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MAY WINE

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« Oh, I am drunk, drunk, I shall not reach up to the house … » there Is such good national song, good and truthful. It is a pity, I of more words do not remember, because it about me, about me now, and I go, feeling a lung kachanie asphalt, and I look at the world through strong hop, but I shall reach the house, should reach, because there is nobody to lead me by hand and there is nobody to support too. Because and hop, because also pulls that in crying, in laughter – and that why? I go one in May evening, such beautiful, such fresh, and to the right of me cost, as on the parade, blossoming trees, and to the left of me cost trees in color, and the wind breaks, pulls out last May color, and all roadway is fallen asleep white cheremukhovym by a snow. Blessed farewell days of May! As it would be desirable to love, as it would be desirable to be favourite as it would be desirable that embraced strongly-is strongly as it would be desirable that intercepted breath from kisses; And all couples kiss, towards guys with little girls go in obnimku, go, keeping for hands as if being afraid of sudden separation – and they are right, separations are always sudden, and the loneliness and a pain follow us on pyatam. I never was the hypocrite, always smiled in a kind way to another's love – but today was not present, I can not. Because I go one, one, one …
     That from what muzhiks look at me, estimate eyes of a leg, a breast, fair-haired hair fluttering on a wind up to shoulders? I am good, still good, but myself will not deceive, brief female my term resembles by the end. Still couple of years, also the great silence of late autumn will come: you want, knit socks, you want, run in the mornings, you want, be engaged in yoga – weight of employment because weight of a free time at those who is lonely also nobody it is necessary. All over, finita lya komedia. That has not come true, will not come true never. Also that that I remember all dreams of a youth, all poluskryvaemye from itself the most forbidden childlike desires, that what that part of soul which is responsible personal, intimate, secret, and has not managed to coarsen, has not become covered by the thick become horny leather? I still sharply feel both a pain, and pleasure, and beauty, but there is nothing to dissemble: pleasure and beauty any more for me. And to whom to make a complaint, what the life has appeared incomparably more roughly, than all youthful dreams?
    Only it is not necessary to bring up me, I know, that drunkenness it does not paint ladies. To drink badly, especially to the woman, and I to two glasses of a champagne have added half-litre bitter – itself, in the good company myself. The woman, the truth has strong striked? And the most ridiculous, that I do not drink, practically at all I do not drink. But there are cases when the sobriety is intolerable as too bright light for sick eyes. Also show-ка me those who never drank with burning, from otchayanya who never extinguished mental anguish a spirit, show me these, with is sterile-pure lichikami and glass empty eyes, I shall be dared above them, because they not people – dolls. Though is not present, I shall not be dared, because there are no such people on light. It is impossible to live a life and to not get drunk, as it is impossible to pass a way and to not stumble. And I go, being unsteady, on infinite cheremukhovoj to avenue, and the wind turns around of me a white fragrant snow of the most gentle petals. Ah, what good Russian word: sorrow, melancholy-grieve! Not rubber faceless "problems" from which weaklings and youths drink only; not black, smelling the crude ground to mountain; not tearing air a peal a big trouble – sorrow. Has lodged inside as the poison, and does not allow to sigh, it does not allow to be given thoughtless ease of intoxication.
   And as well all began, as you were witty, утонченно-is gallant, charming today! Rare quality in the man – charm, charm of appearance, mind, a congenital step. Can, I would not love you so strongly, if not your usual smartness, easy, hardly ulovimyj a smell coldish, as though sea cologne, belozubaya a smile – sincere, going from heart. And dark blue eyes, dark blue-dark blue, as this bottomless May sky. I would forbid to muzhiks to have dark blue eyes: let or color contact lenses carry, or dark glasses cling on a nose. And that you will look, as I, casually, nenarokom – and heart zadrozhit, will be hammered: has got, a birdy. Has got and will not be pulled out(not escape). And like anything is not present: banal conversations – but in fact longer, than usually happens between colleagues! – but in fact the smile shined(covered) Banal compliments not only lips, but also dark blue eyes lighted up in one thousand fires. Like anything, but something was, was, should be. I could be mistaken only in scales, but not in an essence. And, having assured itself, has started to plan, has started to try, metatsya, to put on short skirts, to be painted with the double force – sincerely trusting, that once the fortress will tremble, defense will give slabinu and we together … we will begin "together", will come long-awaited "together".
    Do not learn(Teach) the scientist, I know, that it is not necessary to the woman to run for the man. Not only to run, even to go it is not necessary. But what to do, if itself the man does not hurry up to run for the woman? To indulge in vain hopes? Not those of summer, and not those people. And in fact you did not evade, you willingly answered advances, carried out requests. To bring up? There are no problems. To help(assist) to inform a heavy bag? For God's sake, it is not necessary even to thank. Has bungled with the report? Do not worry, now we shall understand. Politely, easy, with a charming smile. Only all over again it was pleasant to me, and then there was a little this, it is not enough gentlemanliness, not enough sincere kindness. You and with cats regret dogs, but I not a dog. I can run after, but I have not enough pair tender words and noncommittal poglazhivaniya on a wool. I want, that you loved me. Or even – features with it, we with the years lose pride fastidiousness – or even pretended, that love. And why is not present? You are dissolved, and I one, we coevals, both well we look(appear), normally we earn, why are not present? 
