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 20.

Tonight well over seventy shells and missiles hit the town, the local radio said.

This day saw the final breakdown of the inner telephone service in the town and Krkjan was once more captured by phedayeesPHEDAYEE —
     (Armenian borrowing from Greek) "freedom fighter".
.

In the morning I took the whetting hand-mill back to Carina's.

Then I went to the new headquarters of the gas pipeline constructing firm and talked to Samvel, the head of the firm, asking to lend me nine slabs of reinforced concrete.

As a guarantee for the transaction I offered a paid-up and endorsed bill from a local manufacturing firm for 18 such slabs that I had bought but didn't manage to ship over to our Site when the war broke out.

However, I have paid the money and in a brighter future they'll have to supply the goods. Right now no enterprise operates down here. Neither does his organization. He does not use the slabs stockpiled at his firm grounds.

Of course, lending me those nine slabs he wins nothing. Yet, nothing is lost, ain't it? Just a deal of good will on his side backed up with the bill I'll leave with him.

The answer was in the negative.

I went uphill and from ten a.m. till noon stayed at the Club of Frozen Hearts.

Alia, the typist, disclosed her major wish—to escape from down here by a helicopter.

Rita, the Secretary, talked botany. Even trees in the woods have nationality, related she melancholically; as for those growing on the borderlines betwixt states they are mere half-castes.

<!-- Why, privately, I also have certain daydreams of a quiet place in some peaceful country for the entire family but:

  • Krishna doesn't recommend anyone to care too much of one's family;
  • three years ago, in a private talk, I promised to stay here till my death; and
  • I'd rather die of a bullet than in the wake of some ecological disaster.
-->

At lunch the mother-in-law (Voice of the People and Transmitter of the Local Radio New) voiced the public shock caused by the bloody murder of a dentist last night.

<!-- Silly indeed – to perish by hand of a gold seeking criminal compatriot at the time of struggle for national liberation. -->

One page from ULYSSES.

The mother-in-law baked lavash breads and I was sent with a share of them to Carina's. (Orliana had received a supply from her mother-in-law.)

Soon after my return home Anichka rushed in with the invitation from the landlord and landlady to marvel from their (upper) floor balcony at the great fire in Krkjan.

All hurried out and upstairs.

A few minutes later Roozahna ran back dancing and chanting hilariously, 'Turk's house is on fire!'

<!-- Poor imp, she thinks houses have nationality.-->

Yoga.
Supper.

All have gone over to Underground. I am reading from Montaigne by the candlelight.

A long and winding road to a far off water-spring is still ahead.

So long, all and everything, and—in a way of incantation— good night.

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