July Morning

Явор Емилов Тодоров (явор64)

Раздел: Проза на чужд език  Цикъл:

Assen got angry at his father this night. He had took a shower and went into the living room to take the towel and the hairdryer. They lived in cramped one-bedroom apartment. His grandmother was sleeping in the kitchen  and the evening he could not enter there, if he was home late from a party and was hungry. The dream of his grandmother, as the dream of any old man, was slight. All old people, once awaked, sleep difficult. The same was with his parents. They were not as old as his grandmother but also was irritated when Assen wanted to come out on the balcony to smoke a cigarette. Assen was smoking a lot and the night he was falling asleep with difficulty. It was hard because his brother was living in the same room and he was little boy, falling asleep early. He could not switch on the light and read and could not listen music also. Assen was turning hard in the bed and was thinking. And still the same bad thoughts are spinning in his mind. The most disgusting was the feeling that he is doomed, that is was written to him to spend all his life in this more and more close accomodation in which books, pens, newspapers, socks, everything, disappeared in the eternal recurrence of the disorder. Once one of his female colleagues had told him while travelling in the train from Sofia to Pernik: "You will save all your life with the salary of a judge and still you will not get your money to buy a home at the end of your life." There was no chance. No chance to have a girl-friend - there was no room to invite her, no chance to have children - there was no room to breed up them. Once, long before November 10, 1989, Assen was walking home from the city center to Durvenitsa. In the subway after hotel "Pliska" group of three young people sang:

Oh, ye, Oh, ye, we are sheeps,
who feed us will eat us,
I'm an old ram,
do like me!

Assen spontaneously joined the group and sang with them. And he drank from the bottle which was bought by the three men. Then they made the acquaintance between them. The oldest was an assistant at the University. Assen said to him that he studied law and he was huffy: "Well, yes, the staff go out of there!" Nevertheless it was a nice evening. So Assen wanted to take a walk this evening and slowly to swallow his grief, recognizing the fact that he was solitary helpless, that he was in captivity of this shameful word - loneliness, now and forever. To the drink the cement of the anguish, with the memories for a few brief meetings with girls, to recall the small chances of the blind Sunday, all completed in the same way - with an unrealized opportunity for all that love could.
He went along the boulevards and the coffee-houses and made himself a poetry recitation by favorite poets. There were two poets from Sofia, unknown to anyone but their poetry was meaning a lot to him. Actually Assen believed that they were the small classics of the modern Bulgarian litterature, little like Dalchev, little like Liliev, if not better, than more advanced of them. Assen loved them, but they were more or less with shizoid personalities and the relationships with them with the years became more and more onerous.

And to the walls go up slowly
My days, suspended to the ceiling,
Without one love, without one event,
And am I ever lived?
Or evil concoction is my existence?

In this way Assen crossed alone almost all of Sofia, passed by places of amusement where in the summer night was the last remaining customers and between them Assen hurriedly saw attractive girls and noisy companies and the shameful sense that he is alone, alone and helpless, and helplessly sad, was even more severe. And as he went along the streets he came to the "Rakovski" Stadium. From the bushes was heard girlish voice that cried strongly: "Joro, Joro!" Then a girl stood before him, emerging from the bushes and stopped him: "Sorry, did you see a guy to pass out? We were together, we drunk, we have bought a bottle of vodka, I went to the bathroom, but as I came back, he was gone. And he had no money for a taxi, where he might be gone, could you help me find him? It is just very strange, you know? What time is it?"
It was three and a half. Assen said he was walking and that he is indifferent in what direction he would walk, so, he could accompany her as she seek her Joro.
- He has taken a taxi and he is home. - he was calming her. She looked very worried.
- It can't be. Something happened. Come with me, please. - They went along, just without a clear purpose and direction. From the stadium was heard a strange sound. Like the sound that is produced when someone is going to roll or brush in the bushes.
- We must enter in the stadium - she said firmly. She was emitting a strange odour. Assen felt awkward. The girl was nice, slender, weak, with small breasts, clearly visible under the shirt. Assen felt strong erotic attraction to her. The strong erotic attraction was very inappropriate and Assen felt uncomfortable, painful, embarassing. She sought his Joro, who has drunk half a bottle of vodka, got drunk and forgot her, he has stopped a taxi and went away, to "Youth", or to "Hope", or to where he lived. He acted as Assen knew he would never act if he was in the company of so beautiful girl. And she was so worried as if from its finding depend her life. Ridiculous.
Assen said to her:
- There is no sense to look for him. Go home now and call him tomorrow. Do not worry so much. He is just drunk and he forgot about you. Nothing bad could happen to him.
But she was obstinate. Obstinately she cried loudly:
"Joro, Joro, Joro..."
- Do you have a cogarette?
- Yes. - Assen said. - He looked at the girl with an erection in his pants and he was happy that she could not understand it. His wish was to tell her, to cry to her: "Forget about your Joro! In what for example he is better than me!" They talked and it became clear that both - she and her Joro are unemployed, some of the many who in those days had almost no chance to find jobs. Who knows how they lived with the small amounts that their parents allowed to them. Assen had his jobs, his profession of lawyer, but what of it. He wouldn't have the love that they both had. That guy was able to get drunk, to forgot her, and to leave her in half past three at night, but she loved him.
Assen and the girl went through a hole in the fence within the stadium, they ascended hardly the steep embankment and saw that the weird noise, like a rolling of drunk man in the bushes was from the watering device installed in the middle of the stadium. They rested a little, leaning on the railings on the last line. The night was beautiful. Beautiful bright night with beautiful clouds and a beautiful moon, night just to love, to waste time across the streets, to share the morning.
- Let's make an acquaintance - said the girl - I am Sonia.
- I am Assen. Why there isn't a little she-cat that is capable of looking for me in this way. - he could not resist and blurted it out. At these words she slightly laughed and Assen became ashamed to saying that.
Silently they overlooked the distant lights of lamp and blocks.
Then she slip out in the bushes with renewed energy and continued to look for him around the sradium. Assen could not longer follow her. She was burying in the thicket at least three-quarters hours, if not more. When she got back, Assen saw she was falling and her ass was dirty with dust. It started to dawn. Finally she was able to conclude that there is no sense to seek more. They took his farewell, the girl asked another cigarette and went. She had no money for a taxi. Assen looked at her as she was going away, moving in the middle of the boulevard. It not passed through her mind that a group of merry rapists could pressed her to the fence of the tram with no one to her aid. Maybe this was the way the rapes became.
"That's all - said Assen to himself - she is attached to her Joro as a prostitute to a pimp. Will be there whenever a girl who will love me so? That's all - Assen was repeating to himself - for some people there is, for others there is no. No one does not know why - a poor and miserable but the "blind Sunday" smiles to him. And others drink their cement and fossilize. What is love? And who pulls the strings of the fate? No response."
The day was coming. Assen went to somewhere. The first trams clank. Assen was willing to sit in a cafe, to watch the birth of the day, drinking coffee and smoking. He was feeling himself like Quasimodo, as a doomed genetic freak, a mutant. Here there is, here there is not. This is the situation. And no one can say why. This is the life.
It was morning filled with sorrow, with melancholy and nervousness, with well-known pain. A familiar pain in the july morning. Hello loneliness, hello, july morning