот погоди, кончится война..." Мы живём будущим. Когда кончится война, я снова увижу папу, и мне купят мороженое, и наш поезд на обратном пути остановится у насыпи с голубыми цветами. Будет стоять долго-долго, и мы нарвем большие-пребольшие букеты...

Перед сном я прошу Бога бабки Ксении, чтобы завтра кончилась война, и тогда всё сбудется.

Мы вернемся осенью сорок третьего - какие осенью цветы? На Казанском вокзале ты купишь мне мороженое. Папы уже не будет. А ты...

После работы - занятия на вечернем отделении института, ты будешь навёрстывать, навёрстывать эти годы. Дерзкая мысль - завершить диссертацию отца. И опять я почти не буду тебя видеть.

Во имя чего? Институт ты, правда, закончишь, но аспирантура как-то сама собой отпадет, потому что выяснится, что папину тему уже кто-то где-то успешно разработал и завершил.

И ты сломаешься, будешь сидеть вечерами дома, не зная, куда себя деть. Ты уже отвыкла от дома, я от тебя, и мы будем только мешать друг другу.

Потом спохватишься, что тебе уже за тридцать, и коли не получилось с аспирантурой и наукой, надо самоутвердиться иначе, и кинешься искать мужа - исступлённо, как всё, что ты когда-либо делала. В комнате нашей появятся коробочки, флакончики, отрезы, запорхают имена всяких там Леокадий и Эмилий из парикмахерской, соседи станут говорить, что ты прямо-таки невероятно похорошела, а в тебя и вправду будто вселился бес. Такой худой ты не была даже в юности, а худоба тебе идет. Подведенные глаза кажутся мрачно-огромными, как у цыганки-гадалки, прекрасный открытый лоб, легкие тени на впадинах скул, ярко-вишневый мазок губ, и вся ты - яркая, гибкая, узкая в том своем узком вишнёвом платье с вышивкой, в котором и шагу-то ступить невозможно (я, во всяком случае, не могла, когда примеряла), а ты в нем летала, скользила, закидывала ногу на ногу, будто родилась в этом невероятно узком наряде, будто он был твоей второй кожей.

Такой ты мне запомнишься, девчонки будут говорить: "Какая у тебя красивая мама!" - и ты в конце концов отыщешь себе мужа в том послевоенном безмужье, причем мужа вполне приличного - доброго, внимательного, непьющего вдовца, даже внешне приятного, даже работающего каким-то начальником. Мы с ним будем решать задачки про рыболовов и пешеходов и вообще отлично поладим, и когда ты станешь удирать от нас обоих - то к каким-то подругам, то заделаешься вдруг заядлой театралкой, то общественницей, то просто будешь задерживаться на работе, по поводу и без повода, лишь бы не домой - я буду осуждать тебя и жалеть отчима. И только через много лет пойму, что не нужна тебе была ни аспирантура, ни кипучая деятельность, ни самый что ни на есть расхороший муж. Что нужен тебе был только Аркадий Синегин, что состоять его женой, его "половиной" на земле было твоим предназначением, призванием в самом высоком смысле этого слова, потому что у больших ученых (отцу прочили блестящее будущее) должны быть именно такие жены. И кто знает, сколько великих человечество получило лишь благодаря этим самым "половинам". Только много лет спустя я пойму, что его гибель явилась для тебя не потерей мужа и любимого человека - это была потеря призвания, смысла, цели жизни, и здесь причина твоих слепых беспорядочных метаний. От работы к работе, от мужчины к мужчине, от роли к роли. Корабль без компаса...

Ты переиграешь десятки ролей, неудавшихся, не твоих, и когда, наконец, вспомнишь о роли "мать" и решишь, что вот твое "то", единственное, я буду уже почти что в другом измерении, за несколько тысяч дней от голубой насыпи. Дней без тебя.

Меня будет шокировать этот внезапный шквал родительских чувств, все твои "моя маленькая", "надень кофточку", твои поцелуи и прочие "нежности". Ты покажешься мне смешной и нелепой, как старая дева со сборками и ужимками школьницы, мне, Иоанне Синегиной, печатающей в городской газете свои вдохновенные опусы на морально-этическую тему. Знатоку человеческих душ. Твоей дочери.

И потом, еще через несколько тысяч дней, сама в голодной запоздалой тоске по твоим "моя маленькая" и "надень кофточку", мучимая стыдом за тупую чёрствость, я буду трусливо откладывать встречу с тобой, должную наконец-то соединить нас, мать и дочь. А пока что посылать тебе в Керчь открытки к праздникам.

"Дорогая мамочка, поздравляю тебя..."

Всегда не любила и не умела писать письма.

В Керчь ты переедешь после моего замужества. Там родился и вырос Аркадий Синегин. Там вы познакомились на пляже. Он подошел и сказал: "Девушка, вы, по-моему, сгорели". Тебе в этой фразе чудилось нечто символическое.

Телеграмма из Керчи меня не застанет - туристская поездка по Италии. Посовещавшись,мне решат не сообщать и не расстраивать - всё равно ведь ничего не изменишь. Я опять опоздаю к тебе. В последний раз опоздаю к тебе, мама!

- А у меня черепаха, - хвастает Яна голубым цветам. - Она домики надевает. У ней во-о сколько домиков. Пальто-домик, платье-домик... Цветы удивленно покачиваются на неправдоподобно длинных стеблях.

- Ой, мама, мамочка, уже поехали...

Сейчас мама встанет, чтобы закрыть окно, она боится за Янины уши. С ее колен, звякнув, упадут ножницы, и пока она нагнется их поднять - всего пять секунд, Яна будет еще видеть летящую мимо голубизну.



© Copyright: Юлия Иоаннова, 2000-2009

Весь роман можно прочитать на ссайте Ю.Ивановой
http://izania.narod.ru/main.html


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[> [> [> [> Как грустно и щемяще! -- Вероника Бережнёва, 15:47:33 07/04/09 Sat

Как грустно и щемяще! Особенно оттого, что это о маме.
Замечательный рассказ!
Спасибо!


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[> [> Yu.Ivanova:Joseph Stalin. The Threshold of the Judgement -- V.Glushchenko, 15:16:48 06/11/09 Thu

Joseph Stalin. The Threshold of the Judgement

PREFACE
Joseph's advocate, his Angel-Guardian, collects testimonies preparing to defend 'the tyrant of all times and nations' at the High Judgement.' To this place, to the Threshold, gets Joanna who at the cost of her life has saved from killers the Leader opposing New Worldly Order of the coming Antichrist. Here on the verge of life and death she gets a chance to return to the past, repeating her way from her childhood to her gray hair, and not only overestimate her own destiny but perceive the depth of the tragedy of her country making the greatest breakthrough in human history from the clutches of consumer's civilization and now again gasping in the world, which 'knows the value of everything but cannot see nothing valuable'...

