Translated material
A woman in black and what she brought
There is someone in the darkness.
( "Big elegy to John Donnu", I. Brodsky )
Promotion
From the side of the boulevard rose a rumble. He grew rapidly, and suddenly a crowd poured into the lane. She entered a steep turn, but quickly slowed down and froze. People turned to the boulevard, from where they were driven, and began to sing. They sang that they are free and their hearts require changes.
I stood in the depths of the alley and shot on the phone. On this day, I did not work as a journalist, but still acted at a rally according to the familiar scheme - I talked with schoolchildren and students, eavesdropping on conversations with the police, and photographed detention.
“I am free, like a bird in heaven, I am free, I forgot what fear means,” they sang in the crowd. A song that I never liked, now spoke in an indistinct, but strong feeling somewhere in the chest.
People were rustling behind me. I turned around - from the other end of the lane a line of black helmets was approaching us. The police walked with a dense system, clinging their hands and batons. Protesters began to retreat to the exit to the boulevard, where they were settled by the second police detachment. I hesitated, and the policeman behind me painfully poked my lower back. I turned to be indignant, but the crowd suddenly became even denser, and I was pressed to the offender. I was silently staring in my face in front of me, and my face stared at me through a transparent impenetrable rain. I wanted to ask: "Why are you shoving me?" But she could not breathe. The man in the helmet, as if he himself asked me with a look: "Why am I shinging you?" And he couldn’t.
I suddenly remembered as one person grabbed the policeman by the hand and received eight months of the colony-settlement. "What if I step on his leg now?" I thought and immediately imagined how friends collect signatures under the petition "We will save the Beshley from the camps." Bezradic paintings floated before my eyes. But then the crowd caught up with the veranda of a street cafe. I noticed on the veranda of acquaintances, screamed, waved my hands. Someone awkwardly pushed me inside.
From the veranda it was clear how people on the boulevard were divided into groups and ousted to police buses.
I was ashamed.
Meditation
Many years ago, the young English guy Andy Paddikob was in the early Christmas in the morning near the pub, and the drunken driver drove into his friends. Two died, twelve people were in intensive care. Three months later, the car knocked his half-sister, and soon his ex-girlfriend died due to heart problems. The chain of tragedies made Andy think about why it was given to a person life and how best to dispose of it. Prudently deciding that he is unlikely to learn to prevent tragedies, Andy went to look for ways to facilitate human suffering. Spiritual searches first led to India, where he became a Buddhist monk, then to Myanmar, Thailand, Australia and, finally, to Russia, where Andy taught people to meditative practices for four years.
In 2010, he and his partner founded a company in London, which developed and launched a meditative application. Six years later, the audience of the platform amounted to six million people.
Now Andy Paddikomb is 44 years old, of which he grews me up from the phone for almost six months.
Together with Andy and his application, I went through a course of meditations from insomnia and a variety of relaxation practices. All of them seemed effective to me, therefore, when a creative crisis came in my life, I had no doubt that Andy’s meditative course, aimed at developing creativity, would help to overcome this difficult period.
The course was designed for thirty days, and the first week everything really went well. But on June 12, classes had to be stopped.
That day, I returned home from a rally in combating corruption. I had a lot of things to do, but I couldn’t get for them-at first alarmed friends called in the press about a large number of detentions, then a familiar one could not find my son, and I turned on in search, then we found a friend of a friend, but could not find his girlfriend, then we found his girlfriend, but could not find her brother. By evening, almost one and a half thousand people amounted to approximate estimates of detentions throughout the country, of which more than 800 were in Moscow.
When all the schoolchildren and students I knew were found alive and unharmed, and parents and lawyers dealt with their problems, I drank a couple of pills from my head, tightly drew the curtains and got a job on the sofa. On the phone screen, it was displayed that at the moment about 12 thousand people use the meditation application. I turned on the program.
Andy cheerfully greeted me in English, asked me to take a couple of deep breaths and cover my eyes. Then a pause came, during which I was invited to concentrate on my breath and sensations in the body.
