English version of the book (7)



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Ruslana Forum / Wild Energy project / English version of the book
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Katherine
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# Gesendet: 18 Jan 2007 16:34
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Lussekatt
around Europe and people will get to the music that way rather than the other way round.

that is true its more and more likely for singers to be recognized with ther music applied to something else, for example, film soundtracks and art

Guido
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# Gesendet: 18 Jan 2007 17:57
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I have bought a fat ukrainian dictionary
Nice ! Which one ? Where ?
Mine isn't good.

so after 10 years or so
I remember Esther asked me in Brussels : How about your Ukrainian ? I answered : One word a week. Esther : OK, that's 52 words in one year ... 520 in 10 years :-)
I'm happy with every word I learn. And Ruslana is happy for that too. But I know for me it's impossible learning to talk Ukrainian as good as Ruslana talks english :-(:-(

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 19 Jan 2007 18:22
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Well, then I still have some work... I wanted to finally congratulate you all guys that you don't need my help anymore. But I have time to do the last 20 pages of the 1 chapter... Well OK/

Katherine Did my words here help you to understand what is the wild energy?

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 19 Jan 2007 18:27
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Well, I always say... it's little more than a half, but step by step, word after word, page after page. I'll not help you to see the book but you'll see the 1 chapter.

Lussekatt, thanks for congratulation, happy new Year and good translations for you in the New year

Katherine
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# Gesendet: 19 Jan 2007 20:16
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interesting Irene
Did my words here help you to understand what is the wild energy

not yet its still quite confusing, ill wait 'till the book comes out, get my friend to read cuz' i tend to read the first page and put the book down lol.

Lussekatt
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# Gesendet: 21 Jan 2007 20:54
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Guido
But I know for me it's impossible learning to talk Ukrainian as good as Ruslana talks english :-(:-(

I begin to think the same. I mixed one word up that you have written and it ended up with two other version of it and by now after a few minutes posting on forum I have forgotten the word
but we shall not give up right. Actually for me its really fun that we both and Tim are so interested in the ukrainian language. We support and help each other right

interesting Irene


But I have time to do the last 20 pages of the 1 chapter... Well OK/

that would of course be very much appreciated but do it if you feel like it with no time pressure. Dyakuyu!

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 31 Mar 2007 17:36
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--------------

Duty is a real punishment. It?s easy for Moor: he uses Lift Operator?s contrivances to the utmost and almost doesn?t go by the staircases, and I have to re-count every footstep!
People on duty help getters. Getters ? those who forage there, below, in the town. {They} buy {some} part. {They} steal the other part from the storehouses. This task is difficult and dangerous, but honorary, and still getters change all the time. Who wants to spend a half of life among synthetics?
There is a hiding place {cache} in the cellar. Some time {in this case little time about 5-15 min} before the energy hour, when synthetics wait for the connection and don?t care about anything, people on duty go down to the hiding place {cache}, take a full bag of wrappings, trays {tray packs} and tin cans and carry it all to the 30-th floor. Lift Operator with his counterbalance system receives the load there and conveys it to the very top. Into the nest.
To pull the bag to the 30-th floor!
It weighs approximately as much as me. (I) breathe through clenched teeth {?through clenched teeth? - used in 2 cases: a) to do - when one does something with difficulty or b) to speak - with a scorn, or to answer roughly; wasn?t sure that it was clear; both cases were used in the text}. On the 20-th floor, where the staircase is broken, Lyoshka helps me: on the rope {he} pulls out the bag first, and me then. {He} wants to heap it onto his shoulders, but I don?t let him {do it}. {I} bounce him out. If Alex wants me to be on duty so, I?ll be! Not any worse than others! If he thinks that I?ll ask for mercy?
Sweat covers the face. An obstacle appears in front of me on the 25-th floor. I stare at it for about a minute like a blind kitten before I guess to raise my head.
Alex stands in front of me with his hands on each side.
- That?s all; you have {already} done your duty. Give it to Lyoshka.
- Be off, - I say, recovering my breath. ? Do you think that I won?t drag it {to the end}?
- You will? I?m about to visit the neighbors, they have a showing {it will be described in details then} today. Will you come?

