LITMIR.BIZ

      I might find a link where it doesn’t exist in principle. I try to stick to this version. On the other part, a lot of things annoys me. For example, any mention of the piano reminds me of my father, let him be three times cursed. And she keeps moaning and groaning about this piano in almost every record. And she constantly repeats that it is necessary to kill Mira.

      Mira as I could understand it – is either the older sister, or the governess, the mysterious one who destroy everyone and kills. And Mira must be controlled not to put an end to the bloody massacre but in order to – attention! – gain spiritual freedom.

      Everyone has his issues, and some of them are not inferior in size to Madagascar, probably this is exactly the case of my Anya (I got her name from the voice recordings too). But what might be of interest – she’s got my bag with my diaries and notebooks. Does she read them? Does she try to grasp what was being described as I listen to her narration and translate them into the canvases of manuscripts? Life can be very random sometimes: two strangers first rummaged in, sorry, each other’s underwear, and then dissect (“hurt”) each other’s brains, still not meeting and not even having a visual idea of his opponent.

      I have a bad feeling. And it will come true in the near future. Because otherwise, nobody will be curious. Because if you have managed to get into this mess with a claim to Haruki Murakami’s lamb bestsellers, be so kind as to get yourself in trouble, warm up the audience’s interest, don’t be sceptical – it’s so boring. Better solemnly summarize in the end that this Anya with her voice recorded is your only and the last love and you are off to find her experiencing a series of incredible adventures. The public will cry of amusement. Standing ovation. Booker, awards, Nobel Prize, translation into sixteen languages, screen version. In the end, we all have to match the story.

      I must say fiery speeches, put people’s hearts on fire. But alas, I can’t. Sometimes I wonder what the hell, I have a tongue in my mouth. Taste buds? The Creator believes that it is more important to distinguish the taste of food than to pick up the phone and say, “Hello.” It’s more important than calling for help. Shout, “Fire!” Sing a song.

      Pathetic.

      Anya tells how she was given a certain thing, subsequently lost. And she gives the exact coordinates of the place where the gift has been lost. A couple of days ago, by the will of fate, I found myself in this area, at a dacha place owened by my new acquaintances, and quite accidentally, I found this lost piece literally in 30 meters from the location indicated in the record. This is a harmonica. Covered with rust, it lies on the table in my hotel room, where I put down all this. Anya says she accidentally dropped the gift into a barrel of water and never saw it again.

      I picked up the harmonica and exhaled it with all my might. And there was a sound. My mouth has not uttered a single word in my life, but I can use other means to express myself.

      In my recent dreams Marina who is a beacon of far-abandoned land, comes to me and tells me that the bay is shallow at first glance, but in fact, oh, it is very deep. Cold water is down there. But that was not Marina, but the drowned daughter of Earl De Vries. Marina is translated as – marine. What primitive parallels I am enclosed and haunted. But these parallels must be developed, two mirrors should be placed opposite each other and be challenged with uncertainty: what can you see in the mirrored corridor? For example, Marina’s face, which I held thousands of times in my hands, kissing thousands of times – in my dream, it was white and swollen staying in the water for long, eaten by fish. Sea monsters will not give back his daughter to Cornelius De Vries, the place was not so shallow as everyone used to think.

      I was just very clumsy and gnawed by gluttonous fish when I thought about her. Probably, I would like to do many things and much would have happened, if I had at least a little faith in the favorable outcome. But there are words that you do not want to use because of their pretentiousness: Love, for example. The love exalted by poets, decomposed into components of tenderness and respect, love bloodsucking ― I did not believe in it and could not believe even for Marina’s precious and admiring glance. I never managed to do something good for her, I could not write with curls, red ink, «Marina, I love you.»

      And up to this day I am powerless, and the wind blowing from the sea takes my letters to her from the table to the floor. And I’m doomed to suffer, smoke in the middle of the night, blowing smoke out the window with a view of Amur Bay – but, fortunately, this time I’m alone. I will not disturb anyone, I will not break anyone’s peace.

      Chapter 6

      F – Far-away Settlement of Emar

      …Recalled the happy times being students, when we went hiking along the area, sang with a guitar beside the fire, fed mosquitoes and roasted on the sun like savages on the sand of Yemar Bay, which was called Yumora, unlike Shamora or Feldgauzen Bay…

      …Now, Christina lived looking forward for Valerka’s vacations. She was dreaming about summer. She dreamed how they would go for a holiday somewhere to Shamora,

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