I drew attention to the slight pain in the lower back, where a policeman poked me a few hours ago during a crush in one of the lanes. According to media reports, 10 thousand fighters were engaged in the law enforcement at the rally. “This is almost as much as a person as he now meditates with me around the world,” I thought, but immediately drove these thoughts.
Soon Andy asked to imagine that a luminous window was opening in my chest. “Now imagine that the spot is expanding, covers the room where you are sitting and adjacent space,” he said.
I imagined how the spot of light crawls to the walls. Then - on the light floor, sofa, paintings, table. He enters the dressing room and in the kitchen. There on the table is a faceted water bottle from Moskhoztorg, socks are dried on the battery, and in the sink - a cup with unfinished tea. The spot is growing. Goes out into the corridor. Enough hangers, raincoats, umbrellas and slippers. Then - out the door, to the stairs, to the neighbors down, to the side and again to the side. And so the whole house suddenly lit up at once. Then in the yard. Rowan, playground, children, cats. A ring for a basketball. And the whole quarter, and the whole area. And police department. Fence with barbed wire. Major.
"What other major?" - I shook my head. Then I remembered that the recently, the district police officer Alexander Mikhailovich had, called the entire entrance and asked the documents. They say that in many areas there are now such rounds in connection with the program for the demolition of five -story buildings and the protests of the owners. The district police officer left the business card. Major of the police.
I don’t want to light the district police officer, I thought. “And I don’t want ATS.”
The stain in my imagination gave a reverse move, returned to the fence with barbed wire and smoothly rounded it.
Andy's voice proposed to expand the streams of light on an entire city.
"How much is the police department in Moscow?" I thought. From articles about municipal elections, I remembered that there are about 130 districts in the capital. The detainees took about 40 departments.
“And there is a Lubyanka. And the Kremlin. And the government building, ”I listed to myself. The number of dark spots on my inner map has riskly grew, the flows of light were tiredly maneuveled from side to side.
“Continue to expand the imaginary light outside the city,” Andy asked.
“Good,” I agreed. -The secret cottage of the Prime Minister in Ples. Manor in the Kursk region. And also the President’s Palace near Gelendzhik. Countless residences. And how many such places that I know nothing about. Is it possible to randomly illuminate everything in a row? "
Andy's voice had long gone into heavenly Vosi, urging to extend the inner light of the soul to the sky -high Dali, Cosmos, the Galaxy and the Universe, but I was seriously stuck in my calculations.
“More than 800 colonies. Almost 300 thousand employees of the FSIN. Almost 1 million employees of the internal affairs bodies. And also the courts. And also the FSB. Is it necessary to illuminate Chechnya in the inner light when gays are tortured there? "
"Now extend the boundaries of your imagination even further!" - came from the phone.
“Andy,” I called quietly. "But what about Crimea?"
Renovation
“I am looking for a company for depressed pastime: boring conversations, gloomy tea drinking, walks in adverse weather conditions,” I wrote in an appendix for dating.
A couple of weeks before that, for the first time in my life, depression was diagnosed for the first time in my life.
- And how does this differ from other periods when I was sad? - I was surprised to hear the diagnosis of a doctor.
- Could you write before?
- Could.
- Can't you?
- I can't.
- Depression.
I sighed.
- And how does this differ from the creative crisis?
- Do not sleep. Do not eat. Do not go anywhere.
- Is this not a creative crisis?
- No.
A couple of minutes passed in silence.
“I don't want pills,” I said.
- Let's try without pills.
I was given an extensive list of recommendations: how to establish a dream, how to resume sports, what to add to the diet.
- Crap. Only depression was not enough for me, ”I muttered in my hearts.
“It may well be,” the doctor said seriously, a great specialist in working with creative people. - Jung said that depression is like a lady in black. If she came, in no case can I drive her away. You need to invite her to the table and find out what she brought.
- In terms of?
- Try talking to her.
- With depression?
- Maybe not immediately. Treat her with something.
And added very strictly:
- Just do not try to pour it.
Thus began my life with a lady in black.
I in good faith ate bananas and black chocolate, went to bed early, planned work affairs in advance, was engaged in walking every day, underwent a course of meditation and therapy. At first glance, my life looked normal. But the dream did not bring rest, and food - taste. And the woman in black everywhere followed me on the heels.
