БУКВИТЕ - САЙТЪТ ЗА НОВА БЪЛГАРСКА ЛИТЕРАТУРА

The Will to Survive

Явор Емилов Тодоров (явор64)

Раздел: Проза на чужд език  Цикъл:

Both were homeless and they share a common destiny, and, in some sense the reason to be in psychiatry was the same, although the similarity was not absolute, it was a woman in the case of Yavor and a woman again in the case of Svetlio - Jasmine. So Yavor could not and had not  any desire to refuse  to accommodate him to the night, it passed less than a year and Svetlio returned the gesture when that general smashed the door of their apartment and drove out his brother who was almost oligophrenic but also a bodybuilder, Svetlio himself had attracted him to the bodybuilding and then he had to be sorry for his brother had no desire to give him permission to live in the house where despite the anguish he could survive in the corner. The whole story of Svetlio was revolving around a woman's name -  Jasmine, as well as the whole history of Yavor  was revolving also around a woman's name - Ralitsa, only while Svetlio had tasted the joys of the sex with Jasmine Yavor has not done the same with Ralitsa who was asthenic girl, very beautiful, with golden hair and clear-blue eyes, painfully thin, with a figure of adolescent. One could also consider she was suffering from anorexia nervosa but the girls suffering from anorexia first make dietes and go terribly weak then. caught by the opposite mood, they gain wait and she was not changing. Yavor got sick with paranoia and for a very long time he thought she was a prostitute, he had the feeling that everyone knows about her, that people around were manipulated as if by satellite, with invisible rays or waves, without being able to realize this.
Jasmina was another case, Svetlio called her "whore" and "nimphomaniac" and she had given her many causes for jealousy with endless flirting with his friends and probably with many "experiences" with them, finally, when his grandmother tried to explain to him that the girl is not for him he struck her in anger and the old woman died after a few days in "Pirogov". Yavor could imagine how the old woman  was repeating the same thing as a broken record, bringing Svetlio to frenzy, the same had happened between Yavor and her mother, she had begun to yell:"Stop with this Ralitsa, Stop with this Ralitsa, Stop with this Ralitsa..." He did not want to stop and then he beat her. Yavor and Svetlio were three years in psychiatry in Kurilo and there they had become friends. In the  'Club on the 7th floor' Svetlio came beaten with fatigue: no accommodation, his pension was low, twenty-nine euro, it was nothing and he was looking for a job. His shoes were rotten from walking, his legs were undercut. This condition was known to Yavor - several sleepless nights in succession due to a lack of housing - that was familiar to him. Then he was finding shelter in entrancies from where once a fellow tenant evict him with loud threats. Yavor was circling and circling the central streets of Sofia and nevertheless all circumstances the romance of the night life was intoxicating him, the ads were creating associations  reminding him about Ralitsa and were telling him a story -  their own story. It seemed as if he was analyzing the associative circuits and receiving information this way about his favorite. He had the feeling he was conducting an investigation, the most strange investigation in the world.
When he was very tired he went into one of two non-stop cafes  of the city center or at any Internet cafe. The latter was something that Svetlio could not, he did not know to make use of computer. Over-tired,
he was playing chess with the computer or he was listening to the radio in one of the channels or, already very tired, he was entering in the sites with porn, enormous sites, filled with endless pictures of porn beauties. The fee in the online clubs was lev per hour and to rent a room in a hotel to sleep would be more costly than to spend several hours in the Internet clubs.
Once Javor entered into a bingo hall "Fantastico". The entrance was not expensive but inside the money were ending very quickly, the lady usher accommodated him to a computer auto dialing the numbers. All the waitresses were little "minion" girls, the only type of woman that was  able to really excite him. They were dressed in very short pale blue skirts that were revealing fantastic beautiful thighs. From the very beginning it seemed to Yavor that one of the waitresses,  blond girl, this one that turned her head, was Ralitsa. It was logical because the man from the detective agency had told to Yavor that Ralitsa had left her job in the research institute. But if they were lying him? A few years ago when he retired for the first time he had paid in a detective agency to learn more about her. And that was said to him by the detectives but was it true? He remembered how she opened the door, she was with a horrible purple lipstick, probably she had made some experiments with her makeup, she was dressed in grey striped leggings and grey sweater, behind her the hall was seen, furnished with rug, these ones are no used anywhere, divided with right track in the middle, she seemed as alien goddess from science fiction movie.
Another time a friend of him, Brother Niki the Great, led him to drink beer in "Piccola Italy", a small restaurant on the train station N5, one stop after the wheel of the tram, near the Court House. The waitress who greeted them was an absolute counterpart of Ralitsa, immediately he understood that she wasn't she but the resemblance was absolute. If he was a little more cheeky, he could speak to her, to tell her - how trite  - that she looks like one of his familiar...
