December 20

Tonight well over seventy shells and missiles hit the town, so the local radio. This day saw the final breakdown of the inner telephone service in the town and Krkjan was captured once again by the phedayeesPHEDAYEE —
     (Armenian borrowing from Greek) "freedom fighter". .

In the morning I took the whetting hand-mill back to the Carina's. From there I walked 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 the local manufacturing firm, SMU-12, for 18 such slabs that I had bought but didn't manage to ship over to our Site when the war broke out. As long as I have paid the money, then in a brighter future they'll have to supply the goods. Right now no enterprise operates down here. Neither does Samvel's organization. The slabs are idly 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 part, backed up with the bill I'll leave with him.

The answer was in the negative. (Though he did wear that combat fatigue from my dream awhile ago.)

I went uphill and from ten am till noon stayed at the Club of Frozen Hearts. Ahlya 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,' shared she melancholically, 'as for those growing on the borderlines betwixt states, they are mere half-castes.'

At lunch the mother-in-law (Voice of the People and Transmitter of the Local Radio New) voiced the public shock caused by the 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 the Carina's. (Orliana had received a supply from her mother-in-law.)

Soon after my return, Anichka rushed in with the invitation from the landlord and landlady to come to their balcony and marvel the view of 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 the 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 the way of incantation—Good night.