December 2
The first snow has come. The nature's old show is going on. As well as on is going the miraculous lull—no shelling, neither at night nor in the daytime.
In the morning representatives of the stronger sex in the Editorial House got together to have a symposium in one of the rooms downstair. I was not aware of the happening till a messenger dropped in the Renderers' to say that Boss wanted to see me in a neighboring room. On entering the room where a group of men huddled around a chessboard on a desktop next to a cognac bottle with a tray of filled up sniffers, I made a mute U-turn and doubled back avoiding eye contact with Boss.
(...maybe, Sahtik had some grounds for criticizing my mixing abilities...)
Arcadic visited the Renderers' to bemoan his defeat in the elections—unshaven and mumbling about some dirty fraud.
Lenic designed a new heading for this paper. Henceforth, it is read THE FREE ARTSAKH.
Araic, an apprentice renderer, presently on his leave, dropped in in quest for his salary.
After the midday break, the usual "no-work" was announced.
I took the heating block-stone home and knocked up another one (though not so powerful) to substitute it at the work place.
Yoga. Supper.
The mother-in-law has gone over to the Underground. Sahtik and the kids are watching a film on TV.
I have just finished reading the bible in Western Armenian. Somehow, I couldn't locate the story of Judith, and I also failed to find the place where He, the Carpenter, says: "Not peace, but sword I have brought unto you."
Anyway, I'm too fed up with it and not ready for a repeat perusal. I'll just put it aside altogether.
Yet, finishing is the start for something else. Whither shall we sail? I opted for restarting the translation of Joyce's ULYSSES—my fits and starts affair for three or four years already.
It's nine in the evening. The electricity has just been cut off. I finish these lines not seeing them—just as the hand goes.
We are setting off for the Underground.
Then I'll be back and alone.
So long, the best of worlds.
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