Lion`s bridge, at night
Явор Емилов Тодоров (явор64)Раздел: Проза на чужд език Цикъл:
Yavor came into the hallway of the hotel "Central Forest" and asked the two girls at the reception how much the accommodation was. The two girls with appearance of prostitutes said a figure which seemed not to be to his pocket and he turned to go. Then he saw her and he knew her though they had gone about ten years but he knew that she was the same girl, although he had seen her only one time ten years ago for less then a minute, but he was sure he loves her, he was in love with her although only he was knowing that, she would never learn and she probably didn't recognize him.
The reason he loves her was that he was believing in love at first sight and as soon as he saw her she looked like the greatest love of his life, Ralitsa, she was the same weak, directly sickly child with the symmetrical features of the absolute femininity, just the way he was imagining it, with right parting right in the middle, only her eyes instead of icy blue were dark and her hair, instead of gold was brown. Her figure was that of Ralitsa - a puny little mouse, with no breasts, no extension in the hips, with narrow thighs and fragile shoulders and all that childish appearance made him feel love, once he loved Ralitsa, so he could love her also, Ralitsa didn't love him or she had some other reasons not to love him, okay, he could at least replace her with someone who reminds him of her.
Their meeting lasted less than a minute, she asked two levs, he said he hadn't and that was true, otherwise he would give to her immediately and with gusto, sometimes he was making this when they stopped him begging near the "Pop" and "The Blue Cafe", because he felt pity, but he was careful, some of them were drunkard or drug addicts and they didn't deserve. Immediately he estimated she was a poor child, maybe of a single mother, she has just completed school, she was without any profession, unattractive to males, so it was impossible to her to find a job like waitress or shopkeeper and that was the only thing poor girls from Sofia could to rely. Factories and plants were from long gone. The state was also before closing, maybe.
He regretted for her, he mourned himself and, generally speaking, it was much to be regretted because girls like that girl were maybe ten of thousands. If she was a beauty they might have made from her a waitress or shopkeeper and there they compelled those girls to make "office-sex", it was a public secret. The carnival was full.
He was wearing a dark suite, white shirt and tie, briefcase in the hand but it was a blank facade, he was getting sixty dollars a month, at the end of the month there wasn't a penny in his portfolio of a big pot. Big pot, but empty. She probably thought he was a big pot - piker and surely she sent him to fuck his mother in the mind. Although, if you think logically, the big pots, if true, do not walk in "Graf Ignatieff street" but they whirr around with their luxury cars. The true big pots do not walk the earth. But girls are not distinct with logic, so he imagined how she cursed him in her mind. He was pretty sure that the poor mouse was not an addict but she was hungry and in hopeless situation.
Why it not happened in a day when he had money? Then it would follow a macho attack. He would have invited her for coffee and then, with the special feeling of power that even the little money give, he would offer her, honestly and directly, to become his mistress. At least she would not be hungry if she agrees, and every girl knows what men want - sex and power. She would encountered big surprises because he would wish blond hair and blue lenses, no matter how much money they cost, he would save. She had to look like Ralitsa. Then he would make her read books, the same that he was reading, because he would be her master and the servant must resemble his master. She would be erotic maid, there is nothing shameful, millions of women around the world practice this craft and they are obedient mistresses. The life is arranged in this way and he could not bear a dull girl who do not care about "his" music and "his" books, including this one in the field of philosophy. If she was not obedient student he would threaten her he would make her to get out of here. But these were only dreams, namely, predesigned plans, if the case appear. But the case was such that Yavor was an employee of benevolent capitalist pig, they were assuring them that there was no money in the group, all was selling hard because people had no money. Politicians were saying the same about state. But then from where were these luxury vehicles, these endless parties, these gauds, and for whom were these luxury restaurants where such people as Yavor didn't dare to enter.
Yavor saw that two teeth in her mouth were missing. It was clear to him that she had become a prostitute.