The AG (the Angel-Guardian), the AD (the Angel-Destroyer), Joseph's photo having no voting right and Joanna were present.

Somebody touches her, and she can see a strange weightless and thin boy in a white shirt and a white panama, in dark shorts and sandals (they had such a uniform in the pioneer camp Artek), in dark glasses on his white and transparent face as if he came from a black-and-white photo. A moony and illusory radiance comes from him, Yana can see chipping plaster on the walls of the corridor, an old broom in the corner and rejected bunch of dried field flowers.
"Stand up," said the boy stretching out his transparent and weightless hand, "He asked to bring you," Yana didn't ask who was 'He' and who was this boy and why a round spot of light over them suddenly turned into something like a lift's floor without walls, and this lift surrounded by darkness from every side suddenly rushed upwards so swiftly that her heart sank into her boots. There was nothing more horrible than staying there among impenetrable doors.
Then the lift or the non-lift stopped suddenly; the dark around disappeared already. There was something silvery like early morning blueness; it was not light and not dark, and a round area underneath where Yana stood in the midst of endless early morning abyss. And the boy himself wasn't visible though she heard his voice by some inner hearing.
"Don't fear, you are on the Threshold, neither above, nor below; neither in the past, nor in the future. You are in the depth."
"In the depth of what?"
"You are in the depth of time, not historical line and not cosmic round but an existential point."
Yana wanted to ask what kind of depth could a point have but the boy answered as if he read her thoughts,
"Here is the beginning of that end where the beginning ends."
"Who are you?"
"I'm an Angel-Guardian, in brief AG.
"Are you my Angel-Guardian?"
"Your AG is with you in the resuscitation department. He has no right to stop historical time line while you are alive."
"Am I alive?"
"You are still alive," repeated AG, "'He' asked to bring you. Here you are, Joseph. It's that very girl."
In the illusory early morning blueness a photo of a tanager arose in a home-made wood frame and became to swing on a nail hammered to an unknown place, a tanager with his hair parted in the middle, with a tender childish mouth and, in contrast, with piercingly hard look into the distance, to his own goal invisible by anybody.
Grown-up Joanna gasped with surprise. Yegorka Zlatov in his childhood resembled him!
The only deference is that Yegorka's hair was blond. "How are you, comrade Stalin!"
The boy on the photo didn't move and kept silence. His dark eyes still intently looked into the distance, to invisible things.
"I have been said that you... It's me, Sinegina Yana. I have come."
He kept silence.
"Don't worry, he can see and hear everything perfectly. Simply his historic time has finished unlike yours, a lover of repeated films. Joseph is deprived of the right to speak until the Judgement."
"Which Judgement do you mean?"
"The High and Last One, which is without appeal. But even at the Judgement Joseph is deprived of the right to speak until passing of sentence. Being his faithful helpmate, bodyguard and soulguard from the first days of his life, I will defend him."
But how can it be..."
"Don't worry, his soul can see and hear you. And it's me who hung his photo for you; you have used to talk to visible image..."
"But what must I talk about?"
"Tell him that you will pray for him as before if you return to historic time. Among other things you are a single girl in the world who has prayed for him for more than half a century. Joseph, would you like to ask Joanna to pray for you, wouldn't you? It's the main thing for us. Don't be silent, Joseph.
So for the AG the photo wasn't silent!
Joanna suddenly clearly understood that this fifteen-year-old boy on the old picture wanted but couldn't ask her for some other and also very important thing. He is either an evildoer of all times and nations, or the greatest light and genius, or a simple 'rough Caucasian and a nonentity. A seminarian who failed to receive full education and was raised by somebody unknown to the very peak of the earthly power for whom she really prayed as granny Xenia had taught her to - for mum, dead and comrade Stalin, at first for the health and then for the rest. It just happened this way.
Can a childish prayer be an unrighteous one even if it has lasted half a century?
When the leader died she was sixteen, and she kept remembering Joseph who went into eternity at the end of her childhood.
No, he wouldn't like to ask her to pray for his eternal rest and for her intercession; he called her not for that. Being deprived of the right to speak, he couldn't say anything without the mediator AG.
"What kind of unsanctioned meeting is it?" she heard a familiar subtle whisper, "I'm raising a strong protest,"
A flat boy-negative, AG's double, appeared before Joanna but his shirt, panama and face were black, and his shorts and sandals on his black feet and glasses were white as if two pieces of paper were stuck on them.
Joseph's photo swinging on the nail that was hammered in an unknown place melted together with the nail. The AG informed that it was the AD, Angel-Destroyer, that they now began to examine judicial materials and testimonies, and that she had no place here.
"We are preparing, you know; the Judgment may begin at any moment".
Where Joseph's photo just hung there appeared a do-it-himself screen made of two starched bed sheets, the same one hung in the clubhouse of her childhood, which was always full up, and they, little ones, ran there and sat right on the floor before the screen throwing back their heads. Everything was like in that time, even the same shaky creaking floors. But behind her back a viewing room appeared for some reason; it had no benches but leather armchairs. And in the front row where higher-up usually sat the AD and the AG settled together as Negative and Positive.
"Turn off the light. It's time to push off," the AD told. Joanna realized that as soon as the light was turned off she would again turn out to be in an impenetrable corridor, the most horrible in the world, and jumped in panic from the eminence to the plank floor before the screen.
The light is turned off and the film reader, the same one from her childhood, immediately begins to flash and rattle, and Yana out of the corner of her eye can see an angle of the light screen and two pairs of feet in sandals - white and dark ones.
The beginning, his early childhood can be omitted... Here all his sins were confessed and blotted out. Joseph in a religious school, a choir... Stop it, here is an important moment. The consecration of water on the Twelfth-day, a public prayer in a narrow street near Okopsky temple, Joseph is singing in a choir. And that was your abominable trick: a phaeton rushing down the street right to the choirboys..."
"Yes, I hate church feasts! If only you missed to pull Joseph from under the wheels of the phaeton...
The boy was brought home unconscious, and lamenting Catherine, Keke, who had already lost three babies prayed God to keep Soso for her, swearing to devote him to God."
And you stayed at his bed for two weeks. Catherine read aloud the Bible. Joseph hardly understood it, and when he dreamed you sang him 'The First Song about The Main Thing'. It was illegal. You had violated rights of the boy taking advantage of his illness and inability to get up and run away from your boring sermons...

