Fairytales for adults in the fourth dimension. Slava Sarazhin

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СКАЧАТЬ walked a little behind him, and looked at his un-doubtfully powerful body, but it still didn't look enough for such a massive mission (supporting the vault of heaven with all the satellites, aircraft, space debris, and the clouds).

      As if sensing what I thinking Atlas stopped abruptly and turned to me. I nearly bumped into him with my nose.

      "Listen, Slava," he said, looking me straight in the eye. "Surely you're thinking that no amount of muscle could hold up the sky? There is not a man on earth strong enough to hold such a weight. Why do you think I told you about the power of persuasion? Atlas holds the vault of heaven on his shoulders because of the power of his belief that he is able to so. And these," he shrugged his huge shoulders, "are an extra help."

      He raised his index finger in admonishment, smiled, turned and went on his way.

      Taken aback by his ability to read minds, I caught up with Atlas and asked him:

      "So you mean to say that even I could do it?"

      "Of course," said Atlas. "Do you want to give it a try?" He asked, turning his head and looking at me appreciatively from head to toe.

      "No, thank you. I was just asking more out of curiosity. I do not like monotonous work," I said hurriedly.

      "I'm the same," said Atlas.

      "Once my brother and I were stood under the weight of the heavens, dreaming that the day would come when we would be released from this terrible burden. The time would come when it would be possible to straighten our weary shoulders, take a deep breath, and enjoy eternal life, without cursing it. But my brother and I are different! I told him: "we must not only dream – we must take action!" If the sky was somehow held up before we became involved, then it will stay put without the help of a pair of sweaty men. My brother did not want to listen and he didn't follow his dreams, but I understood. Everything we think, everything we know, what we believe, is not so important. The important thing is what we do."

      "When I realized this, I dropped the sky from my shoulders, wiped the salty sweat from my forehead and, for the first time in my life, I smiled. Since then, the smile has never left my face, and I'm happy every day."

      "What about your brother? In my opinion, it was not fair to leave him this burden."

      "He is OK! Someday he will understand the truth and will throw the heavenly dome from his shoulders."

      "And then the end of the world will come," I said confidently.

      Atlas stopped abruptly, but I was still moving and needed to quickly take a couple of steps back. He looked thoughtfully at the drifting clouds in the blue sky.

      "While you are here, people… mankind, the sky will never fall! Because, even if the clever Atlas supports the sky with the strength of his faith doesn't believe he can get something better from life, then what about you humans! Every time you feel the pressure of life, lack of success and other misfortunes, this is if as nothing compared to the weight of the sky. There have always been people like that! But there are others like me… and you," a second later, Atlas looked me in the eyes and said:

      "Enjoy every moment of life and leave the weight of the skies to those who already hold it with pleasure."

      Atlas turned and strode off. I didn't go after him, because I understood what he was saying. Each of us – Atlas, and everyone has a choice – to support the sky or live a full life. I straightened my shoulders, and smiling at everyone that I passed by, I strode confidently into the spring.

      Endless Prairie

      The endless prairie was like an old woman's dream. The sun-scorched grass rustled in the sunlight, and only a lonely tree raised its twisted branches skywards in a futile plea for rain. An old Indian from the Dakota tribe rocked backwards and forwards on the back of a spotted mustang.

      The mustang slowly moved its legs, occasionally pulling a clump of dry grass from the baked earth. The hunt had been unsuccessful, and the wounded bison turned out to be tricky, just like the shaman from Dakota's tribe, and perhaps it really was him. It was not without reason that hunting alone was taboo.

      But the Dakota knew no fear. His old wigwam was full of holes and the winds blew straight through it, and his son, his father's pride and joy, was growing so fast… He needed a lot of meat and fat. Strapped to his belt, decorated with beads and bouncing against the mustang's sides, were a couple of prairie dogs that he had caught. Not a rich catch for a three-day hunt. The old Indian's body was as sticky as the sultry air. The bison had got away, and he and his old mustang were exhausted.

      Then he heard dogs barking ahead of him, and in the flickering hot air, he recognized the outlines of his tribe's pointed wigwams. The mustang pulled back his ears, snorted, shook his mane to fend off the pesky horseflies, and trotted on quickly, expecting a welcome break. The bitter smell of wood smoke, and the leaping barking dogs became mixed with other sounds, creating a unique noise which was pleasing to the ear.

      There was the sound of a young child, the neighing of a foal, and the sound of pots hanging over the fire. A woman screamed at an insolent dog that had dragged off a marrow bone. The Dakota shrugged his shoulders. He didn't want anybody to see how depressed he was by his failure. A shaman emerged from his wigwam and stared at the old Indian with his eagle eyes. An easy grin distorted his deeply wrinkled face.

      But all the heavy thoughts vanished like dust, as if washed away by the rain on the pelts of a wigwam when the boy ran to greet the Dakota. His braided hair bounced against his shoulders, like the prairie dogs his father had brought back from his hunting trip. Running to the mustang, the boy deftly grasped the outstretched hand and was pulled up onto the horse's back. The old Indian hugged his son tightly, and the mustang carried them to the family wigwam, where a woman was waiting for them. The boy dropped to the ground, took the catch that his father offered and handed it to the woman without saying a word. She disappeared into the dark wigwam, also without saying a word.

      "When can I go hunting with you?" Asked the boy, helping his father to remove the threadbare blanket from the mustang.

      "You still have a lot to learn, boy," replied the Indian wearily. "The bison have become cautious and cunning as a fox, and there are fewer and fewer of them. Only a skilled hunter can hunt enough meat to survive, and also you need a lot of patience to catch a mustang suitable for hunting for yourself."

      "I'm ready," said the boy. "I'll be a good hunter. No, I'll be the best hunter in the prairies. No bison will be able to hide from my spear."

      "To become the best hunter in the prairie, you need to know a lot. It is not enough just to be brave and strong. You'll need the wisdom of the ancestors, the magic of the shaman, and the eyes of an eagle. You will need the lightning swiftness of the rattlesnake and the cunning of the coyote. You have to learn a lot of things, my boy."

      "What do I need to do for this?" Asked the boy excitedly, crumpling the edge of his jacket.

      "We'll go down the path of learning and will take small steps. We will go as slowly as an experienced pathfinder, who studies the tangled trail. Also…" The old Indian's eyes settled on a piece of wool which was being rolled along by the wild wind.

      "Also," he repeated confidently, "every time you take a step, every time that you learn something new, every time you achieve something, no matter how small, promise me that you will add to the length of rope that you will begin to weave from this piece of wool!"

      He gave his son the piece of wool and the boy stared back at him with a puzzled expression.

      "But… СКАЧАТЬ