Reopening

Ecclesiastes: "... let the beast die, but also the man...

Volodymyr Serdyuk

huzul@ukr.net

REDISCOVERY
(Small novel)

"Dedicated to them who do not even guess about it.
(Author)

It was during sunset. The feeling of easy joy felt down at me together with the evening dusk. That evening was short as it is in autumn, and also quiet and windless. I was slightly shocked by that feeling which at last set in peace everything around me and my city of rush and the previous hard neurotic day I was presented with.

I was walking in the park for some time smelling the fragrances of fallen leaves hearing the peace-making children's laugh and the knocking of stones, which was the signal promising food for watchful squirrels. Squirrels were easy to come but they never let anybody to caress them.

Having enough with my walk I left the park and before I sit into my car, clasping my gloves, I glanced to the sky trying to foreseeing what kind of weather could be. Checking the sky I noticed that the horizon soaked with red auguring wind.

Breathing the full chest I felt an incredible avalanche-like relief as if taking off a heavy knapsack after a long walking trip. I felt my young age and the city already seemed to be neither tensed nor hostile for me. The engine of my car was functioning calming-steadily. In the cabin there was warm and cozy and for the very beginning there was a slight trace of propane-butane but movement made this smell go out deputy it with neutral smell of warm iron which seeded my soul with assuredness.

When I went through the middle of the city and the advertising lights became rare; a dusty rain started to leak from the sky. It was not noticeable from its beginning but after some time it made me to turn on the wind-screen vipers, which do not irritated me with their spring monotonous jerks that evening rather reminding of their old ancestor metronome, that means music and everything connected with music: inspiring, ladness and order of thoughts. Radio just played something rhythmical, dancing-backgroundous and I even began to go slower to catch unison of the harmony of sounds, movements, colors and smells.

Order was around me and order mastered in my soul.

Slowly passing by empty streets I felt that in my life order mastering too at last. At least the order inside me and with myself. And after that with the city around me and with the modest European nature which my city does not press concretely and does not push outside but somehow respectfully-care was spreading, liberating the space for the new buildings here and there leaving huge pieces of untouched landscape: this time lake, another time wild wooded hill or bewitched tiny park breaking perfect straight lines of streets and rows of buildings of concrete. Somewhen, I remember I use to love this city and that love was bilateral, promising and welcoming. Then happened the period of separation after which I returned to the city being absolutely another, maybe even alien to its routine-civilized existence but, however, the city accepted me again, giving me the new chance to see closer its traditions and habits and, at last to decide if we are heading the same direction and meditate, we to I am especially trying to drift?

The rail-way station waved to me its wave of alarming whistling sounds and metal clenching, sounds of emergency brakerage and the cacophony of panel announcements. Passing by I was trying not to glance rightward: I do not like rail-way stations generally, there were too many of them in my life. Their mess of multicolored lights, their rush and their smell of burnt flash from cheap restoranes always remind about human loses, loneliness and uncertainty in chosen ways. The railway station was strange in that city.

The man's buttery voice still continued to talk on the radio about the discovery of America by Columbus. I had to change the wave but broken street-lights, mad taxi-drivers, rush of a crowd needed the trice as attention that is why the voice still was talking and talking about the difficulties of sailing till I passed by the railway station and its warehouses finally turning to the side of brewery.

I continued to listen to the words of that story and had a feeling that if everything in it is true that truth is different, cleaned and combed like a well-bread boy in his shining shoes. A little bit showy and not very deep.

My genetic memory kept some other truth.

* * *

THURSDAY, the 6th of September.

We launched from shoal at eight in the morning and with the cross wind we made 60 miles, or 15 leagues before the sunset.

In Dogs' Islands )* )* One of the Canary islands' names we took sweet water, woods, meat and everything else what will be needed. We went the whole day and night and the next morning occurred to be between Gomera and Tenerife. Plutarkhus called them Islands of Happiness. Let God us have our luck too.

* * *

Dusk became as almost thick as night. Heavy shining sky became dark-blue, warm wind throwing to my car heavenly water from time to time, jerkily draw aside the dropped curtain and then, during some long seconds, none of them touched surface making their flight over the road and, having executed some daedal "pas of their miraculous dance, slowly and lazily fall down to the green grass of flower-beds and to the wild bushes which were still untouched by active constructing.

Heading out of city I felt the smell of dust, as if the easy boring street turned to be a romantic country guests' road. I used to be in hurry from morning till early evening constantly checking my watch and nevertheless being unable to execute all my duties, heaving in mind that that rush shall continue forever. And now the Time disappear. I took of my watch from my left wrist and put it to the "glove-box enjoying the new wave of easiness, because the clock's tickling, even inaudible, always irritated me reminding of Inevitable.

I was driving wandering of the bright-white color of the middle of the road and of the strange brown clouds, which were spotted with green and orange stains. There was a calm emptiness in me and a sure thrill of the unmissable feeling that this joy is accidental, and will not last long without proper support. I knew that Future does not exist and besides my hands were sure at the stern which reminds the knot which connects the line of the Past with the point of the Contemporary I knew beforehand that the line of the Future never comes out from that point and that my joy only signalizes that - the very minute which I was dreamed of and which I avoided trying to post-pond, will take place sharp and correct in its provided time and that time will take place this night and it is impossible to change because I am driving that definite way where it is waiting for me.

* * *

FRIDAY, the 7th of September.

At Friday and to the third hour after midnight in Saturday the sea was calm. People was also calm, gradually awaking from hangover they begin to work normally. This trip is not the first of all my trips but this time our Captain is not a fool too, this time we shall overcome.

Turtles double in the hold. They have enough sea-grass to stay alive. Sea-lions make their roars here and again. We also begin to eat them when we'll be full of ham. There is always some water leaking into the hold and they feel comfort yet there. The cabin-boy is obliged to catch fish from over the board for the sea-lions and gather sea-grass for the turtles using crotch. Country-men sailors stack grass as they use to do in their own villages, trying to do it before the Captain's walk. Although he more often walks in the evenings and in the day-time he sits alone in his cabin reading some fortune from his secret plans. Our business is simple and familiar to us - to wait.

* * *

Everything began from the time when it became possible to come to War by bus. It could be funny if it was not so sad.

Went there. Returned back.

Everything this is very simple. That is why it is terribly unreal. The main problem is also that unreal begin after the returning here. It is as if someone press your carotid and chew your brain drawing you behind the curtain to the Aftermirrorland. Making reality thin he makes you drown in loonatism, mental masochism and somnambulism though you are still awake.

As it is today, when the slow rain is making my windshield dim, bleaching the sketches of my city's streets, putting my thoughts into mess, making my feelings asleep, opening my third ear for the slogan: "Now!.

It is time to return to her, who went to that land not following me but found me there. She taught me to live. What did I do to her? I forget who you are, my beloved one. I forget what are you for. I always think about you but I forget. Leaven factory smells awfully, my car goes slow and the air inside its pit is heavy from the "moonshine yeast hum. Where do I go? I need not go nowhere and I stop my car, turn off its engine, switch off its lights. I think lying in my soft chair. I am thinking about you.

When I think about you I am easy and I even do not want to drink. But I still drink because something is wrong with me. I can't hear your breath, I can't feel your thoughts. For the second it seams to me that you quit to think of me, refused to be in touch with me emotionally and began to worry about someone else. He bothers you more, you agitated with his problems and I felt out the sphere of your mind. Well, it happens and this could happen long before.

We need to see each other. In the name of this I need to make a decision and I make it: I am coming.

* * *

SATURDAY, the 8th of September.

At three o'clock in the night on Saturday the North-East wind began to blow. We kept our direction to the West. Great waves beat all the time to the bow, which made caravel's way difficult, that is why we made only 9 leagues.

I had a very interesting argue with the boatswain who continued to repeat fool peoples' rumors about the incident which took place last Monday. They say that stern fall out of bolts because of my conspiracy. You see, caravel belongs to me and I, as they say, avoid this cruise and, in common, plan some evil.

Certainly, I did not open to him who really planned and sponsored our trip and so he didn't change his mind for sure, but, word by word, our conversation flew into other direction. And we spoke that such a great cruise to the Unknown became possible only because of the beginning of the different epoch, when times change radically and, according to the times, the human's attitude have changed: it became to be a new thinking. *) *) A very old Song.

Modern man must fly in spirit over the rush of routine and become conscious of his great aim in the process of cognition the world's wisdom. At least of his own world. But it would be better if he experienced the neighboring worlds too through their open gates over the wide steps.

We spoke also about Juan the emperor, *) *) Means Juan the II of Portugal which denied my permission for the trip nineteen years ago, and we found the common point that free thinkers move the world. Any emperor or his government and his army can stand against small number of free thinkers only. When people with different way of thinking occurs to be thousands then a clever ruler lets them do whatever they want. If not, he will be dismissed and stamped together with those old ideas, because ideas - are blood of policy and the blood is permanently renew itself independently from our desire.

And, generally, stars supported us and that year was a lucky one; that year we set our country free from aliens, *) *) He speaks of Reconcista that's why the possibility occurs and need was born to spread the sales and to go to search for the other worlds because free people always chose free ways, free style of acting and free way of thinking.

* * *

Road-patrol members follow me with their lazy glimpses. I passed them real slowly in my car. I also took no notice of them. Keeping right I was coming under the rail-road bridge as into the gate of another world, but it was my world and when I went out of the roaring arc I dived into the wave of love which covered me totally. I smiled to that wave, I also gave my love to everything which was existing: to night, to broken road, to sleepy houses in which my beloved people slept.

What a pity, I could not see them outside that late hour. Though, do such limitations like late hour exist for love? Nonsense. Love is Always and Everywhere. That love rinsed my lips and my cheeks with dew from the outside. And I smile in answer, because it is more pleasant to give love than except her. What a great discovery. Like if you discovered America.

I wander, does America love me?

I hate her. Why? Nobody could answer why, at least could only try to explain how did I fall in such a feeling:
We study at school, America fights in Viet-Nam, supporting an "unpopular regime. How can one love this country? But what brave guys are Bob Dylan and Jane Fonda. Besides, we study English and how can one study some language, feeling hate for the nation speaking that same language that same time?

We study Sailinger and Vonnegut's humanism. in our rooms portraits of Hamingway hang. but it is forbidden for us to listen to the "Voice of America both in our tongue and in English; space roar and scream making listening impossible. Nothing from "there. The only English news-paper which is available for us is the "Morning Star. But it is strictly forbidden to send letters even to this newspaper. Our letters return from KGB ornamented with cynical sign: "Containing is not visible.

Our teachers and Komsorgs curse the American imperialism during the massive politinformacia but we come to school in American jeans. "Look!- cry our teacher in anger (today she lives in Israel) - How low can imperialists fall: they stick their country's emblem to the back pocket of their pants! But in the boy's soul worn "Silver Dollar are still the true scale of all PANTS ever existed.

Militiamen catch us at the streets and crop our "American hair-dresses. We explain that hippie struggle for peace like the Whole Great Soviet People do, but militiamen hardly understand that.

We dream of Hollywood and watch only rare American movies. Even a fool could grasp that there must be more such films as they are profitable, but our government make us to watch the soviet propaganda reels made by whoever but not by professionals.

At last we are recruited to the Army. The military base's territory is full of bill-boards which read: "Our potential enemy and show samples of armament and battle-dresses. And although we guard the soviet-china border the equipment and uniform in the pictures are pure American. It does not bother us. When our officers are absent we are marching in columns singing arias from the "West-Side Story so then those big boards with cute American tanks and planes become similar to the promotion pictures and are to the point.
Commissars prepare us to fight against Americans, forgetting not to stress that on Elba banks we were alliances. Our brains are upside-down. In the day-time we study TTM *) *) Tactico-technical marks of "Tomahawk and "Star Fighter and in the night-time I dream of Marilyn Monroe.

Do I hate America or do I love her?

Yesterday we kissed each other during the "Soyuz-Apollo space program and today we are insulted as they call us "the evil empire. It seams that we are ruled by coocoos. We hate America but we buy her wheat. Or, possibly we love her this way?

In Chukotka old natives sowed to me old "Winchester guns, long ago run of bullets but preserved like precious relics. We were drinking perfumes and I asked Chukchas:
-Why do you like Americans? Are they better then us?
-Oh, they were real white people!
-What about us?
-About you? See..! You are Russian.

Eau-de-cologne smelled like hell. It was near impossible to drink that liquid but we drank it nevertheless. Being drunk I wept, did not knowing whom I had to ruth more - Chukchas or myself: my grandparents had their wedding in 1916 in Boston Mass. in an orthodox church on Leverett Street. Maybe that is why I do not like America. Or because I did not discover her? It is a very old story...

Discovery continues till today. It has its place every next second.

* * *

SUNDAY, the 9th of September.

This day we made 15 leagues. Captain decided to count the length of the way less than we did - in the case when our cruise will occur to be much longer, to protect the crew from fear and disappointment. During the night we made 120 miles, means 10 miles in every hour. Sailors steered bad loosing the direction for more than a quarter of a grade to the West-East, or, probably, more than for a half. That is why captain berated them more often.

Moneta, Moneta, *) *) An ancient goddess of memory you are so severe but also loved by me. Is it possible that you left me and will not more drive me, with your brows knitted, to the cherry gardens above which are may-bugs still buzzing and to the ice of the channel, crossed by chains, above which the drunken wind is blowing? That wind makes our cheeks blushing and our breath broken. It makes our heads rolling in pre-feeling of slaughtery, future booze and winged understanding of our greatness in immortality. Indeed no? I pray You, bring me back there once more. And after that somewhere farther, where there will be plenty of us, young and hungry, and storm will catch up from our lips and chuck down on the ice and then bring over seven seas our crazy bawl: "Glory!!!

Or maybe those times are passing without return and here I am walking, such handsome and such rich, bubbling through my smile: " Soldiers must not die simply. Soldiers must die in a heroic way. From that time when soldiers begin to die simply - the world is ruined.

Or maybe I am beginning to be too old for such an activity... The recent years I more often see my Runner.