THE FIRST SONG ABOUT GOD AND THE FIRST MAN SUNG BY THE GUARDIAN ANGEL TO THE SICK BOY JOSEPH

"God is creative and life-giving Essence of the universe."
"He alone lives essentially; He cannot but live. His essence and being are the life itself. All creation has its beginning because it was brought by Him from non-being into being, and it could cease its being if He willed so. But the Creator has been forever: before the beginning of the world and now. Therefore He is called not only 'Eternal' but 'eternity', not only 'Alive' but 'life', not only 'Infinite' but 'infinity', not only 'Existent' but 'existence'. We call Him 'Existent', i.e. He was, is and will be" (St. Tikhon of Zadonsk), "The Lord is the Spirit and where the Spirit of the Lord is there is liberty (2 Corinthians 3:17).
The children of the Light are created by God 'in His image, after His likeness'. In the same way the rays are sons of the sun bringing light and warmth, i.e. life. He gave them happiness of being. At first He gave it to bodiless angels and then to the first man Adam and everybody lived in love and unity in Father's House until some angels headed by Lucifer wanted to be by themselves. And God fulfilled their wish because He created them free; He allowed them to leave His House for 'the outer darkness' where there was no God, i.e. no Life and no Truth.
And Lucifer became the prince of darkness at the head of the host of darkness, the father of lie and eternal death.
And then "So God created man in his [own] image, in the image of God created he him" (Genesis 1:27).
Man was one godlike being, two persons in one; he had male and female origins united by love.
Also God gave liberty to man providing him with a right of choice: to obey or disobey the Father. "Don't eat of the forbidden tree or else you will surely die."
The prince of darkness who hates God turned into a serpent, tempted the man to disobey, just by telling lies,
"You won't die. If you disobey the Father you will become a god knowing good and evil, free and almighty one.
"Can you feel a snare, Joseph? To be a beloved son and an heir of the Creator and the only source of Life or to imagine insolently, I want to separate from you because I myself am a god."
Therefore, pride, darkness and death entered man's heart together with disobedience.
"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou [art], and unto dust shalt thou return."
"What liberty!" the AD whispered from his place, "Your God is evil."
"Yes, in the same way you tempted the heart of the sick boy Joseph as if you forgot that one who opposed God couldn't dwell in Father's House, darkness couldn't dwell in Light where there is no darkness. God wanted not to punish but save the man by this exile. You know, the Tree of Life grew in the garden!
"And now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever" (Genesis 3:22). It is about Adam. What can be more horrible than immortal evil and eternal isolation from God? Such is the fate of fallen angels, spirits of wickedness in high places.
"And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him."
In order be saved the man was given a mortal body so that he could cast it off in the strange land together with old rags of sin. The man acquired a free right to chose obedience or disobedience to the Creator, Light or darkness.
And the ones like you are immortal in their rebellion against the Creator; your only comfort is doing harm to the Purpose.
"Positive, I protest, let's not deviate," the AD grumbled.
"Negative, you first began to talk about it, OK, keep going. When Adam became mortal, male and female origins in him were divided, and "And Adam knew Eve his wife; and she conceived, and bare Cain" (Genesis 4:1).
Two halves were joined again but not into heavenly double being, the whole one, united by love, but into a couple in order to give rise to human history - subdivision, reproduction and alternation of generations.
From the point of view of an earthly observer, this is eternal death under the mask of eternal life where every new generation grows on the bones of a previous one in order to become food for a following one. From the heavenly point of view, eternal live is under the mask of eternal death because God's love and mercy unite into one organism souls of His foolish and ill children who are at eternal war with each other. So as, when the end of time will come, to separate the wheat from the chaff according to the Purpose.
Sons of God who have chosen Light freely will serve as the basis of recreation of god-man, the new Adam. According to the Purpose, which consists of...
The tape in the film reader began to shake, and the voice-over was interrupted
"The part of the film hasn't finished yet; it is about the Purpose," the AG began to worry.
"Bunglers," the AD whistled beginning to stamp his sandals. Maybe, the tape is torn off... By the way, the more you will convince that Joseph is chosen by God, that he almost from his childhood prepared to become a priest, the more terrible his apostasy will appear to the Judgement."
"There were no apostasy!" the AG in turn angrily stamped his foot in a black sandal. The floor under Yana began to shake, and lightning began to flash. Yana closed her eyes tight in fear, and when she opened her eyes she found herself in one of the days of her wartime childhood in the evacuation zone.

(to be continued)
Joseph Stalin. The Threshold of the Judgement
PREFACE
Joseph's advocate, his Angel-Guardian, collects testimonies preparing to defend 'the tyrant of all times and nations' at the High Judgement.' To this place, to the Threshold, gets Joanna who at the cost of her life has saved from killers the Leader opposing New Worldly Order of the coming Antichrist. Here on the verge of life and death she gets a chance to return to the past, repeating her way from her childhood to her gray hair, and not only overestimate her own destiny but perceive the depth of the tragedy of her country making the greatest breakthrough in human history from the clutches of consumer's civilization and now again gasping in the world, which 'knows the value of everything but cannot see nothing valuable'...

The AG (the Angel-Guardian), the AD (the Angel-Destroyer), Joseph's photo having no voting right and Joanna were present.