---------

{People} often pay visits to each other in the Overground. In spite of the fact that inhabited towers stand not right up against {closely} each other. Meanwhile wild {people} can?t fly from one roof to another; they are not the hell butterflies!
Alex promised me to take me with him long time ago {long since}. And now today finally I?ll see how it happens. I mean a journey in the sky.
Hospitality codex in the Overground is simple and uncomplicated. If someone is about to visit another, {he/she} strains a huge self-firer {in the climber outfit there is such a stuff, when one shoots a rope with a hook on it?s end catches on the mountain in a higher place so that the climber can clamber up higher. But there is a difference: climbers shoot upwards, and here they shoot onwards {towards the opposite tower}; and it?s huge, much bigger (differ approximately like a gun and a machine-gun)} on the roof and shoots with the iron hook (for some reason it is called ?to log in?). The hook flies {rushes}, and the thin cord uncoils after it. Having reached, the hook catches on the window opening or armature {steel/Ferro-concrete reinforcement}. If the hosts are glad to see those guests, they tie the thick rope to the hook and launch back. If not, {they} throw it down. And no offences {it?s not customary to offend about it}.
This time Alex decides to manage the wings himself. He fastens me to his belt tightly. Lift Operator lets us out: he unreels the spool with a {cable} stopper gradually, lowers {us} behind the window like a load. After going for a few floors down on a rope, Alex unfolds the wings and starts going up like a heavy kite. The wind is fresh today. One cannot travel in the firmament without the wind.
We hang in the sky on 2 ropes. The first {rope}, strained to clink {hope that it?s clear that the rope is strained so that it clinks} from our tower. The second {which is} sagged a little ? from the neighboring {tower}.
- Cr-risis, - Alex mutters above my ear. ? Delirium tremens. Synthepon, mother? {The wild are really special even have a special fool language}.
- What?
- I can?t reach the safety hook. You encumber.
- Well, I?m sorry? Do I have to jump down?
- No. Just unfasten when I?ll say. Only {at that very moment} when I?ll say! And not a second later {after it}!
- Can you count till three?
- Are you jeering at me? I count {calculate} the wind streams {blasts}, everything is sudden here? You see; we?ve missed the moment now? Ready?
I grope about the safety hook.
- Ready.
He keeps silence for a long time. The wind plays with us, flings {us} from pillar to post. The wing drones before the wind. The other tower appears in the mist like a dark phantom. I start thinking that Alex has fallen asleep. I already want to ask if he hasn?t forgotten about me, but here he yells like a scalded:
- Go!
Fingers, even {though they are} stark, work on their own. I unfasten the safety hook and we start falling. The wings creak. The fall slows down. We slide down; we plan? The only rope extended from us to our destination point is stretching like a string.
We fly like a kite again. We are pulled up to the neighboring tower slowly. Our lives are in the hands of the one who stands at the spool {line spooler} and reels it on gradually, one turn {coil} after another. Inopportunely {an inappropriately too} I remember Quail?s story that formerly 2 brothers from {who?d lived in} different nests quarreled, one decoyed another to blow round, pulled up to the very window and cut off the rope. They say about a reliable person here: ?I would entrust him {her} a spool.?
- We have arrived, - Alex says crossly {like a shrewish person}. Although I would have said: ?We have flied in?.

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 31 Mar 2007 17:43
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------------

In the first minute I lose my presence of mind {am at my wit?s end}. It seems that Alex and I have come to a kind of a concourse {assemblage}: there aren?t any less people than in the square after the energy hour, not at all. But what people!
Some {of them} wear the feathers on their clothes and the birds? wings, after which their nests are named. Others wear nothing at all except the strap harnesses {straps} and leathern trousers. The strap harnesses also differ: someone has intentionally crude {harness}, without decorations. Someone {has a harness} with brazen, silver and bronze plates; and the safety hooks are forged into a shape of the sharp-toothed jaws. And the wings are different: I?ve seen the scarlet silk wings. Also have seen the steel, mechanical {wings}. And the frivolous checkered {wings}. Wings with the bared jaws image. Just black webbed wings like that of the bats?
Men. Women. Some have hair up to the waist. Others are clean-shaven {have a clean-shaven head}. But everyone has a special easy, light and levelheaded step, as if they tread on the thin cornice.
And also a gaze.
One must not examine their wings and scrutinize the tattoos. It?s enough to give a glance at their eyes to understand: they are wild. They are their own energy. They live in the clouds, casting glances at all the rest of the world indulgently.
They?ve heard about me: that the floodlights lighted up in the ?Broken Roof?. {They} approach themselves to make an acquaintance {to take a closer look}. {They} speak with me respectfully. I am wild among the wild.
Then the showing begins ? this is how they roughly call the craftsmanship and recklessness parade, a competition of the masters of heaven, for whom steep walls and thin ropes is a natural habitat.
10 guys go up by the wall on the outside; standing on the hanging platform we watch them. Each has in twos knifes in their hands. Boys find the splits in the old laying, put the blades into it, pull themselves up {chin} on their hands {2}, on their one hand, and look for a prop again. The one who goes in advance almost falls 2 times?
In a few meters before the finish his knife breaks. I breathe heavily. Hanging by one hand, the guy takes a reserve knife from his belt, finds a place for it {a place to put the blade of the knife}, and checks the solidity? {He} pulls himself up {chins}, entrusting his life to the fragile steel in unsafe wall one more time?
I notice that I bite my nails. I look round quickly. Everyone watches ? someone {does this} rigorously, someone looks with a smile; but no one worries the same way as I do!
I make myself hide my hands behind my back. I make myself not close my eyes ? to see it up to the end.
And this guy wins nevertheless. He reaches the first. Gets up on the platform, recovering his breath. Smiles. Oh but he?s 16 at the most! A fresh scar on his cheek. And no safety rope on his belt.
- Alex! Why doesn?t he put the safety net on? If he fell?
- Stuff and nonsense! He?s wild. A wild {one} lives with love and dies without fear!
I fall silent. I?m afraid to blunder some another stupidity out.
The guy-winner steps up to me. I shake him by a very horny hand. Very hot {hand}.
- So is it you who has made an illumination in the ?Broken Roof?? ? He looks at me admiringly. ? Call me when you?ll ignite {kindle} next time, OK?
I promise.

