Heart-to-heart letters: to MrRight from CCCP

Larisa Kharakhinova

Heart-to-heart letters: to MrRight from CCCP

Preface

Syberia, summer`89. I finished studying in University and was going home. One day one guy knocked my room in hostel. He was of leaders in our young communists organization. Quite pretty guy, spick-and-span.

– Hi, girls! Is there Larisa here?

– Here I am!

– I heard you`re going home, to Ulan-Ude?

– Yes, in days.

– Have you bought a ticket?

– Not for a while yet.

– I have a favour to ask of you

– What about?

– The fact is that – three germans came here in cultural exchange, from Leipzig. They want to the Lake Baikal. Could you accompany them to Ulan-Ude? But there – you must find how to get them to The Lake. We bear all expenses.

– Oh, yes!

– But here is one nuance – they are too capricious. They don`t like our dish, our hostel, mosquitos and, generally, our town in their eyes – solid wilderness. Not so civilized like cultured Europe. They disgust Syberia. They turn up noses at all and don`t want to associate (i.e.drink) with us.

– They disgust Syberia!?! And where have your germans dug in? Address, please! I`ll «acquaint their faces with table». We`ll see who is «cultured» here. I`ll compel to love every gnat in our wilderness.

– Please, more gently! We also, are going to Leipzig in exchange. How we`ll be met there depends on that how much these guys love this trip on the Lake.

– Well, I`ll try not to sully image of Motherland, I`ll put up a good show, being dragon, but devilishly charming one.

I saluted jokingly and made magnificent gesture type of knick-knack by hand, then turned round on the heals and went to create this `devilish charm` on my face for conquering germans.

Guests from Leipzig stopped at our student`s hostel. I knocked at the door and heard: “Herein!”

My sciolism in German was from childhood. Movies, movies, movies – of Second World War. And so, every «ich-bin»-phrase begot slightly bellicose mood. And maybe because of this ABC-reflex or something otherwise, some merry boldness suddenly has come on me, – I decided to play like in movies.

«Proud «Uberalles»? Well, I`ll remind you of The Spring-45! All these knights will fall in «sous l’ombre d’un klukva majetueux.»

Almost by kicking – I flung the door and «with corporal steps» came in the middle of the room. Standing in pose «a la Gestapo» – from well-known movies – (feet are hip width apart, arms behind the back, nose slightly up). I slowly look round this Trinity with leaden stare, in which I industriously put in maximum of mocking neglect, – not less than 9 grammes. Then, raising a little my right eyebrow and slightly frowning the left one – I enunciate like an iron commissar – in hanging silence:

– Guten Tag, genossen! My name is Lara. Ich! Bin! Lara! Who doesn`t like mosquitos here – please, hands up! Who`s not understood – hande hoh!

Three guys stiffen in astonishment, looking over this strange subject who has burst into their room in the `midmorning` and demands to lift their hands up. Then they slowly exchanged glances and began to smile.

– I`m directed to you from Committee. If you not against – I`ll be your guide and get you to the Lake Baikal. You must obey me – implicitly! Step to left – step to right – shooting – without warning! Questions?

They were not against, they were impressed by my `devilish charm`. But alas, my fount of eloquence was wasted in vain. Only one of them can speak Russian freely. And we went through the Syberia,in international company, playing cards, chess, chuck-a-luck, etc…

People in the carriage were looking through the windows upon our bewitching endless expanse. They admired aloud, somebody was shooting a film. While I looked at his kamera, another fellow in very white vest passed by me. I turned my head purely by reflex – that irreal white spot fell within my view, – all people around were in `march-in-field-colours` – but this «dude» made his defile in such a defiant snow-white vest, which – on his suntanned and straightened shoulders – looked «Super-Upper». And generally, all his slim body impressed like «das ist fantastisch!».

Later I saw him in our roomette. And we got acquainted, due to my germans. They told me that `this boy is riding in this train from Canada`. I amused a little with this `train-from-Canada`.

And here – I began to stare at him. It was the first human specimen from the ocean which I saw nearby. However, quite handsome specimen! Only – not a word in Russian. And my English was effaced from the memory, just after exam 3 years ago. Because of its complete uselessness.

His name was Brad.

What impressed me from the first sight – his eyes. His look was not such as of our guys, not like of germans. There was openness of some another strange `format` there in, unlike those I ever saw before. Such crystal-clear unprotected openness – it took my breath away when I met with his eyes – slightly sad, but the same time – mischievous – in the depth of them amused `micro-devillets`. And this `crystal-clear unprotectedness` was fraimed by such bent downiness of cilia – flapping by which he could drive away light-winged butterflies flying on such devilishly magnetic lights of his pupils which must be black like any respectable pupils, but his ones shone, not only in light of lantern on platform where we went to walk, but also in light of the stars above our heads.

Language barrier was overcoming with difficulties. Nevertheless, I knew that Brad was from Vancouver, he was 19 and went from Moscow to Nakhodka, from there – to Tokyo. I strained all my residuary convolutions to winkle out that little of English which remained in memory and tried to compensate shortage of vocalulary by gestures. However, in youth people understand each other easier. It`s enough that heart was alive and eyes not sleepy.

Then we exchanged with addresses and said `bye-bye` to each other. In the morning I came down from the train and he went on further. We parted …

In Ulan-Ude I dove in life of a young specialist on the armament factory. If someone that time would asked me : «Do you know what is Hades?» – I would answer without a bit of hesitation – «Yes!!! – It is our mechanoerecting workshop!» It was rumbling behind the wall which divided, not saving nobody of us – from its terrible roar. All conceivable and non-conceivable sounds of metal-to-metal interaction – clank, squeak, howl, scream – in ultrasound, knock, grind, repeating over and over again – didn`t stop – not for a minute. It was impossible to get accustomed to that. Sometimes I wanted greatly to become completely deaf, – such beyond all bearing! This continuous rumble blocked my ears, pulsated in temples, beated in occiput, cinciput, in all my head, which replied with terrifying migraines.

Deaf and almost dead I returned in hostel and fell down on my bed trying to relax this painful spasm in head. At night sleeplessness or nightmares tormented me. It all repeated day by day, from morning to evening. And no gleam could be expected in nearest 3 years which I had to work out there as a young specialist.

…And life in the country was very same as our mechanoerecting workshop… Perestroyka… Agony of The Great Empire… There was being broken Her backbone… and all conceivable and non-conceivable sounds of Hades resounded in aether. And also it blocked our ears and souls. Also there was a wish to become completely deaf. And there was sleepless the spirit, restless in anguish – amid awry reality of that time. And our, formerly, Victorious Spring-45 was advancing to December-91 of Belavezha Accords, which ment disintegration of USSR… breakdown of `The Great Empire`…

The only distraction was reading. One day I saw by chance a luxurious green book. It was the Big English-Russian dictionary, second volume. I bought it and immediately felt inspired with studing English. What for? Simply… And here I had remembered about Brad, like in far away fog, as if long – long ago we walked with him along the carriage on that night platform.

Looking in my new dictionary I wrote the first message and sent it to Canada. After that my heat faded away. This epistolary feat of arms exhausted my creative ardour.

But in pair monthes I received my first epistle from behind The Iron Curtain. And there appeared cheerfully-sinister thought – «Well, for now I`m under observation of KGB…» (`Cause of the armaments factory of mine).

Such was beginning of our correspondence, between two opposite worlds.

There appeared fervour. The factory already didn`t seem of Ninth Circle. In contrast to this Hades – there appeared second pole of reality which drew all my attention. Letters became necessary as the breath of life. I lived with them – from one to another. They, those letters from-out `The Iron Curtain`, changed my hopeless reality of those days, bringing there in – spirit of the game and courage of the careless youth. And my life was in them. And there glimmered my spirit, warmed by this irreal passion.

Our correspondence began as «Is there life on the Mars?» Such far-away and strange seemed his world to me. Which was the «happy-end» – read on further.

Letter 1

19.10.1989

Dear Brad,

Здравствуй, или, как там у вас – How do you do?

