English version of the book (3)



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Ruslana Forum / Wild Energy project / English version of the book
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Katherine
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# Gesendet: 29 Jul 2006 19:03
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interesting Irene
Native speakers!!!! UK, USA, Ireland and so on!!!! Please tell me something about the quality of translation!!!! Did some moments seem translated?

im from england and i got to say your translation is fantastic i would of thought you learnt english from a very young age! its really good, some minor bits were a bit hard to understand but that was purely because you couldn't translate russian metaphors and sayings into english sayings. but it is fantastic!!!!

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 11 Aug 2006 16:53
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I wanted to ask all people who want to receive more to mail me

interesting_irene@yahoo.co.uk

yanya
Moderator
# Gesendet: 12 Aug 2006 17:20
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interesting Irene
Have you been on the presentation of the book in Kyiv on the 14th of April?

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 12 Aug 2006 19:28
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yanya
OF COURSE NO I AM AN ORDINARY PERSON

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 12 Aug 2006 20:24
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-----

Eve catches me in the approach to the house.
- Where do you go? Now the cool company gathers with the Tall!
The Tall lives on the neighbouring street. His house had been 9-storied formerly, but then something budged in the underground communications, and the house moved to the underground accurately the way it had stood. Former Tall?s 5-th floor is now the 2-nd underground. They say also that there is an exit (way out) to an old subway (Metro, underground).
Eve and I are the last to come, and the Tall shuts the door after us.
He has a big room ? formerly rectangular and in the form of rhomb now. Squirrel cages occupy the whole wall; the dynamic squirrels cost more than mice, but they also give much more light. The Tall has about 50 these squirrels; all are thoroughbred, almost bald, very muscular and without tails (the tail have worsened the dynamic characteristics and that?s why such a species were hatched). When all squirrels run in the cages it?s clear as noonday in the room. Even brighter.
Now the squirrels are sleeping. The wheels don?t move. The only candle blazes in the centre of the room. Generally speaking, it?s prohibited to consume the open fire in lodgements, but the Tall is hereto the Tall, he has enough money to neglect the rules.
It?s about 10 people in the room. Everyone sits around a circle on the floor. The Tall takes the chip (sliver) out (real wooden chip!) and thrust the candles into the fire. The real smoke smells good. My nostrils swell up.
The chip is thin. The red small piece of coal consumes the dry fibres, crawls along to Tall?s fingers.
- I had a fire, - he says droningly. - The fire is gone! Don?t touch the ashes (cinder)!
And he hands the chip over Eve, who sits alongside. Eve squeezes her fingers carefully:
- I had a fire. The fire is gone, don?t touch the ashes (cinder)!
And she hands the chip to me. I say in a whisper, looking at the coal charmed:
- I had a fire. The fire is gone, don?t touch the ashes!
I hand the chip over the girl to the left, who I see for the first time. She had a hoarse voice as if she had caught a cold:
- I had a fire. The fire is gone, don?t touch the ashes!
The chip circles. Someone utter the words quickly, hurrying up to get rid of it, someone, on contrary wants to hold it for some more time. And the fire creeps and creeps along all the time, steals up to the fingers. It becomes more and more difficult to retain the coal in the hands.
- I had a fire, - it?s the Tall again. And having uttered the 2-nd part of the phrase very quickly, he poked the coal to Eve.
- I had a fire? - she speaks slowly, in spite of the fact that the coal almost touches her fingers, being set like a pinch. ? The fire is gone? don?t touch the ashes?
She wants the coal to burn down in her hands. But the words came to the end and under the rules it has been forbidden to protract.
I receive a little coal-end to my hands. The chip crackles and burns down strongly.
- I had a fire, - I start. ? The fire is gone? A-a-ah!
The cursed coal sticks into my skin so painfully that I let the burned-out coal out. I blow to my fingers. Everybody?s laughing.
- You lost, - the Tall says.
I know it myself. Now, according to the rules I have to kiss everyone, who sits in a circle. The girls chuckle. The guys are contented, exchange glances, smirk, and the Tall too. And the Rubber Plant from the ?B? corps too. And not known robust with chubby cheeks. And Ignat? a person I don?t want to see.
I never lost before when we had played the coal-end!
- Let?s do it, - the Tall says. Who will be the first?
- Nobody, - I say not pondering about it. ? I wouldn?t.
The Tall lifts his eyebrows:
- You know the rules.
- I know!
I find the small piece of coal on the floor ? it still gives some light, it?s fervent. I take the steel hairpin out of my hair; catch the coal up as though with the help of the tongs. I bring the coal to my face?
At the last moment I ask myself: Should I maybe give a damn at them all? Will I maybe kiss them all; nothing will lean back off me?
I pressed what had been left from a small piece of coal to my lips. It?s very important not to start screaming. I?m nodulized by sweat; I?m all distorted of the pain. I let the coal out, it falls to the floor again.
Everybody keeps silence. Even the girls quieted down. Eve looks at me with sympathy. Ignat is so disappointed that it gets funny.
- How wild you are, - says the Tall in a low voice. ? So what are we going to do? Let?s go on playing.
Nobody wants to play further. Eve offers to tell terrific stories.
The Tall blows the candle out. Now we sit in a full darkness, but it?s for the better: nobody sees that the blister swells on my lips.
We count each other* {it is such a game: a short poem is told, and people in a circle are counted on each word, the last loses}. It occurred for the hoarse girl at the left of me to tell the first.
She starts with purposely muffled, mournful voice:
- Once upon a time there was a girl. People disappeared in her neighbourhood. Sometimes one of them disappears, sometimes another. Once after the energy hour she got acquainted with the guy. He had very pretty eyes, but his face was tied with a shawl. And he never took this shawl off? So they went for a walk. And the guy says: let?s climb onto the tower! She agreed. They had begun climbing onto the tower, reached the 50-th floor. The girl says: I can?t do this anymore. And the boy: higher! higher! They had already reached the 100-th floor, and the girl set down and said: ?Now that?s all, I really can?t?. And the guy {said} to her: ?Jump down?. She: ?How dare you?!? But the guy: ?Jump, jump!? And he takes the shawl off?
Someone of the girls squeals not loud.
- And his mouth, - the narrator continues, - is so huge and round, that his skull can be seen from within. At that time the girl understood, who had been that guy. But she didn?t lose her head (get confused) ? she jumped into the well [elevator (lift) shaft] and caught hold of the counterbalance. The rope hadn?t been blockaded, the counterbalance slid down and pulled the girl down unharmed till the very ground? And it?s not a fairy-tale, - she suddenly finished with absolutely normal voice, but still as if she had caught a cold: - It happened to me.
- You lie, - it breaks from someone. It seems that it?s Ignat.
- The lift ropes in the ancient towers rotted through long ago, - it?s the Tall.
- They rotted through only in some of them. But in other they are iron.
It got silent. But for the breathing it would seem that the room had been empty.
- There are no life-eaters, - says Eve quietly. ? How can a human feed on life of a suicide? On life that wasn?t lived? How?
- Who said that they were humans? ? the girl, that have caught a cold reasonably objected.
- Three people from our block disappeared no one knows where, - someone of the guys says thoughtfully. ? 3 ? for a half of a year.
- They just didn?t have enough energy, - the Tall hems. ? When someone of acquaintances is fined? or they lose a job and there?s no energy content? Don?t you know anything about it? It?s somehow not customary to twaddle about it.
- But I was told, - says Eve in a whisper that it hardly can be heard, - that the lost people had went off to the Plant.
Silence. Fuss. Puffing. I push Eve?s side with my elbow.
- Yes, to the Plant, - she repeats obstinately. ? And there?s a plenty of energy there for all. Nobody trembles over the package. There?s no such a word there ? ?package?. The energy just flows like? like the wind. Or like water, when the water pipe works.
- I saw the life-eater with my own eyes, - said the girl that had caught a cold. ? And as for the Plant? forgive me, but it?s like {as good as} the world beyond the grave. Does it exist or not ? anyway we cannot check it.

