Tagged with #bayan

The Winter. of Russia. The 1930s. The hunger. The freezing 30. A poorly dressed boy runs through the courtyard with a clutch of chestnut, behind him is a chestnut in a hat and a telogreek.

The boy runs and thinks, “No, it can’t be so decisive. I come from a good family, I want to learn, develop myself. I want, in the end, to be like my favorite writer Ernest Hemingway – brave, strong... Fishing on the beaches of Cuba. And not to run away from the castles in this city.”

of Cuba. The heat. Ernest Hemingway, truly brave and strong, sits on the beach and drinks rum from his throat surrounded by hot cubes. Hemingway thinks, “No, this is not life. There is no heroism here. The people need nothing, 24 hours a day warm, the brains melt, women are fat. If we were in the cool Paris with my friend André Moreau, we would drink a good French wine with him, light a fireplace, and talk about eternity.”

and Paris. It is cold, it rains for a week. André Moroi sits in his roof, drinks a third bottle of cognac, and two Parisians sleep in bed. Morua shakes and says, “No, that’s not life. Decadence is something. The simulation. See, if I were now in the cold Voronezh, I would find my friend, the great writer Andrei Platonov, we would have with him at once a hundred grams of real Russian vodka, and immediately would be closer to eternity.

and Voronezh. The Winter. The frost. The hunger. Andrei Platonov, in a hat and a telogreek, sits on the Voronezh court behind the boy and thinks, “B**! I will kill you, I will kill you!!“!”