Chapter 4 two

Lidula said, I yelled in the night.Very likely, but I didn't hear it.As proof, Lidulla showed me her arm covered in nail marks. —I had a hard time breaking free! —Maybe I had a nightmare after drinking champagne.What did I yell? —that is, "ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!..." I love Lidulla, but I am as silent as a fish frozen on ice.There's an official way to say it: I'm hiding from a man.There is a little truth in this statement.The scariest thing is that I have to keep the secret deep inside and can't tell anyone, I'm afraid they'll call me a madman and tie me up and torture me like a banshee That way, burn me in the crematorium.One Merzlyakov is enough for me.When I told him the matter plainly, Merzlyakov held out his old friend's hand in terror.Just in case, he led me to a church outside Moscow and asked me to pray.I prayed as sincerely as I could, poured out a lot of complaints and cried in front of the icons, and then we both went to the restaurant.In the restaurant we both drank some wine and left, and in the still-living terror I let Merzlyakov stay with me for the night and in this way relived the A look at our forgotten six days of love.Merzlyakov, however, flinched and declined, making the excuse that he had a secret form of syphilis who knows who the hell.Hey, are you a pig?He yelled at me.I should have thrown Merzlyakov out of the house, but he was quite drunk by this time.So we both got really drunk and fell asleep unconsciously.

Gauging people's reactions to my secret, I realized that it would be best not to let it out.However, with such a secret in my heart, to be honest, it is very heavy and cumbersome...My only girlfriend, let me tell you a few things that happened.I admit that what has happened to me, though rather rare and hateful in itself, is not a great deal from the point of view of disrupting the order of things in the world.People keep quiet about things like this because, women think: why get involved?I don't intend to be silent, I have nothing to lose, although it is for science, because science can give an explanation, but it must convince me, not send me to a madhouse.I'm convinced I'm not crazy, I'm not turning into a succubus, unlike Veronica, her Timofey is a total cover-up, and if there's a thing like that, there's a reason for it, I will write about those reasons later.

Of course I could write, but the fact that I didn't know how, that is, that I had no connection with literature, gave me an involuntary unease.It would be much better if someone like Sholokhov would write my story.I figured he'd be able to write the story so well that everyone would be dumbfounded, but he was very old, and, it is said, he became a drunkard, so drunk that he started distributing some of it himself. Rumors about himself that the works of his genius were written not by himself but by someone else entirely.There are no living writers that I can trust, because their works are boring, they are all lies, and they either want to whitewash the life of the people, or vice versa, they want to deny it, like Soljan Nitsyn, about Solzhenitsyn, v.Xie once assured me that in the concentration camp Solzhenitsyn was a well-known informer and deserter, no wonder he later went crazy, unlike that Sholokhov, Sholokhov wrote very sincerely , and seems to have won him universal affection and even a private jet for it.The more interesting and humane ones are those foreign writers (except, perhaps, Mongolian writers), whose works are often published in the magazine "Foreign Literature", a literary magazine devoted to translations, founded in 1955 by the Union of Soviet Writers.Come on, this magazine, Victor.Harry Tonic used to order it for me, but not anymore.Foreign writers are more successful than our writers, they are good at conveying psychology, so later, life in foreign countries is more enjoyable to read, because our life is very clear, there is nothing to read, and I don’t go to the cinema to watch it Don't want to waste time on those messy things, but they still have to say a few words from time to time, make a bunch of boring stuff, you can't tell where the end is and the beginning is, it's completely modern, it Weakened the artistic expression, I really don't understand why these things should be published.From my own experience, I should say that writers are small beings, even smaller as men, despite their imposing appearance, their leather jackets, their perpetually restless appearance, when they do that. For this kind of thing, they are always in a hurry, and it is over quickly.It never occurred to me to marry one of them, although there were several opportunities to do so, even a publishing house president.It was a fairly young man, but his nervous system had been completely destroyed, and he fantasized about confiscating everyone again.He especially wanted to confiscate the female singer Ala.Pugacheva Allah.Pugacheva (1949— ), a Russian singer... These fantasies made him hysterical.Out of modesty, I pretended to be a kindergarten aunt.It fascinates him.But he still wants to confiscate me first, and then get married.I had to break up with him.It's even shameful that so many people are married to such sluts.

But I don't just want to add new examples to science and get it into trouble.Honestly, it doesn't excite me in the slightest.It's time to finally sort out your fate.However, I do not intend to repent.Sometimes I feel like an unfortunate, stupid woman who has been abused by life, which, by the way, incarnates Polina.There was nothing left of Nikanorovna's yelling face, and she had to hide in her bathroom, where that inhuman invention, the gas water heater, hummed incessantly , sometimes I look at myself with my loose hair and say: Wipe away your tears, Ira!Perhaps, you are actually a new Joan of Arc?Let your reputation be ruined.so what?Nothing special!You can't save Russia, but on the other hand, you're not afraid to risk your life for this dubious idea!Look, among your female compatriots, who else is like you, the most daring thing they do is to hide from their husbands, like my mother said, and come to Moscow to sprinkle my perfume, others' interest, a week Who among them would have dared to take such a brilliant, desperate risk as you, once or twice, on the way home from get off work under the pretext of rushing to buy something that was in short supply? !