----

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 12 Aug 2006 20:29
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----

Next day my lips don?t ache so much. The bladder burst. I can speak.
Having slept my enough properly, an hour before the sunset I approached the checkpoint at the bottom of the hill. Pixels flow together from the whole town like a stream.
I change the clothes in a checkroom and suddenly I see that there are 2 pairs of earphones in my locker. The mistake of technicians: they put the new, but they have forgotten to take the previous away. I looked around involuntarily: had anybody seen? Noone. Everyone puts the overalls on.
Then I over hide the old earphones ? I put it from the shelf to my boot. If they revealed, I would say, that it happened accidentally. At least they didn?t exceed the bounds of the shelf!
I wear the new earphones. I wear the sun (black) glasses. I fasten the sticker behind opposite the 4-th vertebra.
And go to my working place.
I go upwards, until I reach the grade ?401?, and then I turn to the left. I make my way through the narrow passageway. Eve has a 513 place, and I have 512, Eve always comes before me?
But today she?s not there. I?m astonished so much that I step on the edge of my overalls and almost fall.
There?s nobody on a 513 place! Is it possible that she will be late?!
I sit down at my place and cross my legs. Calm down, I say to myself. 30 superfluous seconds don?t mean anything. When was the last time that I have seen Eve? Tomorrow. I slept for the whole day today, and when I left the house, she hadn?t already been in the room?
The time passes by. I turned my head around, looking narrowly at the faces of the last pixels that were trotting to their places. Eve is not among them.
Not known chappie {guy}, tow-haired and young, jumps into the platform number 401/513. Into Eve?s place!
- Did you lose your way? ? I ask sharply. He smiles from ear to ear, his eyes blink often.
- Hallo! I was put to work there. From the utmost line, can you imagine this? There had been a competition and I won! Will I manage to do it, how do you think?
I look at him as if he?s an arrival from the Moon. His words don?t sink in to me.
- This place?
- 401/513! ? he shows the new counter, which dangles on his wrist.
- A competition? When?
- Today! At noon!
It means that Eve was transferred to the outlying place. Somewhere to the angle of the screen. To the place of this? lively person. Why?
Not to whimper! These things can be improved. The main thing is that she will have a package. After the energy hour we will sit down in a kitchen alongside, drink some tea?
I don?t have time to finish my thought: the countdown starts in my earphones. The time for the show had come.
----