Yavor found that the condition of Svetlio was alarming and it was meeting one fantasy of him, how the terrible junk cars with their orange moon rover lights find one morning near the to the trash bins a corpse of a young man  of apparent age of thirty-five years, died from exhaustion, his own body. They drank  free coffee from the "Club 7th floor", place in the city dispensary, where former patients used  to meet once a week, and  Svetlio expressed his pain. Yavor decided that Svetlio could sleep a night with him, for more even a word could not be said, the landlord would have noticed there was a second person there and would have asked "Why?". The cooperative building where the ceiling of Yavor was situated was raising his grim facade at a bottom of a street which was stretching tiring along endlessly boring wall. The ceiling was sloped, there was only one light bulb, no bathrooms, no electrical outlet, in the corner were piled up six boxes with books, all the wealth of Yavor. The evening, when he was stretching on his back in the bed through a small cleft within the roof sealed with straw two or three stars could be seen. For this ceiling he was paying twenty-five leva when his pension was seventy-five leva. No other income. He couldn't have a job. His status was  the status of impaired man. He had tried many times but always they was asking him about the famous "certificate of psychiatric report". Twice he had luck and once he was appointed as a laborer in construction company and once as a nurse in private hospice. After a week of work the lady-boss of the hospice asked him to submit the fucking certificate. It was useless to seek work.  
As a host Yavor showed to Svetlio where to lie and to wrap up himself. The bed was narrow, it would be embarrassing for both but it did not mahttp://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4013422797220095951&postID=3213726111141373517 tter for the really tired men. 
- I'm hungry! - muttered Svetlio, mortally weary. 
Yavor also had no money. He was thinking to go in the bed hungry this night. But the sacred obligations of hospitality made ​​him get out of bed and be redirected to the garden of chess near the National Theatre where he could rely on a small amount given as a handout from a fellow chess player. The will to live made him  got up from the comfortable bed and leave. The same will to live that was moving his feet at night around the city center, into the most beloved from the citizens of Sofia streets, "Alabin", "Lavele", "Graf Ignatieff" , "Vitosha" and "Slaveykoff square" , dying for sleeping, drunk from fatigue, collected in himself the last remaining particles of the will to survive. His record was seven days without sleep. 
The will to survive made him move.  
When he was in the garden it was nine o'clock. It was summer, the center was bathed in neon moonlike lights that make him fabulously romantic and ineffably beautiful. The old city lights were receiving reinforcement from hundreds of candles from the tables of an outdoor cafe. Many of the chess players known by him were there. But Todor Tolev, big boss from "Mtel" was not there. Sometimes he was giving him two levs, saying: "And go to eat not, not to play chess with stake with them now!".  Also Lazar Tsvetkov, a professor of Comparative Literature at the University who was feeding him with "tasty morsels" at "Halite" was not there.  Yavor could not afford to himself to be in despair but he joined the bench where Bate Boby the Acrobat was playing. Boby was belonging to a particular guardian detachment or company, like a clan, who were wearing heavy gold chains and rings. Very fond of chess, as well as all sorts of mathematical entertainments, this former gymnast was playing here dozens of blitz-parties every night. Yavor first requested a cigarette. He lit it, carefully watching the moves of the players. Yavor, as all the players from the garden, was unrealized chess professional. In this garden he had played many games and he had victories at slow and blind chess over grandmaster Alexander Delchev and over international master Sasho Nikolov. These handsome victories were, so to speak, "the games of his life". But in the five minute lightning chess, where the flag is hanging and is expected to fall at any moment noting the loss, he wasn't quite so good. This game, especially between equal partners, was a kind of pure gambling. Moreover, it wanted some initial capital and he hadn't a single penny. He jumped straight to the point, pleading:
- Brother Boby, I have not eaten this evening, can you give me another cigarette?
Boby gave him, but he warned him that this one was his last. Then he turned somewhere down towards the unlit part of the garden. He returned after one minute and he announced a race:"Those who pass along the entire length of the city fountain in the form of "cart-push up" receives five levs."
The exercise meant to be caught on the ankles and to go on arms, secured thereby. Only two of those who were present enroll to participate - Yavor and a boy, very sporty, whose speech was showing that he was from the southern or southeastern regions of Bulgaria. He won the race. Yavor abandoned the race at midway. But he got a consolation prize of fifty cents. He bought bread with them from the non-stop shop at "Rakovski street", near to "Slaveykov Square". 
The will to survive had a victory this evening. Yavor was waiting the tram obsessed by that special exaltation which characterized the special moments in his life. He felt good. He felt victorious. 
The moral victory remained to him. He torn a piece of bread, tested it and felt happy and great. He felt as in the poem  where the poet has said: "Were you in the tram the God of all people?" 
Yes, he felt excited! How difficult was his life! But he was struggling! He had won again! Now he would share the bread with his friend! It was great!
The will to survive had a victory again!


2012-12-18

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