Somebody touches her, and she can see a strange weightless and thin boy in a white shirt and a white panama, in dark shorts and sandals (they had such a uniform in the pioneer camp Artek), in dark glasses on his white and transparent face as if he came from a black-and-white photo. A moony and illusory radiance comes from him, Yana can see chipping plaster on the walls of the corridor, an old broom in the corner and rejected bunch of dried field flowers.
"Stand up," said the boy stretching out his transparent and weightless hand, "He asked to bring you," Yana didn't ask who was 'He' and who was this boy and why a round spot of light over them suddenly turned into something like a lift's floor without walls, and this lift surrounded by darkness from every side suddenly rushed upwards so swiftly that her heart sank into her boots. There was nothing more horrible than staying there among impenetrable doors.
Then the lift or the non-lift stopped suddenly; the dark around disappeared already. There was something silvery like early morning blueness; it was not light and not dark, and a round area underneath where Yana stood in the midst of endless early morning abyss. And the boy himself wasn't visible though she heard his voice by some inner hearing.
"Don't fear, you are on the Threshold, neither above, nor below; neither in the past, nor in the future. You are in the depth."
"In the depth of what?"
"You are in the depth of time, not historical line and not cosmic round but an existential point."
Yana wanted to ask what kind of depth could a point have but the boy answered as if he read her thoughts,
"Here is the beginning of that end where the beginning ends."
"Who are you?"
"I'm an Angel-Guardian, in brief AG.
"Are you my Angel-Guardian?"
"Your AG is with you in the resuscitation department. He has no right to stop historical time line while you are alive."
"Am I alive?"
"You are still alive," repeated AG, "'He' asked to bring you. Here you are, Joseph. It's that very girl."
In the illusory early morning blueness a photo of a tanager arose in a home-made wood frame and became to swing on a nail hammered to an unknown place, a tanager with his hair parted in the middle, with a tender childish mouth and, in contrast, with piercingly hard look into the distance, to his own goal invisible by anybody.
Grown-up Joanna gasped with surprise. Yegorka Zlatov in his childhood resembled him!
The only deference is that Yegorka's hair was blond. "How are you, comrade Stalin!"
The boy on the photo didn't move and kept silence. His dark eyes still intently looked into the distance, to invisible things.
"I have been said that you... It's me, Sinegina Yana. I have come."
He kept silence.
"Don't worry, he can see and hear everything perfectly. Simply his historic time has finished unlike yours, a lover of repeated films. Joseph is deprived of the right to speak until the Judgement."
"Which Judgement do you mean?"
"The High and Last One, which is without appeal. But even at the Judgement Joseph is deprived of the right to speak until passing of sentence. Being his faithful helpmate, bodyguard and soulguard from the first days of his life, I will defend him."
But how can it be..."
"Don't worry, his soul can see and hear you. And it's me who hung his photo for you; you have used to talk to visible image..."
"But what must I talk about?"
"Tell him that you will pray for him as before if you return to historic time. Among other things you are a single girl in the world who has prayed for him for more than half a century. Joseph, would you like to ask Joanna to pray for you, wouldn't you? It's the main thing for us. Don't be silent, Joseph.
So for the AG the photo wasn't silent!
Joanna suddenly clearly understood that this fifteen-year-old boy on the old picture wanted but couldn't ask her for some other and also very important thing. He is either an evildoer of all times and nations, or the greatest light and genius, or a simple 'rough Caucasian and a nonentity. A seminarian who failed to receive full education and was raised by somebody unknown to the very peak of the earthly power for whom she really prayed as granny Xenia had taught her to - for mum, dead and comrade Stalin, at first for the health and then for the rest. It just happened this way.
Can a childish prayer be an unrighteous one even if it has lasted half a century?
When the leader died she was sixteen, and she kept remembering Joseph who went into eternity at the end of her childhood.
No, he wouldn't like to ask her to pray for his eternal rest and for her intercession; he called her not for that. Being deprived of the right to speak, he couldn't say anything without the mediator AG.
"What kind of unsanctioned meeting is it?" she heard a familiar subtle whisper, "I'm raising a strong protest,"
A flat boy-negative, AG's double, appeared before Joanna but his shirt, panama and face were black, and his shorts and sandals on his black feet and glasses were white as if two pieces of paper were stuck on them.
Joseph's photo swinging on the nail that was hammered in an unknown place melted together with the nail. The AG informed that it was the AD, Angel-Destroyer, that they now began to examine judicial materials and testimonies, and that she had no place here.
"We are preparing, you know; the Judgment may begin at any moment".
Where Joseph's photo just hung there appeared a do-it-himself screen made of two starched bed sheets, the same one hung in the clubhouse of her childhood, which was always full up, and they, little ones, ran there and sat right on the floor before the screen throwing back their heads. Everything was like in that time, even the same shaky creaking floors. But behind her back a viewing room appeared for some reason; it had no benches but leather armchairs. And in the front row where higher-up usually sat the AD and the AG settled together as Negative and Positive.
"Turn off the light. It's time to push off," the AD told. Joanna realized that as soon as the light was turned off she would again turn out to be in an impenetrable corridor, the most horrible in the world, and jumped in panic from the eminence to the plank floor before the screen.
The light is turned off and the film reader, the same one from her childhood, immediately begins to flash and rattle, and Yana out of the corner of her eye can see an angle of the light screen and two pairs of feet in sandals - white and dark ones.
The beginning, his early childhood can be omitted... Here all his sins were confessed and blotted out. Joseph in a religious school, a choir... Stop it, here is an important moment. The consecration of water on the Twelfth-day, a public prayer in a narrow street near Okopsky temple, Joseph is singing in a choir. And that was your abominable trick: a phaeton rushing down the street right to the choirboys..."
"Yes, I hate church feasts! If only you missed to pull Joseph from under the wheels of the phaeton...
The boy was brought home unconscious, and lamenting Catherine, Keke, who had already lost three babies prayed God to keep Soso for her, swearing to devote him to God."
And you stayed at his bed for two weeks. Catherine read aloud the Bible. Joseph hardly understood it, and when he dreamed you sang him 'The First Song about The Main Thing'. It was illegal. You had violated rights of the boy taking advantage of his illness and inability to get up and run away from your boring sermons...

