- "Of course not, of course not, of course not! I deleted all the files, all the pictures, all the ... I did everything, everything, all this document says!"
A swarthy little man in his thirties, balding but not without charm, was actively gesticulating as he explained the matter to a petite woman he shared a cafe table with. The paper they huddled over must have been of great importance to him for he often raised his voice, forgetting the presence of others around him, and his look kept bouncing between the document and the woman's face. The woman said something quietly.
- "Nothing, nothing, I did nothing! Absolutely nothing! In the history of copyrights there has never been a greater nonsense, greater accusation!"
He was springy, one moment shrinking in a posture of self-defence, and another shooting his body forward, his long hairy arms up in the air, swooping on the woman like an eagle. His English grammar was very good but from his colourful accent one could guess his Greek or Cypriot origin.
- "But why is she complaining then?" the woman said, studying the paper attentively.
- "Because she's crazy! Crazy! God sees, I am innocent! I have a gallery. We had a contract. I did everything, everything! And she's crazy! Completely crazy! And now she wants money!"
- "But you don't have to sign this. My experience as a lawyer tells me there's nothing she can do with it," and the woman paused in reflection.
- "Of course not! Of course not!" the man blurted out and searched her eyes for any indication of "although" or "however". Then, relieved, he quickly added "My gallery. You should come and see it. You'll like it. If there's anything that catches your attention ... I am sure we can agree ..." and all his disquiet and anxiety melted into a broad, comfortable smile as he leant back in his chair. And then, apparently finding himself in his element, he touched her elbow gently, "More coffee? Tea? Beer? Wine? Only a second! No problem! No problem!", and he sprang to his feet and ran to the cashier's.
В Рождество все немного волхвы.
В продовольственных слякоть и давка.
Из-за банки кофейной халвы
производит осаду прилавка
грудой свертков навьюченный люд:
каждый сам себе царь и верблюд.
Сетки, сумки, авоськи, кульки,
шапки, галстуки, сбитые набок.
Запах водки, хвои и трески,
мандаринов, корицы и яблок.
Хаос лиц, и не видно тропы
в Вифлеем из-за снежной крупы.
И разносчики скромных даров
в транспорт прыгают, ломятся в двери,
исчезают в провалах дворов,
даже зная, что пусто в пещере:
ни животных, ни яслей, ни Той,
над Которою - нимб золотой.
Пустота. Но при мысли о ней
видишь вдруг как бы свет ниоткуда.
Знал бы Ирод, что чем он сильней,
тем верней, неизбежнее чудо.
Постоянство такого родства -
основной механизм Рождества.
То и празднуют нынче везде,
что Его приближенье, сдвигая
все столы. Не потребность в звезде
пусть еще, но уж воля благая
в человеках видна издали,
и костры пастухи разожгли.
Валит снег; не дымят, но трубят
трубы кровель. Все лица, как пятна.
Ирод пьет. Бабы прячут ребят.
Кто грядет - никому не понятно:
мы не знаем примет, и сердца
могут вдруг не признать пришлеца.
Но, когда на дверном сквозняке
из тумана ночного густого
возникает фигура в платке,
и Младенца, и Духа Святого
ощущаешь в себе без стыда;
смотришь в небо и видишь - звезда.
Январь 1972
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