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

Then all those wishing to show their skills. Alex also shows something, he manages streams {blasts} so skillfully that one doesn?t notice the ropes. It seems that he?s flying, soars freely, and he has not mechanical, but real wings behind.
I root for Alex with all my might, at the top of my voice. And for myself I decide to train every day, every free minute, and to learn how to fly no worse. And maybe even better. And next time we?ll fly to the showing I?ll also have something worth demonstrating in presence of others?
The leathern wings flap overhead heavily and I squat involuntarily. Competitions go on: on the ropes and without them; in the interlacing of the cables procured from old communication shafts. Some girl with her {head} hair clean-shaven flies with a howler; diminutive propeller that utters a drawling threatening sound while it untwists {untwisting} in the wind. Everyone call her Carlson. Is it her name maybe?
The hosts of the nest saved the special trick ?Perpetual motion machine? for the very end of the showing. To watch it everyone comes down to the 100-th floor; a huge windmill with long triangular blades is built in the wall on the outside. We look leaning over out of the windows {anything can be lacking, but there are so many windows; it has been a good bright house}.
There are many people in the nest, and all inhabitants {of this nest} take part in the trick. They jump out of the window by turns, catch on the blade {of the windmill} and make it lower by their weight. After taking a ride on the blade in such a way, they jump off it and hang on the rope to chin up and whisk into the window 5 floors lower right away. Then they return back to jump out and to take a ride on the blade again at a run; they rush like a carousel in this way, untwisting the windmill by their weight; and I?m dazzled. How do they manage not to get entangled in their belts and ropes?
But it turns out that the main spectacle is still yet to come.
The blades revolve even faster. The mechanism, which collected energy for ages, starts giving it back. The wind like from a huge ventilator arises. Then a pair of young wild holding each other by the hands jumps from the 70-th floor and hangs in the air-stream right in front of the windmill.
The rope that holds lovers is so thin that I don?t see it. I just look open-mouthed at two flying, now embracing, now moving away just a little, their hair fluttering, them kissing hovering between heaven and earth, the wings interlacing with each other on the resilient aerial pillow, how wild they are, and how tender?
I forget about the windmill and about the safety net. I look at them caressing each other and I?m suffocating; I want to loosen the strap harness on my bosom.
- Pitifully Lift Operator?s not here, - Alex says, but I almost can?t hear him. ? When we?ll arrange the showing in our nest I must not forget to ask him? to show something. You know, counterbalances in the lift shaft is a kind of item so multipurpose?
The trick is already finished. Alex keeps talking, but I look into the sky and smile not knowing what to.
Then we sit lowering our legs above the abyss, have a rest; I listen to the talks pricking up my ears. About some Red-haired, who had become cramped in his parents? nest and he built a route to the South-West, very complicated route among the airflows, ?200 m of free flight, imagine!? On the other end of this difficult route the top of the tower was waiting for him, it was uninhabited for that time being. ?And he will built a new nest {settle down} there, won?t he? ? Of course! [Do] you know how many girls will cohere with him?!?
Interlocutors cast a sidelong look at me and turn to a whisper for some reason. Alex smirks. And I get confused heaven knows why: there?s something in their gazes, some sparkle. No one ever looked at me like this below, among synthetics.
After few hours the guests fly away. Alex sniffs at the air for a long time; then he says that the wings will not stand the way back. It means that we?ll have to return on the sliding member (frame) by the swing of pendulum.
That guy who won the race on the wall sees us off. His name is strange ? Hold Out. He?s quick and tenacious like a {little} spider.
- {To her} So long, Wild! ? He screams letting the rope off. ? Bye, Alex!
I?m not in time to answer: we fall. In a steep fall one hardly has a possibility to speak? And we fall not vertically {upright}, but by arc.
The sliding member ? 2 pulleys bound with each other by a system of springs - creaks. Our life depends on 2 ropes now: our {Lift Operator at the spool} and other {Hold Out at the spool}. At a height of about the 100-th floor we pass the balance point ? 2 ropes of equal length taut equally. Then we rush further ? forward and upwards - like a huge pendulum. Home.
Alex curses just in case. The belts sink into my ribs. It?s not comfortable. I?m a burden attached to Alex and I?m pretty bothered with this. I?ll learn how to fly myself {and then}?
We hover in the highest point {at a distance of} several meters to the left of the door with inscription ?Welcome?. We snatch at the reinforce rods sticking out of the wall. Honestly speaking my hands shiver.
- We have arrived, - Alex puffs. ? Hey, anybody home? Bring the slippers!

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

Lussekatt
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# Gesendet: 31 Mar 2007 17:44
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interesting Irene

WOW!! wonderful to see you here again. Long time no see. Hope you enjoy the spring an feel happy! I have missed you here on forum. Then I missed to see you so you dont think I only miss your translations. Well Thanks a lot, I hope this can be useful for me when entering the Energy Action competition, the day I will have time for it. Gosh there is so much I want to do!!