THE FIRST SONG ABOUT GOD AND THE FIRST MAN SUNG BY THE GUARDIAN ANGEL TO THE SICK BOY JOSEPH

"God is creative and life-giving Essence of the universe."
"He alone lives essentially; He cannot but live. His essence and being are the life itself. All creation has its beginning because it was brought by Him from non-being into being, and it could cease its being if He willed so. But the Creator has been forever: before the beginning of the world and now. Therefore He is called not only 'Eternal' but 'eternity', not only 'Alive' but 'life', not only 'Infinite' but 'infinity', not only 'Existent' but 'existence'. We call Him 'Existent', i.e. He was, is and will be" (St. Tikhon of Zadonsk), "The Lord is the Spirit and where the Spirit of the Lord is there is liberty (2 Corinthians 3:17).
The children of the Light are created by God 'in His image, after His likeness'. In the same way the rays are sons of the sun bringing light and warmth, i.e. life. He gave them happiness of being. At first He gave it to bodiless angels and then to the first man Adam and everybody lived in love and unity in Father's House until some angels headed by Lucifer wanted to be by themselves. And God fulfilled their wish because He created them free; He allowed them to leave His House for 'the outer darkness' where there was no God, i.e. no Life and no Truth.
And Lucifer became the prince of darkness at the head of the host of darkness, the father of lie and eternal death.
And then "So God created man in his [own] image, in the image of God created he him" (Genesis 1:27).
Man was one godlike being, two persons in one; he had male and female origins united by love.
Also God gave liberty to man providing him with a right of choice: to obey or disobey the Father. "Don't eat of the forbidden tree or else you will surely die."
The prince of darkness who hates God turned into a serpent, tempted the man to disobey, just by telling lies,
"You won't die. If you disobey the Father you will become a god knowing good and evil, free and almighty one.
"Can you feel a snare, Joseph? To be a beloved son and an heir of the Creator and the only source of Life or to imagine insolently, I want to separate from you because I myself am a god."
Therefore, pride, darkness and death entered man's heart together with disobedience.
"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou [art], and unto dust shalt thou return."
"What liberty!" the AD whispered from his place, "Your God is evil."
"Yes, in the same way you tempted the heart of the sick boy Joseph as if you forgot that one who opposed God couldn't dwell in Father's House, darkness couldn't dwell in Light where there is no darkness. God wanted not to punish but save the man by this exile. You know, the Tree of Life grew in the garden!
"And now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever" (Genesis 3:22). It is about Adam. What can be more horrible than immortal evil and eternal isolation from God? Such is the fate of fallen angels, spirits of wickedness in high places.
"And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him."
In order be saved the man was given a mortal body so that he could cast it off in the strange land together with old rags of sin. The man acquired a free right to chose obedience or disobedience to the Creator, Light or darkness.
And the ones like you are immortal in their rebellion against the Creator; your only comfort is doing harm to the Purpose.
"Positive, I protest, let's not deviate," the AD grumbled.
"Negative, you first began to talk about it, OK, keep going. When Adam became mortal, male and female origins in him were divided, and "And Adam knew Eve his wife; and she conceived, and bare Cain" (Genesis 4:1).
Two halves were joined again but not into heavenly double being, the whole one, united by love, but into a couple in order to give rise to human history - subdivision, reproduction and alternation of generations.
From the point of view of an earthly observer, this is eternal death under the mask of eternal life where every new generation grows on the bones of a previous one in order to become food for a following one. From the heavenly point of view, eternal live is under the mask of eternal death because God's love and mercy unite into one organism souls of His foolish and ill children who are at eternal war with each other. So as, when the end of time will come, to separate the wheat from the chaff according to the Purpose.
Sons of God who have chosen Light freely will serve as the basis of recreation of god-man, the new Adam. According to the Purpose, which consists of...
The tape in the film reader began to shake, and the voice-over was interrupted
"The part of the film hasn't finished yet; it is about the Purpose," the AG began to worry.
"Bunglers," the AD whistled beginning to stamp his sandals. Maybe, the tape is torn off... By the way, the more you will convince that Joseph is chosen by God, that he almost from his childhood prepared to become a priest, the more terrible his apostasy will appear to the Judgement."
"There were no apostasy!" the AG in turn angrily stamped his foot in a black sandal. The floor under Yana began to shake, and lightning began to flash. Yana closed her eyes tight in fear, and when she opened her eyes she found herself in one of the days of her wartime childhood in the evacuation zone.

(to be continued)

http://izania.narod.ru/english.htm


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[> [> [> Ю.Иванова. Этот текст по-русски. Иосиф Сталин. Преддверие Суда. -- Семен, 13:48:08 07/06/09 Mon

Глава из художественно-документальной мистерии (романа)Ю.Ивановой "Дремучие двери"

Иосиф Сталин. Преддверие Суда

ПРЕДИСЛОВИЕ:
Адвокат Иосифа, его Ангел-Хранитель, собирает свидетельства, готовясь защищать "тирана всех времён и народов" на Высшем Суде. Сюда, в Преддверие, попадает и Иоанна, ценой собственной жизни спасающая от киллеров Лидера, противостоящего Новому Мировому Порядку грядущего Антихриста. Здесь, на грани жизни и смерти, она получает шанс вернуться в прошлое, повторив путь от детства до седин, переоценить не только личную судьбу, но и постичь глубину трагедии своей страны, совершивший величайший в истории человечества прорыв из тисков цивилизации потребления, а ныне вновь задыхающейся в мире, "знающем цену всему, но не видящем ни в чём ценности"...

Присутствовали:
АХ (Ангел-Хранитель). АГ(Ангел-Губитель).Фото Иосифа, не имеющее права голоса. Иоанна. Тётя Клава (билетёрша).

