пускай с моею мордою
   печатных книжек нет,
  вот эта подпись гордая
есть мой автопортрет



рукописи не горят!.. ...в интернете ...   

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February 18.

It turned out a still and peaceful day as warm as a late spring day.

And in the preceding night dream

... it was summer with Sahtik and me having a quarrel in the Ukrainian town of Konotop and I left for neighboring Bakhmuch town but because of a blockade and the disrupted railroad communication I had to travel in a truck whose dump was packed up with a flock of civilians and only I was wearing sea-bee's uniform and when we arrived to Bakhmuch the trucker demanded fifty monets and I searched through my pockets only to find a handful of motley nickels some of them blackened and some brand new but obviously not enough to pay the fare and I agonizing from the humiliation started to bum money from the passers-by until an unknown girl entered the room where Sahtik and me still kept quarreling and said it's merely a dream and nothing else ...

Till noon I was at the Club.

Shamir, the porter, and I discussed whether or not the Russians were going to sent troops down here.

'Not a chance!' was our conclusion.

After the lunch one page from Joyce translated.

On the landlord's advice, I took out a certain spare part from the gas oven after which modification my mother-in-law baked breads in thrice shorter time as before.

In the twilights getting more and more dense I went to the downhill town carrying breads.

It looked like a meek springtime evening when nice souls feel inexplicable languor, and young women and girls have a sad and dismayed look about them.

After supper the mother-in-law reached her turn to take water from the water-spring she had been queuing to from seven in the morning.

I brought the water in.

Then, she and Roozahna made off to Underground.

It must be a good night!

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