After the work I prepare to go home in a hurry - think about Eve. The tow-haired chappie managed (honestly speaking, in my heart I wished him a failure). His name is Nicola {Nicholas}. Starting from now he will work next to me? But where?s Eve?
I poke my leg into the boot and come across the obstacle. The superfluous earphones. I totally forgot about them.
Do I have to put it back into my shelf? It?s not yet late?
My hands act themselves, without the collaboration with senses. One ? I put the earphones on my leg a little above the knee. Two ? I lower the wide trouser-leg on top. And there are no earphones.
I lock my cell {shelf}. My heart is thumping. What do I need it for?!
I leave the checkroom slowly. It?s still not late to come and put it back. The crowd picks me up on the stairs ? now it?s more difficult to come back. But it?s still possible.
The policemen sit at the exit. They are bored. On our way to work we come through the frame metal detector. And from our work we throng by this frame. And the policemen sit at the entrance for no particular reason, just in case?
- Hey, girl!
It?s not for me. I keep on going. I don?t even turn my head round.
- Hey, you! Did you become deaf?
I am seized by the sleeve. On counting three I turn around slowly.
The policeman was angry {irritated}: why hadn?t I run up to him obediently, at the first request?
- What happened? ? I ask very calmly and politely. My heart thrashes like a drum somewhere in the area of a stomach. As a matter of a fact, we were warned about such a fad as selective (spot-check) search. Some of the guys had really been shaken, but I wasn?t, never. Why, why exactly today?!
Now everything depends on my self-control. If he senses that I tremble and sweat? It will be the end.
He examines me closely. I look into his eyes.
- Come on, pass through the frame, - he says. I nod: such trifles. Why shouldn?t I pass through the frame? Always with pleasure?
For a second I stand motionless before the range of the metal detector. I don?t know whether it will work for my earphones or not. I take a step forward?
The frame peeps! It yelled to the whole checkpoint: a thief caught! A thief caught!
The policeman takes my hand firmly a little above the elbow.
- What do you hide there?
- The bracelet, - I say calmly.
I recollect brokenly, that on my way to the work I always take off the wide metal bracelet from my right hand and put it on a chute in front of the controller. And take it away on passing through the frame.
- Take it off and pass through once again.
I pull the bracelet away. I stand motionless before the frame again. If it works now?
I take a step as if to the precipice. The frame doesn?t answer. I leave the dangerous zone? the frame still doesn?t answer! The policeman stares at me.
My knees tremble. The earphones start to slip down along my leg slowly. I feel them sliding down on my knee, then on my shank?
- May I go? ? I ask a little faster than I have to.
The policeman keeps silence for the whole second.
The cursed earphones lay on my boot now, being not surely covered by the trouser-leg. If only they fall down!
- Go, - the policeman says.
I turn around and go to the exit very quickly. Having dragged the right leg a little.
- Stop!
I turn around.
The policeman smirks. Is it a cat-and-mouse game?!
- You forgot the bracelet, - the policeman says.
My metal bracelet lies on his palm.

-------------

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 12 Aug 2006 20:31
Antwort 


-------------

On coming back home I fall down on my cot and think of nothing for some minutes. What a fool, am I not?! What do I need the new hardship for? Were the old not enough for me? I was almost caught, everything hung by a threat because of the earphones?!
Having caught my breath I take my trophy out. I examine it closely.
I?m a little interested in the earphones ? small membranes and wirings - themselves. But the plane small box soldered on the right side ? rhythm-block?
As a matter of a fact I don?t grasp it very good. I?m not an engineer ? I?m just a pixel. But every pixel knows that on the input to the rhythm-block of our earphones there is some very simple signal. And it is a rhythm-block affair to reform it into that very rhythm, which makes us change the colours so fast and precisely (punctually). About the celestial screen it is said that it?s highly coloured, that it has a heap of tints, that the images spill over into each other almost imperceptibly? It would be interesting for me to look at our energy show if every pixel received stupid commands like: ?Blue! Yellow! White!? instead of the rhythm.
Having regained consciousness, I hided the earphones to the hiding-place behind the air gate. I need to find Eve. It?s the most important thing right now.
Eve?s room is not locked. It?s empty. The things are scattered all over in random - that's out of character for her, she?s tidy.
I go to the kitchen. Ignat sits there alone. Willy-nilly I have to begin speaking with him.
- Did you see Eve?
He looks suspicious.
- I thought she had been with you? She?s not there from the morning.
- Did she come back from work?
Ignat turns his head round {No}. I have a seat at the edge of the iron stool.
- She was not at her place, - I say, not even knowing myself why. Ignat opens his eyes wide:
- Really?! But where?
And he falls silent.