Do you remember me?

If you don`t, – look at the photograph and don`t break your head. My name is Larisa. I think that if I should write you «Hello, my fifteen-year-boy!» then it`s possible your memory remind you about our conversation. How are you? What is your dear health? What do you do now?

Beforehand I want to bag your pardon for my mistakes – I write letter in English for the first time. This letter is written with helping of a dictionary. You can`t imagine my heroic unavailing efforts to express a flight of thought with my little English. How can I fly with a burden of a big and thick volume. It`s sad.

I see your lenient smile, but I hope, that my English will improve if we become friends. If you will be writing me, your letters will be stimulus for me to learn English.

Now, if you will write a letter, tell me about you. It`s interesting for me.

Good-bye!

P.S.

I think that the world is cramped – we shall meet again. We shall meet surely. Write me. I wait for your letter.

Larisa.

PP.SS. If you`ll write a letter, send me your photograph, please, because I can forget your face.

Letter 2

23/12/1989

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

How long was travelling your letter (and mine was too).

Thank you very much for it. Your picture (as your girl) is very nice. It was a happy chock to me. I like to receive letters unexpectedly (and with such pictures). The good mood is keeping long after. Your soft and delicate irony is charming. I`m shining still.

But my shine is clouded little with the thought about throes of creation that accompanies my writing each letter to you. Look, how I`m doing it.

First: I write it in Russian. Then I translate, then read, sadly laugh, think, smoke, drink some tea, think, tear it to pieces, immediately sorry about it and I begin all over again (the same story, etc). At last I despair, cross all out, take a new paper and give myself a promise to write for the last time and…

Enough about it!

Excuse my barbarian use of Divine English Grammar! I`m savage. But I`ll do all in my power to reform (myself). There is no Royal road…

Thank you for your invitation. I should like to see your birthland (very much), I was never being abroad, but there are many problems to do it.

1) One of them is an invitation. It must be official, signed and sealed, with the date (from… to…), etc. It may gives you many troubles. I don`t know how much nerves can be taken away by this procedure in your country. I don`t want to bother you.

– But let`s assume it to be made.

2) Then – wonderful events will come for me. – I`ll begin to draw up my documents… Oh, Brad, you don`t know what is it –`to draw up one`s documents to go abroad`! Even if I had known English tolerable I would not find my words to describe you that. Though, maybe, the devil is not so bad, as he is painted. (He is much worse!)

Let`s assume it to be made too.

Then, after long-suffering stage № 2 – it`s difficult to take ticket to Canada. Perhaps, you had never stand in a queue, therefore you cannot know what is it. But in our country…

3) Ticket-queue to America is the most long. If somebody wants to go to Canada, one must care about tickets long before.

`1,2,3` – this is concise description of my `unforgettable travel to Canada`. Of course, if to try – anything may happen. I hope all will be best. If you don`t afraid of troubles, try to realize point 1. Other I`ll take upon myself. Good luck to you! Далее –

I want to correspond with you, because I want to know who you are. I know about americans only from TV and newspapers. But I prefer to associate with a living soul. (I mean your soul.)

You`re retaining in my memory as a `fascinating infant with sad, but mischievous eyes`. Indeed you were such boy. Don`t be offended, please. I don`t want to hurt your feeling. It`s my way to speak. Hope, that you understand and forgive. I think that I cannot write about grave and sage things with such `smart` language as mine.

I don`t know what a style of letter must be, particularly to foreigner. My free-and-easy (undully familiar) style of conversation is a survival of student`s life. I write to my friends such letters. I have many girl-and-boy-friends in CCCP, we were studing together and our letters prolong our friendship and preserve the Warmth of our hearts. The human Warmth is the most invaluable treasure in whole Universe. Do you agree?

I can write some more, but I`m afraid to draw away your attention from your affairs. So: as my girl-friend wrote me one day: «целую в щечку и ставлю точку»

(Litterally: `Kiss you to cheek and put a point`.)

Your karate-dancer – Larisa.

P.S. Now is 1990! You`ll be 20! My congratulations to You!

And again – forgive my mistakes and unexactitude of my translation.

Good-bye.

PP.S.

Try to read between. Sorry, I am without dictionary, therefore –

I want only say that living speech is without rules usually. And my creation in this letter have a character of up-writing.( It mean =`living speech`).

I like life and I think that life is breaking all rules (not break, but is undependently from all rules). The life is living.

Этот сумбур подразумевает мои накопившиеся, рвущиеся наружу мысли и чувства, которые хотят сказать, что жизнь – это вечно живое, вечно изменяющееся. Её нельзя замуровать заковать в какие-либо жесткие рамки, она их ломает, рушит, прорывает и все делает по-своему,– вопреки и несмотря на. Язык – тем более, он рождается с каждым человеком и~~~~ достаточно. I`m sorry about this side of paper.

Larisa.

Letter 3

30.01.1990

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

Thank you for your letter. I was very glad to receive it. It was as a sudden ray of light in the darkness. I don`t want to say `in the darkness`, but your letters brightly stand out against a background of my daily occurrences. I don`t like the humdrum of life.

It does not mean that my life is boring. I have much to work. I work at a factory as a mathematicion. I`m a young specialist, just after studing. But I don`t like my work. I don`t like factory in general, because it is converting living people into machines. I feel that in myself. It`s sad.

It`s sad too, that this city is strange for me. I left my friends in the past. Now, we can only write letters each other and sometimes, at the meeting, call up old memories: `Do you remember…?` and so on.

New Year night I was alone, because my aunt and uncle had gone to their friends, and I was `tete-a-tete` with TV-set. I was looking in a dark space, dreaming about something. There was a candle on the table in front of me and New-Year tree was shimmering behind me. All around was silent and slightly wistful, beautiful and mysterious. Indeed, it was miraculous.

I cannot express (describe) it in my words, but imagine – falling snow, somebody`s remote revelry, silence, pensive loneliness – only you and nothing else, only you and millions snowflakes and stars, flying through the darkness. You are face to face with the whole Universe. Past and Future, Space and Time, Life and Death are mixed in a phantasmagoric dance…

Wonderful and rare state of mind…

I was sitting in an arm-chair, drinking champagne and reveling my mood. It seemed to me, that it could continue eternally.

All was exellent!

Suddenly I felt poetry in my heart…

It happen sometimes and there is nothing of terrible. It is a pernicious habit, but more harmless than to smoke for example. I took a paper, pen and began to dush off. And here my inspiration decided to splash out into English. I was understanding that it`s blasphemous, nevertheless, my Muse is capricious and if she had taken something into her head – I am weak to stop her. – I am a slave of my weakness.

In short – my New Year masterpiece:

There is no Love – only illusion.

There is no thruth – only confusion.

There is no Dream – only small hope.

There is no anything – only sad mope.

Just after writing I became to be proud of myself. I was up in the pink clouds.. I had a radiant picture of… Shakespear, Byron, Shelley… I decided to continue this enumeration –

There is no ….? – here my vocabulary had run low. I floped down on the ruthless-sharp stones of the reality. Yes, `confusion will be my epitaph`!..

The enchanting New-Year night was going to the end…

Here is lyrical digression about my English. I can compare it with roaming in a dark forest. Without seeing my pass I now `forehead against the tree`, now `foot into ant-hill` or sprawl. But I try to march as if without embarrassment, careless whistling. Probably it`s fun. Oh, Teacher, don`t laugh at my first clumsy steps.

How did you meet the New-Year? What holidays do you like? And what do you like in general? What is more often in your mood – cheerfulness or sadness? How had it happen that you came into our country? What the wing or wind had brought you into that train?

By the way, I inquired about a trip abroad, the results are sad. Yes, it`s expensive (only tickets are cost my whole year`s salary), but it`s not only expensive – it`s impossible, because there are no tickets to Canada. Many people wish to fly there, and soviet air-lines cannot satisfy all (i.e. the tickets, which one can buy for the roubles have been sold forward to year).

