Heart-to-heart letters: to MrRight from CCCP

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.

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