Чьё-то лёгкое прикосновение, и она видит странного, невесомо-плоского, будто сошедшего с черно-белой фотографии, мальчика в белой рубашке и белой панамке, в тёмных трусах и сандалиях - такая форма была у них в Артеке, в темных очках на белом прозрачном лице. От него исходит какое-то лунное призрачное сияние, Яна видит облупленную штукатурку на стенах тамбура, старый веник в углу и выброшенный букет засохших полевых цветов.
- Вставай, - сказал мальчик, подавая ей прозрачно-невесомую руку, - Он просил тебя привести.
Яна не стала спрашивать, кто такой "он", кто этот мальчик и почему круглое пятно света под ними превратилось вдруг во что-то вроде пола лифта без стен, и этот лифт, со всех сторон окруженный лишь тьмою, вдруг понёсся вверх, так что сердце в пятки ушло. Всё равно не было ничего страшнее, чем оставаться там, среди дремучих дверей.
Потом лифт-не лифт остановился внезапно, тьмы вокруг уже не было. Серебристая, будто предрассветная голубизна, не свет и не мрак. И круглая площадка под ногами, на которой стояла Яна среди сплошной предрассветной бездны. Да и самого мальчика видно не было, хотя она слышала его голос каким-то внутренним слухом.
- Не бойся, ты в Преддверии. Не вверху и не внизу. Не в прошлом и не в будущем. Ты в глубине.
- В глубине чего?
- Времени. Не исторической линии и не космического круга, а экзистенциональной точки.
Яна хотела спросить, какая глубина может быть у точки, но мальчик ответил, будто читая её мысли:
- Здесь начало того конца, которым оканчивается начало.
- Кто ты?
Ангел - Хранитель. Сокращённо - АХ.
- Мой Ангел-Хранитель?
- Твой АХ рядом с тобой в реанимации. Он не имеет права оставить историческую временную линию, пока ты жива.
- Я жива?
- Пока ты жива, - повторил АХ. - "Он" просил привести тебя. Вот, Иосиф. Та самая девочка.
В призрачной предрассветной голубизне вдруг проступила в самодельной деревянной рамке, закачалась на неведомо куда вбитом гвозде фотография подростка с гладко зачёсанными на косой пробор волосами, нежным детским ртом и по контрасту пронзительно-жёстким взглядом куда-то мимо, вдаль, в одному ему видимую цель.
Внутренне ахнула Иоанна-взрослая. Так вот кого ей напоминал в детстве Егорка Златов!
Только у Егорки волосы были светлые.
Она невольно подобралась, как когда-то на пионерской линейке.
- Здравствуйте, товарищ Сталин.
Мальчик на фото не шевельнулся и молчал. Тёмные глаза по-прежнему напряжённо всматривались куда-то мимо, в невидимое.
- Мне сказали, что вы… Это я,. Синегина Яна. Я пришла.
Молчание.
- Не дёргайся, он всё прекрасно видит и слышит. Просто его историческое время кончилось. В отличие от твоего, любительница повторных фильмов. Иосиф лишён слова до Суда.
-Какого Суда?
- Того самого. Высшего и Последнего, который обжалованию не подлежит. Но и на Суде Иосиф лишён слова вплоть до приговора. Защищать его буду я. Верный его спутник, телохранитель и душехранитель с первых дней жизни.
- Но как же...
- Не дёргайся, его душа тебя видит и слышит. А фото - это я для тебя повесил - тебе привычнее разговаривать со зрительным образом...
- Но о чём разговаривать?
-Скажи, что будешь по-прежнему молиться за него, если вернёшься в историческое время. Между прочим, ты единственная девочка на свете, которая молится за него уже более полувека. Иосиф, ты ведь о молитвах хотел просить Иоанну - это для нас сейчас самое главное?.. Не молчи, Иосиф.
Значит, для Ага фотография не безмолвствовала! Иоанна вдруг ясно поняла, что нет, о чём-то другом, тоже очень важном, хочет и не может попросить её этот пятнадцатилетний мальчик на старинном снимке. То ли злодей всех времён и народов, то ли величайший светоч и гений, то ли просто "кавказец неотёсанный, нуль без палочки". Недоучившийся семинарист, неизвестно кем, Светом или тьмой, вознесённый на самый пик земной власти... 3а которого она действительно молилась, как научила бабка Ксения - за маму, папу и товарища Сталина. Вначале о здравии, потом об упокоении. Просто так уж сложилось.
Разве может быть неправедной молитва ребёнка, пусть и длящаяся более полувека?
Когда вождь умер, ей было шестнадцать, и она продолжала поминать Иосифа, ушедшего в вечность с концом её детства.
Нет, не о молитве, не о вечном покое себе, не об её заступничестве хотел он просить, не для того позвал. Но ничего не мог сказать без посредника АХа, лишённый слова.
- Это что ещё за свиданка противу правил? - услыхала они знакомый вкрадчивый шёпот, - Заявляю решительный протест.
Перед Иоанной возник плоский мальчик-негатив, двойник АХа, но рубашка, панамка и лицо у него были чёрные, а трусы, сандалии на тёмных ногах и очки - белые. Будто на стеклах очков налеплены две бумажки.
Фото Иосифа, снова закачавшись на вбитом неведомо куда гвозде, растаяло вместе с гвоздём.
АХ сообщил, что это АГ, Ангел-Губитель, что у них сейчас просмотр судебных материалов и свидетельских показаний, и ей здесь не место.
- Готовимся, знаешь ли, Суд может начаться в любую минуту.
Там, где только что висело фото Иосифа, появился самодельный экран из двух крахмальных простыней - точно такой висел в клубе-бараке её детства, всегда набитом битком, куда они, малышня, бегали "на протырочку" и устраивались прямо на полу перед экраном, задрав головы. Всё было, как тогда, даже настлались сами собой такие же шаткие скрипучие полы. Но за спиной почему-то оказался вполне цивильный просмотровый мосфильмовский зал, не со скамейками, а с кожаными креслами, а в первом ряду, где обычно размещалось начальство, устроились рядом АГ и АХ, негатив и позитив - точь-в-точь представители Госкино на худсовете.
- Гасите свет, пора начинать, - прошелестел АГ.
Иоанна осознала, что как только свет погаснет, она снова окажется в дремучем тамбуре, страшнее которого нет ничего на свете, и спрыгнула в панике с площадки прямо на дощатый пол перед экраном.
- Тётя Клава, почему в зале посторонние?
Невесть откуда взявшаяся в экзистенциональном времени свирепая билетерша тётя Клава из детства спешит на разгневанный голос АГа откуда-то из предрассветной вечности. Яна ползет от неё, втискивается меж рядами кресел, и в этот момент свет гаснет. Но тут же трещит, вспыхивает проектор, тот же, из детства, Яна видит краем глаза угол светящегося экрана и две пары ног в сандалиях - белых и тёмных.
- Начало, раннее детство можно промотать... Здесь всё давно исповедано, чисто. Иосиф в духовном училище, церковный хор... Стоп, вот момент существенный. Крещенское водосвятие, молебен прямо на узкой улочке возле Окопского храма, Иосиф поёт в хоре. И эта твоя гнусная проделка - бешено мчащийся с горы фаэтон прямо на певчих...
- Да, терпеть не могу церковные праздники! Если б ты не успел выхватить Иосифа буквально из-под колёс...
- Мальчика принесли домой без сознания, и рыдающая Екатерина, Кеке, у которой уже умерли трое младенцев, молила Господа оставить ей Сосо, поклявшись посвятить его Богу.
- А ты две недели вместе с ней не отходил от его постели. Екатерина читала вслух Библию. Иосиф едва понимал, и, когда дремал, ты напел его душе Первую Песнь о Главном. Это было незаконно, ты нарушил права отрока, воспользовался его болезнью, тем, что он не мог встать и убежать от твоих нудных проповедей...

ПЕСНЬ ПЕРВАЯ, НАПЕТАЯ АНГЕЛОМ-ХРАНИТЕЛЕМ БОЛЯЩЕМУ ОТРОКУ ИОСИФУ О БОГЕ И ПЕРВОМ ЧЕЛОВЕКЕ.