----

The energy hour approaches. Eve is not in the room. In principle she can get connected up to her package somewhere in the other place? But I don?t believe in this.
Before the energy hour as usual I think about the worst. I get afraid. I wait only for disasters and troubles in my life.
At quarter to 12 I recollected that I hadn?t checked my mail. I sit up into a cycle saddle; step on pedals? the handlebar monitor lights up.
Only one message. From Eve. I read staring with surprise: ?The Plant exists. It exists in reality! Thank you for everything?.
And that?s all. The end.
This letter unsettles me in such a way that I almost forget to get connected. At 2 minutes to 12 I fasten the cuff on my left hand, click the cut-off point? At that moment I recollected that I have forgotten to check whether I had the package for today or not. Was I fined for something?!
The clock on a town tower begins striking: one? two? three?
Twelve!
The warmth spreads from the cuff ? to heart. To throat. The gold spangles blaze up behind my eyes, they twinkle and dance?
I smile.
Everything?s fine. Everyone?s alive. And Eve also feels fine. Even better than it could be imagined: Eve had found the way to the Plant! She always dreamt about it! I?m happy for her.
And I also can do everything. I can sing, dance, construct?
I feed the dynamo-mouse with special forage from jar. Thrust it into the wheel. The mouse runs. The wheel turns around. The bulb above the table lights up.
I locked the door, sat down at the table and put the earphones that I had carried off from my work in front of me.

------


After two hours I understood that I needed a drum. Or a tambourine. It?s really necessary to get something like this. I hide non-assembled earphones into a hiding place and knock at Ignat?s door.
He?s so glad to see me that it seems that he?s ready to kiss my hands.
- You?! Come in? Let?s drink some tea? I have wine?
- I have no time, - I say. ? Borrow your roller skates to me. I need it a lot.
He?s disappointed.
Ignat?s roller skates is his treasure. He keeps it, cleans, greases, uses it seldom and never gives to anyone. They are very old, they can break and they will not go through the repair.
- What do you need it for? ? Ignat asks throwing dust in his eyes. But I already know that he will not dare to turn me down.
- I need to go somewhere. I hurry up, do you understand it?

----------

I roll by the street jumping over the gully grating. Roller skates is a good thing but I?ll never save up enough money for it. Especially after Eve and me have spent all our savings for an illegal package.
I think about Eve again. Now after some time had passed after the happy energy hour her letter didn?t seem to have had a single meaning. ?The Plant exists?? Could Eve leave without saying goodbye? Without saying a word? Having left everything? It?s not a nice action from her direction. After we have been to such an alternation together?
I recollected the controller who had let us go. Could Eve?s disappearance be related to him somehow?
I rush out beyond the turning. Kids on roller skates play gamba amid the street ? they skate like a railway engine holding on to each other. The first turns sometimes to the right, sometimes to the left abruptly, and everybody behind him too. The file coiled like a snake, the ones who had been the last to lay hold of it were shaken from side to side. This game is usually played until somebody drops and the file falls to pieces.
I wait for a second and join the railway engine as the last carriage.
The speed is unprecedented. I hardly have time to shuffle my feet in order not to fall upon the border of the pavement. The centipede made of people on roller skates rush along the square and turns around abruptly in front of the big shop window. I?m carried away, my shoulder knocks against the shop window: it buzzes like a tambourine but it?s not broken. The gamba goes on rolling. The sandwich peddler falls headlong. The drink packings are rolling. The yard-keeper turns aside hastily. The police whistle is heard far off?
Someone in front falls, and the rest fall on him. I have time to undo my hands, roll forward mechanically and turn to the right a little, by the heap. Children try to get up, someone uses bad language, and someone is laughing. The police whistle is getting closer. I have time to give a sign (to wave my hand) to a boy-ringleader (he managed to keep his feet like me). He waves his hand to me in response.
I rush into the dark lane in full speed. The asphalt is not even here. The crush of the skates reverberates against the low vaults. Turning, another turning: the street is desolated and quiet: only the wind turbines mutter on the roof. And the spotlit shop window. I slow down.
The whole shop window is set with the drums. There are the huge percussion mountings and small tambourines for children. Tomtoms. Tulumbasses. The leathers and fabrics are strained on frameworks of every possible characteristics and contours. I like this place very much, but I can?t visit it often. It?s too far from my house.
The door is closed. I pull the door-handle desperately. What time is it? The dawning will come soon so it?s not astonishing that the shop is closed?
From the interior, from behind the drums-beasts of a human growth the shadow of someone comes out slowly. I don?t see the face in twilight.
The lock is grinding. The door is opened.
- Come in.

----------

cora
Moderator
# Gesendet: 12 Aug 2006 21:08
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interesting Irene
I have finally found the time to copy all of it and read it. Exciting story!! And gosh, what an enormous work you are doing. Thank you so much!

Esther
Moderator
# Gesendet: 12 Aug 2006 23:17
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interesting Irene
HI Interesting Irene!!! I think I havent seen you on the forum before. Welcome!!!

THANK YOU SOOO MUCH FOR THE TRANSLATION!!

I have one question is this still chapter one??

yanya
Moderator
# Gesendet: 13 Aug 2006 01:22
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interesting Irene
OF COURSE NO I AM AN ORDINARY PERSON

but why "of course"? All the fans were invited to the presentation!! It wasn't a close event at all!

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 13 Aug 2006 09:38
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Esther
Yes.

Esther
Moderator
# Gesendet: 13 Aug 2006 12:57
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interesting Irene
Yes.
Wow long chapters.

