автограф
      never came across my mug
    in no hard copy's back cover?
  neither did I, yet – relax!
this here autograph tells more
         than a pic no one cares for...


The Ficuses in the Open


:from the personal
site
of
a graphomanic

   


head header
    days:

March 10

"All we are saying is to give to peace a chance."

Sometime, somewhere we kept silent, and the chance was snatched by the war. Today, it had its say.

In the morning the mother-in-law was the first to come from the Underground. And she quite rightly criticized me for not covering the drinking-water pails with lids. So, I started for an early water-walk.

At the Club, a half-hour talk of purely literary nature with Lenic. Then, a medley talk with Rita.

When I came back home, barrage of GRAD bursts went pop somewhere out of the town.

Sahtik took it for phedayees'PHEDAYEE —
     (Armenian borrowing from Greek) "freedom fighter".
shelling of Shushi and in fear of Azeri retaliation she grabbed Ahshaut and set off for the Underground.

Soup for two, for the mother-in-law and me.

Sahtik, at her mother's suggestion, wrote a note to Orliana inviting her with the children to spend a couple of days in the Underground near our flat, which is safer than theirs. Being "Mr. Postman", I ran into Orliana by the Lower-Round-Road, a couple of hundred meters from her place. She was going to the uphill town to pay the last tribute to the deceased father-in-law of her brother-in-law.

(...in Armenian there are specific terms to cover any degree and shade of kinsmanship, each of those terms accounts even for the line and depth of interpersonal affinity...)

On reading the note, Orliana shook her head and said "no". These days wouldn't be too awful, intimated she, as long as phedayees'PHEDAYEE —
     (Armenian borrowing from Greek) "freedom fighter".
offensive at Shushi deferred for a month or so. Besides, the tendency for settling this here conflict by peaceful means grew quite prominent in the latest developments.

At that point a spray of GRAD missiles crashed smack in the middle of town and put emphatic period to her piece of oratory.

She ran back—down, I walked back—up the hill.

After the mother-in-law had baked breads, one more GRAD volley hit the town. I went downtown with the breads.

Again, desolate streets echoing to separate blasts. When I neared the Upper-Round-Road commonly named Piatachok, a random blast blew up a tree some thirty meters ahead of me.

Sashic was standing at the entrance door of their apartment block together with two other men. The Trinity was haloed with the common stink of mulberry hooch.

'Here comes my bajanagh (wife's sister's husband)!' announced he my coming to his partners. His finger was already clear of the dressing.

Then, I went to the Orliana's. When my mission was over, and I started back, Valyo solicitously called after me to be careful.

Yoga. Lonely supper. Water-walk.

The heavy snowfall going on and on all this day and night looked like Destiny's demand not loose the chance, take the ax and sledge, and go after that GRAD-felled tree in the round Piatachok square. The tin woodburner in the Underground needs firewood.

I did three goes.

Now, at these small hours, ain't it too late for "Good Night"?

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