«Бог есть творческая животворящая Суть мироздания».
"Он один существенно живёт, не может не быть. Существо Его и естество есть сама жизнь. Всё содеянное имеет начало, так как Им приведено из небытия в бытие; и могло бы снова не быть, если бы Он так изволил. Но Создатель как был всегда - и прежде мира, так и ныне. И как прежде не мог не быть, так и не может не быть. Поэтому не только называется "Вечным", но и "вечность", не только "Живой", но и "жизнь", не только "Безначальный и Бесконечный", но и "безначальность и бесконечность"; не только "Пребывающий", но и "бытие". Мы называем Его "Сущий", то есть и был, и есть, и будет». Святитель Тихон Задонский/
« Господь есть дух, а где Дух Господень, там свобода"/2 Кор. 17, ." 3/
Дети Света сотворены Богом "по образу и подобию". Так лучи являются сынами солнца, несущими свет и тепло, то есть жизнь. Он подарил им счастье бытия. Вначале ангелам бесплотным, потом первому человеку, Адаму, и все жили в любви и единстве в Доме Отца. Пока некоторые ангелы во главе с Денницей, не захотели быть сами по себе. И Бог исполнил их волю, ибо сотворил свободными, позволил уйти из Дома во "тьму внешнюю", где нет Бога, то есть Жизни и Истины.
И сделался Денница Князем тьмы над воинством тьмы. Отцом лжи и вечной смерти.
И тогда «Сотворил Бог человека по образу Своему, мужчину и женщину сотворил их"./Быт. 1,27/
Это было как бы одно богоподобное существо, Двоица. Мужское и женское начала, спаянные любовью.
Бог и человеку даровал свободу, предоставив право выбора: послушание или непослушание Отцу. "Не ешь плодов с запретного древа, или смертию умрёшь".
Князь тьмы, ненавидящий Бога, обернувшись змеем, соблазнил человека ослушаться, просто-напросто солгав:
- Не умрёшь. Не будешь слушать Отца - сам станешь, богом, ведающим добро и зло. Свободным и всемогущим.
- Чуешь ловушку, Иосиф? Быть любимым сыном, наследником Творца и единственного источника Жизни или дерзко возомнить: "Хочу от Тебя отделиться, потому что я сам - бог".
Так вместе с непослушанием в сердце человека вошли гордость, тьма и смерть. Так он оказался на чужбине, был изгнан с неба на землю.
" В поте лица твоего будешь есть хлеб, доколе не возвратишься в землю, из которой ты взят; ибо прах ты и в прах возвратишься"./Быт.3,19/
- Ничего себе свобода! - прошелестел со своего места АГ, - Он злой, ваш Бог.
- Да, именно так ты смущал сердце болящего отрока Иосифа, будто запамятовав, что не может противящееся Отцу пребывать в Доме Отца, не может тьма пребывать в Свете, в Котором нет тьмы. Не наказать, а спасти человека захотел Господь этим изгнанием. Ведь в раю росло Древо Жизни!
"И теперь как бы он не простёр руки своей и не взял также от дерева жизни, и не вкусил, и не стал жить вечно. "/Быт. 3,22/. Это об Адаме. Что может быть страшнее бессмертного зла? Вечного отлучения от Бога? Такова, Иосиф, участь падших ангелов, духов злобы поднебесной.
"И низвержен был великий дракон, древний змий, называемый Диаволом и сатаною, обольщающий всю вселенную, низвержен на землю, и ангелы его низвержены с ним"./Отк.12,9/
Во спасение было дано человеку смертное тело, чтобы он мог сбросить его на чужбине вместе с ветхими лохмотьями грехов. Человек получил право свободно избрать за свою земную жизнь послушание или непослушание Творцу, Свет или тьму.
А такие как ты, АГ, бессмертны в своём бунте против Творца, ваша единственная отрада - вредить Замыслу.
- Протестую, Позитив, давай не отклоняться, - проворчал АГ.
- Ты первый начал, Негатив. Ладно, продолжим. Когда Адам стал смертным, мужское и женское начала в нём распались, и "Адам познал Еву, жену свою; и, она зачала, и родила Каина"./Быт. 4,1
Снова соединились две половинки, но не в небесную Двоицу, спаянное любовью целое, а в супружескую пару. Чтобы дать начало истории человечества - дроблению, размножению, смене поколений.
С точки зрения земного наблюдателя это - вечная смерть под маской вечной жизни, где каждое новое поколение вырастает на костях предыдущего, чтобы самому затем стать пищей для последующего. С точки зрения неба - вечная жизнь под маской вечной смерти, ибо Любовь и милость Божия чудом скрепляют в единый организм вечно враждующие друг с другом души своих безумных больных детей. Чтобы, когда наступит конец времён, отделить "зерно от плевел" согласно Замыслу. Свободно избравшие Свет сыны Божии послужат основой воссоздания богочеловечества. Нового Адама. Согласно Замыслу, который состоит в том, что...
Бобина в проекторе внезапно заходила ходуном, дикторский текст на полуслове прервался.
- Часть ещё не кончилась, там должно быть о Замысле, - заволновался АХ.
- Сапожники! - свистнул АГ, затопав белыми сандаликами. - Вечно ты, Позитив, на плёнке экономишь. Небось, обрыв на склейке... Кстати, чем больше ты нас будешь уверять в избранничестве Иосифа, что он чуть не с младенчества готовился к священству, тем ужаснее покажется Суду его отступничество.
- Не было никакого отступничества! - гневно топнул АХ в свою очередь ножкой в чёрном сандалике. Пол под Яной заходил ходуном, заблистали молнии. Яна в страхе зажмурилась, а когда открыла глаза, очутилась в одном из дней военного своего детства, в эвакуации.

(продолжение следует)…


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[> [> The film produced on the basis of Yulia Ivanova's fairy-tale -- V.Glushchenko, 15:23:21 06/11/09 Thu

The film produced on the basis of Yulia Ivanova's fairy-tale
The film 'In the country of Snares'

This is an interesting and special opinion of the film 'In the country of Snares' produced on the basis of Yulia Ivanova's fairy-tale 'The Moony Clock' in 1975. This fairy-tell narrates about children of school age. They get to a fairy country and pass through different trials and obstacles but no matter how difficult and dangerous their journey is they try to do their best on their way to spiritual liberation.