More than once I've sat in a puddle in a tuxedo, more than once I've disgraced myself and been taken out, but not out of some tavern like a whore soliciting at a station, you know Out, but was taken out of the hall of the conservatory, where I threw oranges at the English band during their debut in the hall, in utter desperation for my situation!No Ira, you're not the worst woman, men go crazy and pale with your beauty, you only drink champagne, you always get bouquet after bouquet of flowers like a soloist , people who send flowers include astronauts, ambassadors, and some undisclosed millionaires.

Carlos the handsome, the nephew of the president of a republic in Latin America, a ecstasy, fucked you on the table where he lived, leaving his scrawny wife behind.Valoja.Vysotsky is Vladimir.Vysotsky (1938-1980), a Russian poet, singer and actor, once starred in Shakespeare's famous play "Hamlet" at the Taganka Theater in Moscow, and was warmly welcomed.Came out of Hamlet for the curtain call and used to wink at you on stage... There were others, more ordinary, who had been some downright villains and villains, but only by comparison can one see the greatness of a man !And the ones I really love are the big ones, whose faces shine with the oily light of life and honor, before them I feel powerless and feverish, but I can also perform some miracles, I can't blame Leonor Dick would call me the Spirit of Love, and he knew it all.Yes, this relationship with him, no matter how ominous and fatal it seemed to me, could it be called nasty? —No, Ira, I said to myself, your fate is not decided in some small office before you are down, and by the way, six of the most beautiful American beauties are working non-stop Staring at your fate, these six people are often seen in movies and TV, and the millionaires of the American middle class will be envious when they see them. The six of them have been together only once: five white skin, A chocolate-colored skin, in a very fashionable Russian tea house on 57th Street in New York, under the flash of the camera, amidst the beeping of the video camera, they begged everyone in unison not to bully me, not to touch their little sister, this The little sister was wearing her only fiery red fox fur coat, and she looked like a beggar from far away, like Cinderella, like a slob lost in the snow and misfortune.I thought, along with the greeting, that they would send a lovely gift, even if it was the fur coat I kept as a keepsake, which I didn't accept at the time, out of pride, which I inherited from my great-grandmother Come on, I look a lot like her, and her portrait hangs above my bed, but they didn't send anything, and they weren't willing to spend money... You should spit on them! —Lidulla said, at this time, we are looking at the photo, in that photo, they hug each other: five white skin, one chocolate skin. ——These faces are disgusting!Sharp teeth, all alike! —Lidulla yelled, she was jealous of me because of those American girls. —Harry Tonitch wrote and scolded them, well done! —she gloated.

Generally speaking, Lidulla has no affection for foreign women, because they think they have the priority to enjoy foreign men.But Lidulla was very kind to me, very gentle, like a lamb.This is my second month of living here at Lidulla, and I feel anxious all the time here.I trust in the tender bonds of female friendship.Without such a bond, I would be utterly dead. — You'd better call your Gavreyev! — Suggested by Lidulla.What about Gavreyev?He avoided me too.Fuck them, they're all a nuisance!And in the past, when I could not survive three days without them, I smelled like a garden of azure bergamot on a moonlit night, when the stars hung in the southern sky, and among the waves, I was Ksyusha swam beside her.However, the garden was leveled.Baptized?But all of a sudden, shouldn't I go?You know, nothing in this world can make me confess everything to Father Veniamin!Everyone is plotting against me!No wonder, no wonder he asked Leonardic and how he died.Well, I replied, I didn't hide it, as if to the investigators who tortured me and later proved me innocent, if there should be a hostess at his memorial service, then this is me , instead of her, or at least there should be a reconciliation, like Anna being run over.Beside Karenina's coffin, her husband and the officer Vronsky reconciled with tears in their eyes, because everyone is the same when facing death, but Zinaida.Vasilyevna was not so magnanimous. How could such a thing happen next to the dead body? I was thrown out with a chokehold. Not to mention, Zinaida's trick went even further!She uses all her widow's influence to destroy me.I've been running away... well, why should I run away?

They, five with white skin and one with chocolate-colored skin, do they know how bad I am at the moment!Oops! ...But now, they can't help me, they can't help me with anything.No, I'll be baptized in a few days—we'll see then!At that time, the warrior of light with divine power will stand by my side, and whoever dares to touch me—let him try!The bully's hands will wither, his legs will be paralyzed, his liver will grow malignant tumors... Don't be sad, Ira, I said to myself, your life is as big as the lives of 40,000 cats !Your life is big, the lives of 40,000 cats... Maybe, you are actually a new Joan of Arc?