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 31 Mar 2007 17:47
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Surprise waits for us at home. Rymus sits at the table in Quail?s room.
I fall on his neck. I didn?t expect myself to be so glad to see him: I didn?t see him from that very time that he had told me about the club ?Broken Roof?. And then he said in a dim voice: ?Well, farewell. All the best.?
- Rymus! Hallo!
- Hallo, Wild. ? He slaps my back. ? Fly little by little?
There?s so much that I want to tell him. But there?s no time: it turns out that Rymus has made a dangerous way upwards to bring news for Moor.
And for me.
Moor is very dismal. I?ve never seen him such. He looks terrible a little: if I met him such in the gateway I would run without a backward glance.
- You are being sought, Wild. Seriously sought, - he says through clenched teeth.
- Who? ? I say depreciatingly. It?s strange for a person who can fly to be afraid of? [depreciatingly] some energy police.
- Whoever (some people), - Rymus answers. ? Not inspectors. Others.
- What kind of others? I have no idea?
- There are many things you have no idea about, - Moor cuts me short. Tell once again, what has happened to you and to your friend, who had died afterwards.
I have already told them about Eve. Now I tell once again trying not to forget anything. I describe the inspector who has let us go especially minutely. I even try to scratch his portrait out on the wall ? the face as if forged of armor plates. The eyes looking from the holes like from the deep nozzles. It turns out to be similar, to my mind.
Rymus scrutinizes the drawing for a long time.
- No, - he says. ? I?ve never seen such? And if I saw, I would have kept it in my mind. Such faces are not to be forgotten.
- But he?s not a controller?
- No. He?s probably one of those who seek you.
- Then why did he let me go?
Rymus shrugs his shoulders.
- To my mind, they have guessed that she?s a generator, - Quail says thoughtfully. ? Firstly confused her with a friend? Or rather confused a friend with you?
- Who are the generators?
- Those who are able to generate energy. Not only for themselves, but also? - Without finishing Moor turns back to Rymus. ? Do you think they know where she is now?
- I have no idea. But the shadowing after my shop is twenty-four-hour.
- Then you have brought them to the tower?! ? Alex explodes.
Rymus screws up his eyes coldly:
- Take it easy [Gently!], boy. Preach an old man to get rid of the tail.
It becomes quiet. Everyone thinks about something tensely. I twist my head around trying to understand why they worry. No one will reach {get} me here, in the tower!
I think so, and so I say that.
- Maybe you?re right, - Moor says thoughtfully.
- And who are they; can you explain to me? If they are not inspectors, not the police? Life eaters or else?
It seems to me that it is a laughable joke. But no one except me laughs.
- It?s time, - Rymus says. ? Otherwise I?ll not be in time at home before the energy hour.
Moor and Alex see him off to the lift. Or rather to the counterbalance, which the Lift Operator lowers far downward, to the 40-th floor. I follow him with my eyes and in no way I can?t understand: Rymus himself; is he a synthetic or else? Then why Moor, Alex, and everyone respect him so?!
Moor comes back. Passing me by he drops the heavy hand on my shoulder.
- Not to set foot {on} out of the nest. Is it clear?

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

There?s so much work to be done in the nest every day. Kilometers of ropes that have to be scoured, untangled, winded round the spools. Springs {coils} and pulleys {blocks} that have to be lubricated. Wings that have to be repaired. And after all there are the trainings: with or without Alex I am in training every day.
My bright dreams to appear with my own program for the next showing melt away like a mist. Nothing comes off. Or rather I can?t fortify my success. Today it seems to me: Well done, I?ve learned to do it. And tomorrow the wind changes just a little {direction} and I dangle in the air like a sack with cotton wool again. Quail sympathizes with me and she orders not to despair. Alex scolds {me} a clumsy. Days follow the days, equal like rusty reinforce rods. And a feeling comes unasked that nothing interesting and worthwhile will happen in life anymore.
Only in the evenings when I take my drum into my hands, my strength makes back. Drummer Lyoshka plays {in} the little mounting that Rymus have assembled for him. And we both arrange a little energy show: everybody flaps {from time to time} in time, even Moor. The wind outside the walls whines in time. The bulb on the ceiling blinks in time; this bulb works on {from} the windmill. It is so bright that it has to be disconnected {turned off} before going to bed {for the night}.
Quail?s children stay {sit} alongside. {Little} girl flaps louder than others {than everyone}. Boy?s eyes sparkle, he looks like Moor at these {and other such} minutes?
And then trouble comes.