He is not a professional, although he runs fast. His back - that is what strikes me much in him always; he keeps it too straight, almost sagging backward. And he pulls up his knees too high.

It was long ago, when our country was ruled by zampolites. Recollecting that war I can not recollect them there. Ordinary officers were in charge and our "field-work was absolutely ordinary: "move up to the point, "execute trial, "occupate position. After us some other soldiers draw their boxes, some dig around the mechanisms "for the full profile, and we, as I remember, seem was smoking, although I am not a smoker. Just stood watching strange exotic view when he jumped out of bushes and ran down the hill in his bright strange pants. His elbows were pressed tightly to his sides and he ran giving not a glimpse backward.

We did not know neither who he is nor what did he do in the bushes. We only saw - an alien, and had a common feeling - he could escape!

He ran in zigzag way and we understood that nobody will be able to do nothing before near by forest swallow him. Trough that tensed silence I wanted to hear bibs click-clucking, orders, yelling. But the silence was conjuring, sonant, hypnotizing.

I thought all are waiting for me to do something. And even I did not expect, my hands grabbed my bazooka to my hip and my point-finger pooled the trigger. Everything that happened in a wrong way out of all instructions. All my acts were wrong and my face was red from shame because of unsteady flight of the grenade. It flew like back again stone, rolling and loosing its target falling. The boy ran to the left to the most secure zone but suddenly he made a bowl, erected again and changed his direction running to the right near to the smoky trace till their ways crossed. Grenade hit him to the back of his head just behind his right ear.

He himself ran up to that missile.

Anger and satisfied animals spirit were inside me.

-Who?
-Rambler!
-Yellow-mouthed, I promote you to the first rank!
-But, well...
-Shun!
-Serve to the Soviet Union!

Then we still were at active service. And I during almost a year was an infamy first-rank soldier before I became nineteen becoming a senior sergeant.

Why is that today, after so many years, when I again and again see the Runner, I am deeply sorry that he do not run to the left continuing his way to the right, setting up his cropped head under the arc of smoke, which begins from my hands and ends in the recess behind his right ear or like navel-cord tide us - me alive and him dead.

I am sad. I am disappointed. Something is wrong.

As far as I remember we even did not walk to see that what lied about bushes in blossom. At least I did not.

That night foreign jackals howled such loud. And now, in my dream, everything this accruing in total silence. Even the shot. So why did not he want to run to the right? Why did not he chose the right direction?

* * *

MONDAY, the 10th of September.

That day and night we passed 60 leagues and counted only 48 for people not to wonder that the trip lasts so long.

Trip to unknown. What waits for us there? I augury luxury. One may count my meditations as mumbling of an ignorant sailor and a last country-man. Well, maybe I am preciously like this but I already saw such things which will not be discovered by any baptized person yet for long: I was in Mulai-Idris, *) *) Town at Morocco territory which seem must not exist at all in the middle of incandescent desert of Sahara with its hills of sand reminding sea-waves. This mysterious wonderful pearl do exist and this was me who wandered with my barefoot touching its stones being amazed by might of Almogads. *) *) Middle-age Muslim dynasty. Though for not to insult the friend of Prophet's tomb I went to sleep to white-marbled ancient roman's' Volubilis, *) *) An ancient roman city lost, forgotten but yet beautiful of its sculptures, columns, bright mosaic atriums and miraculous running water system. People are gone do not inhabit that city many centuries ago but fresh water still continue to pour its water-pools.

Between Mulai-Idris and Volubilis there was the distance least then two thousand steps and a thousand years. It is interesting what times and spaces will probably lie between me and the reader of these notes?

* * *

I hear disappointed shouts: something is wrong again. Everybody want me to live a "normal life. Just everyone wants. And when I ask them why does some must live "normally they remain silent. We do not understand each other. They have pity on me, who is fool, lonely, who lost his herd. That is the point. They, who walk in their ranks together with others keeping straight way do not understand a stranger which pierce through overgrows and wander all alone.

Was born, received "Milgrem's syndrome, *) *) A syndrome of permanent fear being joined to the masses of them, who continue their familiar way to death. I do not want be like this.

Hear, I do not draw you to the overgrows of unknown so leave me alone too. Make your marks on your check-points: "graduation, "marriage, "pension... Try to understand that I fall out your herd. Nothing personal, just fall out, that's all. Something is wrong in me. " I agree to run in pack, but not under saddle and without bridle... *) *) From a Vladimir Vyssocki's song "World cached me but failed... *) *) Grigory Skovoroda, a philosopher It is interesting who hare now B. 496 Reyn, Ohio.

Man always act as he wants to, boy - the way he thinks must man to act. Why did I continued to be a boy making so many mistakes?

* * *

TUESDAY, the 11th of September.

That day sailed our course to the West and made over 20 leagues. Saw the remnants of a mast from the 120-barrels ship but could not catch them. At night gone 20 leagues, put down only 16.

* * *

A police-patrol stopped me in a hundred meters before the bridge.

-You are drunken! - shouted a militiaman in my car's window. I was silent. What could one say?
-Blow into this balloon! Breath! - ordered the road-patroller. I blew to the pipe, blowing up the rubber balloon.
-A condom! - I was really surprised.
-Don't move! - barked the policeman pretending that if he mishear my remark. I continued to blow and nothing happened.
-Need to wait, - added the officer. Then shake the mechanism. Device did not want to become green at all. He asked his companion to come.
-Look, is he drunk, not?
-Of course, he is. Can't you see? - answered the other man.
-But indicator does not react.
-Breath out I'll smell!

I breathed out, he smelled.
-Red knows what is this,- scratched his neck the first one. - Go out.
I switched on the engine and began to ride.
-Stop! - ordered they,- Hey, stop!
I stopped.
-Is something wrong?
-The bridge is broken. There is no road to the other bank.
-Then why do you stay here? - asked I and now they were speechless just exchange their glances.

I left my car and at pause went forward, step by step sinking in the mist. What was the difference for me - there is the bridge or there is not; I had to go there and I was sure of the direction I chose.

* * *

WEDNESDAY, the 12th of September.

Heading our course that day and night we made 33 leagues, fixed less. When sailors gathered together to sing their evening prayer "Salve, which everyone sang in his own lad, our Captain asked them all to be watchful during their watch, because them, who first noticed the land he'll present a silk gown and the King and the Queen promised for this ten thousand maravedi *) *) A golden Spanish coin of state rent. People channeled of in a good mood, only our carpenter suddenly began to cry and to lament in fear that his wife may again give a birth to a child from the Holy Spirit while that poor man is on the seas.

* * *

I heard the music. The musicians did not play it, they did not even entertained it. They were going mad. *) *) Modern music already, deep in the essence, is not the music only. From that music also may begin the entrance to the dark. The musicians were from this world in which I found myself when my love gone. My expensive radio-set, my nice car, my convenient boots with the fresh smell of new leather, savage smell of my lotion, beautiful ring on my finger, money which I need not to count and time which I had to measure, even this gray lazy rain were real, were, damn, absolutely belonging to this world and deadly written in my life. My life itself was written deep in them. There was an opinion that I could not exist without them. Had to see them, had to search them, had to love them like dogs do. Every step of mine and every word were pre-scaled with things: what do I cost, how many of them I have and how many new things I am able to receive.

Not a so called "music rose in me the wave of anger. Anger was always in me and this anger pushed me to analyze my feelings. Desire of ruin, appetence to everything dead, love feeling for mechanical objects - this what was whole I in this life where everything was seem to be upside-down. It was just peaceful life, were all live among creatures alive, were I discovered the symptoms of necrophilia in me: "...as so as love for the mechanical objects.

I had to go out of there. Probably exactly about that were shouting those mad musicians with dirty hear on their heads. That is why I did not turn off my radio-set leaving it together with my car. New path lead me to the dark and that dark attracted me. Sinking in the darkness I cried aloud proclaiming the name of my beloved woman from the recent past. This cry of mine was the cry of a wounded animal because I was wounded somewhere deeper then to the heart. *) *) One of the esoteric methods. God has plenty of his names but reaching trance one may repeat simple "om.

* * *

THIRSDAY, the 13th of September.

Moving to the West we made 33 leagues. Foul streams opposed us. This day our compasses declined to the North-West.

Some days they will say that we found the unknown land occasionally. Let them say. New generations always count them much brighter then the previous and thinks that their ancestors did everything wrong. One must not also speak of their total lack of knowledge about the world around them. How could they know something if they lived so long ago.

And nobody try to reflect upon the fact why did we decline so far to the South, almost to the equator. Although the answer is so simple: because of the Eric the Red-beard's discovery of Vinland five hundred and ten years ago and Bjarny Gerjulfson's visit to the inner sea of that new land which took place five hundred and six years ago. All signs say that the climate of that land is Nordic, means severe, and so not Eden gardens, as so as Promised Land, less than that Rio-de-Oro there are not existing there. Means, they do exist with all their fairy-beauty and wealth they wait for me, but not there exactly, much far to the South where Adam could walk without his pants on. And I will reach this land even if I had to offend the boarder installed by Pope. *) *) In behalf of peace Vatican divided the Earth between Spain and Portugal. And then, let it be what have to be, the befeaters are never judged.

And so after I have my Mission executed I will never worry about such trifles.

* * *

From the beginning all this seem to be extremely important. You fly to struggle against dark forces. For victory you are ready to give everything you have and even more than that. Then you arrive and see that native people do not have even a green knowledge of those slogans which called you for fighting. Sometimes they also do not understand on which side they are.

Then the boredom begins. Stupid waiting for nobody knows what. You still continue mumbling to yourself something about democracy and people's right for the self-determination but senseless existing in camps swallow you and corrupt. Day by day you want to be in active service lesser and lesser wanting to visit a bath-house. You are aggravated by free vine, you more and more want milk or ordinary tea.

And when you forget at all why did you come here and already want to return home THIS happens.

It falls on you abruptly from nobody knows where and when. In the middle of roam and groan, standing in the mud to your knees, being hungry and cold, you in terror begin to understand that all THIS is not for the people - it is against them.

On the background of long months of waiting the wave of horror from the point of a stranger seems short. But for you it become to be all-absorbing and you think that you have never live another way but in the total recoil, which never leave you.

You run, do something, probably even shoot, there may be anger for those people who try to destroy you, but more often there is emptiness inside you as if you fall from a water-fall in the middle of silent stillness. Everything so important before not exist any more because you survive an explosion and you see everything from another angle: yellow clay and dusty boulder stand before you like a strange wall, covering landscape and leaving just a narrow broken blue sky-line far down beneath, in the far corner of your eye.

Something warm is leaking out of your mouth and streams up your cheek, suffusing your forehead. Someone running by step on you, but it is not important for you anymore. There is not a word in you, not a thought, just sorrow about your unusual disability to breath. "So, this is the way it happens,- you think frankly marveling of the fact that a small bush of moss in shape of the horns of the deer grows from under the stones.

* * *

FRIDAY, the 14th of September.

Floating our course to the West we did 20 leagues, put down less. People said that saw a sea-gull and a phaeton-bird and these birds never fly from their land far than 25 leagues.

We are such sure on our way because I put a map with all details of the western sea on the captain's table. That map was always on me. On my neck under my hair. My mother told me about it when I was ten. She asked me to hide this secret carefully. Just before her explanations I observed a usual procedure when our neighbors, lady and her maid-servant, were putted to the river. Unluckily, they swam out signing themselves their sentenced to death *) *) That was the way they recognized witches: clean-handed had to sink, those who pulled themselves out of water had to be set in fire that is why even in my age I knew what means " to keep secret carefully.

Only when I was twenty I took my chance to shave my neck and copied the map on the paper. There was delineated a part of Europe, our state very preciously, the Ocean and a great unknown mainland with countless islands. On the map there was pointed the place of my birth and the place of my future funeral deep in that unknown continent. Also, then, in the age of twenty, I stood cool, knowing my future destiny, and felt easiness after receiving the benediction from the dearest person on the earth for the future Great Trip.

That map on my neck appeared before I was born. During her pregnancy my mother saw the great shining pictures from the other world on the sky. She was sure that those were the views of the hell because hundreds of naked girls jumped through the sky laughing aloud and singing dark songs. Ours in those songs were only the words: "Una paloma blanca. *) *) A Mexican popular song. And the most often was repeated a horrible kabbalic scripture: "Coca-Cola light!. Even after years passed and my mother faced up my destiny, nevertheless she continued to be sure that that was Gehenna. On my mind so many gay naked girls may be only in Paradise, but who dare to argue with his mother when he is only ten. As so as when he is twenty also.

* * *

Damn be all those who wrote about War in a nice way, prettily.

Damn be all those who told about it in general.

Grasshoppers cried blue murder in the grass, literally blue murder, I even stopped being bumped to the wall of their tensed cry. They were yelling at me. I cried in answer and felt some relief. *) *) One of the "kung-fu practices.

Crystal stemwars never live long. Two hundred grams glass that is something different, it could be the symbol of our country. What is the next? Searching our pockets, taking that out, reading: "Ячмінний колос. *) *) Probably "Barley ear beer. Collapse! Wonderful, that is the way we are looking for.

At the distance of some ten meters, when red police lantern disappeared behind me, fog was absolutely opaque. I went blindly being lead by photosensitive cells. Not mine cells. Fog was divided to the rhomb-shaped rooms during all space I could observe and I understood in which of them I had to enter.

What am I looking for at nights? Maybe I need a motion, stretch and have a breath, but the main aim is her. Somewhere here, in my path, in the forest or park I should find the target which wait for me. I'll take aside a bunch of leaves and notice a hidden and sealed entrance to my kingdom. I have no tooth, neither hands and feet. With the help of beefy knob of my head I can catch like with nippers. Making my head's thews shorter I'll change its form and pressing ground aside intrude deeper. My throat muscles' beating will call out the storm which cause the horror in me firstly and then all around. I will perforate to the galleries' depth, ramming tunnels' walls. The fragrances of those places may seem rotten but for me it is the only way to feel euphoria and begin to sing a rhythmical wordless song. Then stones inside me knock much louder then a thunder. Small pieces of sand move up to my eyes painting out the fog into pink color.