So, my travel to Canada must remain only in dreams. It`s not the most sad thing in my life. For example, imagine, that I cannot comeback from Canada to CCCP by the same reason – that is more sad and fun, isn`t it?

So it goes…

There are many problems in our country nowadays. This time is very difficult for us. Yet, I believe in bright future. Time will show.

Such long letter is this. I cannot another.

Now it`s cold. Temperature is about -40 C.

I like skiing too, and I like to dance, but now I must sit at my table whole day. It`s terrible. Гиподинамия is my whip. (I cannot find this word in my dictionary, it means `without motion`). I dream to go in for sports and not smoke. When the winter will finish I`ll begin to run every morning and jump and dance and fly and… –I like to dream, do you?

Now is night. All around me is sleeping. Only my window is warming a cold darkness.

Silence… immobility… rest…

So long, Brad!

Take care of yourself.

Your lonely friend – Larisa

P.S. How can I forget you? (You are a `ray of…`)

Good-bye! (Bye-bye…)

Letter 4

15.02.1990

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

Your letter is before me at last. I`m thankful for your care for my person. It`s so kind of you.

But I wrote, my travel to Canada cannot be real, at least in these 1-1,5 years. Money is not tremendous problem – to realise it (tickets) – is the task.

I am a simple soviet human and cannot fly over the ocean. Yet, I must say: 1. the travel is not the end in itself, 2. I cannot even imagine to come there in your absence.

I agree with you in `…it would be to complicated a pattern for either you or me to comprehend…`– as I understand,– indeed, to write each other as `Soviet to Canadian` is not natural. And God forbid to write seriously about own political opinions or about home-foreign policy of countries.

Policy – momentary, human soul – immortal.

So, let`s talk about eternity, infinity… etc

There exist two humans, who write letters. It`s possible, they will never meet once again (agree, there is any charm in this – `letters from nowhere`). They are like two straights in Euclid space, intersected in one point and speed away – each to own eternity and infinity. Good luck for them!

My dear infant, may I try to explain you the sense of `…sad, but mischievous eyes…` what it means.

`Sadness` is not a simple sadness, it means that inexpressible and agonizing-beautiful state of human soul, when you are looking at the stars (or at the sea),

`but mischievous`– it means `homo sum humani nihil a me alienum puto`. Now, I think, it is not far from truth. (Believe me, I never mistake).

You can say that it is only compliment (or slander?) – if you think so => I pass. But there are no many people who can be rewarded such a compliment from me. (Be proud!!! – ha-ha)

What is concerned my apologies for my writing – well, I take into my consideration. И понеслась душа в рай! (и туша вдогонку)

Yes, it`s difficult, but interesting to communicate with a foreign language. Particularly, when you try to express something non-concrete, but ephemeral, ellusive. – Like an elefant in a china shop.

Что ж, the elefant is a noble animal. Let`s excuse it`s awkwardness in the shop.

As I can see, you began to touch with Russian language. I salute this. Здоровья, счастья и успехов на этом тернистом пути!

As usually I write letters at night, sometimes whole night. Do you want to hear one story before your sleeping? (But why do I think that you read it at night?). When my brother was infant (he is the same age with you) he liked to listen to me.

This is a short, naive story with happy-end.

… Once upon a time there lived a girl named Little Red Riding Hood – a dreamy and diffident teenager. She was a pride of her school – not smoked, not drank, got exellent marks, and what is more – she believed in Communism, in short – model for imitation – and she walked with vigorous strides to this `bright future of all mankind`. The horizon was clean and serene, daybreak coloured her youth in loving-pink tones. She was luxuriating under father-mother wing, flying somewhere in clouds, building castles in the air,–the world was beautiful and wonderful!

One day this pink-cheeked child entered to university, far from home. What happened afterwards – nothing is known…

Only lifeless ruins of beautiful in former time castle are mourned by the grey clouds and every night heart-rending moans terrify wayfarers. Ghosts are naughty.

But what has become of child? What does she build now? Does she believe in something? Where is she tramping with such bitter and devastated smile?

…Such emptiness, heartache, and no one to stretch out their hands

In comfort when storms overtake us.

Desires! What the use of desires unfulfilled, vain demands?..

So year follows year – all our best years escape us.

To love… but why should we?.. For a while it is not worth the strain,

And no one can love on for ever.

But look in your heart… does one trace of the past yet remain?

The joy of it all, and the sorrow – mere wasted endeavour…

The passion? Why, sooner or later their honied distemper

By rational caution is cured at one stroke…

And life – if you care to look round with cool-headed attention –

Is simply an empty and rather a second-rate joke. (Lermontov, 1840, Great Russian Poet)

Child of Time! – Cheer up! Eppur si muove! Look, new dawn smiles for you.

At this optimistic note I`m finishing.

I wish you happy dreams.

Don`t forget, write.

Твой далекий друг – Лариса.

P.S. I`ll soon go to official journey, and I don`t know how long it will be.

Please, write me to the address bellow.

670000, USSR, Ulan-Ude, Borsoev street 21-54. This is address of my aunt. I don`t have constant address, but this one is const.

With love – Larisa.

Letter 5

Сегодня я чувствую в сердце

Неясную дрожь созвездий…

(Ф.Г.Лорка)

23/02/90

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

Today I`m feeling a writering mood, so one more immortal chef-d`oeuvre of inspired scribblerness is doomed to appear before your indulgent look.

Likely, as a result of my work with a dictionary I become an irrepressible prattler, who talks sheer nonsense. Indeed, I play with English language as a little girl, who has seized upon her loved toy. Чем бы дитя ни тешилось, лишь бы не ревело.

Simply,–today is the week-end,–vivat!

Oh, it`s such pleasant in Sunday morning to have sleep myself out, to stay little in a bed, to forget for a short while about affairs and give myself up to a blissful philosophizing – a weak-willed body, lazy thoughts, the room is immersed in a sweet languor. Time is slumbering in the kingdom of sleep. Such beautiful to dissolve in the tender arms of Morpheus!

Stand up and fight!

Oh, homo sapiens! (Oh, oh! You are a sapi – yes!)

I throw the window open – a joyful wind burst into my room. – The weather is fine! – The sun is shining, sparrows are gaily chirping, children are noisy on the yard. – Spring!

Spring – shortage of vitamins and peace of mind.

Spring – the time of Love.

Today I love myself. It happen not every day, but today – I admire the sun, the sky, the life!

All is glittering, playing, singing… the heaven fly open!

And even, – can you imagine! – One decrepit fly crawled out from nowhere to buzz her happy hymn of Waking. How and where could she have been sleeping whole the winter?

Oh, wonderful world! I`m touched. Nice God`s creature! It must be so difficult and comfortless, in winter, to sleep among cold stones. `I admire her bravery and perseverance at fighting such a task as this`

// Excuse my little plagiarism. I study your letters diligently. To the point, in the last one the phrase: `I bid you my heart`. Please, explain me. Is it idiom or it`s accepted to write in that way? What it means? How and when can this be used? In my dictionary: `bid` – it`s written something concerned auktion, card games, order.//

I would be standing at the window and wasting sentiments whole day, but today I must kiss my adorable aunt, have been sitting in a library, run along shops – авось(maybe) – it`ll happen to be something-somewhere. Usually, it`s seen from a distance. If you see a crowd(a queue) => go there, if you see a tremendous crowd => run there, you`ll never mistake. Join to this united collective and be meek, but careful (else you`ll be trampled).

Here you can hear last news and rumours, see many interesting people and events, resentfully philosophize about high assignment of Human. After all you`ll be rewarded for your patience.

One day, with my dear cousin I walked along a street. Suddenly we saw a big crowd. The force of reflex threw us into this disturbed mass. As it `d turned out, it was a meeting of protest against soiling Lake Baikal. My young cousin rushly entered in a Committee of saving. Now, at unlimited sittings-meetings these «heros» save our beautiful lake. I laugh at her. Poor girl! But youth is so hasty. I was the same too. I love my cousin, the only allied soul in this city, who truly loves me. Every Sunday evening we usually walk and talk – about many things – about Time and about ourselves.