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

Of course, he has seen elders doing it many times. But he hadn?t considered that the wings, and the safety hooks and all the safety net {system} are intended for an adult. For the strong hands. For the heavier weight.
He observed my trainings and decided to train himself. And crashed down. And stroke against the wall. An adult would have died of such a blow. He is light {his weight} and his bones have fractured ? his arm and his leg.
He didn?t scream. He lay, green with ache and quietly lost his consciousness while the doctor of the nest ? his name was Slava {full form of this name is Vyacheslav} - took trouble over the open {compound} fractures. Quail didn?t cry too because she?s wild. But her eyes were? it?s terrible to look into such eyes.
Doctor splinted boy?s hand and leg. And ordered to wait. Because there?s no other ? he says so ? way to help {nothing more can be done}.
The boy lies very quietly. The entire nest has got imbued with his ache. It seems to me that even the wind always howling on the outside, feels this ache.
- Quail, - I say. ? It?s necessary to give him an anesthetic. And a febrifuge. And something else? for an inflammation not to develop.
- Where do you know from? Are you a doctor?
I?m at my wit's end. We don?t have a doctor in our block, we come to the drugstore, describe a disease and we?re given the medicines. A year ago one guy also broke his leg?
- Don?t you have any medicines, at all?
- The Wild don?t need medicines, - she says arrogantly. - We treat ourselves. By our own will {volition}.
I sit up beside the boy and strum the rhythms to him. I play about the distant wind, about high mountains, about quiet water. He falls asleep. But wakes up in a few minutes time. Can?t suppress groan. It?s very painful for him.
It?s quiet in the nest. Moor is somewhere up on the roof. Alex has flied out from the nest very early in the morning. The Lift Operator tinkers with his counterbalances. The girl sits near the bed of her brother like a little statue.
Quail spoon-feeds {gives to drink} her son with water. Speaks and speaks without stopping that everything?s going to be alright, that we shouldn?t lose our fortitude, that only fortitude saves us, and fear destroys?
I go out to the staircase quietly so as to no one to see me.
How much time will it take to run up to the nearest drugstore?
I will run with all my might. If only to ask the Lift Operator to get me down? But it?s impossible; I can?t let them know what I?m going to do. No one should know.
And I hurry to go down. I jump over the footsteps. And probably set up a record ? no one has ever come downstairs from the 200-th floor so quickly?
The snares are scattered between the 50-th and the 35-th floors: for example, if someone steps on the footstep, a signal will go up, to the nest. But I had already had time to learn these traps: I helped the Lift Operator to renew it myself. That?s why I come down without unnecessary noise.
I stop on the 22-d, before the breach. And for the first time a thought has struck me: what do I look like? Will the synthetics not go crazy seeing a girl in the strap harness above usual clothing in the streets?
I undo the belt quickly. I roll the straps accurately and hide it after the heap of construction waste. No one will find; I?ll be very quick. I?ll come back in a quarter of an hour.
Firstly I want to leave a drum too ? it will impede me while running. But then I decide to take it with me. I?ve got used to it. Moreover it brings luck {good fortune}.
Below at the stairs I meet a granny. She nods as if I am her acquaintance. Does it seem to me that we have already seen each other?
Before crossing the threshold I stop for a second. Here it is, the world of synthetics. I was a part of this world? not so long ago.
I make a step.
Well I'll be damned! I?ve forgotten how {people} usually go on the flat ground! How it?s possible to run, to jump here without looking underfoot? and what a wonderful feeling it is ? a reliable prop underfoot!
I run ? at first because I must hurry. At second, because it?s impossible to have a run like this on the tower. To do some flying ? yes. But to run? It?s so wonderful!
Passers-by stare at me, but without peculiar astonishment. A girl is just in a good mood. She just has some energy. She just wants to run a little.
I turn round the corner and see a drugstore. Enter. Try to dissemble agitation.
- Do you have anesthetic? Febrifuge? Vitamins for children? Antibiotics?
I blurt it all out without taking a breath.
A druggist, nice chubby-faced woman, looks at me with anxiety:
- Do you have someone fallen sick seriously?
- Yes. A child!
- Such medicines only upon presentation of the civil card. Do you have it with you?
It?s so good that I haven?t thrown the card away! It?s still in the countersunk pocket of the jacket. I take it out and hand it in to the seller.
- A discount is due to you. ? She flicks on the abacus. ? Anesthetic, febrifuge? altogether it will cost?
The door behind my back opens. I turn around.
There are two in the doorway. They stare straight at me. And another one easy leaves the storeroom. Judging from the look of the druggist she didn?t expect to see this one at her working place?

interesting Irene
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# Gesendet: 31 Mar 2007 17:53
Antwort 


Forgive me, druggist.
I jump to the glass case. In a turn, sidelong. Nevertheless long hours of exercising with the wings don?t pass vainly.
Wrappings with medicines fall. Splitting glass clinks. Maybe I am injured. We?ll get to know it later.
A trishaw is on the opposite side of the street, waiting for the fare passengers. Here he is. I knock him out of the saddle. I snatch at the handle bar and pedal. Police whistle hit my back.

---------

The bicycle has a good driving gear and comfortable pedals. Only the carriage for passengers impedes: it rumbles on the cobblestone pavement, brakes. And I don?t have time to unhook it.
I rush rising myself in the saddle a little, standing upright on the treadles. People and mechanisms dash aside from the road.
The police armored car trimmed with sheel rush out in a short cut {cutting my way}. I turn harshly? Too harshly. The carriage looses its balance and falls down on one side. I jump up off the pavement?
And here I am taken.

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

I sit in the police station fastened to the iron armchair. My only property ? a drum ? is on the table. There are two at the table: one of them is a high police rank, and another one isn?t known. By appearance he?s a very fascinating young man. If I met him in the street I?d have begun to speak with him with pleasure?
And now he frightens me more than an energy cop.
?They aren?t inspectors. Others?. ? ?What kind of others? I have no idea?? ? ?There are many things you have no idea about?.
They are those who have sought me. They were on the track of me. And here they have tracked me down.
- Breach of order, - the policeman mutters, - is only a formal occasion! We have read her card ? she hasn?t been working anywhere for almost a month. Where does she take the packages, I ask you? By what does she live? It?s not hooliganism here! This means large-scale illegal bargains with energy!
Fascinating stranger looks at me cursorily. Writes something down on a sheet of cardboard. Shows it to the policeman.
- That?s no business of mine? - the other starts crossly. Then he falls silent. Reads very carefully. Looks at his interlocutor as if he sees him for the first time.
- Yes, - the stranger says quietly and softly. - So that's how things are? Close your case ? we take her.
The policeman messes around for a long time, rummages in the drawer of the table, walks out into the neighboring room and quarrels with someone by the talkback equipment for a long time there. The fascinating takes my drum from the table. Scrutinizes it. Then he looks down at me from above. And my hands are chained to the arms of the chair.
- Don?t be afraid, - he says in a whisper. ? Everything?s OK. You?ll go to the Plant.