They were in the hallway of a hotel which was normally used for sex per hour, there were at least fifteen girls in front of it, usually in pairs, who openly were asking: "Do you want sex?" They were not great beauties but they were fit for sex. There were Gypsies, there were Bulgarians too. Furthermore Yavor knew very well that when a girl was naughty, for example stealing from clients, or hiding money, the pimps were punishing her under the old rules of the profession - they elicited two front teeth from her mouth. "Naughty mouse." - He thought.
He didn't greet her, she didn't remember him, it would be pointless to greet her because he hadn't money again. Then, at the "Pop", in front of the bright cafe where he couldn't invite her, there was still some hope of escape. Now hope has gone. Now Yavor was living in semi-destroyed house far from Sofia and was dreaming of chickens in the yard. He was relying only on a small pension because he was sick of love in Ralitsa and he has lying in psychiatry. Amd the psychiatric institution was designed so that one couldn't escape from. He came in Sofia for awhile, driven by nostalgia, he loved Sofia, here his life was taken place. He had no money for whores. Furthermore, she was not a whore, just an unhappy female mouse. He could not take her with him to the village, the pension was not enough, and the life which he led there was as raw as Spartan. In the morning he was chopping wood, carrying water from the fountain, cooking. In the afternoon he was reading. In winter time he wasn't bathing at all, the summer he was swimming in the lake or he stood under the icy streams of the fountain. He was a real man and he could support this kind of life but no woman could be alongside with him. For women now he could only dream. If he could collect money or someone help him to buy chickens, a goat... But money wasn't enough.
He left in the dark, silent, because he decided to look for a cheap hotel. And he could wander all night in the streets, and when he got tired - to enter into any Internet cafe. He had done it many times.
"However - he thought - how disgusting thing is sometimes democracy. Yesterday the girl go to school, where on the wall hang the portraits of Botev and Levski, The teacher teach them poems from Vasov: "I am a little bulgarian...", and other similar, they made them read "Two beautiful eyes" by Yavorov. The girl knit one's brows: and think: " How stupid I am!" And she write an essay on the European Union. And one do not know what else. And tomorrow she is into the street and have nothing to eat because it seems from everything that she wasn't a good whore. It take talents to things. The communism has one unpardonable sin - that he plunged in economic crisis. Democracy supposedly would cure the economy. Nonsense. But everything is full pornography. And on a global level. Privatization. Give them ownership and let them do what they want. The state withdrew from business life. And what? What this retirement means, I ask! New slogans, new principles, new postulates of political and economical theory. But everything is air under pressure. New dogmas, empty wisdom, but in practice - full pornography. And tens of thousands of hungry mice. The girls of Sofia. Our women. Our whores, to excuse the expression. If girls were philosophers they would give themselves to shepherds, as the poet said. But the girls are not philosophers. By the way, fuck them. Sometimes I hate them. Because they are not philosophers, obviously. Or maybe because even the hippie-girls in Bulgaria were such a clogged virgins who wanted first to get married... But democracy means demographic disaster. No, not a demographic decline but a "genocide against his own people" , how a friend of him used to say. First the price shock. Then the delight robbery of the banking system. Corruption. They do not give you a credit. Criminal gangs, euphemistically called "groups". Pimps returning by taxi from the Netherlands. Pop-culture of drug addicts. Many are the beauties of democracy. Not to mention that it is a logical absurd. There is no two truths. The completely unnecessary institution of the parliament who, allegedly is forging laws. Which are actually translated from foreign laws thirty years ago and function safely during all that time. Scholastic disputes whether the taxes to be ten, thirty five or sixty percent. Tens of millions spent on elections when people are starving. In general, a sacred cow and totally useless, that's the democracy. Helpless hope that foreign investments would come. Yes, but they do not come. Help yourself, to help you God also. And if they come, they come to drain, not to pour. Or to ruin.
Yavor went to the Central station. It was open until eleven. He was knowing all around. He was knowing Sofia as he knows his pocket. He wanted to sit on a favorite place and to drink a beer for the health of the democracy.