This time is nervous. There are many irritated people. – They don`t notice the spring – they run somewhere with preoccupied faces, fuss, bustle. The city seems an alarmed hive.

I return home. Tomorrow again the factory – it`ll be tomorrow, but now – I`ve turned on my table lamp and music, sit down in the arm-chair and take a book. Here is such silently and quietly. Loudless music`s tenderly lulling my resting body and nerves, shrouding my mind and carrying away, far from this dissatisfied world.

It`s playing `King Krimson`, my favourite concert `In the court of the Krimson King` (Epitaph – oh, it`s deadly beautiful, Moonchild,etc). I catch the кайф (slang ~~satisfaction). A cup of coffee, a cigarette… it would be fine here a small glass of cognac and … second one… (ha-ha) – in-general – it would be fine. Alas, presence of absence…

I take the russian-English dictionary and go away from all this vanity of vanities.

This evening I devote to you, my dear far-away friend. From-under my pen it`s born this funny and touching letter.

Night on the yard… Time to sleep.

My God! It`s already after midnight. We`re been sitting up very late.

Good-bye! Don`t consign to oblivion.

I`m returning to the night. Lar.

P.S. If my letter or preceeding ones seem to you little sad – take it easy. All is momentary, and our lives, thoughts, emotions. Particularly our emotions… Sometimes it seems to me that you are only result of my imagination. And I talk to the wind…

Without dates ~~ March`90. (91?)

My dear friend, здравствуй!

How are you?

I received your letters and mine, returned from Japan. Difficult to find you. I`ll send you two letters, ne? My poetry to you. Do you like it? Funny, ne?

My dearest starry traveller, please don`t write to the address you wrote before. I do not live there. Your letters will be lost to that address. For now I live in a hostel, for a while, then – I hope to find something else, though it`s very difficult, because shortage of flats, – shortage of all – if you see news on TV, you can imagine that. For now I have a «койка-место» in hostel, literally – `bed-place` or `sleeping place`. It means several women, living in one room. We are not friends, we`re tired of each other, there are no common interests. It`s bad for me to be there in, I try to be anywhere only not at home – I leave hostel early, and come back about midnight. Such is life. But I`m not despairing of it. It`ll finish – sooner or later.

The main of all – this terrible winter has finished. How I was waiting the spring!

I decided to change my work in May, and changed all in my life – what is in my power – my power is a great inside energy that increasing every day.

This summer will be the turning-point in my life – I feel. The only I fear of such a thing as civil war, that is very possible. I`m not afraid of death, but I want to live, because for now I have a sense, or goal, I know what must I do. It would be the great unjustice to be killed in the prime of life, ne? – Bad theme.

Can you imagine I have ability to cure people. (Gift from grandfather).

So I take an interest in such things as magic, mysticism, philosophy, psychology and many other things. For now I`m interested in Buddhism, and China. This or next year I`m going to go there. – The end of the letter arrives before us – so – take care of yourself.

Write to me. I am waiting every day, every evening, etc

So long

Larisa.

Letter 6

18/03/90

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

Your letter from 27.02.90 disarms me, throws me into confusion. How can I – human, accustomed to speak about serious things, maybe the most sacred for myself, by ironical tone, creating a semblance that nothing is sacred to me? – How can I answer on your letter? The one is as a clear, tender voice of a flute at dawn, dewy morning, on which impossibly to pounce on by a cascade of heavy-metal in the glow of a fire.

`What will she say?` – what can I say about that – hardly be expressed even on native language? (How) can I find these words in chaos of thoughts and feelings? Can I get out from this dark maze towards the daybreak and openly smile for you?

…And now I`m walking to and fro in my room and meditating, my thoughts have travelled back to the past, looking through the whole life. I ask questions myself and try to answer. How can I?… – From the heart, too. –

Итак.

Who were, and are, you being for me? – at that time – in the train, and for now – in letters? I should say about a bewitching, mooving melody, has been heard by chance, in passing, but retaining in the heart for a long time, maybe, for ever.

What have I seen in the eyes of the stranger, that such excited and amazed my soul? – I don`t know.

Maybe, as sometimes it happens, – in unlimited searchings and vain throwings, – suddenly glance into one`s eyes and by the sixth feeling guess that something – incomprehensible by thoughts, that cannot be said by words, but inexplicably attracts. Alas, the instants fly away and this unexpressed and misunderstood something retains only in memory of the heart.

For now your existance sometimes seems to me abstract, almost unreal. The fact that, most kindly, we will never meet once again makes our existance for each other as if `non-existant`. Our communication through the correspondence of letters has a touch of a fantasy (for me). Play of imagination. Maybe, it`s even fine.

Oh, yes, it would be delightfully romantic – two strangers under a starry sky…

A starry sky – it`s beautiful.

The starry sky, in that I look for my God, – was looking for a long time, through the disbelief and despair, through labyrinths of doubts and `smoke of sigarettes`.

It`s difficult to find the Belief, when all Gods are thrown down, when all is pulled down to the dust and only chilling winds freeze a naked, defenceless soul.

It may seem that it`s bad for me. Not, I don`t complain. But (sometimes) this still hurts…– I`ll not speak about this any more.

`What does, and did, she think of my heart?` – dear Brad, what do I think? Just maybe I could have fallen in love with you. But the fate is taken us away to different sides. Each of us is going own road. – But that moment cannot be struck out of the life.

I would be listening to the flute at dawn, but I`m `moonchild, playing hide-and-seek with the ghosts of Down`.

I can only say by the words of Byron –

Remember me is all I ask.

But if remembrance proves a task – forget!

And what is more, 07.07.1990 I`ll be 24. Sunset of the life for me. I`ll not live `lo-o-ong and ha-a-appy`. Time is speeding. I`m retiring to the night. Adiue.

Good-bye!

Sincerely your – with love,

Larisa.

P.S. reading your letters I can say – I guessed.

Возможно, это письмо покажется тебе корявым или что-нибудь в этом духе – поверь, что оно искреннее, кончаю столь быстро, так как боюсь удариться в пустопорожний speech about nothing. Если стечение обстоятельств заставит меня замолкнуть – ты будешь извещен об этом моей cousin or brother.

So long. With love – Lar

P.P.S. I cannot feel your language. It`s sorry. What it means – `to be cautious of one`s letter`?

Letter 7

31.03.90.

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

Today I`ve received your letter from 09.03.90.

Thank you – it was so fine. But, as I can suspect, either you hadn`t my letter from about middle of February ~ 15-16.02.90, as if it `had lost` by road, or – I don`t know.

Though, it`s quite innocent. Of course, it`s a pity, but it`s get worse. Now I`m just after my work, so – there is no idea in my head. Yet, I prepared to write, maybe, whole the night. – I`m usual night-owl. I like to think or work at night. I love night time. Thoughts are very clean, emotions and feelings `fly up` from earth. – Fine!

Today I received a business letter from China – something about semigroup theory, sheer nonsense, – marasmus. Yet, I must read that, digest my reading – my God! No power. Not long ago I received a letter invitation on conference Hong-Kong-91, China-92. Such unexpectedly and undeservedly. What I am a scientist? – `a young hope`, then undisciplined student – one of thousands – in the past, – in present – I am a worthless mathematicion, hardly remembering the multiplication table, – in future – ? I hope, my descendants will go farther. Though, maybe, the last splash of my slumbering intellect, and – hello, Hong Kong!

It would be fine! It would be fine-fine!

Alas, it`s too late to begin all over again. My best years have sped away such useless! It`s my tragedy – not only mine and even not tragedy. I never worry about `what cannot be cured`. Simply – c`est la vie.

And, in general, Mathematics cannot peacefully coexist with a woman in one room, in particular, in mine.

Indeed, Math requires for head to be clean and cold and abstract. But I cannot be such lady – stone-heart, iron-nerves, ice-soul. (It seems to me, those people are most happy).

So, my `fervid` head presents a lot of odds and ends. Particularly, for now.