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

interesting Irene
registriert
# Gesendet: 31 Mar 2007 17:56
Antwort 


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

- To whom do you have to bring these medicines? Tell me the address. I?ll send a courier.
- Couriers don?t go there!
- Understand, wild, I can?t allow you to come there alone. You will just be killed. By the police at escape attempted. Do you know how did they get angry that I had taken you away? You see, they are given a premium for every arrested one ? by energy?
I also have heard about this before somewhere.
- But a child is there. He?s very sick!
- He alone?
- No, but?
- Does he have a mother, father?
- Yes, but?
- Then why do you think that you?re smarter than others?
I don?t think so. But he drives me into a corner.
His name is Stephan.
- Call me just Steph. Or a Hunter.
- Why Hunter?
- I fish out good people from the net of the police. Those knowing me long since understand what this means? Don?t you feel cold?
- No, why, don?t worry!
- We have agreed on not being on formal terms with each other.
Stephan, or a Hunter has his own cycle-car {it?s something between the bicycle and the automobile} with a driver. In my life I had never treated someone who had a cycle-car with unwanted familiarity. Generally speaking I have never conversed with such people.
- So am I free?
- Of course. But consider that the police still keep drawing a bead on you. Keep yourself alongside. Don?t stir farther than 2 steps from my side. We depart next morning.
I can?t believe.
- To the Plant? Is it a joke?
- Not a joke, nothing of the kind! You and few another people whom I have fished up recently. You?ll go in the closed (railway) carriage. Not to lean out of the windows before getting out of the city boundaries. Especially in mountains ? cannibals live there; they shoot with poisoned arrows. It takes a day to go. Our carriages move in a very high gear.
- Our? Stephan? or Hunter, and who are you all?
He smiles quietly.
- You?ll get to know. You?ll get to know everything (later).

---------

We spend the night in a small room with 3-storeyed beds. I have recognized one of the girls: she was at the energy ritual in the ?Broken Roof? before the roof had been broken decisively. Others are unknown- 5 guys and 4 girls. All of them are joyously excited, toss on their cots, and can?t fall asleep.
The night passes half in slumber half in gibberish. I dream that Eve is beside me, on the neighboring cot. That she smiles and tells me: there you are, I have told you, we?re going to the Plant!
I see the boy, Quail?s son. Is he better? Or worse? Would some of the getters maybe guess to buy some medicines?
Or at least to steal?
I see my harness hided on the twenty-second floor under the heap of construction waste. I have walked out for 30 min? And it turns out that I will never come back.
I don?t know what feeling in me dominates {is more presented}: expectation, fear or yearning. Yearning after Overground? fear of the unknown? joyful anticipating of the Plant.
Will I maybe come back again? Will I come to Quail, to Alex, to Mauritius-Stah and take them all away to the Plant?
I fall asleep from this happy thought clasping my faithful drum to my bosom. And at once ? a minute seems not to have passed ? I am called to awake.
It?s time for a trip.
We are carried in the cycle-car for a long time. Then we?re changed to the carriage, it has no wheels, but there are huge pulleys on the roof. Pulleys are fixed to the human arm thick iron hawser. The wild in Overground couldn?t even dream about that.
We?re given a ration ? a big cardboard box and a big jar of drink to each. And a thin convolute mattress to each.
- Good luck! ? Hunter shakes our hands. ? 24 hours to ride, keep this in mind. Do your best not to get tired, not to quarrel? Have a rest. Relax. Gregoriy will be with you. ? He nods towards a round-shouldered man standing beside with indifference.
I don?t like Gregory at first sight. He resembles someone. Not a good recollection.
- Happy journey, - Stephan says.
We get into the carriage. There?s no furniture inside, only the handrails on the walls. A cabin in front, detached by a lattice, Gregory settled down there. A plywood partition fencing off the toilet - that is just a hole in the floor - behind.
We sit on the convolute mattresses. Pulleys on the walls can be heard; they creak heavily? What kind of energy puts this carriage in motion?!
The carriage drags on its paunch along the ground for few meters, and then it flies up. I stand up seizing the handrail and I see the land moving away through the blurred glass. I also see the city going off farther? As if I am flying with Alex again? Good-bye you all. Pixels. The Tall, Ignat? Farewell, Rymus. Farewell, dead Eve? Good-bye, all the Wild. And farewell also to you, synthetics.
I take my drum into my hands. My fellow travelers listen sitting around on the floor.
- How do you do it {so well}, hah? ? the girl with whom I?ve met formerly in the ?Broken Roof? asks silently.