Seems that I do this during thousands of years and know everything except one: Who am I?!!

* * *

SATURDAY, the 15th of September.

Day and night sailed 27 leagues to the West, or may be little more. That night saw a strange branch of fire falling down in the sea at the distance of four-five leagues from the ship. This looked like a warning. I was slightly scared and for the first time meditated upon things more deeper then before: why am I here, in common, and why do I must to live this life?
I comforted myself remembering slogan above school's gate: " Iedem das saime. *) *) Sign on the gate of "Zacksenhausen concentration camp. Some person needs stuffy atmosphere of family bedroom penetrated with urine and dust, another likes to feel the draughts of Ocean and fragrances of wood's tar washed with salt waves. I graduated this drilling getting married in sixteen, giving birth to my son and living thirteen years in the peaceful accordance of marriage. But time came and I left my family and my palace, becoming a vagrant monk, because I felt ocean. The Ocean of adversity. *) *) Author mix up Columbus biography with biography of Buddha. Great and grind it challenged with its bottomless might just easy washing my feet, beforehand knowing that nobody dare to step against it. This challenge was like a gob in my face. And I received it.

* * *

On the river's bank, as if nothing happened, the night market lived its own life. Tracks and cars came, loaders and watchmen worked. Sellers and buyers ran keeping paths familiar only to them. Hand lanterns' lights shimmered and bonfires flashed uneven. The smells of ladled out diesel fuel and wet ground reminded some dummy military camp. Traffic and peoples' rush, packs of goods and hysteric bustling were over-soaked with desires and hopes which time will come tomorrow morning. Market was for the merchandisers and me, as I was an alien, it pushed me out promising nothing and calling nowhere. Like a spoiled child I was presented by a bottle made of green glass instead of a comforting prize. Behind my back profiteers bawled like beasts in mist.

Flame of candles and lamps converted into fire-pictures and symbols. Moving round about they roughly bloat out, shocking with their greatness.

-Tare here! Tare! - thundered from the darkness.

"O, glorious Tara! *) *) Prehistoric goddess of night, Madonna of Tibet. Her symbol - is a red heart. - addressed I to her in my mind, the same time braking my nails trying to open bottle's iron cap. - " So that is your happy realm stroked the heart of a lonely palmer so much, showing the horror of its impenetrable life. I bag you pardon, zarina, excuse me my curiosity, but my way is to the West and our roads, great Tara, will never cross no more. So long.

In the darkness I stepped on the leg of the person who was singing sitting on the ground. Person's legs were widely spread and between them there laid a cap with torn bank-bills. Because it was a beggar. He sang to the end his very long song, three parts of which I heard for the first time in my life. He did not answer my question: "Where is she? and did not help to resolve the question, does it worth to enterprise such a long trip. But I did not need words; I saw two deep empty wells in his eyes, which were not enlightened even after three drops of vodka. Having his doze swallowed the beggar caressed my hand and sang: "A-a!, that means: "Continue your way. How dare you hesitate?

I made a bowl and trailed far a little more sure. Sure, because, at last, I got my doctrines "A. A. *) *) Dark what exactly has the author in mind: "Anonymous Alcoholic Association or doctrines Aria Avalokiteshwara. Means light future. And not for me only.

* * *

SUNDAY, the 16th of September.

During day and night we went to the West 39 leagues: wrote 36; the day was cloudy, rainy. Easy wind blew, morning hours spread their attractive magic, although with lack of nightingales' songs. The weather was just like it use to be in Andalusia. We began to meet wisps of a green grass, such green that it looked like just from the land. That is why all thought that land is not too far. Land but not a continent, as captain said. An island. All agreed that "continent is still far.

We have eighty eight men in our crew altogether and only today I noticed that all the sailors are dressed in red traditional hoods, captain tries to wear crimson barret and the biggin of my wind-protector is yellow. It is interesting, what does it mean? *) *) Yellow-hood lamas of Tibet give promise never get married, red-cap lamas may make a match. But - sailors are not lamas still?

Sorry, I am not too good at magic of colors. I am familiar with it at such a low level that cannot not only influence events but even make conclusions based on analysis of colors. Maybe my ignorance is for better, because not every magic is useful for the world, but only those single phenomena which are based on high spirituality of the executors. Only they have rights to use the universal power hidden in the atom's nucleus. Master it is impossible pure scientifically or appeasing self desires. Communicate that power is possible only through reunification with the whole nature, which consecrated persons, caste away pure human arrogance, at last will recognize as their Mother. *) *) Before Columbus in the territory of America existed a cult of Mother-land.

May be that land to which my Destiny leads me is the real tenement of Golden Mother of the West and of her immortals. Maybe... I repeat this word for myself as if it was a comforting slogan. Maybe I do not want to know it for sure. Because I know that exhaustive knowledge made nobody happy, yet. Happy is he, who brake his feet on the way to knowledge and unhappy is he, who reached the line in which suddenly discover that he knows all. He will cry bitterly and die low: "In great knowledge there is a great sorrow.

And I, again and again, tried to pretend as if I know not enough and am not gorge of knowledge at the same time feeling the seeds of sorrow and pessimism inside me, because it is known for me that my cold brown planet *) *) Planet Columbus will come close the human's nurse to the reach of a stretched hand at the end of the millennium and it is again will be me, who forgot his human's embodiment. Luckily, I know nothing about the role which my planet will play then, but what could arouse this knowledge but Melancholy?

* * *

Among the thick masses of blue bushes far at the distance shone one orange and I, trusting the warm spot in the middle of that dark night, went toward it. It would be good if everybody have such guide. I think we all went astray and everything come to be so complicated. In the past people were simple and their belief was as simple as a burning bush. And now devil seduce us with "Sneakers and "Mars, showing them on the sky, almost covering our heavens.

The first mentioned I do not know, and Mars was always a god of the War. There, in that distant War, drowning in the fog, I heard they bring me somewhere again and my partner yells: "Sew! Sew, you, bitch! Someone another touched my body mumbling:
-I am a therapeutist, I am not a surgeon... I am not able to...

"A therapeutist! - rejoiced I smiling in the mist - That denote I will stay alive when Jesus' brother is with me. *) *) Exist a theory, which states that Jesus and John the Baptiser were monks-essens (therapists). Still something was wrong there; how an Aramean monk could participate in our War, especially in our age, after thousands years passed.

-Essen? - asked I, - Essen?
-No, my name is not Esen, I am Nekodem.
-Essen..? You are - essen?
-You may not eat also... - weeped the doctor. *) *) Word game: essen (in German) is - to eat.
-If you do not sew him, I'll kill you! - demanded my pal.
"What jerks, said I, diving to the dark and still listening very last words following:
-Don't you sleep!!! You'll die!

* * *

MONDAY, the 17th of September.
During that day and night we passed 50 leagues to the West, recorded 47; sea streams helped us. Very often we met the grass which usually grows on the rocks; it was brought from the West. Sailors presumed, that land is not already far; pilots, heaving the course checked, found out that our compasses declined to the North-West almost for the quarter of a grade. Sea-able men were frightened and deeply sad, but remained silent. At the dusk of that very day we found a cancer. The weather stood quiet, everybody became a bit jolly. Dolphins appeared, we killed one of them. Standing over the dolphin's dead body the captain said: " I relay upon the Highest, in whose hands are all our future victories, and I wait that we see the land soon. After those words a thunder and a lightning stroke from the clear sky, a white phaeton-bird, which does not sleep in the sea, hovered above the ship.
Me do not sleep either. The feeling of a Woman is chasing me, sometimes mixing up the order in my mind and making different what was simple previously or, sometimes, paradoxically drawing away the vale of the mystery which one can not reach using the way of logic. The feeling of the Woman does not come from outside, it bowling from the inside in such an easy way as if it was there always and, if we could poses this feeling, obsessed complexes, probably were not able to torn apart a man's personality and man could reach the kingdom of balance, which is impossible to reach even in monasteries and which is impossible to find even in the longest sea crusades.
Inside every one of us lives together the awfully-animal and angelic, black and white. When you want a woman to be a lover, for pity, you need to wake up in her those of black. They good at this art in Africa and taught me also when I was there imprisoned. *) *) Author makes a mistake: that was Servantes who was imprisoned by Moors but not Columbus. That feverish-thoughtless, black-animated one need to awake in a woman only vasteing not affords to a man because in him it is always ready and even shows the horn.
In Bible there is correctly spoken about the Serpent-seducer, showing not its color, nor size, or specie. He - is that predatorily, unbounded-dark, which glows inside every one of us, because the Serpent's mind is the nuclear of our mind, on which evolution, without rush, lay by lay put new knowledge and experience trying to bonnet that instinctively-insatiable birth locking it in integument. But it is not enough as the Serpent is still there, in the depth of consciousness, and to daunt him is possible only through calling his name and subjugate his rebellious intentions to the noble aim, making his volcano heat the water.

* * *

Idealists always suffer among the first who suffer although directly they begin revolutions and imagine ideal life in ideal countries. And reality, again and again depresses them to its modern level and its own primitive understanding of the essence of existence, as it did with our "agrarian-geographical to the bottom of stupidity simplified symbol which all and everywhere constantly gang upside-down, mislead the positions of the ice and flame. *) *) Yellow-bluish unity of colors was saint long before on the territory of nowadays Kherson region in Ukraine God Vishnu was born.*) *) Author assumes that Sun is always above. That is his permanent mistake. Or maybe this is only an external manifestation of our mental perversity, common for them who forget their ancestors as so as everything that follows. High conception of the Harmony of the whole World we arrogantly accept as the symbol of a full buttery. Then why do we need Sky? Pigs look at it only once in their life. And fields in ancient days mainly were seeded by buckwheat and their color was brown-grayish. God, let us at least in our minds to fly over the primitive. Let us at least in dreams to meet the Heroes who desired something more, not just Lurd. For whom not just Lurd was desirable.
They use us instead of cobble-stones again. Rather, we put our own lives under the steam-roller on asphalt, trying at least in this way to fetch away from the closed, unshaken commonness in which you personally, again, like in all the previous centuries, decide nothing. Cry or not. When you die - we'll bury you, that's all.

* * *

TUESDAY, the 18th of September.

During day and night passed 55 leagues, wrote 48. The sea was very calm, like the river in Seville. Many birds were flying to the West.
I was near to hit our cook, which began to complain about his fate reflecting of his wife. We channeled off with a loud hullabaloo. Who generally said that one must live with spouse? Well, made one his male's duty and what next? Why do we chew what was chewed before? If women like to inhabit their neat little houses - let them stay there, but why do men must share their everyday' boredom? Dark ways You lead us, Lord. Better to espouse at wind's will.
"You are not obliged to live - navigation is your obligation. *) *) An ancient roman proverb.

* * *

"...Ice-cool Catty, could You do what I've told You?
Ice-cool Catty, could You marry the Soldier? - sang I to her and she was gay thinking that those words I constructed for her especially. And I, don't know why, didn't explain where did I get them. *) *) They are from a Broadway's musical.
"Bitch,- signalized bushes and I licked my lips. With this little bitch I felt always good. When I barked at them all, hauled and jumped to the walls she used to come to me, embraced, sometimes pushed me to the ground and licked my cheek looking into my eyes. Then I relaxing forgot the sources of my madness. Sometimes I intentively controlled myself for not to glance at her, turning backward, but the heavy soft warmth of her body diverted my thoughts far away. Preciously, she was taking all my ideas away from me. And, as she was not able to give me hers, filled me with the warmth which is more important than all brain twitching and suffering. She made me dive in a hot red fog shining with the killing rays of passion. Being oppressed by her I melted in that fog loosing myself there.
My anger and hatred did not disappear, they just changed their vectors, they multiplied, possessing me totally, they grew up becoming bigger than I was and I could never follow them for good, slipping or stumbling, with all my body shacked. Then they became to be angry at me and made me cry or rucle using my own throat. I hurried to discharge my anger and hatred, rushed, pressing her, stifling her in my crisps. Probably I even ululated. And she smiled motionless, half-closing her eyes and showing her teeth. She also gradually decomposed in that pink fog which she called out such unwary.
Such girl-friends do not exist any more. Such friends will never exist. Somewhere, for someone - maybe, for me - not. Because the chance to be happy is never given twice.
* * *

WEDNESDAY, the 19th of September.
We sailed our course, the weather assists us and we passed 25 leagues in day and night, put down 22. That day at ten in the morning a pelican landed on our ship, in the evening we saw another one. Usually these birds do not fly away from the land farther then 20 leagues. Blind rain began but without wind - sure sign of the land. Captain did not want to hold off sailing against the wind, although he was sure of the presence of some islands in these places. For his aim - India. *) *) It is not known for sure were to exactly sailed. Let him think what he want, though the historians after all mix up everything: years, events, people. Geographers will not remember who discovered these lands and will call them some other's name, this all already took place...
When you go to Great enterprise - do not count for the descendants' gratefulness.