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 13 Aug 2006 14:15
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Esther
125 pages - 1 chapter.
totally 407 pages

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 13 Aug 2006 14:17
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----------

The owner of the drum shop is called Rymus. He?s much elder than all my acquaintances: he?s about 40. He kindles all the lights in the shop for me: awakens mice and squirrels, lets the glow-worms out, and pulls the only crampfish in a deep but cramped aquarium. I look around as if I see it all for the first time.
There are thousands of drums here. Each has the own voice. But now they all are silent. I extend my hand; tap timidly all along the tough funnily warm skin by my finger. The sound is very profound, low, mysterious: bum-m?
- I?m sorry to disturb you so late.
- It?s Ok. I waited for you.
I turn around of astonishment:
- For me?!
- I memorized you, Wild. You come here often. To look at the drums.
- Not very often, - now I?m really embarrassed. ? I live a long way off here. And? I don?t have money. Only for the very small? the smallest drum.
He nodded as if he had known. He calls me to follow him to the interior of the shop by a gesture. Strange mounting is there ? something like a cage of roughly soldered reinforce rods. Inside the cage the drums are fastened and hung out, at random on the face of it. In fact there is a systematic character in its disposition. I can?t understand what.
- Sit down. Tell me what do you need.
I take a sit, hide my feet in roller skates under the chair and tell. I need a drum. The drum system is better but it depends, it?s within the limits of my possibilities. I need to construct the drum mounting by myself at my discretion. Miniature. It will be? it short it will be a rhythm synthesizer.
Rymus listens to me very attentively. He nods. He considers for a long time and then he enters the reinforce cage. There are two thin wooden sticks in his hands. Gradually and droningly he starts tapping on a big drum. I catch the rhythm involuntarily; start beating it out by the palm on my knee?
Rhymus looks at me cursorily and suddenly he quasi breaks forth. He rushes along inside the cage and the drums come alive ? at the same time. I hear the beat of my blood and of the blood of Rhymus. I hear the rhythm of the whole town. For a moment it seems that the energy hour comes again and the warm wave is just about to fill me up entirely?
Rhymus stops playing. He lowers his hands. He gets out through the chink between 2 reinforce rods. My heart thumps like after the long race.
- Tell me, - Rhymus makes a pause and stares at me with a searching look. ? Would you live? without booster charges? Without the energy hour? At least 24 hours?
I didn?t expect this question. It sounds unpleasantly and threateningly. I stand up. Generally speaking, it?s difficult to take the fighting stance on roller skates. What does he mean? Did he really guess that I had stolen the earphones and that I could have been cut off for this?!
- Oh no? - He was grieved that I hadn?t understood him right. ? I?m not going to take anything away from you? or intimidate. You?re just like? some people. They feel the rhythm like you. And they have? their own energy. The energy from their hearts. And not from the cutoff point. Do you understand it?
- I need a drum, - I say coldly. ? Nothing but a small drum. I will do everything else on my own.

------
We talk until the dawn.
- People who lived in a plain weren?t like people who had been born and grew up in mountains. The other rhythm, understand? The world itself is organized rhythmically (uniformly). It?s smooth in a plain; it?s a drawling song. And the acute overfalls in mountains. Steep turnings. Alps and precipices. Really wild can survive in mountains.
I?ve never been neither in mountains nor in a plain. The town - that is my world. Grey residential areas, streets, squares and desolate towers. And also industrial areas to which you can?t pass through without permit.
- We all are the captives of the rhythm, the masters of the rhythm. Morning ? night. Dream ? reality. Inhalation ? exhalation. Our heart is a percussion mounting. Our brain is subordinate to the rhythm and produces the rhythm? Aren?t you bored?
- No! Of course no!
He rubs his palms as if his hands shiver.
- Do you remember your parents? ? he asks all of a sudden.
I?m trying to recollect. I do it [it turns out to be] badly. Some people seemed to have existed? I kinda loved them some time?
- They died.
- Of what?
- Of old age, - I suggest not confidently. And fall silent.
Rymus nods his head heavily.
- Orphanage? Orphanage, but not house. Only the educators don?t put into the corner, they deprive of the package immediately? and of the will to live? of the aim?
I don?t understand him. And he doesn?t wait until I understand. He gets up, goes somewhere to the interior of the shop and returns back in a minute with a small like my 2 palms drum.
The drum is old, it can be noticed at once. The skin on it became threadbare and greasy in some places. Not clear image becomes faintly visible through the spots.
I take a good look at it. The wolf is pictured on a drum.
- Isn?t it? an old thing?
- It is an ancient thing, - he says reproachfully a little. ? It?s not very good-looking. But it has a soul. It remembers the real rhythms ? of birth, battle, and death. Take it. It will be of use to you.
He smiles. He snatches the three-edged stiletto without any spot of rust out of the iron drum edge (rib). I recoil from it involuntarily.
- It will be in use whatever the case may happen in life. ? He hides the weapon back carefully. ? Pay attention on what this drum is fixed. On a chain.
He fits the chain in my shoulder. It?s very convenient. And not hard at all.

-----------

I come back home in the morning with a drum on my shoulder. I?m swayed of the fatigue but I?m absolutely happy.
Ignat meets me by the door of our block. He can?t wait till I come, poor fellow.
- Your skates are intact, don?t worry!
He reacts somehow listlessly to my words. He hesitates. He averts his head.
- What happened?
- You know? Eve was found.
- Really?!
- Yes? in the collector. The water was drained in a sewage collector? and then they found? her. Everything that was left from her.