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

interesting Irene
registriert
# Gesendet: 31 Mar 2007 18:00
Antwort 


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

Gregory sits in his cabin as if he?s of no concern to us. Sometimes he gets out to the roof (and the carriage swings at that time), he oils the pulleys, checks something out and makes back. We have a dinner. Then we have a supper.
At about 23 ?o ?clock in the evening Gregory goes up again, and the pulley only creaking before starts tapping. Rat-tat. Rat-tat. Rat-tat, rat-tat. The sound is subtle and it doesn?t seem very loud, but all my fellow travelers fall asleep very soon.
I don?t sleep myself only because I hold the drum in my hand. I feel its rhythm even when it?s silent.
Overstepping the sleepers I step up to the window. There are the mountains below. I don?t see them, only guess right. The dots of lights blaze on the mountainsides, on alps in some places.
The open flame? Those cannibals Stephan-Hunter have told us about?
Gregory busies himself in his cabin. In the light of the phosphorescent panel I see him fastening a cuff on his hand.
I come to the point: the energy hour! Then Gregory is a synthetic? Does it mean that all sleeping here around me at the moment are wild?
Gregory takes a deep-drawn sigh. He has received a booster charge. He feels good. I look down again, at the distant dark mountains?
Gregory messes around again. He grits his teeth. Mutters something in a whisper ? curses. I can hardly believe my eyes: he fastens the cuff again!
The second dose?!
He doesn?t notice me. On recharging himself for the second time he sits motionlessly, he?s relaxed for a few seconds. Then he groans through clenched teeth.
The third recharge.
It?s absolutely clear to me that it?s not from the net he recharges. There?s a brief case in his cabin like that of what poor Eve has been recharged. Spurious energy? Or maybe Stephan-Hunter and his mysterious comrades can get the real one for Gregory?
Only wild energy is real, I correct myself. Gregory doesn?t even look like the wild.
When he recharges for the sixth time I suddenly recollect whom he resembles. The guy into whom I have thrust a stiletto at the gateway. ?Do you understand how does it feel to die when the 9-th dose is not enough for you? or the 20-th? or the 200-th??
That man died not because of loss of blood. He just turned off. Like a mechanism.
Maybe I sigh too loud. Gregory turns around and sees me.
- Don?t you sleep? ? he asks with a strange grin.
- No.
- In vain? How would you live without recharging?
- I?m wild. I live by my own rhythm.
- Wha-at?
- By my own energy. Wild.
- Then it?s true, - he says with aversion. ? Then? you don?t need a booster charge.
- No.
He bares his teeth in darkness. Terrible and pitiful grimace.
- And for me 6 doses are not enough. Tomorrow 7 doses will not be enough. They keep me on a short leash? Do you know what it feels like to croak when the 6-th dose is not enough for you?!
He repeats the words of that man in the gateway precisely.
- No, - I answer honestly. ? But at first I also have recharged. But then I have ceased. It?s easy; it?s only necessary to?
- Easy? ? His eyes seem to shine in the dark. ? You?re just a mutant. Lusus naturae. You all are mutants. Mistakes of nature. And you all will be fed to the Plant for this. The Plant likes such. You all are firewood for its stove. You are fuel. There?s a fuel for the people? And there?s a fuel for the Plant.
- You lie, - I say firmly.
He grins again:
- Tomorrow you?ll learn whether I lie or not. Tomorrow you all will step into the stove. Or I don?t know what is there instead of the stove? I have luck to convey a full carriage of forage. It will be satisfied. It, the Plant is gluttonous? But it doesn?t eat such kind as I. Only such kind as you.
- Gregory, - I say, and my voice trembles.
- 40 years I know that my name is Gregory! Do you think that I would have started such work if they didn?t give me 6 charges each night?! You? ?wild energy?? ?by your own rhythm?? but tomorrow you?ll be finished. And I, maybe I?ll last a week more? and who of us is smarter?
Not waiting for an answer he goes off to the interior of his cabin.
Into the dark.

interesting Irene
registriert
# Gesendet: 31 Mar 2007 18:08
Antwort 


Well, actually it is the end of the 1 chapter,. You have it,.!!!!

I warn again, sorry for moralizing.
I do it not for commercial purpose, I don't want any money for this

But please be honest and don't make money by this too.

It is a subject of the copyright.

All rights reserved.

and please people

correct it while reading

if you find a mistake, please send your suggestions to me here.

PLEASE!!!!!

interesting Irene
registriert
# Gesendet: 31 Mar 2007 18:13
Antwort 


Hi, Lussekatt, I'm also glad to see you.

I could have done it all before, but I get lazy.

I also had problems with internet and for this reason you couldn't see me here.

susanne
registriert
# Gesendet: 31 Mar 2007 18:49
Antwort 


interesting Irene


well done. I didn't see any mistake, but english is not my mother tongue.

Lussekatt
registriert
# Gesendet: 31 Mar 2007 18:53
Antwort 


interesting Irene
Well, actually it is the end of the 1 chapter,. You have it,.!!!!

thanks a bunch!!

I could have done it all before, but I get lazy.

I know its the same with me,always other things come before it

Once you sended me an update version of this text you posted before this one today. But I lost that email and your address when got a new computer. Well you might still have mine though.

But please be honest and don't make money by this too.

You have my word on it, promise! I actually have no interst in making money of this, wouldnt feel good in my soul ;-)

kadmilos
registriert
# Gesendet: 30 Apr 2007 13:36
Antwort 


is it true that it will be a movie based on the book Lana? or is it just crap info? where can i get english version of the book? do you know any site to order it?

Lussekatt
registriert
# Gesendet: 30 Apr 2007 15:42
Antwort 


kadmilos

I also would like to have answer on those questions!

interesting Irene
registriert
# Gesendet: 6 Mai 2007 16:47
Antwort 


kadmilos
Well, they promised the movie to be based.
Today it's only possible to read it from here, just enjoy the 1 chapter, it's not for commercial use. I know people don't have an answer. I hope this will help at least just a little.

ruslanasite
registriert
# Gesendet: 7 Mai 2007 20:17
Antwort 


interesting Irene

Thank you very much!

Iva Barzic

# Gesendet: 7 Mai 2007 20:30
Antwort 


interesting Irene
tnx:)

kadmilos
registriert
# Gesendet: 8 Mai 2007 11:14
Antwort 


interesting Irene
thank you for the info:)

interesting Irene
registriert
# Gesendet: 12 Mai 2007 13:38
Antwort 


Well, I'm happy to get more thanks from other people.