“Tell me something,” I was sometimes angry. But the lady was silent.
Soon I realized that it was difficult for friends to take into account the company of my companion. So in the dating application appeared my announcement about the search for a depressed partner.
“Maybe our depression will somehow distract each other,” I thought. The lady in black did not express her dissatisfaction in any way, but, however, she did not show approval.
The first two days they expectedly wrote to me all nonsense, but on the third day a man came, whom I wrote on the phone with the same day as a “depressive Victor”.
We immediately moved to the sick question. Victor said that he has clinical depression and he takes medicine. I explained that I have reactive depression and I do not take medicine yet.
“I like how our acquaintance began,” Victor wrote.
“To me too,” I answered.
The next two days we corresponded in messengers. They threw links to each other to articles on the topic and suppressed stickers. Victor said that he was divorced, he has two children, and he works "in construction." I said that I was working as a journalist, and, of course, started talking about a program of demolition of dilapidated housing in Moscow and the improvement of streets.
“I don’t want to upset,” Victor wrote, “but since you are already upset, I’ll say.” I am for renovation. I can say the beneficiary. I have a business interest.
“The scoundrel,” I answered.
- Agree. But there is a philosophical moment. The more we destroy, the more you will have to create. And if you are better than us, then everything will be for the better.
- The scoundrel and sophist.
- An ideal company for gloomy tea drinking, huh?
The gloomy tea party took place in the early morning of the next day, and it was really gloomy. It was cold outside, it rained. I'm late. Victor was waiting for me at a table with a bouquet of black roses.
“Well, that's too much,” I said honestly.
- And this is not for you.
- And to whom?
“Well, of course, your lady in black.”
We laughed.
- Do you also have a lady in black? Do you even imagine it?
- Depression? Don't know. It is unlikely that a lady. Maybe some old woman. Don't know. I am not a creative person.
- I was sure that exclusively creative people were being built in Moscow.
- The revolutionary. You are playing you by youth. Then it will pass. I also have one son go to these ... rallies.
“What are you telling him?”
- Nothing. You can’t forbid them. All these videos are watching on the Internet. They have their own authorities there. He will go to my studies in August. Do you know what kind of study abroad? There is no time for this nonsense. So let it come off. How do they say it now? Catching hype?
- Like that.
“You will stop too.” You will marry, give birth to children. It will not be up to rallies.
-You somehow suddenly switched to "you".
- I thought journalists prefer closer communication.
- That was now impolite.
Victor squinted and grinned. Then he suddenly patted my arm.
- No need to do this.
He stopped grinning and apologized.
- I'm sorry. Sorry. I just wanted to defuse the situation.
- Why, you say, you have depression?
- And I haven't said anything yet.
Then I squinted.
- You are very strange.
“You are a journalist, it annoys me a little.”
- From the very beginning, I said that I am a journalist.
- From the very beginning I did not promise that I would not be strange.
- And what, you say, you have for work?
- I haven't said anything about my work.
- Developer? Developer? Do you work in the city hall?
-Hey-hey! Fighter!
I shook my head. From the tension, my neck broke.
“I think this is quite enough for the first gloomy tea party,” Victor said and called the waiter.
I was upset that I did not finish the meeting first. Black roses were forgotten in a vase on a table, and Victor also did not remember them.
He did not write to me for two days, and then invited me to dinner. I wanted to refuse, but instead pulled out correspondence and agreed.
The weather was disgusting again. I wet my legs.
“But you are a developer?”
- Yes, I'm building.
- Then you must understand why in Moscow they stubbornly do not lay a storm.
- Why don't they laid it? It seems to me that it is enough.
- Well, as enough when not enough. This is all discussing what a year.
- Who is everyone?
- Well. Public. Facebook.
- A.
- Look, I am knee -deep.
- I see nothing. You have black shoes, and the dress is also black.
- Well, what do you not see when it is dripping from me.
- Where is it dripping?
- It is dripping from me. Already a puddle under the table has flowed.
- I see nothing. You look divine. In my eyes nothing is dripping from you.
- Well, rain outside the window! Shower!