Thus => M&W=>MorW – quod erat demonstrandum!

My delightgul aunt, in her sententious speech on the occasion of my `broken fate`, utters: `Don`t forget – the assignment of woman is to bring up children`.

Then she begins to enumerate numerous dignities and brilliant qualities of young men, who `would be glad, not only glad, but happy` and… at her opinion, and – in my age, and … it would be fine… and… so on…

Usually I respectfully listen to her, smiling and noddling.

In the end we exchange phrases, such as:

– Look around! What do you see?

– Nothing extraordinary…

– Look into a mirror at last! You are already 23!

– Of course, I look into a mirror, at least, every morning. Yes, I`m only 23…

– Oh, terrible infant! Look into your future!

– Oh, dearest aunty! I`m not prophet.

I go away (from her) with philosophical mood and deep in thoughts about life. – What is our life? –

A short flash in the darkness, and, in a global sense, all is nothing – vanity of vanities. (My) life costs nothing. In the name of «What» I must flutter? – To attain success, any illusive summit – of something? Oh, let me live, love, laugh – as I want, – according to my own presentation about values of ` This World `, to see the world by my own eyes, to think my own thoughts, and, after all, to die my own death. – And nothing more…

All another is tinsel.

And, in-general, the life is X-game – any crazy chain of games, yes, I am the player. Yet, I live such, as if the life is a significant thing, but not forgetting this `as if`, i.e. in the terms said above, those games must be games of chance, else it`s lost once edge or a sense. Maybe, such approach to the life is going away from reality, but I quite perceive the last. It seems to me, – all of us are children playing `in life`. There exist the necessary rules for all – don`t kill, don`t harm, love one`s neighbour, etc – and there exist sets of rules for each – rules for one`s games.

I take into consideration the first (hold sacred!), but the second – it`s occuring to me for the course of events or a train of thoughts. I cannot foretell what an idea will dawn upon me tomorrow – to become an yogi or to marry, – the life is a coincidence, all is depending on circumstances. Though, not quite so…, even quite not so… – in short, I`ve lost in words (and, likely, in life). Indeed, what I`m a mathematician.

Yet, I try to continue.

Reading your preceeding letter, it seems to me, that you believe in God. I want to ask you: am I right? Indeed, do you believe? God – what it means (is) for you? What is your Belief?

It`s not iddle questions, not abstract interest.

The matter is that – I was being brought up as a `militant ` materialist, and such notion as God was alien for me. It was connected only with perverted knowledges about Christianity, gotten under powerful influence of anti-religious propaganda. I`ll not tell what an image was called up by the word `God` – nothing of respectable. I couldn`t imagine, it seemed to me so funny, that young men can believe in God. In my subconsciousness – there was only that had been knocked into my head (by school, etc).

I was so naive, I thought, that it`s the absolute truth. I`m a perfect boor in another outlooks. It`s interesting for me to have known others, besides creative-Marxism-Leninism. Of course, (for now) there exist the books, in which I should find the answers. But the book – is only book. Quite another matter – somebody`s belief, if it is indeed Belief – it can convince. Did you ever doubt your Belief? – if not – you`re probably a happy fellow.

To believe, the Belief – these words have so great meaning for me (just sacred). I lost ability to believe. Not to believe as to trust, I believe-trust in everything-to-everybody, but to believe in the global sense, – it`s over my power.

I can understand many things by my mind, heart. But any understanding is not belief. Understanding is an instrument, but the Belief is the great inside power, and it`s force – unlimited. That`s what I want to find. It`s necessary to know yourself, get to know the World. Probably, it`s the sense of life.

Everybody is looking for something. What is yours?

Of course, such questions must be discussed not in such a way (in foreign language). It`s necessary to see the eyes of interlocuter, the discussion must be animated, have a dialogic character – question-answer. But, alas, presence of absence.

What can I write any more? For example –

Now I begin to go in for sports. What kind – difficult to say – some special sequence of exercises, invented by me. I want to have a body `without bones`. And what is more, it`s good and useful for health and ideal relation `human-space`. It`s necessary for me to restore my wasted vital energy. I want to feel the space.

I have one `idee fixe` concerned with energy, one experiment at myself. The matter is that – my grand-grand father was very interesting man, not quite usual. He had a great power, likely, he was an extrasense. If to believe in legends (living untill nowadays), indeed, likely at that. It was being said that he could do exstraordinary things, he was shaman. I admire it and what is more – I want to study this phenomenon. Maybe – develop it in myself – why wouldn`t it? – I`m his descendant. It must be possible for me. I can suppose – what and how it`s done, but I know that, I feel. (here is necessary Belief, it`s power). My rest life will be concerned with it. It would be such interesting, but results cannot be foretold, though, I feel – all will be fine! If to try and throw away doubts and throwings – towards to God!

Life is beautiful and wonderful! At least, interesting. Fine!

Necessary to stop smoking at first, – it`s over my power. Maybe, when I`ll marry. Let it will be my wedding gift for a human, who will be made happy by me. (ha-ha)

The end of the letter arrives before us. Thanks for your care for my health, about smoking. I congratulate your future wife with such a wedding-gift as yours (i.e. «well-shaped body of you» :) ).

So long. // don`t forget me when you`re freed by Spring defeat of Winter. (Again plagiarism)//

Excuse my remarks. With love – Larisa.

Letter 8

05.05.90

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

I`ve received your letter from 30.03.90 – such long it`s travelling. Thank you! It`s so, so in-time, such beautiful. Possible, my replying letter will seem to you little sad or dreary. Sorry.

Simply – тоска…

There exists some mood, when there is only one wish – to have slept without waking. There are no emotions, feelings, energy for life – the only devastation хандра.

Without concrete reasons, at least, outside ones. But inside – it`s deeply rooted.

Sometimes it rolls as a wave of profound, causeless sadness. And sometimes – a maddening nostalgia. Rarely, but poignantly. But sometimes I feel myself such… – difficult to express – how, – either spleen or something more. Тоска…

I understand, it`ll end, sooner or later. But for now – it`s terrible. All colours of world grow dark. I`m sick of everything. Unbearable anguish oppresses the heart. And there is no salvation from this. Хочется послать все к черту или самой туда отправиться.

Your letter has saved me. I`m retiring – to the world, which such beautiful, created by our imagination. The world, in which – warm summer nights and the starry sky. There are much music, lights, Youth and Beauty. There are – dewy morning, free wind, cloudless sky. There are…

Do you hear music?

Oh, my dear stranger, may I engage you for a dance?

We`re dancing under a starry sky or in the Heaven, among stars and comets, or – we`ve become comets and we`re flying through the space towards far, strange worlds. The cosmic dust cover our tracks…

We are children of the Earth and our world is wonderful. Печаль моя светла…

For now – deep night. The window is opened and far stars smile me tenderly and sadly – one of them – mischievously. Look at the sky. Do you see the One? It is the most bright. I present this star to you.

Good-bye!

With love –

Larisa.

P.S. If you see a falling star – guess a wish, сбудется.

«Откуда, – спросишь ты, – волна моей печали,

Что бьётся как прилив о каменный утёс»,

– Kоль сердца урожай однажды мы собрали,

Жизнь – это только боль! К чему же твой вопрос?

(Baudelaire `Semper eadem` – one of my favourite poets./ in translation to Russian)

Letter 9

8/05/90

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

Oh, how beautiful your letters! – I`ve loved them. They open the wonderful soul, – soul of poet, dreamer, romantic. Such beautiful that there exist such people, – people, who see the Color of the Wind, who hear the `гул вечности`, whose hearts are vulnerable by Beauty.

How I understand you! I touch with your soul and hear the heartbeat. Your letters, – oh, – I cannot compare it with something, – yes, – Difficult to explain the Color of the Wind, it must be felt. – They inspire me to live, to look at the sky, to believe.

They drop a spark into my heart, unfreeze it.