I kept it in mind but forgot to print it. Maybe I don't have any intellectual property right for this. No matter what mistakes I did make. No matter if someone or I myself don't like it. maybe I don't have a right to make money, but still I have done some work.
So maybe the only right I have here is to devote it, though I know that's Maryna and Sergiy's prerogative. I'm thankful to them. I really don't want to say some needless and useless high-flown words, it has already been devoted to Ruslana, and I want to devote my translation, my part of work to my father.

When Ruslana released her "Wild dances" he was 54.
I remember bringing Ruslana's original ukrainian version of the "Wild dances" first. I knew he didn't understand my listening to foreign songs mostly. I really almost didn't listen to ukrainian songs before Ruslana and to russian songs too. I knew why he didn't understand it. But one Friday I came with this CD. And in the original ukrainian lyrics of "Play, musician", the first track on this CD, there are such words:

"Don't ask me about {all that} big show business anymore".

I was very proud to prove to him, that I didn't only listen to all that "American" {= foreign} songs.
It really made us laugh. In our situation, I mean.
At first when he just asked this CD to grab it at his work I really didn't draw so much attention to this. I thought: "So what? Maybe there are many young people there" and so on.
A year later I remember watching the "Wild dances" video first on our music channel "M1" with him. It happened so we were together alone in the apartment that day. I thought that Europe would never understand this, and he "defended" her, beleived. He didn't listen to modern songs, almost didn't, only to the songs of his youth. So I didn't comprehend, I never really believed that he really enjoyed it.
Well, maybe it's no big surprise, especially now that it's well known "adult" {maybe I'm too old to call them so} Maryna and Sergiy are inspired by the wild dances. But still I don't know many "adult people", especially after 50 at least in Ukraine to listen to Ruslana. It's not a tendency. It's not hard to understand Maryna and Sergiy, they are creative, their novels are meant for youth {mostly}. Talented writers always represent the spirit of the times, of present day. The way they do it here is perfect, needless to say. And my father was very concervative. My narrow thinking didn't let me understand that Ruslana could win, that he COULD understand youth and all the new ideas, he was not what I thought of him.
Pity there were some things I didn't understand. Pity that my view was too narrow.

So this is my way to devote this translation. I hope you all people will understand. It was a lesson for me. And I hope that I did the right thing to devote my work and to explain the reason. And this short story is another needless reason to appreciate Ruslana. Maryna and Sergiy say that Ruslana is amazingly talented and I add that her talent is really very special.

stranger
registriert
# Gesendet: 21 Okt 2011 02:57
Antwort 


Hi, guys! Please, help me! Is there any English version of 'Wild Energy. Lana' book?

cora
Moderator
# Gesendet: 21 Okt 2011 08:48
Antwort 


stranger
Hi, guys! Please, help me! Is there any English version of 'Wild Energy. Lana' book?

No, it was never published in English.

andreas2
registriert
# Gesendet: 22 Okt 2011 00:10
Antwort 


was about to ask the same...

too bad there's no english version : (

ruslanawr
registriert
# Gesendet: 21 Mar 2012 20:59 - Edited by: ruslanawr
Antwort 




Alex__Angel
registriert
# Gesendet: 23 Mar 2012 16:28 - Edited by: Alex__Angel
Antwort 


I found an article where it says on the legality of transfers are made fans.

The text is presented in their original language - Russian, translated to reap from using online translator.

¬ любом искусстве временами создаютс€ признанные шедевры, у которых всегда будут свои ценители и последователи, создающие на основе обожаемого оригинала свои собственные творени€. Ќа «ападе давно прижилс€ термин "фанатское творчество" (fan-made: fan art, fan fiction, fan sub, fan game, ...) - многим фанатам хочетс€ продлить удовольствие от объекта (фильм, книга, игра), и они дел€тс€ друг с другом не только своими впечатлени€ми и переживани€ми (на фан-сайтах/форумах), но и творчеством по теме. » хот€ в таком творчестве чаще всего используютс€ запатентованные названи€/образы, владельцы авторских прав не считают фанатское творчество нанесением ущерба оригиналу, скорее наоборот - подтверждением успеха продукта.

«аконность


Ѕесспорно, любительские переводы вход€т в разрез с авторскиим правом большинства стран мира (исключительное право на перевод закрепл€етс€ за правообладателем или лицом, получившим от него официальное разрешение). “ем не менее, уже на прот€жении дес€тка лет правообладатели смотр€т сквозь пальцы на подобные формы выражени€ признательности их продукту, равно как не возражают против, например, создани€ любительских видеоклипов по кадрам из игры (AMV/GMV) и т.п. "баловства".

Ќеуклонна€ анти-пиратска€ направленность идей движени€ переводчиков-любителей позвол€ет правообладател€м закрыть глаза на бесхитростные манипул€ции с их произведени€ми.

ѕроще говор€, феномен любительского перевода всего за несколько лет приобрЄл достаточно сильную социальную позицию, так что про€вление агрессии по отношению к фанатам-переводчикам уже кажетс€ неестественным, хот€ и правомочным.

«а годы существовани€ феномена не было ни одного судебного иска к фанатам-переводчикам, а все случаи, когда компани€-правообладатель обращала внимание на фан-переводчиков, ограничивались вежливыми просьбами компании воздержатьс€ от работы над игрой. Ќо твЄрдую юридическую основу феномен любительского перевода вр€д ли приобретЄт в ближайшие годы (то же самое относитс€ к фансабберам (переводчикам субтитров к фильмам) и переводчикам сканов комиксов).

interesting Irene
registriert
# Gesendet: 30 Mar 2012 16:37
Antwort 


ƒ€кую Alex

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