* * *
The most humiliating thing for the man - when they do not respect his business. The most humiliating thing for the woman - when they do not respect her body.
I did not respect her body, I adored it. Hundreds of times I tried to recollect its shapes, I looked for it, holding my breath, mixing it up with different strange bodies, squeamishly remembering myself in crapulence. I foreseen how will we meet because hundreds of times repeated in my imagination its enthrall moments: there will be lot of water, there will be sun and peace and composure. Flowers will be in blossom. We will hold our hands going to the bath to wash our sins, while they lay out table for the holiday on the green grass. *) *) Mystery of washing take place in all worlds' religions.
I will be bustlingly awkward on the slippery tiles.
She will easily laugh asking if we came here for this. "Sha, sha... - will mumble I.- Be patient...
-Abide? Oh, no! - she will say, licking my cheek.- I also want to participate in this!
Our little ships on the blue water will be white from the whitest and to the nicest of them I will give the name "Seniora. Not "Nuestra seniora - "Mia seniora. *) *) "Golden galleons, buried in the Sargasso sea. But she will ask to erase the word "mia from the name, for nobody guess that it is in behalf of her. For nobody to be jealous. For nobody to hoodoo.
I will agree.
Sorry that we could not do this then, in Aphon. My present for her then was the piece of classic original soap. Not the "Soldiers' marked with the star, but "Lux, which the English Queen likes. *) *) Author mixes up everything again: she gave him a magic potion then. " You'll smell like a Queen,- promised I.- "I don't believe!,- were laughing she, and I was shooting from my "kalashnikov to the ceiling knocking down the parget and ordering to free the tub. They were trying to explain me something, but I did not understand their language.
-Termogytkha! *) *) Dirty Georgian curse. - continued to repeat I my only password. They spit before me and shout:
-Crazy Ukrainian!
Then all this seemed to be very simple for me, I laughed and felt pity for nothing. White-teethed Bascs *) *) Some scholars affirm that Basc and Georgian - are one people. Sailors of Columbus were mainly Basc. Still did not want release the room. There were many of them and everybody wanted to wash themselves. Only none of them did not bring women to the bathroom with them. They did not have women.
Recollecting the feeling of wings behind my back I understand now - it was the soldiers' Paradise.

* * *

THIRSDAY, the 20th of September.
This day sailed to the West, a quarter of a grade to the North-West. Wind was soft. Made 7 or 8 leagues. Two pelicans flew to the ship, then one more - sure sign of the land; saw many grass, although the previous day it was not seen at all. At the dawn flew several birds and when sun rose they disappear.
I slept bad, thinking of a Glory which is waiting for us. I tried to make peace between my spirit and my flesh. Then, gained no success, surrendered and began to meditate upon my contemporaries: among us now live the Giants of the Spirit, Great People. We just do not notice them, because we do not know is their activity worthy for the history and for the next generations. Maybe in future, after hundreds of years, the name of some strange beggar - actor, father of countless children, who made some cheap plays cutting some well-known plots, mixing up everything that possible, be spoken of more often than the names of great kings of modern times. Happy we are, living not in those days.
Happy we are living our lives in our quiet age, coldly passing by unappreciated genius marked with hungry angry glistering of their eyes. And they are happy knowing nothing about their after-death great future; having done the small piece of their work, having their small stone to the boot of Eternity put, they will sleep easily enjoying their dreams being not tortured any longer by the strange question: "to be or not to be?
I am jealous of them. There are so many psychos who pretend to be bright, that I am beginning to be sick of them. The real rest for my soul I find in communication with the normal people who, accepting the rules of the game of this crazy world, are pretending to be idiots. First of all - sailors and travelers (I adore them!), then strange monks and smiths-philosophers together with philosophers-barmen who are heading nowhere. And at last musicians, actors, painters and writers (Tear, throw away. Spit and forget!) To be sober and reasonable among them means look comic, to believe their words is the same as confess in stupidity, notice not in their eyes and hear not in their words the depth of the world knowledge is as equal as to spent in vain a fortune.
Pour their cups fuller! Inspire them to speak! Smile silently and dip out, dip out with your handfuls full the pure pre-ancient wisdom. God loves them and when you also try to love them, He will love you for sure.

* * *

Hiccuping I pied on my right leg; marazmus develops too fast, degradation goes too far.
The bridge really was absent. Highway abruptly ended with steep. From the right bank almost to the middle of the river the remnants of the lap were sorrowfully hanging.
Clamber claw hold of the grass and rocks with my hands I stepped down directing to the sound of a stream. Our glorious clay swallowed my shoes as they become ten times harder.
Just near the water the lonely fire of a lonely fisherman was shimmering in the night. He was an old man. Saying no word I took off my bottle, he, silently, took off his glass and drank what I gave him. I wave my hand, explaining that I want to go to the other bank. Using his hands he showed me in gestures the places where his fishing-rods were and directed me few steps down the stream. I agreed and went there.
The water was cold and just from the first step of mine it coldly touched my chest. I was made to swim. Looking backward I saw the great half of an orange. That the fisherman's light alighted the orange ALSR *) *) Aerial life- saving raft from the inside.
He felt better, he went to bed. You know: "We stay at home tonight, my Baby and Me... *) *) From another Broadway musical.

* * *

FRIDAY, the 21st of September.
This day was a nice one, then all of a sudden the wind began to blow. During the day and night, following our course and declining from it, we made 13 leagues. In the dawn we saw so much grass that it seemed that the sea was overrun with it. The grass was floating from the West. We also saw a pelican. The sea was as calm as a river and the weather was luxurious. A whale appeared.
After that everything began; before diving the whale released several huge eddies of blue smoke.
Hands, gradually, far and more began to complain if as our trip lasts too long. I, using all my abilities, stop those talks and praise to God who added me my wisdom to make an arrangement with the crew which states that we work not for money but for the last result: harvest will be all ours. We released shares of our enterprise and share them to every participant - sailor. That very day the same shares were returned to me to store. The men's only hopes for the future - are this unreliable sea and even more unsure papers decorated by an drunken painter.
I promise to them that soon we can catch a tradesmen's sailing-vessel and take it to abordage after the king's capers certificate but who if not me knows better that these waters never visit any ship; who needs the end of the World? Only me, who reached his time to discover a mysterious country of White Islands. That country belongs to nobody. All freedom, all the promised truth live there. That country is amazing. What the damned stinky money you talking about?

* * *

In the middle of the fog the moon ray alighted an silver spot and there in the light place thirteen mavkas*) *) Mythical woodmaid played "hide-and-sick with Chugaister. *) *) Mythical king of woods Mavkas were young and very similar to the senior girls of our school. Chugaister was awful, hirsute and fanged but mavkas was not afraid of him. They abroitedly avoided him soundlessly diving and jumping out in the most unexpected places. That is why the Chugaisters' face was foolishly-humiliated.
Then, at last, he caught one of them and dragged her to the dark. I knew that there he will eat her but when I piped behind the edge of light I noticed that viceversa that was she who ate him. And having consumed a large piece of his body - swam away. Remnants of Chugaisters' possession were funny and useless that is why mavka laughed happily.

She swam on her back. And her young breasts were arose high like even pyramids shining against the moon. She was in commando berate of "dirty-red color. *) *) The legends about blond sniper-women are still spread in those countries. "Can mavkas be at active service there? - thought I in surprise. "Remember Afon! - silently exclaimed she. "So it is you?! - recollected I frightfully. "Are not you glad to see me? - asked she being insulted and I had to pretend if I am glad because you must know how hard is to communicate with ghosts.
In Afon she looks precisely this way but after that, in Sukhum, when surf dragged her maimed body on the sands she already was different and which one from these two images was the dearest to me I did not know.
Chugaister awkwardly jumped to the water again and mavkas were laughing again as if nothing happened and two or three of them began to sing a song.
This play was an eternal one but for me in it there were given only few seconds. My leather jacket swelled wet and pulled me down to the river bottom. For not to sink I began to take it off hardly dealing with the sleeves and recollecting Salem Ibn Rahman. Bubbles of oxygen passed by me who was such lonely and hard, for whom there was plenty of room at the bottom. They went up mumbling: " Ashkhadu unnu le elakha ella Llakhu ua Mukhammadury rasulu llakhi... *) *) " Believe that exist not god except Allah and Mahomet is his prophet...
Salem spoke these words only once during that whole war. In his easy voice, correctly and without rush. I observed his lips daydreaming, absorbing their every sound and learning them by all my heart, accepting them forever because in those sounds was our only and the last hope, because everything else had its end behind us on the wall of white chalk spotted by somebody's blood and without those words of prayer everything which look not seriously in the same not very serious way could probably be broken then once and forever.
Before that I count him to be an atheist...
There now, I remember.

* * *

SATURDAY, the 22nd of September.
We went to the North-West, declining to the one side and to the other. Made 30 leagues. Captain suddenly began to call himself an admiral and today, asking me to come to his cabin, said:

- I urgently needed this cross-wind because my people are very uneasy. They think that in these seas never blow the winds which could support us to come back to Spain...
Under great secret he showed me two banners which he wants to establish on newly discovered lands. Those flags were with some green crosses and letters "F and "I. Over every letter was a crown - one from the left side, the other from the right side of the cross. I was a little confused by his new admiral rank which, after his words, he : "received by satellite connection, and by the lack of his ability to explain neither meaning of his own words nor the meaning of the symbols displayed on mentioned pendants.
When I asked him who have stretched those pendants so nicely he slightly flushed and showed regard to me. He also could not answer why there were especially two banners and instead of answer began to speak ancient Hebrew about the river of time, or the stream, which as they say seems passes by but actually washes and envelopes, and brings us somewhere. I smiled pretending as if I understand nothing.
Making a bawl I parted using the Greek language and then he acted as if he does not know this tongue. *) *) He could not to know, could he?

* * *

The stream in which I rode covered all the World disturbing not the Universe itself, not interrupting in it, nor accelerating the events. Being under power of external manifestations of environment I saw the multitude of life being not able to understand that my eyes are blind and my ears are deaf. I clawed hold the outside displays counting them for constant and reliable marks, being not conscious that I have my possibility to use the only method which gives the ability to see the invisible and to understand the inapprehensible - the method of deepening in the waters of the Stream and valuing everything from that point of view.
Stepping aside of the avalanche of sounds and colors, deepening in silence I began to understand the nearness of bodiless Something. For sure it was not yet the Truth but being there in the bottomless depth I clearly felt that that is not at all the end and that my task after the return will be to pure out from myself at least a small gleaning of that incomprehensible knowledge. My own emptiness gave me the wings and it was not already important for me is it dream or reality because there, in emptiness, the ideas were wandering and in it grew invisible wonderful visions which are destined to change and vanish for to appear again. There I felt easy and calm and from there all the man's intentions to imagine some new deep fantasies looked funny. What for? Just make a bent and dip out.

* * *

SUNDAY, the 23rd of September.
Sailed to the North-West, declining sometimes for a quarter of a grade to the North or strictly to the West. Made 22 leagues. Saw a turtle, a pelican and river white birds. Met plenty of grass in which many cancers were found. The weather stood fine, easy and people began to complain that the sea is strange because there is never happen the wind which could help them to come back home from here. But soon without any wind grew huge waves. That was very amazing. " Great use brought me this nasty sea. Such probably not happen from the times when Jews blamed Moses for he released them from their captivity, - confessed our captain when he was alone with me.
Seems that his disease is far in progress. He feel at ease because memory oppressed and oblivion is your permanent movable fist. What is the reason of being sad? Only sometimes when you happen to meet some monument your heart may aching for the second but monuments are the most unreliable things in this world. Even pyramids in spite of they are still stay they can not say nothing to us and to our contemporaries. Any monument is not able to serve instead of memory, monuments are the first things to be changed and again broken by aliens or natives when they begin to rebuilt a country.
Yesterday I dreamt of Seville and in my dream I came close to a monument which does not exist there: four men in noble clothing carry a coffin on their shoulders. It is a kind of a tomb monument. Then it is strange where to they carry that coffin? Observing the sculpture I felt somebody is joking. That sculpture might be connected with me but I knew that I have nothing in common with it. At least I was not lying there. *) *) Officially exist tree tombs of Columbus with documental confirmations that in every of them exactly he is buried.
When God lets us and we return I need to come there and stamp that place with my feet or, maybe, pee, just in case, for they not to hoodoo. Remembrance must be left in good deeds but not in stones.
I hope that God will save if not us then at least these notes for people may know what did we and what for we suffered. Though I know people they always and everywhere are busy with their small matters. They may make laugh or even without reading use these pages directly as they used to. Although some monk may shake the dust from our scroll or a boy who dreams of Greatness and feels that it is always connected with the sea, may try to read about ancient campaigns.
What will be they our ungreatful ancestors? And generally will they be?

* * *
I was in my shall and inside me in the middle of nerve clot, making obstacles to my mind, slowly grew a stony horn. I knew nothing and could know nothing except this horn was transparent and crystal-planed. I just knew that I had to pierce my female friend's body when I meet her. From that movie had to begin our love-games.
For the outside observer all this might displayed not very human but in a human way may behave the human creatures only. I never was a human. I was cold and slippy. And today, reflecting of my female friend I felt that from the moment my armature is too small for me. Somewhere there in different places I am a man. But when me and my lover are joined we fuse shaking like two little balls of mercury flowing inside each other.
That all began with glimpses: then we understood everything from the very first sight. Me and she did. After the first sight everything became inevitable. And the following looks which occur in a day, in a week, in a month, in a half of the year burned us. Mine - her, hers - me.
We were avoiding each other like gastronomes who have especially long talk before consuming the delicious dish. We beforehand were enjoying not only that what had to happen but even the anticipation for the joy which promised the fragrance of her hair and the tune of my voice.
We could speak with each other but averted our sights from each other in shame. Looks could expedite catastrophe and we did not desire this. We liked this game - the never-ending dance of lovers. I was not even excited noticing not mines man's hand on her shoulder or her head on somebody's knees because I knew that everything that was not real. The real was waiting for us far before.
Our comrades were good to us and awful to the enemies. And we, making no notice of that, kept their hearts warm.
When I saw her naked for the first time I remembered that I can not imagine her appearance in some dress because the last cry of fashion there was the Canadian camouflage.
I need to curse everything that took place there but I still can not.

* * *

MONDAY, the 24th of September.
Day and night we sailed our course to the West, made 14 and a half leagues, put down 12. A pelican flew. We saw many seagulls.
The day before we met the Wall I saw a prophet repose: through the whole Earth was made a dividing boundary. The line was shining with a glaringly blue-white killing light. With his back to the line, covering himself with his shield, sat rested the Great Worrier. He did nothing, rushed nowhere and said nothing to me but in his sight I read an idea: to the last line you'd better not to come. And when I in my rude manner asked: "Is such a line exist at all?, the Great Worrier just made a rest with his lip without respect to me to be clear: of course, does exist.
The next morning we met the Wall. It was of iron, dark and endless.
High above us, higher than our masts, on the Wall was shining the inscription. Its sudden appearance, its proud golden glistering of obscure signs filled the souls with a mysterious horror. Covering their eyes with their hands, bending to their knees deck-hands made a prayer because they understood that that were our "men, tequila, fares. But why just two words? Probably not all is lost? While we flew pass them I made to draw up the unusual letters. May be to our ancestors they say something in future for I can not read them in spite some of those signs reminds ours. Here are they: "Князь Потемкин. *) *) In reality the title of the ironclad consisted of three words. That was the full name of a Cossack Grytsko Nechesa who destroyed Zaporozhe Sich.