- Where? I don't understand anything. I got out of the car, everything was fine.
I clenched my teeth. I must admit, Victor himself looked wonderful - a tanned brunette with a gray back, in a white shirt, in a knitted cardigan. Too tanned.
- What does your publication write about? He asked when the waiter received an order.
- We study life after the end of the world.
-So he, in your opinion, has already come?
“I suppose yes,” I took the napkins from the table and squeezed the hem.
- Then it is not surprising that you have depression.
- And why do you have it?
- The work is nervous. You see, there are only claims. And what a responsibility! Nobody thinks about responsibility. You see how many criminal cases have in recent years. You haven't built anything yet, but have already come to you. After all, it happens. Here is a dream and you lose. And also these unrest, indignation. From all stress. And where is stress, there is insomnia, and where is insomnia, there is depression. And where is the depression, there and ... um ...
- Well, understandable.
The waiter brought dishes. For food, we discussed the series and both relaxed a little. I offered to drink coffee in another place. We left the restaurant and moved one after another along the green grid of boulevard excavations. Victor told some entertaining story and went in a half-bearded. Suddenly he stumbled, hit his foot on one of the plastic pieces, which was fenced off the passage from the road, and almost flew to the kubar, but I managed to catch it by the arm.
“*****,” Victor cursed. -Getting stained in some kind of shit!
“I see nothing,” I said.
-Yes, look, the whole leg in some rubbish.
- Yes, it’s dark here, I don’t see.
- Well, what do you not see when there is a lantern?
- A wonderful leg. Something seems to you.
- Are you kidding me? - Roared Victor.
“Yes,” I said honestly.
He looked at me with a strange, as if with a frozen gaze. Then he laughed.
“And here you yourself switched,” he said, still smiling. - But we will not drink coffee today. Will you call yourself a taxi?
And, without waiting for my answer, he went back to the restaurant. I continued my way to the coffee shop - very pleased with myself and confident that I will never see a depressive Victor.
But the very next day we walked at lunch not far from my house.
- What do you have here? Police station? - Victor asked when we walked along the fence with barbed wire.
- Yes.
Victor shrugged his shoulders.
- What a bad neighborhood.
“But calmly, it’s not scary to walk at night,” I suddenly stood up.
- And what do you have, garbage?
We passed the site with garbage containers.
- Yes.
- And here, probably, homeless people rummage?
- Sometimes they rummage.
- What a nightmare.
We went to one of the neighboring courtyards. On the way, we met a couple of vigorous old women, whom we quickly overtook.
- One old one! - exclaimed Victor. - What an unpleasant area.
“I really like my area,” I said firmly.
- And in vain. Look at this yard. A completely terrible courtyard.
The yard was really very sloppy - peeling, cracked five -story buildings and random greens around. But the day was warm, and ugly houses in the rays of the sun were white-white, and the bushes around were bright green.
“I really do not like the elderly,” Victor said suddenly. - And I also really do not like homeless people.
- Why?
- I don't know. I can’t stand them since childhood. These are helpless people. They take what they give.
- Well, I don't know. Our one -eyed bum Vasily is very selective, - I again stood up for the district.
Victor shrugged again.
“It's good that these houses will be demolished,” he said, nodding to five -story buildings.
“They are really dilapidated,” I answered conciliatoryly. “But people are afraid that they will be unprofitable.” Deceived. Not everyone wants to take what they give.
- Ah, again you are talking about your rallies. Loafers. Everything is wrong for you. Street repairs - do not like it. The demolition of dilapidated houses - do not like it. Corruption - do not like it. I don't like everything!
Я почувствовала легкое головокружение.
— Все вам чего-то должны, — кипятился Виктор. — Нормальные люди сами делают выбор!
— Так в этом и дело! — я наконец нашла, за что зацепиться. — Люди возмущены, что их все время ставят перед фактом. Им выбора не дают!
- Here! Они возмущены, что им чего-то не дают!
Мне хотелось схватиться за голову.
Виктор зевнул.
— Не о том я говорю с молодой девушкой. Эта твоя Дама внушает тебе противоречивые мысли. Тебе нужны мой врач и мои таблетки.