----------------------

interesting Irene
registriert
# Gesendet: 13 Aug 2006 14:18
Antwort 


----------------------

- Vague (dark) story, - the Tall says.
All lamps are alight in his room in the form of a rhombus. All dynamo-squirrels run in their wheels. I sit on the floor and cry. I don?t give a damn that he sees my tears.
- She entrusted too much? that the Plant was as good as the other world! She committed suicide! Jumped into the collector? And wrote to me?
I can?t speak. I?m breathless.
- I don?t think that she committed suicide, - says the Tall.
I raise my wet eyes at him of unexpectedness.
- She loved life, - says the Tall, - Yes, she faced difficulties, and there wasn?t enough energy. But she understood what life was. And she wouldn?t have drawn it down to the collector? as to the w. c. pan not at any price.
I understand that he?s right. The trouble made me stupid. I entrusted Eve?s suicide too much easy.
- If so, did someone kill her?!
The Tall keeps silence.
- But who? And what for?! And in which connection the Plant is? {How the Plant can be concerned to this?}
- You didn?t tell me, - the Tall starts, - what happened to you [to Eve and her] that night, when you tried to find the booster charge for Eve.
- How do you know? {I would have put ? but it?s from the text}
- Stop it, - he waves his hand. ? Where the two know, that is where the pig also know.
He?s right again. I bite my lip.
- Don?t be afraid, - the Tall says, - I?m not the hell an enemy to you.
I tell him how we ran upon the inspector. How we tried to escape but didn?t manage. And how he let us go.
Tall keeps silence for a long time.
- The inspectors never walk one by one, - he finally says. ? Didn?t you see the patrol?
I keep silence. And again he?s right.
- Inspectors don?t have such weapon. What you have described? It?s not a discharger. It?s the thing more powerful. I don?t even know? I didn?t know that such weapon exists.
I keep silence. My tears dry out pulling my skin off.
- And inspectors never let anyone go, - says Tall very quietly. ? Never. It?s a law.
I recollect the one whom we mistook for an inspector. The face forged as though of the iron plates. Eyes that looked out of dark holes?
- So who was he?! ? [these words] burst from me.
The Tall nods his head {I don?t know}:
- I don?t know. Eve knew? not long before her death. Probably.
My hair stands on end because of these his words.
- But?
- Be careful, - he says firmly. ? Maybe you?re next? maybe not. Maybe I?m wrong. But just in case look around more often. And don?t trust strangers. OK?

------------

?Don?t trust strangers?.
Now attentive glares seem to me everywhere. I turn my head around so that my neck aches. Are they spying upon me? Aren?t they? Maybe they?re spying in such a way so as I don?t even notice, aren?t they?
Flaxen-haired Nickola, my new job neighbor tries his best; he wants me to like him. I can hardly bear to look at his smile. With all my soul it makes me sick.
Because I think about Eve and only about her. I can?t think about anything else for many days.
On receiving my dose of energy every night I take the drum with an image of the wolf into my hands. I take the disassembled rhythm-block out of the air gate. I take the box with tooling from under the bed. I have only 2 hours ? then the effect of the booster charge slacken, ?the light in my head? fades and I feel myself an absolute fool. The most important thing at the moment is not to give way to despair and not to break what is already done against the wall. And I want to break, because it pretends to be so absurd {ridiculous}. It seems that nothing will ever come of it. How could such a stupidity [nonsense] come into my head!
I make myself hide everything carefully: tooling ? under the cot, block ? into the hiding place behind the air gate. And next day after the energy hour I get down to business. All this time I almost don?t go into the street [out of doors], because I?m busy. And also because I?m tired of looking around and waiting for an unknown trouble no one knows where from. I work as a robot on a conveyor?
And one beautiful day my plan snaps into action.
The rhythm-block is fixed on a rib of a drum. I adapted the thin like a bubble electromagnetic membrane to the lower sounding board. The rhythm-block generates waves, the membrane resounds with the lower sounding board. It?s so easy that it?s even astonishing [surprising]: how could I spend so much time on it?
I knock on the drum from time to time by my palm: one, two, one-two-three! The drum responds and produces the rhythmical series without the pause and without the slightest hitch, of which my leg automatically starts to stamp on the concrete floor.
What a toy.
I forget even about Eve for one minute. Even about the fact that I?m threatened with trouble. I talk with a drum: it develops [evolves] any of my thoughts accurately. Always logical and always unexpectedly.
The energy hour passed long ago. The dawn approaches. I put the drum on and go out into the street. It takes much time to get Rymus without the roller skates. I start running. The drum hangs loosely on my side. The rhythm starts muttering in time with my steps not loud, vaguely as though in itself.
This rhythm strangely unites with the blood rattle in my ears. I run faster and faster. The yard-keeper on a harvester dashes aside from my way. Someone screams behind. I can?t hear, the wind whistles in my ears, my blood hammers in the temples and the rhythm reverberates loudly [resonantly].
I almost don?t touch the ground by my feet!
Kids-rollers follow me in wide-eyed astonishment. I rush into Rymus? shop like a stone shot from the boy?s catapult. My cheeks gleam from the wind.
- Rymus! Rymus! Look what I?ve done!
He sits above the framework of a gigantic drum, {above} the skeleton of an ancient monster. He stands up towards me. He examines my invention for a long time, knocks on the sounding board from time to time and the drum responds to him. To tell the truth, not as sonorously as to me.
- You sit up below too late, - he finally says.
- What?!
He gives me my drum back. He looks into my eyes narrowly and very seriously.
- Listen attentively what I will say to you. You need to seek higher. You have to arise to the very top. Go up, Wild! There you will find what you need very much.