* * *

There is not an idea worth of dying. There is not an idea worth of killing. Ideas generally do not exist, at least I never heard of them. Not a one of those three who live in me knows nothing about such ideas. Yes, we are three of us - an embryo who will derive this world when his time shall come, a newly-born who greedy grasping the nipple of knowledge but already let himself to made plenty of mistakes, and an almost adult who's navel-cord between him and this world is weakening every minute degrading and who has the only possibility to feel sadness about this unperfected world which he must leave and which nevertheless was nice being foolishly unpredictable.
I feel them all three simultaneously having no possibility to define clearly my modern state, probably just because of that continue going.
Water-plashes chews my feet, lonely lanterns were not able to chase the dark although they tried to enlighten something. Better they not to try because this again concerned me: men were lying in the middle of the road in a straight line. They disadvantaged me to go far. Six prisoners of war with bloody holes burned in their heads with assistance of an ordinary blow-lamp. In turn. While one was dying the others cried looking at their own death.
That was not I who killed them but I just could not pass them.
I went astray. There were barriers and bushes in the darkness. Burs torn off my cloths, spades torn my hands but there I was separate from the vision of martyrs.
"Thank You, thank you... - was whispering I detouring that place and then I was thinking to myself: " There are only men there. Not a woman or a child. As if it could bring some relief to somebody. Or make the ache less painful.
In the middle of the bushes there was a dump and I fallen asleep on it. Nobody sang in the blackthorn bushes that night.

* * *

TUESDAY, the 25th of September.
This day was a quiet one, then the wind began to blow and till the night came our vessel went its course to the West. The very minute sun rose captain greet us with the news that he saw the land. He bent on his knee sending his gratitude to the Highest and deck-hands recited "Glory to Creator... Sailors climbed to the mast and rigging and all confirmed that the land is visible. Captain announced that the distance to the land is 25 leagues. All were sure that the land is somewhere near. Captain ordered to change the course and follow to the North-West along the Wall directly to the land. That day we flew to the West for four and a half leagues and during the following night to the South-West - 17 leagues which together consist of 21 leagues. People were spoken that we made less than 13 leagues. The sea was calm that is why deck-hands jumped to the water and swam. We saw many of "dorados fish and others. The next calm was terrible. A killing one.
We unstring all the sails but none of them even made a move. The calm was stifling us, it burned our blood with indignation and torn everyone's mouth with curses. The tension grew to such a level that we were ready to bite each other and then above us swinging his loosed robe with his hands stretched in shape of cross flew away some monk. We began to shout and wave our handkerchiefs to him to land but he only made a circle observing us and continued his flight further.
Immediately after that event our pilot was fallen to trance and began to exclaim keenly some spellings. In a short time after his abracadabra the rain began to fall and the wind shook our sails.

* * *

I need to rest to regain my strength, to sleep up and to gather my diffused ideas for to round up them in herd again as they are always trying to run away somewhere.
The road.
My God lead me for so long all these circles of hell that I near to loose my hope finding the way out. Evils perfused me and everything surrounding me. Destroying the other's destiny and burning out my own way back I steadily searched for the only woman. May be I was called for something different but I did nothing except searching out her. And when my desperation became hardly to bear She was found: gods presented her to me - that same awful sinner who the same very time took off the dirty robe of evils. I knew happiness and was able to make her happy but gods and goddess prolonging our common time once took her out from me.
Maybe they considered our meeting mistaken? I do not think they wanted to punish me this way: all possible punishments for a man I already got gradually, one by another, during my previous thirty years of life. After them the enlightenment happen to be and then again was the same existence without any love. Darkness and faithless...
When the loss of her was not yet my punishment then could it be a warning? What about are trying to warn gods on your thirty seventh year of life? What waits for you behind the mysterious bar which most men have not ability to overcome? A new understanding of life... A new role... New fate... Or is it a warning that I also have no possibility to pass through the climax of a critical age and after creation of nothing I will discover nothing too.
Shut up your mouth - be a philosopher. Ask you addressing yourself. To answer the questions may anybody fool; ask them - is the destiny of chosen ones.

* * *

WEDNESDAY, the 26th of September.
Went our course to the West. Then turned to the South-West before reassured: that that what we consider to be a land for real was the sky. *) *) Such things take place even now: here and there. During day and night we made 31 leagues, wrote down 20.
The sea looked like a river, the weather was nice and quiet. At ten o'clock in the morning a funny reddish man sailed to us on his raft made of cocoa-nuts. Walking on the board he screamed: "Banzai! in a strange language *) *) Literally: "Ten thousand years of happiness! (Japan.) and: "Haida, haida, haida! - in our tongue. *) *) Indians of Peru and guzuls from Bukovina pronounce these words alike, speaking the same meaning "let us go. We thanked and he cut off his ear by himself and began with anything and on everything draw the naked women with the fruits of Paradise in their hands. Sailors were delighted and gladly fed him. They did not speak of cash payment: as he was minus ear so could hardly hear their possible proposals. The next morning he disappeared leaving on our main sail a great picture with palms, flowers, thin black pigs and fat women in it. That was probably the picture of Paradise and some of our sailors bent on their knees beginning to pray to the fattiest woman which they consider to be Virgin Mary. I, after some meditation, went to conclusion that at first: Virgin Mary could not be naked, at second: she could not have such puffy breasts and such a bumptiously dropsical bosom. All the deck-hands gladly agree with me and began to masturbate on the picture in a friendly way. One more time this affirmed the rightness of my idea about the utility of a real art; the art may be real only then when it is useful for the people. *) *) Being in the author's shoes I probably should not humiliate "social. Realism in such an obvious manner. One may argue but the author, right or wrong, was born in its depths.

* * *
We were lucky: we were alive and our victory was behind us. Though luck itself may differ. And often you even are not conscious is it luck or not in every particular minute because there is not measure scaling what you must conceive luck and nobody knows if , probably, our recent defeat is the same happy event when you luckily to avoided a bigger danger and which held us from some killing act which in its turn could be the aftereffect of such a lucky achievement as Victory?
Then my twin of my age was sitting defeated in a cube of glass in one of the closed rooms. There was a very hot atmosphere. He sat under a big rock waiting when pass him will run some food. He was almost blind, knitted no more nets. His biggest desire was a cockroach which will be enough for another week to support his hard life.
I felt him and felt compassion to him from my very far distance being wet and shaking of cold. Getting closer to him I bend and hurt my nose by one of the numerous glassy hair covering his brown body and that shock made me to understand that he was a female. Although why could not I be a female specie in my age? More than that there in New-Mexico.
The grave-yard opens on the next hill. Tombs and fancies were near to break my way at all because in the darkness I could hardly notice the paths and had to step on the tomb-stones, flowers, chaplets blundering along the benches and tripping into the crosses.
Why a man tries to live long? What a strange tending to prolong particularly his days based on an unstable basement of ambitions without being supported by potential abilities nor by apparent forces. Aiming to that target as to a main one looses of his sight the following question: "Does it worth your efforts? And, generally, will it be you who decides if you appeared to the land against your own will and now you must grasp everything you rejected before. Your life is like a spark in dark and you may not know was this spark warming someone or burning or lighting the way to the followers. Does it worth to blow to the cold charcoal? Maybe just now the light of your spark is needed in some different place far in the darkness. And maybe the length of the flash is not so important?
Wandering in the labyrinth of concrete bars I lost my way and was fallen into some hole in the earth. My sweater was broken and something sharp pegged my shank. I would rather not to hurry, I would rather regain my breath and before I try again to get out the earth-hole I would rather look at the sky. Sorry that it is such an impenetrable apathetic. It must be ashamed of me. But this is just a hole-using for butterflies. There is no Mhynotaures in this labyrinth and this is not a trap, this is just a somebody's grave.
Yet somebody's.

* * *

THIRSDAY, the 27th of September.
Went our course to the West, made 24 leagues, put down 20. Many of "dorados swam close, we killed one of them. Saw a water-bird phaeton.
After long days of his absence our captain at last went out to see people but it was apparently not that same captain with whom we started our trip; this one was much fatter and all gray-haired. Using his hammer he nailed to the gross-mast a gold castelliano coin *) *) An ancient golden currency and began his long talk before us showing something eloquently but obscure with his hands. He was addressing in the alien's language. From his speech we were only able to grasp that he is speaking about the common market meanwhile persuading us in advantages of the market economy in favor of other different economies (are such possible?). Deck-hands looked at me in their embarrassment. They, unlike the captain, remembered for good who gave the financial support of our enterprise. I made a rest with my shoulders and turned my back to them because it was not already my captain. Good Christian souls even did not hang him up but just threw him out of the board. That sick man yet was continuing to shout some strange slogans and waving his hands rising up water-drops but sharks were already making their initial circles around him.
Later we discover that the coin nailed to the gross-mast was the last one from the vessel's treasury. Nobody was not able even guess where to could disappear all the rest of our money.

* * *

From that warm convenience I was slumped in the world less welcoming: there was dark around me, frost and a snow-storm was near to begin. I was wet, shaking and went fingering over subjects as I was almost blind. My aim was not already to survive - my new aim was to reach some unknown place. The most important thing was to reach it; everything else was not already important. A scientist could call such an attempt the instinct, a cleric - the Providence, I myself had no time to be involved in jungles of classification, bending and slumbering I went my way. I was near to execute the main trip of my life.
The streets were empty, nobody could help me and nobody had right to balk. Moon indifferently shone up to my way and I was not huff by its aloofness; Nature lives its own life. I got cold but after washing I felt my body was clear, that river washed me carefully.
One who can not fight for his life has no place in this life, so, maybe has it in some different? Or even there he has not too? How long we have to wander?
Now the bells began to toll. In all their strength, mightily as they tooled in that mountain village which we were begirding stamping the first snow.
The village was at the far distance, it was sleeping and no one might know about our approach. At the contrary, that was we who had to brake stillness with the roar of explosions and battle whoops. But the bells were tolling. And I, knowing nothing about my comrades feelings', was ashamed of them. We ran hiding no more and got the village without a shot. There we just heard the thin jingles of a broken glass and the cracking of the new fire burning.
Population lived no more in that village. We begird the church with the campanile beside it hearing that the bells toll no more and noticing that the snow around the church was white in its virginity being not yet disturbed by men's foot prints. The campanile was also empty. For to be sure of it we threw a couple of hand-grenades inside it but even shatters made not bells to toll. Their previous sound was for us only and just for the very minute we were at the edge. When we crossed the line making our conscious to shut up the bells stopped to call for us.
Four "Ural tracks came and we silently climbed the trunks leaving the village before dawn. A wounded dog puled. The other one with her voice weak of hunger, which sounded rather like cough, barked following us to the sub-village hiding herself behind the fences.
After that event I am trying to forget the name of that village but it again and again arise in my mind sometimes with assonance or common shapes and sometimes, like it happened today, with those fragrances of not yet fallen snow. I hide my shaking hands deep in my breeches listening to the foreign bells in my own town. They are warning.
Now stopped tolling. I may go.

* * *

FRIDAY, the 28th of September.
Followed our course to the West. The sea was calm. Made 14 leagues, put down 13. Saw some grass, caught two "dorados fish.
Caws and horses hanging on the ropes in the hold are hang up for so long that they are good for nothing. Their heads are hanging down, they lost their voices and are not able to eat water-plants. Here is not the land to which we carried them and I am already put up with the idea that it will never be. From today we begin to kill the speechless animals and eat their flash without any joy.
Flying fish with their colors shining shoot out to our deck. Under the burning sun they die slowly drying loosing their previous colors and getting gray cast becoming to be similar to us and to our caravel. They made a mistake, they need not fly here. Maybe somewhere in another place their bright wings and flexible bodies are more welcomed but just not among us. Here they will swish under our feet like the bygone year's leafs.

* * *

"Good night, good neighbors. Good neighbors, good night! *) *) A passage from some Broadway musical. Sang I with my bluish lips trambling while coldness gradually twisted my neglected body in the "new-born pose. Inside my mind I discovered an elevator while the whole my mind was like an old high-stored building in which the elevator passed just through the apartments like they use to in America the country I never saw. Generally speaking they were not real apartments but kind of small rooms: somewhere a kitchen, somewhere a bathroom, in the other story an attic or a balcony with its winter-garden and in every room there always was just a single person. Standing in the elevator I was going through these rooms where people were occupied by their usual matters and some of them I could easily recognize after their sweet features and some persons were seen for the first time by me leaving an understanding that the meeting with them and future acquaintance still awaits. Some of the rooms were yet empty but such were in a very small number.
The elevator moved and I knew that it is not a trick, I could recollect all this when I desire but still I knew that I enter my own brain not just to enjoy the view; I might to get there some new knowledge which some people get never and I was excited of the pre-feeling of the awaited unexpectancy. And I was even more watchful when the elevator stopped in a room with a big bright window and high ficcusses in barrels upon the walls. A boy was standing there with his back toward me looking out of the window to the distant street. Hearing the jingle of the elevator stopped he began to turn slowly and making his turn was very astonished seeing my bearded face and ancient weather-stained jeans.
Although he had not enough time to understand what is what but my heart during those short minutes was overwhelmed by joy: in spite of his unfamiliar face and his strange checuered clothing, in spite of a savage panorama of an unknown city behind the window I understood that I see me young again and again pop-eyed in many-many years after this life and two hundred years of total non-existence.
It was a good joke of the Power which leads us. Probably even a promotion ( I had a feeling of that Power smiling) because I behaved right - I was always making my mind even when others thought this is a useless business.
And such a persistence is always stimulated.

