January 30

What does a man need for an all-round happiness? Just a couple of wheels for a handcart. That yesterday's project turned out a disgraceful failure.

In the morning I entered the Club a quarter of an hour later because I was helping the porter (alias security guard) to fix up the entrance door. Vibrations from close explosions warped it out of order. Now it functions OK.

The first to visit the Renderers' today was Lenic bringing home in the downhill town two canisters of water and his mom. He introduced us to each other. Her name's Elena. Yet their visit was fairly short – the telephone doesn't work again.

I idled about with the Azimov's padded masterpiece. Araic came. Then Ahlya.

At eleven a pair of minor bosses popped up and promptly decided to close the hangout. I had only to pack off.

Ahlya was going in my direction to look something up in the MAYAC Shop. On the way, I urbanely small-talked to her about water-bringing (when passing by the Three Taps).

The lunch was somehow superfluous.

One page from ULYSSES.

During Ahshaut's day nap there occurred two missile attacks. I said to him "there-there" and "all's OK" and he slept off again. Sahtik and Roozahna at once shot off and out of the room to lean against the yard walls for a shelter.

I puzzled out an oillamp going by Lenic's instructions. It is furnished with a rotating mini-spindle (made of a hair pin) that propels the wick up and down. At the moment the project lacks only a chimney. Glassblowing is beyond my scope.

I'm out of sorts today – having a fever that at times swells up to a delightful feel of the marrows simmering inside my bones. The state brought to mind a line of mine from the times past which runs like:

"even in dying there is some pleasure"

Though the myness of the line is rather dubious. With multitudinous myriads of human beings that were and are and will be on this world, you never can tell for sure whose thoughts you are munching at any given moment.

The only bitter note in this blissful biting the dust is the throaty cough—dry and suffocating. Last time that I felt this way was full three years ago during my pre-wedding good-bye trip to the Ukraine.

At today's yoga I felt as if submerged in a warm soothing bath. However the joints' flexibility kept falling short of their normal capacity.

In the water queue they were bemoaning a girl of nine and her father, a man in his prime, killed by a shell hitting their house. Some other people got wounded by that explosion too, poor things.

In the afternoon, my mother-in-law called me out to fetch two pails of water. She somehow managed to jump the queue at the nearby street water-hose.

On my way I caught myself drooling over a kid tricycle kicking about in another one's yard. Three sturdy wheels!

Late in the evening after kneading the dough, the mother-in-law left for the Underground to join the rest of our family while the dough was getting ripe. An hour later a stout errand boy from the Twin Bakeries brought to our place a sizable portion of dough sent by his master as was arranged with my mother-in-law a week ago. I had to go over to the Underground to inform on this overproduction crisis.

Right now Sahtik has arrived home together with her mom to handle the problem. High time for me to end this entry.

Good night.