-----

Sometimes it seems to me that Rymus is very smart. But sometimes it seems that he entirely got mad among his drums. What does this mean: ?Go up?? I inquire him for about an hour, this way and that, but he refuses to talk about it. He restores the gigantic drum and asks me not to impede.
I go out into the street vexed. I make my way home {toil myself along} and keep on thinking and thinking about his words.
In the gateway one very unpleasant subject [fellow] adheres to me; I?m ready to beg that he received the false booster charge this night. And most likely not for the first time. The strange senseless smile is on the face of this guy. And his eyes don?t smile, they became glassy. He seems not to see anything at all; he comes towards me like a blind robot spreading his huge hands apart.
I try to evade, but he?s very cunning. He snatches me and his fingers are kind of iron. He drives me into the wall. I hit him to his groin and nothing happens, it?s all the same to him. He doesn?t feel pain.
- 9 doses, - his lips whisper. ? 9 doses? One night? There were 8 as far back as yesterday?
He digs his hand into my chest. It hurts a lot. I break free silently, but he?s stronger. And he weighs three times more than me.
- Do you understand what does this mean? You don?t understand? how does it feel to die when the 9-th dose is not enough for you? or 10-th? or 200-th?
He seems to be as mechanical [automatic] as the drink peddler. Everything is separated in him, his eyes and his face. His moves. His words. He murmurs as if complaining to me. And at the same time he knocks me off my feet on the asphalt and tears the clothes on me to pieces.
The drum rib sticks into my side. I disentangle my hand with my last bit of strength; stretch myself to the drum blindly? 1 millimeter fails?
- 9 doses? I want to live, can?t you understand?! I want to live!
The stiletto creeps into my hand out of the tiny sheath recondited on a drum rib. Like a sting. And when mechanical human who received 9 doses of false energy today slightly steps aside I split the stiletto into his thigh.
At the first terrible second it seems that he will not feel even this. He stands motionless, his eyes finally clear up. It seems that he looks at me for the first time. He makes a motion to look what exactly did wound him?
The other blood {blood of the other human} flows out towards me jerky.
He growls. On seizing up the drum I sneak out from under him like a grass snake. He snatches my ankle and I pierce his palm by the stiletto. He curses terribly, draws his hand back?
And suddenly he dies down motionless standing on both knees on a pavement.
- And maybe it?s for the better, - he says and his voice is clear and calm. He lies on his side and puts his palm under his head. As though he?s really tired and wants to sleep.
I run away. Then I return. He still lies on his side just as before. Considerable puddle of blood assembled under him; it seemed that I accidentally broke his artery.
But he doesn?t bleed anymore. And the human don?t breathe.
He?s dead.
I stand above him with bloodstained stiletto. I didn?t want! He was a swine; he deserved death? But those scratches that I had caused to him could not be enough to block such a robust bull to death!
My clothes are covered with blood. I need to run until I can be caught here. After all throughout it turns out that I am a killer?
What does a human feel when there?s so not enough life in him that he has to recharge not once and not twice ? 9 times every night? Where did he find so much money?! Every night there had been less and less life in him left. The more he caught on life the less chances were left?
At the end of the gateway the shadow of someone gleams and I get away, clasping the drum to my bosom with care. The dead face of this human stands before my eyes.

--------

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 13 Aug 2006 14:21
Antwort 


yanya You know, I don't want to be a fan. My town is situated too far from Kiyv. And I woudn't have gone even if there was a possibility.

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 13 Aug 2006 17:25
Antwort 


THese were 54 first pages of the text, approximately half of the 1 chapter. I try to help Maryna and Sergiy Dyachenko to make you interested in reading the book. I think that the book is the most important and interesting part of the project. Whenever conservative I may seem.

I will keep translating but sorry I can't publish it there.
You all still have my e-mail interesting_irene@yahoo.co.uk.

Lussekatt
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# Gesendet: 13 Aug 2006 17:58
Antwort 


interesting Irene
I will keep translating but sorry I can't publish it there.

Okey, I understand and respect that. I will take also time to read it but that will take enourmous effort but I will try! I thank you for giving us the translation so far.

I don't want to be a fan.

why not, if I may ask. Are you only a fan of this book but not of Ruslana?

well take care and hope to see you again on forum!

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 13 Aug 2006 21:25 - Edited by: interesting Irene
Antwort 


Lussekatt I mean that I like Ruslana's music, I listen to her disks and collect some of them. but I'm not totally crazy about it. I'm not a fan of science fiction. Maryna and Sergiy Dyachenko also said that they liked Ruslana's music and they were inspired. Could you call them fans? It's something different.
Being a fan is being crazy. I try not to idolize, but I like. Sometimes it's somehow difficult, I make an effort to myself in order not to get crazy about it.

Lussekatt
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# Gesendet: 13 Aug 2006 21:40
Antwort 


interesting Irene

Being a fan is being crazy. I try not to idolize, but I like.