How I pine for the Dawn, for the Harmony of lost world, for the melody of love. Such a tender sadness, such a lightful nostalgia… my God! Can it really be true? I read over and over and over…

How I`m grateful to fate, thrown me into the train to meet your eyes. I`m afraid to lose you, my friend, I`m afraid that thin thread of our communication suddenly will be torn, and mirage`ll clear away – left only a bitter smile and a lonely echo.

It`s a beautiful night-dream. What will the morning have brought with it?

Tomorrow I`ll go to official journey, untill 15/06/90.

And again in Novosibirsk`s Academgorodok. It`s the town of my youth, my alma-mater.

There`s a little pain to return there again and again. Maybe, one day I`ll return there for ever. Who knows?

I think, this year I`ll been living here still, but I cannot suppose where I`ll be next year.

Life can play solitaire topsyturvy. Please, write me to the address of my aunt. They always know where I am.

Your previous letter was gotten by me just after my long journey in Academgorodok. That splin was called up by this. I`m sorry that I splash out my mood upon you, but I cannot write against myself. – Прости, так вышло…

Крик среди моря!

Чьё сердце, ставши волною, – о волны грусти! – в море кричало? Голос, откуда голос? Какие крылья занесли тебя в пучину?

…каждый вал тебя увлекает, и – вал рассекая грудью, острей чем плавник дельфина, – ты снова исходишь криком: хрипом, хрипом, хрипом…

О, крыльев парус бессильный! На крыльях ласточки хрупкой все дальше, все глубже, глубже, глубже…

Крик среди моря!..

Разве поможет звездное эхо?..

Крик среди моря!.. (Мачадо или Хименес?)

…..

Thank you for your wish for my love. But marriage and love are different notions, not always together. I prefer the second, yet.

Question of a marriage – I never took it seriously. Only with `ha-ha`. Though some people still try to convince me in a historical necessity of this great deed `for the welfare of mankind`.

By the way, if your name is pronounced in Russian, more softly or tenderly [Brad]=>[Bred], it`s get `Bred`=Бред. In Russian it means `fantasmagoria, figment of imagination`. Does it flatter for you? (Excuse my childish trick. It is I – `so-and-so`).

It seems I digressed from the theme. – As always.

Such is woman`s nature.

But if to say not mind, but heart – heart waits for one, who will be the only. It`s ready to wait for a long. Unless it`ll have frozen over completely. Life is cruel, it breaks illusions, dreams; it convert lyric into cynic, lamb into ram. – Anything may happen. Yet, life is beautiful. And heart knows, and waits.

…`Maybe, he will be a stranger on a long night train?` – oh, it would be too romantic, too incredible for it to be real.

But in `that reality` – all is possible.

F.e. imagine – written love, kiss, marriage – and all charms and thorns of it in written form. (Again I laugh, but here is any bitterness).

Ветерок постучался негромко

В мое сердце при свете зари

– Я принес ароматы жасмина,

Ты мне запахи роз подари.

– мой сад зарастает бурьяном

И все розы мои мертвы.

– я возьму причитанья фонтанов,

горечь трав и опавшей листвы…

ветерок улетел… моё сердце в крови…

Душа! Что ты сделала с садом своим…

Why I`m so intimate with you in the letters, as diary. Maybe, because you become the part of my soul?

Yes, you are my invisible friend, not only friend – somebody more than… than real friend, – yes, part of soul.

It is funny to live, ne? Too funny. For now it`s rain. What is rain? – Maybe – tears. What is love? What is life? I knew only what is laugh. Laugh at life, laugh at myself, laugh at this world, at the crowd, trampling the best feelings.

Maybe my city – Ulan-Ude will soon be opened and you can come to me – в гости. Would you like to come to CCCP once more? Or to Novosibirsk. There – are all my friends.

Not farewell!

This summer I`ll have more spare time, so I begin to study Eng. Seriously. For now my success in that is only ability to read adapted books, such as `Pooh-the-Bear` or `Winny-the-Pooh` – such a nice book, ne?

`It will be then`. I wait for your letters, not only replying ones.

With love, Larisa.

One more paper.

For now I am sitting in airport and waiting for airliner. And contemplate the crowd around me. And more – I am writing to you. It`s a pity – here is no my loved dictionary, yet, I try to write in terms of words, known by me. What about?

f.e. about life.

What do you want from life? From yourself? Even – what do you expect? How your Romantism… feel itself… in real life or where are you – flying in clouds or between Heaven and Earth?

You remind me of my darling little brother. His name is Alexander or simply Sasha or Shura. I very-very love him. He always can understand me withour words, – understand and forgive. He is poet (and math too). And, in-general – handsome boy. As I can see, he cannot decide what he`ll do in life. Such many doubts, hesitations, throwings.

Where is the Truth? Where is my way? Who am I? What am i? etc.

Each human one day must have done the choice. I think 25 is critical point for it. Now I stand on the cross-roads and try to define the direction for me. (There exist a proverbial such as `yoga or marriage` only for our circle of my friends-girls). And I cannot – my head is cracking at the seams.

Let me think one more year, until 25. To find myself.

Indeed I want to begin to go in for yoga – to knowledge. My idee-fixe is concerned with it, but not with Math, this factory, this life.

Question of marriage… difficult to say.

What is marriage? If it`s necessity, then this one, i.e. necessity can wait for 25, or more far. Because as I can see the life, woman in marriage must do a choice – `either-or`. Such many problems. F.e. imagine if she stand in a queue during 2-3 or 4 hours, then she must do her work with such mood, after that. What will be?

I saw many women in marriage, simple women – I do not want to be like they. The only thoughts in their mind – where it can be bought? How much it is cost? Etc, – nothing of Romantic, more, they stand only on the earth, do not look at the sky, not dream.

My aunt says that I am torn from reality, and my parents too.

But if human is such?..

I am not torn from this life, but I can live in many realities simultaneous. And this fact stops me to have done the choice. Because –

1) if: to go in for Yoga, – way to perfection requires from human to be perfectible, i.e. many human qualities (weakness=слабость) must be killed. But I too love life, I`m a woman and all properties of them are not alien to me.

2) but if: to live only as woman, – тоска… always I`ll feel that it isn`t mine. I`m tearing between 1) and 2), between 3) and 4) and so on.

I fear, I am afraid of crucial step, I fear that I cannot fight for or against.

Human is created for … what?

For getting to know the World, the Universe, (maybe understand of God), not only by mind, or only heart; human must self-develop, – self-perfect – and soul, and heart, and intellect, and body.

Thirst of Knowledge, thirst of feeling of the Harmony of the World, of love. Human must fly in mind, by soul. Human must …..

I believe in Human (Human soul is my God, maybe). God is soul?

Not long ago I`d remembered strokes – something from ancient Indian (?):

Внутри себя раскрепости себя –

Тогда придет великая Свобода…

What is the absolute Freedom?

God and `absolute-inside-Freedom` can exist simultaneous or not?

Inside freedom – is my Dream, my Goal. Maybe.

Yet, sometimes I feel myself as a simple, weak woman, who needs in Love. Sometimes I want to be a business human. Such many wishes.

It`s difficult to understand oneself. What I want indeed? – To sleep… I am tired.

Yet, I`m ready to begin all over again. Last splash of youth…

Why I write you this? Maybe because you`re my special friend. You become the part of my soul, of my life.

I hope – eppur si muove!

With love – your far friend – Lara.

P.S. I very wait for your letter – one more life, maybe more beautiful than others.

Letter 10

23.05.90

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

Again night, table-lamp, letter (to nowhere). Three things that have become the part of my life. And more – it`s raining…

A rain in Academgorodok is a beautiful picture. A small town in a large forest, – and rain…

It calls up dreams, – the mood, given up to reverie.

Do you like thunderstorm?

What do you do for now? – Ah, you are reading this letter? – Indeed. – And I – am writing…

In thoughts for now I`m – somewhere – far away from here, maybe, in Noda-shi.

I try to guess your mood, when you`re reading, to see your eyes when you smile, – to feel you.

What would you do if suddenly you saw me this moment before you, – at midnight?..