   And why yes? … Only because I amuse myself at night fairy tales of own composition, how in fifteen years? Only because I am tired to be one? But the word of honour when today mine « the artful plan » has gone right, and we for the first time have gone(send) together to restaurant, and that I wanted, wonderful such polupodvalchik in the Italian style with figured candles on tables, and you have lifted the first glass of a champagne – for me! – the soul was flooded with pleasure, and heart was hammered, as at the schoolgirl. It seemed, that here they, coming true dreams, here it: the beginning. And anything, nothing has saddened it a meeting, you were so is sincerely cheerful, moderately free, moderately playful, and I already anticipated continuation of appointment – at my place, at you houses – what difference, and shivered a spark of a candle in the form of a rose from red paraffin on covered lilac starched by a cloth a table … All was so well, yet have not rung out a mobile phone. You have taken out it, have pressed the button and have started talking to someone the quiet and confident voice: « I soon shall. Minutes through forty, I here nearby. And I kiss ». And at me inside all has broken. 
       Another. I did not know about it, the word of honour, I did not know, that at you someone is! This opening has pierced me with such pain, that I have almost missed the main thing. And the main thing was not presence of the competitor, namely tone. You too decent and conscientious person that, feeling the slightest fault, to speak such innocent voice. You really did not feel any fault because knew: this early supper or a late dinner will not have any continuation. And still, certainly, because I for you – an empty place. It really dinner with the colleague, and the floor has no value. You in the same way would dinner with Tarasom, with Sergey, with Efim, with everything, except for the Herdess – you dislike him. 
      That's all. You at all have not suggested to bring up me. Has simply forgotten, as would forget, having dinner with Sergey or Efim – in fact all our muzhiks on the wheels. And I could not ask. When we have left, I have passed(have taken place) meters fifteen to a tram stop and is unexpected for myself have curtailed(turned) aside any person on duty of cafe. The throat has squeezed, and this spasm did not allow to burst into tears, did not allow even to sigh freely. Ah, what silly woman, was led on another's good breeding and tactfulness … And that to tell: what should he make? To jump aside from me? To get nasty? And can, it trusts in friendship between the man and the woman? What it matters … Me is not present in its life, was not and never will be. And it is high above a head float in the dark blue sky as the ships in unknown, magnificent May clouds, and a wind rassypaet on bridge white color, and from all gates reach songs about love.
      I overturned in myself a wine-glass behind a wine-glass as the alcoholic, and all tried to present: what she? That woman, whether which long, whether shortly, but with you, but is for you which though something means in your world … Well, certainly, as always, the genius of clean beauty with bust Pamely the Anderson, and, certainly, was represented is younger me years on 10, if not on 15. I not the first day live on light and I know, that all this is not obligatory. That woman can be better than me only one: that has met to you earlier. Also has borrowed(occupied) that place with which I should borrow(occupy). And what? I not Pamela the Anderson, but am yet a shame to show me, to me nobody gives my years … e-Y-Y, what to sense? In ears drums(reels) izvergaemoj from dinamikov music, eyes slezilis from a tobacco smoke – and not only from a tobacco smoke rattled. After the fifth or sixth wine-glass awfully it would be desirable, that by me has sat down interesting, about-баятельный, sos-тоятельный the man like Richard Gere and there and then, so to say, not departing from cash department, has proved to me my female solvency, having wished to get acquainted, drink on brudershaft to go to Paris … But richardy giry sit down by the lonely women drinking with burning in cheap bars, only in the Hollywood melodramas. Or not, Richard Gere, and Mikki Rourke has sat down by heroine Kim Besinger in « Nine and a half weeks » not. And she was not drunk.
      However, we shall not be gnevit the God: has done without excesses, nobody has stuck, has not dragged, has not beaten or I am worse than that, and, the whole and safe, vigorous (only little bit incorrect step) I go on native street vosvoyasi. I go – and I do not wish to come back, I wish to go and go through this farewell flowering and to inhale fragrant air, both to laugh, and to cry about myself – and can, and not about myself, me already all the same. Too much vesen have leaked, as a dream, fruitlessly, senselessly, silly! Where the tree planted(put) by me, where the written book, where the son or the daughter? And that panel two-room box which has been pasted over by washing wall-papers where I live, unless is my house? Unless there can be the house a place where nobody waits for you, even a dog, even a cat, even the manual mouse? Anybody, anything, and already never. Thanks, My God, for disposal of last illusion. 
     Yes, I am drunk, drunk as a cobbler, drunk vdrobodan and who will condemn me? Who will be dared to me following? Who will read through morals? There is nobody to love and there is nobody to abuse. No, have lived, the word of honour. Goes along the street beautiful, harmonous, still the young and drunk, desperately drunk woman – and to anybody is not present business af. Only the spring showers me with last gifts(for nothing) and the wind gently irons burning from nevyplakannykh tears of an eye. And the song, old, trekhsotletnyaya, perhaps, a song sounds in me, and I gradually recollect slyshannye only time in a life of a word – and can, itself I write them? They are born in me, as mine; they also are mine, as bitter, late tears, as a unnecessary pain inside. 
 

ALICIA FRIDMAN (ATHENS,GREECE)

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