Полёт фантазии, фантазии в полёте - [63]

I fail to catch all words, but I am not annoyed

As I am so enchanted by the sounds of English

That my heart starts beating faster. I listen

To the music of this extremely beautiful

Language that in itself is concentration of

Talented minds and brave hearts, and know

I am lost: I’ve fallen for it at first true sound.

The years passed. I’ve learned it, I’ve made

The English language my profession.

It gave new beauty to my world,

It changed me into a different person —

More confident, better, stronger.

Yet, why do I feel so estranged sometimes,

Particularly when travelling to England?

As if I am looking for the mysterious

Something that I shall never find?

«Tatiana, do you follow me?» —

a pleasant voice of Mr English

interferes with my thoughts.

«Yes, Mr English, I do follow you,

I’ll get all necessary papers ready by the next week».

«Fine, thanks.» «Bye, Mr English, Merry Christmas».

I put down the receiver. Vain search.

I know it is there in England,

But it shall never be mine.

Стихотворение используется в книге автора, написанной на английском, «Russian-English Romance. Homage to John Fowles» (Москва, изд-во «Книжный дом Университет», 2017), два рассказа из которой приводятся ниже.

Human Soul Travelers’ Club

«Free! Free at last!» — Julia’s heart was beating with joy though she realised it was not quite the kind of emotion she should have experienced immediately after seeing her beloved husband’s body put into the grave.

When the funeral ceremony was over Julia threw away the mask of mourning and her face acquired the radiant expression of some one entering a bright new world full of happy opportunities. Everything around her pleased her, as she walked home through Westhill park on that bright October morning. The air was transparent, red and golden leaves covered the green grass, pretty children played with dogs, all passers-by seemed to her beautiful.

Julia set on a bench and as her fingers touched the inscription «To our beloved David», she thought dead it would be wonderful to order such a bench in memory of her husband. She looked at the golden leaves lit up by the sun, inhaled the tasty autumn air and sighed with relief.

The feeling of relief did not come from the fact that John Evans, whom she had been married to for twenty-five years, was an awful man or a bad husband. No, on the contrary: John loved her very much, but like all men when they become husbands, had never given much thought to her emotions, kept treating her like an indispensable part of his life. Home, husband, children — how tired she had been! Besides, there was one thing which had really spoiled her married life: she adored travelling and John hated it. It had always been torture for him to go further than Brighton or to stay at a hotel. He was a leave-me-alone-and-let-me-read-my-newspaper man. On the second day of their marriage Julia realised that instead of a movable feast she had acquired an immovable bore.

There was one more thing which made her suffer, and that was her talent, which she could never realise while living with John, the talent to discern and guide talented people. By some inborn instinct she could easily tell genuine from false, identify a talented man in a mass of ordinary people.

Alas! Her husband John was not talented. Once many years before she had met a man with real talent, a young nobody in whom she could clearly see a promising writer, but that’s another story…

Julia looked at golden leaves made transparent by the sun and smiled: «Tomorrow I will start an absolutely new life and it will be as fascinating as the glossy pages of coloureful travel brochures. At long last I will fulfil my passionate desire — I will travel as much as I want; I will go to Russia in winter to see its white snows, I will visit India, Brasil, Australia and the dream of my dreams, China».

Once in a museum she had seen a Chinese character made of white nephrite — the ancient symbol of prosperity, happiness and wisdom. Since then everything Chinese enchanted her — silk, watercolours, porcelain. She often went to Chinese shops in London, but London China has as little to do with real China as the jungle tiger with the painted tiger.

Once Julia had even dared to ask her husband to organise a tour to Peking. John smiled, took her in his arms, kissed her gently and said: «What’s the use of going there? Life is the same everywhere — people work and sleep, quarrel and love. The secret of happiness is inside us, and not outside, as one of your ancient Chinese said. So what’s the use of changing places?»

Of course it would be unfair to say that her John had been just a bore. He was a prosperous businessman and a perfect family man: their children adored him. «What an excellent grandfather he could have become!» — thought Julia. Alas! Fate always had her own ways and Julia was realistic. Being realistic and taking things easy was her life motto, and it helped her to achieve that secure and independent position which she could boast even after her husband’s death.

The next morning Julia started her search for travel opportunities. She visited three travel agencies and was dazzled by the variety of choice: all the tours were so exciting: «Have a good time in Hawaii, enjoy holidays in Australia, don’t miss a chance to see Russia in winter» — urged the advertisement. But Julia’s enthusiasm faded the moment she looked at the prices. «Pretty costly, life is getting dearer» — her common sense told her, and as Julia’s common sense was impeccable she could always safely rely on it. «Just think», — it said to her — «the price they are charging is not for the beautiful sights, but for the comforts of modern civilisation: hotels, meals, services. Do you really need all that? Wouldn’t it be better to look for cheaper tours?»