— Нет уж, спасибо.
В тот день голова у меня болела до самой ночи. Медитируя перед сном, я особенно рьяно освещала светом внутреннего окошка мусорные площадки и ветхие пятиэтажки — пристанища тех, кого Виктор так презирал.
Следующая наша встреча — последняя — опять пришлась на редкий солнечный день.
Мы вместе пообедали в моем районе. Виктор вел себя очень сдержанно и даже учтиво, говорил комплименты и красиво намекнул на зарождение неких чувств, которые медленно, но верно рассеивают мрак его депрессии. Мне нужно было вернуться к работе, он предложил пройтись до моего дома и недолго посидеть на лавочке. Я согласилась и взяла его под руку. Мы благополучно миновали ветхие дворы, мусорные площадки и отделение полиции.
И подошли к моему дому.
Одноглазый бомж Василий деловито ковырялся в отходах мусоропровода у подъезда. Имя его, а также некоторые подробности незамысловатой биографии были известны мне, потому что Василий как-то помогал мне выносить из подъезда тяжелый мусор и, между прочим, забрал несколько моих книг.
— Здрасьте, — сказал Василий и помахал мне какой-то ветошью. Не знаю, побледнел ли в этот момент Виктор — так сильно он был загорел, — но губы его схватились в тонкую линию, а голова странно дернулась.
Он больно схватил меня за локоть и стремительно протащил мимо подъезда. Мы выскочили на детскую площадку.
— Эй, ты чего! — возмутилась я.
— И часто здесь это? — спросил он так, как будто бомжа Василия я породила сама.
— Да он не бомж даже, а просто нищий и пьяница, — сказала я.
- Just! Все-то у тебя просто!
Я села на лавку. Виктор спустя пару минут тоже присел.
— Извини. Я вспыльчивый человек. Несправедливость жизни приводит меня в ярость.
«Какая еще, к черту, несправедливость? — хотела спросить я. — Что ты вообще несешь?»
Но не спросила. Голова моя снова загудела.
Небо заволокло тучами. Стало прохладно. Виктор красивым жестом набросил мне на плечи свой пиджак. От пиджака приятно пахло мужским парфюмом. Я размышляла, хочу ли я, чтобы Виктор меня поцеловал. С одной стороны — красивый мужчина. С другой стороны — какой-то долдон. «Может, я придираюсь?» I thought.
Но дальнейшее развитие событий от меня никак не зависело.
Во двор, где мы сидели, из подъезда шаркающей походкой вдруг вывалилась бабка в платке. Она была очень высокая, очень худая и очень страшная. За ней спешила молодая женщина. Бабка остановилась прямо напротив нас, подняла клюку, распахнула беззубый рот и сказала:
— ********* *********! ********* отсюда!
Мой кавалер вдруг сдернул с меня пиджак.
И убежал.
* * *
«Теперь представьте, что в середине вашей груди появляется пятно света» — приятный голос Энди звучал словно издалека.
«Какой подлец этот Виктор, — думала я. — Свалил и даже не извинился. Мрак его депрессии я, значит, рассеяла. Я ему рассею сейчас».
Но тут я вдруг поняла, что так и не выяснила, в каком районе живет сам Виктор.
«Ну ничего», — разозлилась я.
Пятно мое стремительно, яростно разрасталось. Словно белый огонь, оно охватило дом, заглотило двор и заполнило улицу. Набирая скорость, оно приблизилось к местному ОВД и ворвалось внутрь. Я представила себе кабинет майора полиции, участкового Александра Михайловича, и беспощадно вышибла дверь в него. Неудержимый слепящий поток захватил отделение, вырвался наружу и ринулся вниз по улице, занимая дворы и переулки. Черные пятна беспомощно метались перед моим внутренним взором. Они отступали, жались и ежились, но свет поглощал их — одно за другим. Давно уже был забыт Депрессивный Виктор. Свет захватывал территории и сметал границы. И вот передо мною — как Энди и обещал — вращался огромный светящийся шар. Самое прекрасное, что я когда-либо видела.
— Класс, — сказала я, когда все закончилось.
— Жги, — ответила Дама в черном.
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