ABU. To Be Who You Are. A. Manvayler
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Название: ABU. To Be Who You Are
Автор: A. Manvayler
Издательство: Издательские решения
Жанр: Современная русская литература
isbn: 9785449634016
isbn:
Nearby lay unburnt garbage and ash on the red ground. “What is this red color on the ground, does it become like this after fire?” – I asked myself.
Here, right in front of the bus, a few multicolored piglets ran across the road following their well-fed mother. This animated me so much that I wanted to show them to Polina, but she was still asleep.
Shabby old buses, carrying dark-skinned people and heads protruding from open windows and staring at us with plain curiosity and a smile, rushed past us.
And the children, in chorus, waved their hands at us, smiled and shouted “Hi”. Some perplexed tourists did not know how to react: someone timidly tried to repeat the movement of the hands of children and shout “Hello”, only a pitiful and tired smile came out. And some stared through the window with growing irritation and horror in the eyes. Indeed, beauty lies in the eyes of the
beholder. Candolim, Calangute, Baga – areas of North Goa flashed outside the window. We had arrived.
Our world is a magical and inspiring place. It is enough to believe in it. Instincts did not disappoint me: here, among the exotic sounds and smells, the novelty of the sensations, my “I” showed an amazing response – it immediately acquired a confident sense of direction. So, we settled down.
The only thing that turned out to be difficult for me to adapt to Goa was to have relentless prime-time coverage with the audience and listeners of your individuality. Everything and just everything in real and it does not end with the long-awaited “pack-up” call of the film director. There are no secluded places, nowhere to withdraw, there is no private space either. There are no
distinctions between the stage and the audience. Knowing that India is an overpopulated country, and that there are only 7 women for 10 men, I began to understand the wild need of women among the male population. But for me, there were quite enough of the obvious signs of my real desired existence here, without their heightened intrusion. “Calm down!” – I demanded of myself.
In no other country I have experienced such emotions, nothing like that, it was the first time. Brodsky had said: “Every new aesthetic reality makes one’s experience even more private”. Polina found the environment as punishment by exile, and I landed into my fairy tale. I had already had the experience of traveling with her, a brief tour covering all the cities of Morocco.
Fez, where a Muslim without flinching changed his wife for a camel, and our guide said that this was the order of things, as she herself was to blame – either she was of loose morals or barren. Marrakesh with snake charmers in the central city square. Casablanca with a mosque, where even women are let in for the sake of tourism. Agadir, where I drowned my favorite sunglasses, and where we drank sweet hot tea, that is poured into a small glass from a teapot raised high to form froth. Where we met with two greedy young and beautiful vagabond Arabs who wanted to fuck us and use our money, they spoke three languages, since it is a former French colony. In general, the trip was informative, but the desire to return again had not arisen.
The road from the hotel to the beach went through a dump to a human growth. Here it had its own hierarchy, a caste system of fauna. Some of the cows were with unnaturally bloated bellies, drooling and dirty, but not aggressive. They were silently, orderly and diligently chewing everything that could be chewed. Plastic bags, paper from pies and even foil. In the bushes a pack of dogs lay, lazily waiting for their turn for breakfast, left over after the cows. Above on the trees crows were drooling appetizingly. Polina experienced a cultural shock from everything that was happening:
– Where on earth are we?! This is a medieval Russian village among palm trees!
– Not just the palms, look, the Indian tamarind. Evergreen, a family of legumes. Tropical tree. We do not have such, – I tried to distract her from irritating thoughts, but she did not yield:
– Not only that, we have to live three weeks in this shed with cold water, without air conditioning, with shabby furniture, two hangers for two, with pipes from the wall in the toilet, plastic jugs, with candles instead of electricity. And to add, breakfast means toast with tea and jam from a plastic matchbox, or even less! And if that’s not enough, there are ants and flying cockroaches in our hut! And to the beach you have to make your way through garbage landfill stinking of cows and dogs. Some ghetto! Where have you dragged me? I’m even afraid to imagine what awaits us at the sea…
– Polinochka, do not exaggerate. Look around! Trust me. This is the hegemony of natural laws. And we together have a chance to continue smoothening our rough edges of compatibility. Believe me, we will turn all our holiday fantasies into reality, – I convinced my friend.
But I was already thinking that people who have nothing in common with each other, are forced to mingle because of the circumstances, and I felt some incompatibility in myself. I had neglected Hemingway’s advice for nothing: “Never travel with someone you do not like”. No, my attitude did not change towards Polina, but I could not call her my close friend. However, her company was better for me than being alone, and I did not have any choice. In a word, Polia unlike me, was not fascinated by Goa, but rather disappointed:
– Yeah, it’s better to jostle in the metro subways. It’s better to be in a fucking frosty Moscow under the cover of a gray sky with smog and without the sun more than three weeks in this God-forsaken stinking international resort, – she ascertained sarcastically. The paths intertwined around us, twisting like snakes. We reached the beach in anticipation of each of its own seas.
The beach was strewn with pieces of paper, bottles, cigarette butts, and further – a clean caressing morning sea and a bright sun on a cloudless sky. The water was warm and pleasant, calm. But Polia could not swim, like Indians.
Next to her, a whole family was kneeling in the water, dark-skinned people in clothes. Two men, holding hands, were jumping joyously through the crests of small waves, smiling under mustache, shaking with no longer small age-bellies and flashing their bald spot. Adult uncles were building sand castles from wet sand. Some boys were playing cricket.
Out of all the seasonal beach structures, thousands of black eyes were looking at us, and the barkers were running across the sand and each offering their place and a sunbed under the umbrella, each one touting his business in broken Russian. We did not speak English at all, and random words like “hello, look, small business, here -here, later” did not have any effect.
As soon as we had settled, the process of processing customers immediately started. Couldn’t wait to rest from the very first minute. Those very same black eyes followed us since we first appeared on the beach. And the whiter the color of your skin, the more chance is there to divide you into the maximum purchase amount. A fresh guest, who has not yet become a tourist, is the most lucrative target for getting separated from his money.
“I’ve erected myself a monument made without (human) hands. To it, the people’s path cannot be overgrown”, – Pushkin came to my mind. But on the Baga beach pretending to be a monument seems a useless occupation. The first one was a lady with costume jewelry, pestering like a leech. We bought anklets. But it had the opposite effect: instead of leaving us alone, as we decided to buy from her, her desire to sell something else became even more active. The lady began to obtrusively urge us to go see her little nearby shop of her brother – СКАЧАТЬ