Look up! – I`m here. – Don`t afraid of me. – I`m not a ghost, – I am the guest. – your guest – forgive my late visit. – Terrible storm. – Awfully in the forest. – I`m such numb and wet. – Please, let me warm myself about your fire…

I`ll tell you stories about wonderful things, or I`ll be listening to you, or, the better, – let keep silence and contemplate the rain.

Ливень ласки и грусти прошумел в захолустье…

Such pleasant to sit in a lightful, cosy room, be wrapped in a dry, warm plaid and to look through the window, and there – rain, night, summer…

Maybe, let`s go for a walk? Such fine to walk along night streets, jumping over pools, catch drops of the rain by lips, laugh, play the fool, ne?

Indeed, fine. Ah, if it were not for.

Откуда такая нежность

И что с нею делать, отрок?..

What is the difference between `tender bitterness` and `bitter tenderness`?

Dear boy, if you had known who you`re for me…

Such a wonderful story…

Our descendants will be wondering.

Maybe, they will not know such a notion like boundary. I even envy them. They will meet and, who knows, maybe have fallen in love with each other and marry, or simply become friends. And their parents or grandparents, i.e. we, – we shall pour forth wisdom. But maybe, we`ll go for a walk under a starry sky, ne?

Good bye!

With love, Larisa.

P.S. Not farewell! I see we`ll meet soon. I see, because I`m magicion. Believe me, it`s true. I can see future as my ancestor. (Sometimes)

And in general, I begin to take a great interest in `occult sciences`. Such interesting, such wonderful!

At least – it`s my (new) `idee-fixe`. But seriously. Do you believe in magic? – if not – I`ll show you something to convince, f.e. suddenly appear before you.

Do you want – I`ll teach you that.

До встречи! – Untill our meeting in `nowhere`.

I kiss you through the rain. Don`t forget, write me. So long. Larisa.

Letter 11

16.06.90

To my dearly beloved friend.

Здравствуй, Brad.

I`ve returned to you from Academgorodok.

I read your letter that was waiting for me for a week.

How wonderful to receive your letters.

I wonder again and again – is it really?

It seems to me that ability or possibility to wonder makes our life bearable, ne? Human needs something astonishing, surprising, – human lives by expectance of Wonder.

And if one hasn`t lost the ability to wonder, to amaze, to admire of – be it echo from nowhere, or dawn, or sunset, – life doesn`t lose the sense, ne?

I left my dipression. And dream again.

Today my big brother came to me and asked: `Is it true, that you have fallen in love with an american? You cannot find soviet? You`re crazy?`

He understand nothing. – Another matter my little brother. He writes me: `Lska (it`s my name in his interpretation), you are starry-eyed. I pray that you will be happy`. So it goes.

Yes, maybe, indeed I`m little crazy, unworldly, yet, it`s the better. Human must have `a little craze`, his own craze.

I read `I draw you close to me…` – dear Brad, I feel the warmth of your heart, your kiss touched me. Indeed, such amazing (such crazy), but maybe, it is my destiny to have fallen in love with `far-away star`, who mischievously smiles for me `from nowhere`, through a blanket of clouds. But clouds will have fled. I believe.

…Так, руки заложив в карманы,

Стою. Меж нами океан.

Над городом туман, туман.

Любви старинные туманы… (Цветаева )

…

You are my friend. You are my Wonder. The only one.

До свидания! With love.

P.S. I`ll not break our communication. I promise.

p.p.s. What of my picture hangs on your wall?

Letter 12

31/06/90 ;)

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

To teach some Russian? – Милый Брэд, я люблю тебя…

`Why did you take me for a walk the night?` – indeed, I wonder still, why did I like you so much from the first look into eyes? A chance meeting, and such a strong impression.

It was such pleasant, such – … – to look into your eyes. I love people`s eyes. Yours radiated some serene light or something more.

I felt myself with you such… lightly, such …, it was as if a load off my heart.

Maybe, because you believe in God. Not destruction there in.

Yes, I was `a little girl`. And now, when I think of you, when I dream of you, my heart becomes youthful and clear, fills with music and light… I fly up… to the stars…

When you`d wished me `good-night` and went to sleep I felt sadness, by some reason.

But there left a light feeling and something more. You were in my life as a meteor, but the one fell into my heart. I often had been remembering that evening.

I keep this remembrance as one of those moment, that `остановись, мгновенье!`…

And more, our meeting had occurred at that time – that summer I was running away from myself, I looked something to forget the grief, the pain…

When I read my diary of those days – much of despair there in. Pages about you, just after, is written with such a tender warmth, – `about canadian boy`.

And one day, late autumn, reading the one, I`d found address and wrote the letter. So it was…

Yes, it was so…

Now, tell me, please, how it was with you? I want to know.

What can I tell you about my country? Yes, it`s changing – political, economical, etc.

I`m not politicion. – I cannot do a review of all these changes. I can only say that our country is seething, boiling up. Страсти накаляются. «Жуть стала веселей, жуть стала интересней.»

To live here is `cheerful and interesting`, if one has optimism, endurance and ironical-philosophical attitude to reality.

Yet, I salute this «перестройка», Горбачев, this difficult time.

Yes, much difficulties. But how without it. Child is born in torments.

Yet, our people can be happy at life.

To laugh – at coupons for food-stuffs, at loud queues for something of shampoo or socks (it`s funny), to laugh at trifling sum and increasing prices, etc.

There are much to laugh at.

Yet, I love this time. (With little bitterness).

I believe in future. I`m optimist.

My country lived through more terrible things.

Sometimes, when I read History, that become known only for now – the blood curdles… this is painful theme for me. Enough of it.

Why is my marriage on duty? A Task?

I don`t think so. I agree with you in this matter. But my relations try to convince me in that. The matter in children. I must have child while I`m young still.

But how can one live with not beloved human? The better – to live lonely. I cannot go against my heart. It`s my right, ne? In the end of all, – I`m free in my choise: to be or not to be. Enough of that.

It`s a pity, that you didn`t send me the picture of you, – though, if there are you with a girl – it is the better that you didn`t.

Don`t be offended, please. Simply – such is a woman nature – I`m slighly jealous… even without the right for it.

With love – Lar.

Letter 13

07/07/90

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

Today at night I`d written you a letter, but I`ll never dare to send you such an epistle. So I begin a new. To much a burning blood was there in. I`m fallen in love as a 15-years girl.

Such amazing – Love…

Thank you for your picture – lovely one.

You stand before me and I carry on unlimited dialogues with you.

Today is my birthday. I`m 24! What a love in such age? I`m too tired for it. And, what is love? Can Love bring happiness? Or the only bitterness? Maybe, it`s only self-delusion. To have fallen in love with mirage… Brad or Бред?

A great confusion in my soul. Where is the truth? What is the Truth? If God exist, then the Truth – too, and Love.

I would want, too much, to love.

To love – not only friends, relations, mankind.

To love – the only one, in real world. Not mirage. If you feel my intonation, I`m tired…

Yes,` today at night` I couldn`t sleep. Whole night.

Yes, I love you.

Ты когда-нибудь бродил в предрассветном тумане, в белом мраке, возникает чувство нереальности, отрешенности от этого мира. То ли потому, что слова вязнут в воздухе, то ли оттого, что эхо слишком гулкое. Но в этот миг ты постигаешь какую-то истину…. Знаешь ли – трудно говорить. But a strange truth of fog – this white darkness – there exist too.

Why I speak of a fog? – I feel myself as if for now I`m walking in fog. Feelings shouldn`t be analysed. However I feel (love?) and cannot understand – what is it? But, maybe, to send you my night letter? And you would feel me?

Of course, it`s sorry that for now I cannot touch you, cannot look into your eyes.

And even, I fear our meeting.

Let it will go (by itself?) as the fourth dimension, or fifth in Space-Time (fourth one is time).

Such difficult to speak. Because of morning.

I must sleep for a little, and write over. Maybe, it`ll be more cheerful, more optimistic, at least.

