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



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

head header

February 29.

A day-off.
In the morning one page from Joyce.

The mother-in-law baked breads and sent me to the downhill town. I made only a quarter of the way and then was stopped by Sashic honking from his car.

He took responsibility for the bread delivery both to his wife and to Orliana.

I took Sahtik and Ahshaut from Underground for a walk.

At the crossroads of Martuni Street and the Upper Park Street, we had a quarrel.

I proposed walking a few hundred meters further up Martuni Street to have a wider view of the mountains, but Sahtik baulked fearing to go too far from Underground.

We bantered silly words back at each other.

Then, I stubbornly plucked up Ahshaut to go along; she stayed behind.

On our way uphill Ahshaut was delighted with a flock of white doves on the sidewalk.

The keeper, a man in his prime, was feeding them on the sun-flooded side-walk next to the columbary thrown together of roof-tin sheets.

Ahshaut took to the birds at the first sight calling at them with the same word he uses to name the hens in the landlady's yard: "Coh-coh!"

The sun shone brightly making the road issue faint vapors thinning away in the dazzle.

However, on the roadside there still remained patches of hard granulated snow.

Ahshaut started to avidly scoop it and load—handful after handful—into the right pocket of his red coat (an unthinkable pleasure were his Ma nearby at the moment).

On our way back I spotted Sahtik chatting with Lydia at the latter's gate.

Getting a fresh audience in my person, Lydia once again mustered inventory of the things in their verandah perforated by fragments from a close Grad explosion. Then, she brought out from the verandah in question a handful of candies for Ahshaut.

Her generosity brought to light the fact of his pocket being already filled up to the brim. The snow was thrown out. Ahshaut's protesting howl was pleasantly silenced with a piece of candy. I got it in the neck for standing by when he risked his dear health in that dirty awful snow.

<!-- Real stoics are hammered out in marriage.-->

After lunch we had a nap: all three of us. There was no gas. Its absence gives me creepers of mortifying terror.

All were trying to comfort and convince everybody else that the cut was caused by some maintenance work in the gas system.

Well, this time it turned out to be something of the kind.

Sashic visited our place with his family bringing fifty-kilos of potatoes.

The local regiment of Soviet Army was ordered to withdraw from the region. One of the officers—packing up for the pull-out—sold Sashic all his food supply and some pieces of furniture.

No yoga.

I played some of backgammon with Sahtik.

At supper there were four of us. Then, I escorted them to Underground. The gas jet down there lightens the room OK.

It was an absolutely peaceful day (except for our quarrel at the crossroads).

The water-walk's ahead.

I can think of nothing else to do but write –
Good night.

стрелка вверхвверх-скок