In the Country of Snares, an Existential Gnostic Mini-Serial
It seems incredible that this cult parable about a trial way of a Gnostic, made by the venerable producer Kirill Malyantovich at the studio 'Multtelefilm' of the Creative Association 'Ekran' in 1975 waited the meeting with viewers for more than fifteen years. Being only once shown on TV in a formatted version, in the year of sixtieth anniversary of the USSR, the film was laid on the shelf for a long time (being written in 1970, this narrative of Yulia Ivanova, which was cinematised, came to readers much later in 2001). Meanwhile, no serious conversation about ways of Spiritual Liberation can be held without mentioning of this masterpiece. It's this way that 'October Children'(1) Oleg Kachalkin and Vasilisa Petrova chose. Their souls captured in puppet appearances go on a journey alone the country of snares in search of The Book of Wisdom. Sixty fairy-tell years - this is the term assigned for the children by the mad Magician for deliverance from illusions and attachments of the materialist world. The October Children fight their way through the Kingdom of Fear where living dead bodies coming out of their gravestones grasp their legs; where they are seized by personal desires in the Kingdom of Mother-Laziness; and where they cultivate indifferent attitude to the world of material welfare in the country of belongings with its ideology of unlimited consumption. But the hardest trial waits for the heroes in the Kingdom of Impenetrable Stupidity - only acquired Gnosis (Knowledge) can give them ability to distinguish between real and unreal things, see truth and discern lie under all its masks. Will Kachalkin and Petrova be able to pass through the Seven Gates and pass through the initiation; will the Way be opened before them? The Demiurge(2) keeps awake and despatches a policeman Samson Strong to intercept a monster from the lower world, and therefore, the last fight of adepts is ahead... Now in the stuffy atmosphere of impending Cataclysm the film is topical as never before because millions of viewers are faced with the last choice: to surrender to hopelessness of existence or enter battle against invisible prince of this world.

--------
(1) 'October Children' - Communist organization of young schoolchildren, active during Soviet period.
(2) The Demiurge - In the philosophy of Plato the creator of the universe.

Translated in English by Vladimir Glushchenko

http://izania.narod.ru/english.htm


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[> [> [> Этот текст по-русски: О фильме на основе сказки Ю.Ивановой "В стране ловушек" -- Семен, 14:00:21 07/06/09 Mon

На форуме Изании Андрей написал

Случайно нашел в Сети еще одну версию "В стране ловушек" (в лучшем качестве, чем в прошлый раз):

http://fenixclub.com/index.php?showtopic=84540#queue

Меня очень позабавила аннотация того, кто разместил мультик:

"В стране ловушек, экзистенциальный гностический мини-сериал

Кажется невероятным, что эта культовая притча об Испытательном пути гностика, поставленная маститым режиссером Кириллом Георгиевичем Малянтовичем на студии «Мульттелефильм» творческого объединения «Экран» в 1975 году, ждала встречи со зрителем более пятнадцати лет. Единственный раз показанная по телевизору - в перемонтированной версии – в год 60-летия СССР, картина надолго легла на полку (написанная в 1970 году повесть Юлии Ивановой, по которой снят фильм, пришла к читателю еще позже – в 2001 году). А между тем без упоминания этого шедевра не обходится ни один серьезный разговор о пути Освобождения Духа. Ведь именно на этот путь вступают октябрята Олег «Алик» Качалкин и Василиса Петрова (Аркадий Маркин и Ирина Шилкина), чьи души, плененные в кукольных оболочках, отправляются в странствие по Стране ловушек в поисках Книги мудрости. Шестьдесят сказочных лет – срок, отведенный детям безумным Волшебником (Сергей Мартинсон) на избавление от иллюзий и очищение от привязанностей материального мира. Октябрята с боем пробиваются через Царство страха, где их хватают за ноги вылезающие из-под могильных плит живые мертвецы, одолевают личные желания в Царстве матушки-лени и вырабатывают равнодушие к миру материальных благ в Стране вещей с ее идеологией неограниченного потребления. Но самое тяжелое испытание ждет героев в Царстве непроходимой глупости – только обретенный Гнозис дает способность различать между реальным и нереальным, видеть истинное и различать лживое под всеми личинами. Смогут ли Качалкин и Петрова пройти Семь врат и принять посвящение, откроется ли перед ними Путь? Демиург не дремлет и посылает на перехват монстра из нижнего мира – милиционера Самсона Силыча (колоритный Рогволд Суховерко), а значит, впереди – последнее сражение адептов… Сейчас, в удушливой атмосфере надвигающегося Катаклизма, фильм как никогда актуален: ведь миллионы зрителей стоят перед последним выбором - сдаться в плен безнадежности существования или вступить в поединок с невидимым князем мира сего. "

В стране ловушек


год: 1975 г.
производство: СССР ВГТРК, Творческое Объединение "Экран"
жанр: Мультипликационный сериал
режиссер: Кирилл Малянтович
в ролях: Аркадий Маркин, Ирина Шилкина, Сергей Мартинсон, Рогволд Суховерко, Наталья Крачковская, Татьяна Пельтцер
Содержание:
1 серия. Вот и не верь в волшебников
2 серия. Из огня да в полымя
3 серия. В плену вещей
4 серия. Книга мудрости

1. История о волшебных приключениях двух московских школьников в мультипликационной стране. Расказана в духе Шварца легко и задорно. Мульт-эпизоды перемежаются кино-эпизодами, в которых отрываются любимые с детства актёры.

2. К самым обыкновенным мальчику и девочке приезжает... на лифте пожилой волшебник с бородой. У него проблема: не может открыть чемодан. Девочка стала попрекать старичка в том, что он мужчина, но не может сделать такой простой вещи. По просьбе девочки волшебник отправляет ее в волшебную страну, но она попала в страну ловушек, полную опасностей. Мальчик, несмотря на предупреждения, отправляется вслед за ней, чтобы вызволить зазнайку в случае беды. Если ровно через час дети не вернутся, то не вернутся никогда... После этого зрители будут следить за приключениями героев уже в виде кукольной мультипликации. Удастся ли детям выбраться?..

Есть ссылка, по которой можно скачать фильм
http://fenixclub.com/index.php?s=3f9c6c02983a020feecef004588ee351&showuser=

Информация о 7 месте в рейтинге лучших гностических фильмов и описание фильма как гностического произведения взята из Живого Журнала
http://moskovitza.livejournal.com/36664.html
со страницы человека скрытого под псевдонимом Moaskovitz и женской аватарой (или фото)

Moaskovitz периодически выкладывает свои рейтинги: 10 лучших детективных фильмов, 10 лучших фильмов про любовь и т.д. и обсуждает их с посетителями этой страницы.


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[> New Site of YULIA IVANOVA in English -- Семен, 04:00:50 06/17/09 Wed

http://www.izania-e.narod.ru


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