I see what you mean. well, yes there is diffrent grades of how much and intense you like something. Im not totally crazy about Ruslana (but admit that I have been) and those who are really fanatic might not think its crazy. I think a fan is crazy if he/she gets obsessed about their idol and starts to stalk and follow them and interfere in their privacy.

Maryna and Sergiy Dyachenko also said that they liked Ruslana's music and they were inspired. Could you call them fans? It's something different.

I guess all of us is fans in our own ways. This is their way to show their inspiration of her - to write a book. My way to show my inspiration of her is diffrent, I do artwork out of her for example.
The word "fan" doesnt have to be negative and you can idolize in diffrent grades as well. Like saying "I like Ruslana"....or "I love her" or "I adore her" or "I only have Ruslana in my mind"....

Lussekatt
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# Gesendet: 13 Aug 2006 21:44
Antwort 


interesting Irene

aha, I see you edit your post and made it a bit cleared. Im not a fan or science fiction either actually but Im a fan of Ruslana and that makes me interested of this science fiction book.

Sometimes it's somehow difficult, I make an effort to myself in order not to get crazy about it.

well, as long as you dont suffer bad from it then Its simply a very nice feeling to have an idol that you just like to do things around

Esther
Moderator
# Gesendet: 14 Aug 2006 00:05
Antwort 


interesting Irene
I don't know how much to thank you!!
I am now reading it all

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 14 Aug 2006 02:21
Antwort 


Esther
You are welcome, don't think, you know, I'm just inspired.

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 14 Aug 2006 02:28
Antwort 


Lussekatt
Don't be offended. I mean that the whole show is based on a book. It's not that I don't understand that there's something you can only feel in music and there are such things that cannot be expressed in words. Ruslana's lyrics would have been really senseless without music and rhythm and dances. But there are also some things that can only be expressed in words, in a book. Her videos for this project as she promises will resemble short movies. They will never give an authentic view and tell everything. I think that reading books is more useful than watching movies because in a book you can learn more. No matter how hard you would try you would never show everything what was written in the book in 2-3 hours movie. It's not that you don't have to try. I can make the movie of that 54 pages... To know everything definately, with all details you will really need to read the book, it's the only way. It's even about information content. You can receive more informaton. Of course the music is important it's something that I cannot read. You read "the rhythm", so what? Of course, you'll need the rhythm itself, the music, CD. You can read that Lana tried to find the rhythm but this would not affect you at all.
It's just a pity a little that people forget about books and don't appreciate them enough. Sorry for moralizing.
We can only let the music be expressed in music and words be expressed in words. It's all necessary.

P. S. And even the images you do are also important.

Lussekatt
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# Gesendet: 14 Aug 2006 02:41
Antwort 


interesting Irene
Don't be offended

Dont worry, Im not at all! Im just discuss things and see diffrent perspectives ánd explaining things from diffrent sides..

I admit I never read books, thats because I have reading difficulties and have hard to cope with much text at the same time and some other reasons. Because I know it take too much effort from me I simply dont make effort for it. But I have heard about from others what you describe. That a film cant express a whole book with all its details and in that way its important to read the original book. Often I hear people say" the book is better than the film" or "it was a lot from the book that was missing in the film".

But yes, to be fair to the book Wild Energy Lana it should be read first before we watch any eventual movie of it ;-)

Christiane
Moderator
# Gesendet: 14 Aug 2006 17:08 - Edited by: Christiane
Antwort 


Lussekatt
Often I hear people say" the book is better than the film" or "it was a lot from the book that was missing in the film".
That´s what I heard by people, who read "Lord of the Rings", when the first part of the film version got into the movies. I never read this book, so I can´t tell anything about it. Anyway, I haven´t read any book for quite a long time, though there are three or four books, I haven´t read yet.

Silent Man
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# Gesendet: 14 Aug 2006 17:28
Antwort 


Lussekatt
Often I hear people say" the book is better than the film" or "it was a lot from the book that was missing in the film".

I think people usually likes the first situation of something. For example: When someone makes a movie for a popular computer game, most of the people says that the computer game was better. And when someone makes a computer game for a popular movie, most of the people says that the movie was better.

cora
Moderator
# Gesendet: 14 Aug 2006 19:31
Antwort 


Lussekatt
Often I hear people say" the book is better than the film" or "it was a lot from the book that was missing in the film".

Yes, a lot of people say that. Of course you can tell a story and the characters much more detailed in a book. I must admit that I also very rarely read books, in particular novels. I just don't enjoy it and I don't have much time for it. I prefer films. They tell a story in a much shorter time ;-)

Silent Man

I think people usually likes the first situation of something.
Agree.

Lussekatt
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# Gesendet: 14 Aug 2006 22:12
Antwort 


cora
I prefer films. They tell a story in a much shorter time ;-)

Same here, I dont have all the patience need for book

_ok_
Moderator
# Gesendet: 15 Aug 2006 01:48
Antwort 


interesting Irene

Maryna and Sergiy Dyachenko also said that they liked Ruslana's music and they were inspired. Could you call them fans? It's something different.

. " , - "" ,
, . .
"". , () . , ...
( ), , " ".
( ) "" . , " , .
, "  .
, "Could you call them fans?", "It's something different" , ?

- "totally crazy about something", - ... .
, . , , . , , , ... , ...

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