But for now, the sun is killing my love, make it the only fiction of imagination.

I was born at midnight. My time is night. And, maybe, a morning dawn.

Day and sun take me prisoner.

The whole day I belong to duties, vanity of vanities. Night makes me free. If at day I belong to world, at night – worlds belong to me.

You wrote me of magic. Oh, take it easy!

That, I tried to do, is not magic – `so-so`. A childish toy, because of curiousity.

As I understand: (as materialist not quite believing in magic, but accepting something unknown still) – to become a real magician, one must be able to refuse from this World – it`s connections, notions, relations, views, etc, and from Love – Love in broadest sense. Not outside, but inside oneself – to have reached some `absolute freedom`, i.e. one must go back from human essense. As an atheist, I think that the key of this problem in subconsciousness, i.e. one must have free one`s subconsciousness from influence of all (such as `vanity of vanities`) and have learned to control it, else one becomes a mad, goes off one`s head and has lost in Chaos.

This is an interesting task, difficult to solve, but terrible too. i.e. as a curious atheist I would want to study that. But my second `half-me` is frightened of magic, because of she had looked into Chaos (abstractly). She knows God.

/// There exist the common and united causation-connection-relation between all – everything, everyone, everysome, everyevery – through out the Space-Time-and-Some. There exist something saving our World from Chaos, what keeps it from dissolvation there in. – Maybe, this something or someone is called `God`?/// my understanding is too materialistic, maybe.

Thus, these two `half-me` argue against each other, (always argue about all).

Meanwhile the `third half-me` is looking at the sky and dreams. About Love (in `bradest` sense).

She doesn`t care of magic, of subconsciousness, materialism, idealism, ability-possibility…

But she sees the Colour of the Wind. She loves.

From my heart to you – love.

Lar

P.S. I read over – черт ногу сломит! (idiom – devil will break his foot!)

Do not be offended, please.

/////

Letter 14

Aug`90

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

I`ve received your letter from 18.07.90.

You write that you wrote a letter to me on 02.07.90. I must say that the one has not reached me. It is a pity. Moreover – there appeared a little anxiety. What about? – Simply – about middle of July my Father came to Ulan-Ude (now I`m in Academgorodok) to take conversation with me. The reason was funny at first.

It was concerned with a `new idee-fixe` of mine that was about places `where the foot of man has never stepped`. // I cherished a hope to go away somewhere into fog, to wilds and live there. (Childish fantasy)// – In result – I `got it in the neck`.

At the same time our conversation had concerned with our correspondence and policy. My Father does not prohibit, but… – in memory of his generation – too much of all, that was known for you, as you wrote `Great Empire`+ those years of `cold war` left its mark upon many things, – including `thinking of security services`… and he fears for me because of that. God forbid the letter to leave `there` – as a keepsake `for the time being`. Anything may happen. As you see I`m still under influence of that `cold shour`. Yet, I`m optimist. Enough of it.

What about picture with your girlfriend – of course I`ll be glad to see the one. It is nice what you wrote of your Lady. I wish for you – heart-warmth, tenderness and mutual understanding. You must be happy. And, if your girlfriend feels jealosy, – however small, oh, please, tell her to take it (me) easy. I am призрак. Maybe after few years you will come here with your Lady. I`ll be glad to see both of you. And I think if we`ll write letters each other – we`ll find a common language.

My best wishes to you and your Lady.

With love – Larisa.

P.S. For now I`m in Academgorodok, in hotel, slightly drunk, without dictionary. Excuse my language and mistakes. Please, write me on the address of my aunty.

I hope the nearest years – policy will be warm. + I hope that your previous letter was not concerned with policy, or something about `empire`. Who knows what will happen tomorrow…

Life is very interesting.

I`m admiring of its surprices – every day. I`m lucky for adventuries.

Good-night. Write.

670000 CCCP, г. Улан-Удэ, ул.Борсоева 21 кв.54, мне.

Letter 15

Jan(?)`91

Le silence eternel des ces espaces infinis m`effraye. (B.Pascal)

Dear Brad, здравствуй!

It has been far too long since your last letter.

..`Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

…..This it is and notning more…`

What`s happened?

Have you received my letters – epistles – made in mad country; manuscripts – having written under influence of frost-work on the pane, under – stars in wine – if to look through the glass. Letters – begotten by pine for summer`s moon at midnight, by pine for `pineapple-in-champagne`, by pain of soul and headache from newspapers, TV, PC, – you see – it`s not best motive power to write, to paint – such a painter gives only a pain in the neck! – am I right?

If the only reason of your impressive pause is that – vos oreilles sont bien chastes… – I say – by golly: lasciva est nobis pagina, vita proba est! ~/bad in word not in deed/

C`est sorti du coeur: j`ai pleure et j`ai cru…

I hope that you are in good health, mood, safety, etc; that nothing terrible (besides my letters) has come on you.

But maybe, my or your letters fell a victim to Russian Post Office. I read in newspaper about one shocking act of vandalism that occurred 6.01.91. in Moscow.

If you can read Russ. with dict. – you can see what was. /Foreign letters (`from`) were opened, dumped and an excavator was `readily reading` /riding at them/ some people saved only part of them. Indeed – lapides clamabunt!

One intelligent man said one day: `La liberte, pour faire le tour du monde, n`a pas besoin de passer par ici`. I agree with him.

Another man – chinese phylosopher Confucy – said long ago: `there is no worse than to live in epoch of changes` (this is a questionable thought) – and one more guy said too: `that is the question`.

So, while my (whole) country try to define – to be or not to be – life from bad to worse – letters from worse to bed – and I`m a living still witness, an optimistic accomplice, an enduring victim of this mass madness, called L`histoire de USSR.

Thus, I`m sitting and writing, smoking and drinking (tea), my foot beats time of a playing music, and my hand writes it.

Voila comme un ecrit l`histoire!

Thus – contra spem spero – I hope to hear you, I wait. I miss your letters. I`m sad and bad without them.

Say, at least, that you`re living.

I worry about you. What`s happened?

LAcRImoSA

Letter 16

29-30/01/91

My dear friend, hello!

Здравствуй, Бред!

Thank you for your letter!

How are you?

As I can feel your letter – it`s painful for you.

Dear Brad, don`t worry! Yes, I understand your pine for your Love. That always hurts, – and for a long time. But, – don`t despair of it. You must have lived out that.

Time is cure-all. I know.

Though, I`m not quite sure – it`s good or not (about cure-all) – when a living, bleeding wound becomes a painless, nice picture in memory; – it means, that one more bit of heart has died, one more drop of life has left us. Such is life. – The cost of life (real life) is suffering.

Probably, I`m talking banality. If it seems to you so – oh, treat it with humour. But if you`re in no mood for laughter – look! – (devoted to you)

The sun is shining brightly,

The Earth is turning still.

My friend, cheer up! – smile lightly!

Forget your nightmare`s thrill.

The spring will come tomorrow

And bring with it the joy,

And drive away your sorrow, -

Don`t worry, dear boy!

(it`s my second step in poetical English. From serial: `Learn to use English words`)

What about me – I believe that happy dreams will come true too, that the spring will come soon and bring with it something wonderful, – new impressions, new life, new love – indeed, why not?

My dear Sasha has returned from the Army. He was discharging this `sacred duty` during two years far away from home. I was worried about him, because nowadays are very uneasy for our country. I didn`t see him since 22.12.88. But soon he will be here. I`m so happy! I begin to knit sweater for him. I don`t like to knit, but for my brother – I`ll do all in my power. Do you have brother or sister?

You write, that you maybe will not return to Canada. You don`t afraid of nostalgia for motherland? Do you ever feel homesickness? Do you miss your parents? What is your nationality? /if this notion exists in America./

By the way, what is your native language – English or French? Mine is Buryat language, because I`m not Russian, I`m Buryat. But my second language (Russian) is native for me, even I know it better than the first, because my education (from the first class of school) was only in Russian. At home we usually talked at mixture of these both languages.

Конец бесплатного ознакомительного фрагмента.