* * *

SATURDAY, the 29th of September.
Followed our course to the West, made 24 leagues, put down 21. The stillness stood that is why during the day and night we sailed less. Saw a lot of sea-plants.
Some day people will evidently be able to fix the events not only in static but I am sure even in the smallest features of the motion, in their development and followed by the reverberations of sounds from the past. The human's genius gives the basis for such hopes. And then our ancestors will be able to see how to the beach of the first island to which we could came close enough *) *) Probably the isle of slumbering slowly went out seventeen old men in their white gowns covering their hills *) *) White frocks belonged to the Irish order of columbites (!) who evidently reached the American bank once upon a time in year 877. hardly drawing the weapon in their shaking hands which they were already not able to use they will lachrymaly ask us not to go on the beach for not to dishonor them as they as long as seventy years obeyed the order guarding the island. During these years not a one lonely ship came near the island. There were not women in the garrison and the life-giving power passed by their island. The trees were cut down, animals were slotted. Men just had to die among the ruins of the fort and the tombs of their comrades. The only thing able to comfort those old soldiers in their deadly time could be the feeling of the duty abided, unspotted honor and fidelity to the oath about which will Heavens only know.
Saying nothing we sailed away not mentioning who we are. The tears of those old soldiers I will remember forever: that must be them shining in the diamonds of all marshals' stars.

* * *

Blundering and slipping up on the cobble-stones I went up to the temple. Coming under its gate I noticed that the temple does not exist. The main entrance gate were on their place, the bells were hanging to the left, thick green fence was darkening around the yard but the Temple was not there. Empty rifle-shells were cracking and jiggling under my feet.
Saint Nicholas was crying over the ashes.
Fool guzuls *) *) Ukrainians living in the Carpatian Mountains fallen in love with wood made the temple from such a short-living material not because they could not make it from stone, they could but stone is cool - the soul feels hard among it but among wood being supported by the spirits of wood and water it finds convenience and pacification.
I was heading to the temple. Just the feeling that it is existing, - the oldest building in our city, kept me from madness silently reminding of my place in the endless Mebius ribbon which symbol is the one and only eidolon of Being itself: ".
And now something is broken and fallen out of it.
I knelt down on my knees and scooping deep with both of my hands the saint carbon black spotted my wet face. Somebody was continuing to cry under the green fence while the black stains on my face instead of be the sign of mourn turned to the battle camouflage: my fingers mechanically designed it against my will. Will the souls of predecessors excuse this fit of my or will they support my subconscious's movement?
I was crying and my hands sinking into the ashes draw with them all my body.
* * *

SUNDAY, the 30th of September.
Followed our course to the West, during the day and night made 14 leagues, put down 11. Four phaeton-birds flew to the ship that is an important feature of the land; twice saw four pelicans and plenty of grass. Noticed that the stars called Guardians in the evening dusk were near the right front paw from the west side. And at the dawn - on the same line bit lower the left front paw from the South-West side. So, during the night covered no more than three lines which is nine hours. When the evening began the compasses was declining to a quarter of the grade to the South-West and in the dawn showed strictly to the direction of Polar star. And this happened every night. Obviously stars are moving. And the compasses are showing correctly.
Neither my companions, nor captain which I hired, not even King himself who permitted this trip, did not know its real aim. I opened it to nobody because in case when I probably announced that I sail to the Freedom they make fun of me and stamp me down for sure. I lied something about "gold for everybody and everyone imagined his own Paradise. As so as about the Freedom - it is not correct at all; I even to myself never confessed where and why do I try to get. He, who leads me, before the travel said that that tenement of Truth will get not one who has his strong will. One who decide to do this must not trust his plans neither his relatives nor friends, he must just pray and meditate until before his inner sight rise the clear reflection of the Saint City.
I was thinking it will be the ancient city of On where the Egyptian priests once wrote the worlds chronicles but my multy-houred meditations called up to life Minamata town and over-soacked with mercury Madeira town which was my own Rio-de-Oro. In Sierra Pilada tens of thousands of garimpeiros shouting "Adios, mama! slipped in the mud to the scarcely deep open pit bustling there and loading their begs with wet clay. More terrifying view I never saw during my life because that land and that hole were dead and the men's work senseless; more than that they were not even slaves there!
-So how? Did not you have change your mind to make all humanity happy?! - asked someone waking me up in the middle of the night. And I in horror looked to the ordinary plume of water which drained through the neglected board thinking: " Your Will, but please do not torn apart my heart, I ask You. You may know that I have one aim and I execute it in spite of everything!
Calming down I read before sleep a poem by Matteo Boyardo "Amorous Roland and my thoughts were circulating around single theme:
Amorous? Roland? *) *) A companion of Karl the Great. Was killed during the battle with basks in year 778.

* * *

People never come to God when they have where to go to. My time has come, I have nobody to speak to. (Originally Author use it in English.) I was never predicting that this problem will excite me some day, see, I am touched. When you are young you think that women exist only for one reason and suddenly the moment comes when you simply want to speak to them; to men I have already said everything. And not with all women I may behave like this but just with her, about whom I think every minute.
Me and her spoke very little, always had no time for this. Night have swallowed her exploding itself and turning the night to the awful surrogate of an alien day. Cracked and being torn to unequal parts which were further spread by the light that night returned back many of us unhurt, mountains and skies burned and air sweetened up with the smell which let not sleep even the strongest men.
Night did not return back my love. Showing to me the rim of happiness the night treacherously dangled me inside her every single dusk just come. She skittishly played, hinting to the promises to continue our reunion if I just little longer wander in the mountains while the others will try to sleep.
From that time our commanders stopped to jaw me up and our men quit asking me why in the morning I am again spotted with blood.

* * *

MONDAY, the 1st of October.
Went our course to the West, covered 25 leagues, put down 20. Cats and dogs rain began. A big fish pulled pass us an old man in a boat. We happened to think that it is a mirage too but he addressed to us in Spanish:
-Aqua! *) *) Water! (span.)
We threw before him a dry melon with water in it and asked if it is far to the land.
-Colba! *) *) An ancient name of the island of Cuba. - yelled he pointing behind him. Hardly reaching the water-melon and almost missing it because of a high speed of the merlin's swim the old man pointed once more to the East with his hand and shouted looking at our astonished and mistrusting faces simultaneously hearing our words of despair,
-Cabroni! *) *) A rude Spanish curse. The fog quickly absorbed him while we were continuing to draft with all our sails hang loose.
The milk-white mist stood up and in this mist toward us slowly moved a huge golden ball. It kept parallel course but went faster than we and easily outdriven us. When the golden ball was near us inside it in unnatural yellow light we noticed four men dragging in water till their knees. They brought a palanquin. In that palanquin sat a fat mister in a red and yellow dress, with the crown on his head. He has a long black hair, and a short black beard. He gave us his smile and several times nodded his head. It seemed that he wished us nothing bad but at the same time he did not invite us to follow him. *) *) This picture observed M.Rerikh during his trip searching Shambala.

* * *
If you are lost it is good to return the joy of life but only where could you get it, from whom to accumulate? Only once, I remember, I was going past the concrete fence of a school and through the typical "Fuck off! and "Sepultura suddenly noticed as if it caught my eye by itself - bright colored lettering " Clara - is a virgin!!! And so much simple joy and pleasant astonishment was in that line that it, against my will, curved my lips in a kind of smile; could it be - Clara, see, occurred to be a virgin! Not all is desacralized yet, not all is lost. We can be sorry about the one thing: to be sure of that miracle the author of the lettering, as he was a simple soul, had to brake this crystal vale between this and that life and also Clara is...
What a strange world it is, all is a total amalgamated reflection on the delicate fragile mirrors, just lost control and again...
He has his blue galiffe, green shirt and a cap with the red facing on. The spotted battle-jacket and an eight-gasset peaky cap were on me. He stared at me in surprise and was a little bit startled. He did not recognize me but I recognized him, exactly that one from the previous century. " Why is he here? - I was thinking to myself,- Although he must be in the port of Poosan now. *) *) An Korean town. "I was surprised meeting you in Baghdad, said mister Death to a tradesman which ran away from him during three days and nights,- "I was afraid you may be late but you arrived to me in time. He was eating the buckwheat porridge when we met.
I, running along the corridor, just for the case, shot through the closed doors and returned back to check the room because of the jingle of an falling aluminum pot.
He was sitting on the floor. Four of my bullets ripped up his belly and from inside of it the buckwheat porridge was fallen out. We both silently gazed at the fresh buckwheat porridge which was slowly falling out. There was almost no blood. Plus some fat was drooled outside and gases were releasing with whistling.
He looked at me. I looked at him.
Figuring out that he is no more a warrior I ran far and my day was long, full of dispensable charges and, in common, a happy one because we made local natives to bury our people and we ourselves gaily boozed till the next morning came.
He did not even cry. We both were astonished.

* * *

TUESDAY, the 2nd of October.
Kept our course to the West, through the day and night made 39 leagues, recorded 30. The sea is calm and still. Some grass ran now from the East to the West, many fish appeared, we caught one - saw a white bird which looked like a seagull.
After the midday we met the armada of ships which moved at the same direction as we were moving then - along the wall. Old "Pinta was also among them. Except our cabin-boy nobody could recognize her, such strange outfit she has. Armada moved fast and none paid attention to us. We established an extra watch for not to bump somebody. It sounds strange but that view of plenty joyful people, newly painted vessels and plenty multicolored banners waved in the air did not make us feel good, vice versa it made us all feel depressed.
We felt a bit easy observing number "500 which was repeated in different shapes on the boards and sails of the yachts, barkentines and caravels. It was a friendly although an unknown force moving in spite of stillness. *) *) This regatta took its place in 1993. People gladly waved with their hands and flags to us. Apparently if those were devils tricks their slogan in digits had to be "666 but not "500, nevertheless we felt more in comfort after they all zoomed by and vanished behind the horizon leaving in the air blue smoke with a strange fragrance as if ground fat *) *) The ancient name for oil was burning somewhere.
Keeping silent all our people hid themselves in their corners and prayed solemnly being not sure if it is possible to talk about the last event, which seemed to be a dream, and meditating upon what denotes that sign "500 and the word "America to us.
We could be sure of nothing. "It is easy to check whether it is a dream or a reality because even Heraclites taught that the World in which we are, during the day is common for all, and that one showing itself in dreams is different for everybody, that was my weak attempt to appease myself. And the world in which we entered was living its own life, making no notice of us and changing not its rules in our sake. We ourselves felt like children in the adults' world where everything is incomprehensible and fear is following our every step. Simple people could not stand this. They had to be saved. I was praying for that and in the middle of the night a grate flock of seagulls was fallen down on the deck and was there making noise till the dawn. I sat in my cabin before it is still. And when in the daybreak I went out then I saw that all the sailors disappeared together with the birds. Only the cabin-boy was left. From the recent he became to be dumb and had no fear of nothing unlike the rest of ordinary people. *) *) Facts of unexplainable vanishing of people and ships as so as non-understendible time-tricks in those waters, in so called "Bermuda triangle, take place even now.
I felt sadness but I did not care of their destiny: this symbol was another forcing sign of our unfinished conversation with Eternity. " Your partners must stay here but you go farther. That is the teachers' command,- signalized some unknown leader and I agreed beforehand, seducing not my soul with doubts.

* * *
I felt that exist some other things much terrible than death. I felt my anility. I felt that it comes closer and will never go away. Its inevitability scares me more than possibility of death because the death one feels in a bit different way than anility, it has its intrinsic incompleteness: lips becomes stiffy, heavy chain of the cold rises vawinly from the ends of the fingers freezing exactly near the heart. Nobody wants to believe in it but in these feelings presents not only the body suffering and the hatred called out of weakness. There is also a delightment: you care of nothing, you are responsible for nothing, the rules of the life do not concern you, you are approaching the mystery, you are already on its rim. You're getting relaxed falling down the other dimension. And when the death is leaving your body too, there is only sadness is still in you. The sadness about the eruption of the expectation of the unknown world which is full of delightness and eternal love-feelings. And also of the eternal excitement.
Although the excitement of a person calls up the general excitement of all the things existing but, sorry, it is not endless. During the following years, when the excitement vanishes, the source of the ill-making happiness changes into the night-mares source. Sudden and unprovoked accesses of anger change environment into jungles in which plenty of traps and plenty of evil spirits are waiting for you. And than all the fairy-tails about Cinderella and Ugly Duck seem not to be a rave if you know them personally. It is absolutely different over-feeling level deepening in which your spirit you are decomposing in the word-space, not in the meaning-space now. Going down to its simplicity you are finding the key to the all-knowing and from now all the mysteries of being and of nonentity are wide open and are waiting for you not longer, because you are - in them.

* * *

WEDNESDAY, the 3rd of October.
Followed our usual course, made 47 leagues, announced of 40, then regained reality: there is nobody to cheat to. Appeared some birds similar to the sea-gulls and plenty of grass, fade and fresh, in which was something looking like fruit. It was already dark when the snow began to fall. This brought the reflections of a picture I saw somewhere before: a magnificent mountain with snow in the middle of a cimmerian northern night and a lonely hut alighted from the heaven by a burning saucer. The brook was frozen to the bottom, the hard whiteness of the snow around the hut was not spotted by any prints; there is probably nobody never lived or possibly died during that splitting winter night. If this picture was not such immense it could remind of someone's cool battered kip. But why there that saucer might burn?
That particularly saucer is shining shimmering and the pole of light which it thrusting to the ground is hard and torsion; it is not diffused when the saucer soundlessly flying up and to the left. The slope is simply vanish. Sometime here also rushed the people who's biggest dream was the exactly same hut and the baby of three arroba weight *) *) One arroba is equal 12 KGMs which they will keep out at the end down from the lays of million years of mud and of hundreds of generations forgotten. Just will it bring them happiness? More than that, will it deliver them at least rest, that is the question. The point is that they will not even wash up their finding from the mud and again hide it behind the heavy iron doors.
Everything said that I passed through the ceremony of a spiritual preparation on my way to the Land, because the watchmen of the saint place already came out to meet me feeling that I am close enough. From now they were with me: one was behind my left shoulder, another behind the right one. Staying invisible they, yet, announced about their arrival in a telepathic way, because neither me nor them need not words already.
Overwhelmed by sweetness I knelted and washed my face with tears because it was the great victory. Not mine only but also all people's victory, of them who miserably died in a thick darkness of the lack of notion in which the world is sank. So, the aim is near, dark will be dispersed. But to feel joy means not rest the hands, because the very last steps may occur the hardest and I must step them all by myself: I am - a human, my wings are weak, my way is worm in mud.

