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

Stepanakert
                   Saga

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

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    days:

December 19.

'The moon is so big,' said Sahtik yesterday night standing against the dull-glassed panes in our immensely wide communicational window.

Her hint was more than clear: when a woman looks up don't let her down. I was in the bed already–ready and willing.

She went out into the kitchen-aka-hall. And listening to the sounds of the preliminary splashing I was appalled at the extravagance with which she used the water.

<!-- I do have to get up at the unnatural hour of 3 in the morning to fetch this bloody water, do I? -->

However, the overwhelming readiness quenched the shallow thoughts of the kind.

The alarm clock had been alerted but I knew all too well that Sahtik would defuse it.

Did she know that I knew it? During the night I awoke repeatedly with the frustrating thought: what if she had forgotten to stop the shrill sound of the alarm clock?.

My meanwhile dreams were peopled with

... brave soldiers in brand new uniform with brightly shining green (sic!) boots and then all images and views coalesced into one miraculous vision of an electric bulb issuing its homely light...

I got up at six in the morning. My new mode of life was over. The alarm clock never sounded that night.

From nine till two p.m. I was at our Site doing hard labor at improving the layout.

At home after a late lunch I started assembling a handcart.

Actually, it was just re-adjusting of a discarded pram. I had found it in the realm of dust, behind the rugs and blankets dividing off the habitable part in Underground compartment.

Putting a 40-liter milk-flask on it I'd be able to bring water from far off water-heads. I hope the queues over there are not so endless.

Mila, a dear friend of Sahtik's, called in.

Her husband, Samvel, had enlisted a phedayee PHEDAYEE —
     (Armenian borrowing from Greek) "freedom fighter".
group. The day before he came back home after a night in Krkjan with a bullet slash in his wedding trousers.

'And he never brings home a pennyworth of looting', said Mila with an inseparable mixture of pride and sorrow in her voice.

Earlier, in one of the water-queues I heard a story about some
phedayee PHEDAYEE —
     (Armenian borrowing from Greek) "freedom fighter".
who, after a lucky combat operation, sent to his father ten sheep, a shotgun and two tooth gold-cases.

Loving son is a lump of pride for any father.

<!-- Was that father's pride really unalloyed? If so he's even luckier than his son. -->

It's ten past nine p.m. All of my family went to Underground while I was out after the water.

The handcart was tested and proved it's OK.

On finishing this entry I'll visit them in Underground and then - to bed.

Therefore, good night to all and everything.

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