Male C. Pig a.k.a. Svinopolist (piggymouse) wrote,
Male C. Pig a.k.a. Svinopolist
piggymouse

Лытдыбр: 2 января

С утра проснулись поздно, уже после кхе-кхе рассвета. Долго тормозили (agaspher, сорри за асоциальность) и в конце концов, чтобы не упустить светлое время суток, пошли с Юлей и Женей гулять в лес. В лесу очень красиво, но после прошедшего в пятницу сильного ливня на лесных дорогах много затянутых льдом огромных луж. Обходили их по обочинам – снега под деревьями совсем немного и ноги уходят в мох. Человечьих следов в лесу мало, но полно собачьих.

Вечером жгли костёр и запускали салюты. Пиротехники у нас с собой маловато и вся на самом деле прошлогодняя. 31го днём, уже в спешке, я забежал в близлежащий специализированный магазин "Фейерверки", что на углу Малого и Беринга, но там стояла очередь из таких же умных как я, прохождение которой я оценил часа в полтора-два и радостно забил. Ехать в "Ленту" из-за одной пиротехники тоже было как-то глупо, тем более, что там 31го скорее всего тоже был Адъ и Израиль.

За обедом зачем-то смешали с тестем остатки шампанского с водкой, после чего я вместо дневного сна прочитал вторую часть “Деревушки” про девушку с прекрасным айтишным именем Eula. Фолкнер в сорок лет по-английски шибает не слабже, чем в двадцать по-русски. Вся первая глава про товарища Labove, которого постоянно обзываешь при чтении Лейбовым, это конечно самое сильное, что там есть.

And he did not want her as a wife, he just wanted her one time as a man with a gangrened hand or foot thirsts after the axe-stroke which will leave him comparatively whole again. But he would have paid even this price to be free of his obsession, only he knew that this could never be, not only because her father would never agree to it, but because of her, that quality in her which absolutely abrogated the exchange value of any single life’s promise or capacity for devotion, the puny asking-price of any one man’s reserve of so-called love.

<…>

It would now be himself importunate and prostrate before that face which, even though but fourteen years old, postulated a weary knowledge which he would never attain, a surfeit, a glut of all perverse experience. He would be as a child before that knowledge. He would be like a young girl, a maiden, wild distracted and amazed, trapped not by the seducer’s maturity and experience but by blind and ruthless forces inside herself which she now realised she had lived with for years without even knowing they were there. He would grovel in the dust before it, panting: “Show me what to do. Tell me. I will do anything you tell me, anything, to learn and know what you know.” He was mad. He knew it. He knew that sooner or later something was going to happen. And he knew too that, whatever it would be, he would be the vanquished, even though he did not know yet what the one crack in his armor was and that she would find it unerringly and instinctively and without ever being aware that she had been in deadly danger. Danger? he thought, cried. Danger? Not to her: to me. I am afraid of what I might do, not because of her because there is nothing I or any man could do to her that would hurt her. It’s because of what it will do to me.

Ну и убийственное “He held her loosely, still smiling, whispering his jumble of fragmentary Greek and Latin verse and American-Mississippi obscenity”.

Tags: lytdybr, personal, quote, reading
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