Did I live another way some days? I am trying to recollect that feeling of an easy and sure joy of possession of my lover and steadily recollect something else as only the feeling left; straight clear signs or facts disappear. I just remember that we appreciate one another over all. Every event or person, even the nearest, could not brake in our closed space. And if we had to be involved in strange business in our souls were preserved cachets of the last words spoken between us, and nothing more important existed not. In those cases was the only constant feeling as if our conversation was half-word broken.
I am not able to tell her all this. I cannot speak. It would be easier to write but it seems that women always want to listen and understand what they hear much better than written or showed. And they learn that by heart.
Probably, it is not so bad that I can not speak and explain. As usually I'll burst into her room at pause.

* * *

THIRSDAY, the 4th of October.
Kept our course to the West. At day and at night covered 63 leagues. On the ship landed 40 white birds, which looked like seagulls, two pelicans and also phaeton-bird.
Cabin-boy finally got mad at all. Evidently the Wall does not disturb him and the memories about his house remind him the only one fact - there are girls there.
He is out of his mind. Pervert. Getting advantage of the absence of the rest people he is satisfying his flesh just on the latrine under the burning sun looking up high to the golden breast of the nymph under the bowsprit. She is putting out her hand pointing forward and looking there calling us farther. And he is looking at her bust showing his teeth and shaking his body in a wild dance. Red shining flesh, big white teeth. Came. With his generous hand is sowing his seeds. I sowed to this trip my grandfather's heritage, he is sowing his extra slippery seeds. Mopping his hand at his trousers he is laughing at me. Slipping on his own semen he is falling down to water making no sound. He could probably swim out if our board and the wall did not unite over his head. Well, I am alone.
It seems that the Earth is round still, winds push me uphill and I, reaching the crown of the planet, could come too close or maybe even come into the world of ideas, where ideas are waiting for their turn to alighted a certain person or are resting after their return from there where the mission is executed, in the lower world. *) *) He could hardly read Decartes.
I need to remember as many as possible from what I see; just how do I distinguish if the land I am looking for will be a real one or also will be embodied in fata-morgana although hard to touch?

* * *

Taking under consideration, broadcasting the information using words, language signs, probably is not an ideal and perfect way: it happen that words carry another meaning in them and happen to contain not information at all. One may speak different. We often use words without full understanding of their meaning, more than that, even not desire to understand: for instance, we say: " Do not mix the God's gift with fried eggs. Well, fried eggs seem to be understandable, but what is "God's gift? Interesting? Think about it and smile.
And after that they say I can not make jokes. But do not treat my words strictly searching for truth in them, because what is "the truth? It change its shape every second changing itself and leaking to the opposite camp. Behind the facts which from the outside look clear it hides its face from the too careful truth-searchers. Get ready, rudders and stupids may tell the truth directly in your face. Try to understand lie. At least it has more dimensions and that is why it is more humane.

* * *

FRIDAY, the 5th of October.
At night the wind got calm, the sea was easy and quiet. Sea-grass was absent but over the ship flew plenty of birds and flying fish. At the caboose sat a smiling chap clothed in a strange way. He was eating my breakfast.
-You are a dog! - shouted he.
-How is that? - I was astonished. - Without rime or reason?
-You are skeptic, distrustful, often sad, quite often bite and basically anchored.
-See, You speak of character! Then add that I do not care of nobody without any exceptions.
-That is particularly mean "basically anchored. - confirmed he smiling.
Misteriously looking around he put in my hand a square piece of paper which said " J. L. Finni. Well, J.L.Finni, so what next? And next he drew this strange figure plus:

Being almost used to even more strange visions I though count his drawing a very hideous. Far more next to numbers 1934.
I had an impression that he drawing his space figures announces something from the Future. But the experience of our trip especially confirms that not a kind of After, means Future, does not exist. There is only Past which exists permanently and also broken Modern from time to time, irregularly and unexpectidly drenched in the Past in the purpose of this subjective Modern could not dry up and fall out and could not fly away with sunny wind but quite contrary was constantly wet and surrounded by the Past which could give a guaranty and a calm sureness that it is itself in its prewritten term nobely and respectfully will return back to its sources, means to the Past.
I was more disturbed by the year 1314 then. *) *) The year of the debacle of the order of Tampliers who far before Colombus established their own state in America delivering silver to Europe.
We went out to the deck. I smiled to him as if he was a fool and pushed him to his shoulder. I understood his unpatiousness but what could I do when the commander on the board was not me? Seemed that he was not also surprised or insulted when he was falling down to the water. Although, why should he when his hat of straw was also bright-yellow.
* * *

To preserve warmth I run up to the beam beginning to roll: zoom-zoom-zoom-up! I jump down on my feet. I am just of a new kind, shining, overfilled with energy which I am not able to hide inside me and generously share it with all and everything. I am glad, although I am not sure if this particular energy is not killing someone. I am already another person, that is the main point, though I was gray and sad undistinguished part of soil.
Soon I stop to tell; such a tension cannot last long on its peak. I will be exghosted and joyfully still, but will be satisfied you, who listened up my confession to the its very end, taking in you the huge heap of my loited world, dirty of lonelyness and pain? That is unknown to me. That is why I am blue.
Prophets could not write, that was their greatness. They never went down to notice their thoughts and stenograph their feelings. That is why they are still in the peoples minds. Discovering their undiscovered spaces they generously shared the knowtions with the others and invited all to come to the misty banks, giving up their knowledge unselfishly.
I remember the naiv hippies' "Make Love! In the middle of our still stupid neverending waiting for Something I want to shout: "Let it not be love, let it be something else, but, be human, do something at least. Do!
From the other hand, how strange is humanity set up - anything it do, it never know is it for good or for evil. One can be sure of one fact only: if humanity was obedient, God let it exist another five hundred years more for sure. But humanity is so non-obedient.

* * *

SATURDAY, the 6th of October.
Yesterday I hosted a great company of nice ladies ( evidently the trip lasts too long). We laugh much, drank vine with water, and early in the morning they left. Apparently I lost them being dozed.
the crown-princess Cecilia the German in the uniform of dragoon with the badget of a dead head on her high fur hat;
the countess Victoria-Louisa of Braunshveig in her hussar's uniform with the pack of medals on her chest and in her black polished helmet;
Catherina ("the Great, it was so funny!) in the Russian guards' uniform;
Quinn Victoria Swedish in her costume of commander of shooters with its gorgeous epaulets;
princess Maria de Nev Bourbon in her cloth of a Portugal walker;
froilein Kartush, the singer of the Vienna operetta in her uniform of an Austrian hussar (she was the only one in the men's breeches. All the rest wore long skirts for horse-riding which covered even their shoes);
the countess Olga fon Oldenburg in the uniform of 36-th Akhtyrka dragoon regiment;
Quinn Maria of Romania, disguised as the commander of the 4-th regiment from Roshiay. *) *) All those women really loved to play with men's clothing.
Apparently there was a lack of someone but, in common, the night flew away like a minute in Paradise, in spite of the fact that all the girls were in the military dresses. We spoke in Latin. I amused them telling about savages' clothing, they made me laugh by the anecdotes from their own countries. Froilein Kartush turned to be a little "splinter in the ass, the eight rest were very sweet caressing me on my cheeks, kissing me and compassing that I still maundering along the seas being alone in my age. The one whom I liked most was princess Maria, a quiet, day-dreaming girl. I say it not because we are from the same land. The Romanian Quinn and German Princesses were awfully sweet but such things happen, You know.
I still sorry I lost them so abruptly. I am curious who was that, the tenth, which went not to our meeting?

* * *

In some other countries they probably pay to mercionares but the leaders of our "orange-resort republics only heartily thank voluntares for the salvation of their people. Unarming the brethern-warriors they send them home without rush. You are lucky when you are alive, because this is all. Because people stink: heroes and deserters alike. They lie to themselves that they smell good. They stink. And predators eat them only in great need trying not to touch often. If people only behave like predators the world could still be, but people have a bad habit to want always the same thing. All, everywhere and always. The problem is that they never get it. And too little number of people is able to notice the red glittering in total dark. *) *) The word "shuanj in daosyzm means a misterious darkness of the saint black color made by frequent dipping in the bloody-red paint.

* * *

SUNDAY, the 7th of October.
Maybe here I see the same visions that St. Joahn saw with the only difference that he knew the content of theirs and I don't even know how to name the showed scenes, speaking not of pure possibility to understand where to is calling me the fascinating datura of these images. From the other hand all these alien phenomena look so real that my consciousness has no power to reject the simple fact of their current existance. And I have only to assume that all plural Worlds are joined in a kind of some book in the God's hands. The model of that book obviously could be the Bible in which, from page to page, the pure wisdom is lapseing up. But conseive that wisdom and accept it by heart can only a gradual regular reader reading it from the very beginning. And I just see the occasional quotation-like prints rarely infuenced by the Ocean to become parts of the neighboring pages (as it happens in a wet or greesy book). I am, who has the possibility to live only in his world (on its own page only), scared and embarrased by the symbols of the neighboring worlds, order and reasons of which can comprehend the Highest Mind only. But being awared of it I may get rid of frightness and incomprehension and if the Providence leads us that particularly way just keep try to reach the far frontispiece.
Maybe I am making my mistake and for the purpose of reachness of my goal I decorate not only the real but the unseen too, although I do not loose my mind as a drunken skipper trying to sell covertly the leather of a beaver with the goose's legs added plus the duck's beak and the hippo's ear sewed down instead of its tail. The ill degenerate (I speak of skipper, not of poor scotched animal) insisted that that creature, more than that, also lays eggs and was alive when he cought it. Naturally he could not show me neither name of the creature nor the name of the land in which he, after his words, cought it up. I made fun of the arrogant lier and I asked him maybe he probably happen to be in the mythical Australia and then that sailor answered: "Maybe. *) *) Terra Australis then was yet incognita.
Verily, there are no bounds for the human's inanition and confidence.

* * *

When I saw her for the last time we were surrounded by Cimmerian black night. I remember that dark. I remember that lonely, looking like a space-ship lost in the heart of the beech woods, small chapel in the circles of the blackthorn-trees and alpine roses, to which we were drew out by different accidental paths. On the wide black benches made of oak there was cosy and convenient. Shimmering light of a thin candle, lit long ago by an unknown hand, created in the hall an aura of strangeness in which we'd rather come in, dive and never return. And what did I do then? I have only changed my socks. And while I was changing them my fair-lady was crying observing me and I kept silent because the circumstances were more powerful than me again.
From the outside we heard the roaring of a tank heavily climbing uphill. We heard courseings but laugh was not heard then. Any icon was left in the chapel. Its windows and doors were broken out. The benches were still preserved because they were too hard to cut, too heavy to carry and burn badly.
-Don't forget! - was crying she,- Do you hear? Lit a candle in Meirling, even a small one, hear?! *) *) Meirling - the hunters' hut, some 40 km from Vienna, where at the 30th of January 1889 Crown-prince Rudolph and Countess Maria Vechera were found dead. Instead of separation they preferred to die.
-Hear, hear... - mumbled I. - You'd better care of yourself, don't get lost, because I have a feeling as if this is the last day of History. What is the date at least to-day, ha?
-The thirtieth of January. You are the only one I have...
-Me too.

For farewell I rained in the pocket of her battle-jacket a handful of beech-nuts.

* * *

MONDAY, the 8th of October.
The Sea was almost like a river, the air soft like it is in April, and it was pleasure to breath it, such fragrant it was. Strange fragrances flew around the ship. Strange, delirious, not exciting and not relaxing. They were such thick and imbuegant as from a huge bouquet of flowers. Feeling them one could understand that it were not flowers odouring this way. But then what and why? The fraigrancies cradled simultaneously calling ahead. Their complicated multicomponentness was hinting at the denotation which I had to guess. It was a song which explained everything without words, one just needed to breath in, stay still and meditate.
Those odors oozed over the gates of Paradise.
And the gates were guarded by dragons. Rightward and leftward there were streaming the rivers of milk, not so wide yet. And in both rivers there were green, brown and some yellow-white-blue giant creatures swimming there. I could only see their long necks, sophisticated little heads and, from time to time, their touchy white bellies. They rose not the sense of fear but the interest only. By the shape of their heads they reminded me salamanders. I am curious did ancient Romans know that their empire, although growing immensely, yet did not grow over the limits of salamanders' areal? And now the Empire is gone but salamanders still exist.
When in Tunisia, in the middle of the night, one of them went through our bonfire and vanished in the darkness I was scared for real but the Mavres were laughing: "Now what, did you see our talisman?
Look how children love dragons. They are afraid of them but simultaneously love them. They draw them in their pictures, play with toys in shape of dragons and even sleep with them. And knoughts which carry such emblems on their chests? Probably the other times dragons lived in this World, too, and people, somewhere in the depth of their minds remember about their existance. From the other hand, maybe the knowledge about dragons is still preserved because it is important for us? Maybe we need it to notice the closeness of the Light Land of Immortality? You see, here they are, watching its welcoming entrance.
That were my thoughts while I was watching the facile moves of the graceful necks, hearing croaking and dash of the big scaled tails. Small eyes in the curious heads of dragons were kind and their chaps produced no fire. "Naturally! - laughed I to myself.- The rivers of milk would be sore far before if they were fire-dragons. Thus they are a sort of great frogs keeping the permanent coolness in the rivers.
I took up a full bucket of milk and, lifting prayers to God, quenched to support in my body enough strength for the crucial day. All sighns told that the day will come soon.
Poles of blue light shining from the cold water turn up night into day.
So, Ptolemeus was right - the Earth is flat and just here the World has its end, vice versa how to explain this wall and how to explain why the water goes down to the other side of the wall and is falling somewhere down? From the other point, everything is all right: keeping the wall I will reach Sypango, and if not, if I failed, moving round would return home. No, I will never return home. My country is in the middle of the Universe.
Though the first and the basic precept must be: "Don't believe nobody and never, because the ancient scientists also sometime "lost the limits; from those times a fly always had its eight legs and had its birth from dirt just before, really recently, some child from our non-believers' generation, came and counted them, and occurred that the fly has only six legs, nevertheless during long two thousand years there were just eight.
It is interesting what is falling behind the wall: our wisdom, our mind, our time? Our lost possibilities or our non-realized desires? The water was splashing there. And if everything this was floating somewhere, together with our sins in addition, we may be sure only in one thing: floating There - they will never vapour even there. More than that, representing the elements of individuality they can draw in the gulf and transfere to the other side of the iron wall even the individuality itself.
Ho-ho. If "Vine - is the milk of the older people, such thoughts - are the sweets for the lonely soul: I feel their roughness, lightness and besot bouquet. And as a spice "just bait, an idea that even this senseless trip was not aimless (good deal of fun had He, who made us to execute it!)
I gladly would be present watching like Paul the Apostol, drying up his sword, said teaching: "Don't blow out the Spirit, be always joyful.

* * *

I wanted to see the Sun. Darkness oppressed me too much. Enough. Millions of years I spent wandering in the darkness which is endless. Enough, let the road show me the way anywhere, even to the death but, for God's sake, let something happen and let me see the light.
I will feel relief even knowing that it is killing.
Heavy thick clouds of a baleful blue-black-green color appeared on the West and hung low in stillness over the city trying to brake my way. I went closer to them as a weak animal overdriven to death. Light-gray color of smog went dim slowly and was replaced by an oppressing weight of clouds. Between them and land there was little space left, just for my size. They smoked me in, disadvantaging, turning me to the wrong direction.
In obtuse vibrant noise there was whistling of a draught from the narrow dead-ends. The wind sometimes sobed and seethed overbracking out the city's lungs with its ill breath. *) *) The mystery of the Chernivtsi desease is still unriddled. That noise was boiling and growing one, the pressure of the wind, its jerks and slams were warnings of the new attacks and new traps.
The streams of a cold crunchy air dried up my hear and dishevelled it erecting in the horror of protest. In the great darkness some smoky tornados were rolling madly licking up the last dim shapes of the surrounding things which, probably, still were somewhere near or, maybe, were dissolved to the end in the thick concoction of gloom. And I stopped blindly but the other second felt the growth of something dangerous and uncontrollable as if the doors of anger were suddenly open. The Nature kept me isolated and waited for the submittion.
It will never tarry this. *) *) Hip-hip, hurrey to Mitchurin!

* * *

TUESDAY, the 9th of October.
The wind has changed its direction. During the whole night I heard the birds flying by. At two A. M. I noticed the jinggle of the dishes and went to the bow. There, near the bonfire was sitting a wide-cheekboned man stripped to the waist. Something was boiling in his cattle. We waited till it was cooked and then he scooped the brew and offered a cup of it to me to try continuing to smile. I nuzzled up the brown drink and understood that it was from those lands which I was trying to reach.
Flavors were unusual: odorous and pleased, although I did not dare to drink it at once. Beholding that I paid tribute to odors the Eastern man smiled again and made a welcoming gesture with his hand. I bented over the cup and began to drink making little sips. The taste of the drink was harsh; it immediately warmed up my blood and improved my mood. I also began to smile and rose my eyes upward to exchange the satisfaction with the visitor but he already was not in front of me.
The drink was finished fast. The hot cup kept my palms warm for a long time and good calm sadness did not leave me for a long time also, while I was sitting tasting the idea given to me by an empty piala; inside of it there was a slogan written in Arabic: "The highest luxury - is the deliverance from desires.
I agreed because it was my idea also, but how to reject dreams? The dreams call us forward, far; night-dreams show the ways we might go or clear the ways which we passed long ago, warning that we must not make the same mistakes twice. Imagination - is the immense power of man. Such mighty that people are not able to realize and spiritually-weak persons even abdicate this gift being afraid of its mightyness. Anyone may dream. Everybody must have a dream. Looking through the human's history everyone, at last, will come to conclusion that dream always turns into reality. Every single dream turns into reality in its time, for the dream and people who carry it are trying to make this dream embodymented in reality. This power is terrifying, great, mighty and, at the same time, it serves to everyone, even the most weakest person. Dreams are simply plans for the Future which inevitably come true.
I was separated from reality. It seemed that I was flying compassing in the air, because everything was gone and I've even lost the ability to listen, but my desperation after that was not lesser, for all this seemed to be absolutely abhorrent to the existance of any World existing. I was not doubting in my young age and my strength and always believed in the ability to imagine the Worsest, but there was the second when I, probably, was doubting in my own existance. If then I was not absorbed by the straggle against unknown bad power which was eating me up, pressing out of the right direction. I could disappear and be dissolved by it. But this power did not brake me away from the thread of Ariadna and this struggle was giving me the surenness that I still was not exterminated, because I still felt that I am sinking, half-broken apart half-stiffled.
Centuries flew, the spill was falling down by its streams knocking me down battering, swamping all around. The water splashing in my face was sweet and salt in turn, it was crushing my eyelids, giving no possibility to nictate and frightening me that can make me blind forever. I stood trying not to open my eyes and felt some relief noticing just faintly glowing green spark in the corner of my right eye. So, something was still left.
Cheery shout found its way out of my langs. Spontaneous, accidental and non-controlled as the birth of the idea. It was lonely, loud though I did not hear it myself. This shout immediately doused, getting under with it the green spark behind me and the reflected idea about the existance of that spark. The idea vanished, having no birth. Vanished the spontaneous intention and shaking sighns of that shout, echoing stayed in the shivering of my chest fusing and losing in the fever of the air-streams.

* * *

WEDNESDAY, th 10th of October.
Under my countings our ship is sailing making huge triangles *) *) "Bermuda's ? every time turning to 120ï‚° after reaching some unknown point. Each turning takes place at night under the conditions when it is impossible to remember any certain mark. And in the day-time the water-scape is permanently changing and shifting at that strange minute. While the card of the compasses held North the horizon moved around the ship. The Sun could rise and disappear twice or even trice a day, every time in different places. The stars sometimes were visible in the day and in the nights it happened that the sky stayed empty and transparent like the eye of a blind man. Just the Moon was protruded in nadir being immense, cool and always full.
Traveler must not be sure of such indefinite signes. Maybe somewhere, during the other times and under the other circumstances are the marks which hesitatenly could be named definite, but in such kind of a trip like mine one cannot be sure even of checked features. It is interesting to know is the triangle the same or those triangles are put one on another making a star. And if it is right, then which shape is that great star?
All this is such strange... In me there are constantly fight two equal and overwhelming feelings: from one side I believe that all this I've already read somewhere, from the other side - I all the time live with a dim suggestion, as if it is not a guess, as if all this I've already wrote myself somewhere long-long ago or will write in the far-far Future.
I am curious how it is all will end there in another book of mine.

* * *

I was weak. I was blue. The unbelieveble drozyness was overcoming me as after a hard beating and a long suffering, after which the muscles need a rest and the brain - needs to sleep. The angry wind was trying to take off me the remnants of the cold and heavy armature of clothing of mine, the boundaring coolness of which was not disturbing me more. Through the tunnel made by storms and tornados I, aimlessly and lazily, was sinking deep inside of me. The curtain of my consciouness was fallen down guarding me in a temporary restless calm, as if I and World held the breath waiting for the next steps of antagonist.
The environment made a mistake waiting for my histeric. I became apathetic and this apathy killed the desire to act. I stopped quiet, waiting for the worth, and feeling that every, even the least move of mine will call up the squiamish aversion, made me thick and vomite. Movement to disturb the curtain of uncousciousness which mercifully guarded me then. Flurry and fears had left me, leaving the solid belief in impossibility of my transition to the next day instead of it. It was not matter no more what does this day look like, that is why the calmness invaded all my depths. The life has no more the value which calmness has. Ungettable, unreachable and always far calmness. The Calmness from the initial letter.

* * *

THIRSDAY, the 11th of October.
Such big waves were never seen by us during the whole trip. I saw the green reed just near the ship and also a branch with the fruit of briar. At night I saw the lights which rise and fall like wax candle. At two A.M. I put down the sale and drifted having my rest till the next day came.
Lonelyness attracts. Lonelyness protracts when it draws out to a great length. When the horizon of meetings becomes narrower and the field of desires wider the lonelyness from a burden turns into a bothering habit. It turns into the way of thinking and the way of life. Lonelyness, when time passes by, becoming unnoticable, may even be not disturbing and become almost acceptable. Sometimes. But it never be welcomed. Otherwise instead of people you'll be surrounded by the other substances or thin energies pretending to be your friends, and the ear of yours hearing not words will begin greadily catch extra-mundane knowtions and Those Who are Jelaous with us will stabbornly call you to their swamping surrounding. And if you surrender you will feel releaf and the whisper of alleviation will run in their rows which in number excell numberless sands in the desert. And like sands in the desert they will stuck up your lungs, your eyes and your brain and they show you the wondering miracles opening the unlimited worlds calling out joy on your face, though, intentedly they will not warn you, for not to fright you till time come, that for all that the cost is in view. The hint on that cost is pre-feeled from the first days of solitude: to gain those endless distances you have to disperse.
M.D. LXXXVII. My hand wrote this date on the margin of the map all by itself. That year some Faust will introduce to me materialized Helen the Beautiful, calling out the more bigger sorrow by this, for I will find then that she is not my Helen. *) *) Reminds of the island of St. Helen where the Great Expellee died some three hundred years later. Probably that is why, may God pardon me, when he was fallen in his try to demonstrate the flight without wings braking his leg, I was not sorry about that looser. It was just funny. May he never promise the impossible things.

* * *

I will never be easy furthermore, because nobody counts with my personality: the History is stronger than me, The War is stronger than me, The Love is stronger than me, The Nature is stronger than me.
God stronger than me?
Maybe. Because only He has enough mercy to stop this rave, simultaneously filling not the soul with disappointment. Only He can preclude the indivertible. His bland hand will support me when I stumble coming up closer to her doors with my hand stretched out to her doorknob. The Hall of the building will begin to rock and I will fall face up, watching in amazement the sealing of gray concrete. First the white water will flow from the ceiling. *) *) The Land of White Water - a fairy-tale country, the Slavic Paradise on the Earth. Then the sealing will blow out and the avalanche of different flowers will fall down from the gape. "Leave it, - will think I, - "What for all this? You'd better open the doors of her apartment.
And then the left wall of the hall will blow up also and in the break there will appear a very thin bearded man lightened by the moonshine and framed by the tackle of the sailing-vessel. He will have a scar on his forehead which will be very familiar to me and the faint unsure smile will be on his trembling lips.
From his blue darkness he will tensely peer into shade of the pissed over dirty hall in which, on the stairs to the third floor, I will try to stand up slipping up on the white water and wedgeing off the stack of flowers which gradually but irrepressible will bury me.
"Gamarjoba! *) *) Hello! (Gorgian.) - I will greet the stranger for he will be howck-nosed and black-haired, and then somehow pronunce: "Konnicheva! *) *) Hello! (Japan.) "Jezus! - will cry out the stranger in his ragged tights. And though he will be absolutely dissimilar to Jezus, I will calm down understanding that we are home at last.

FRIDAY, the 12th of October. *) *) Regarded as the day of discovery of America.
Today I understand, at last, why the trip failed: because I was copying the map looking into the mirror's reflection. So, I just mixed up the parts of the World. I had not sail to the West, we'd rather sail to the East, meeting Sun. There were my Destiny and my Great Future waiting for me. *) *) Exactly just the Arabian explorer Ibn Battuta did 29 years earlier (1325-1354) reaching China and Sumatra. Dum spiro spero. *) *) Till I breath - I hope. (Latin.)
At four in the morning the Wall was blow up. *) *) This particularly hour people more often meet Mister Death and are having their birth.

* * *

At four o'clock in the morning a housewife Victoria was woken by a tremendous growl and burr in the corridor. Someone was roaring there crying or laughing. And still something was knocking and knocking to the tin-plate even the glass was clincking.
Running up to the doors, Victoria yelled outside:
-What are you doing there?! Stop it immediately before I call the police!
Just as she spoke out the incantation the noise has stopped. Holding up her curiosity and straggling up with her fear, Victoria pipped out through the gap between the open doors, forgetting not still to hold them on the chain. Having explored her stairs with one eye she found out that all that consternation took place somewhere one floor up or down, at least. Then, feeling audacity, she took off the door-chain and put out her head from the doors speaking aloud before her:
-Who is there?! Are you some bandits ?! - and later, in a less sure tone, - I already rang to precinct. They say they are coming...
-Victoria, is that you? - answered her neighbor from the downstairs in her voice calm, - He woke you up too, that damned one!
-And who was it such late at night, Kate?
-Well, that coocoo visited us again. Well, as usually. Shouted and was trying to break into the empty apartment. Number twenty two, you know, where that whore use to live and which is closed now.
-And why is he silent now?
-Fell down the stairs.
-Didn't he kill himself, ha? Need to see.
-Oh, no, I check already. He is sleeping.
And after that the silence spread its kingdom over the house again, till at six o'clock the neighbor gentleman from the fifth floor lead his marble dog for a walk. He hated this business much and going out he showed that slamming the entrance door of the building at his full strength making badly fixed glass and plywood shake. This way he announced to the whole world the opening of a new day.

THE END.