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Да! 1966 x x x Вот и настал этот час опять, И я опять в надежде, Но... можешь ты - как знать!..
. Что я, с ума сошел? Подожди, может, это ты со мной не хочешь?.. Тогда в чем дело?.. Ну вот еще, нашел чем шутить... Голова-то, да (держится за голову), естественно...
Единственный убираю за собой... Я хотел выявить конкретное лицо, распорядившееся моей судьбой. Обнаружить реальный первоисточник моей неудачи...
Смотрите также:
Михаил Булгаков. Основные вехи биографии (1891-1940)
Николай Ракицкий. Встречи с М.А. Булгаковым.
Bulgakov, Mikhail Afanasievich
Mikhail Afanasievich Bulgakov (Wikipedia)
В. Сахаров. Два письма из Булгаковского Киева.
Мое любимое произведение М. А. Булгакова
Евангельский сюжет в трактовке М. А. Булгакова
Возвращение писателя (М.Булгаков)
Трагедия Мастера - гений в положении «маленького человека»
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...' After a moment, he standing,
drinking water, she like a crystal witch over the caramel brew
bubbling like a prehistoric mudpot on the stove, she said, 'Oh, I must
light the pumpkins!' and she rushed to the living room to make the
pumpkins smile with light. He came after, smiling, 'I must get my
pipe.' 'Oh, the cider!' she had cried, running to the dining room.
'I'll check the cider,' he had said. But when he tried following she
ran to the bathroom and locked the door.
He stood outside the bathroom door, laughing strangely and
senselessly, his pipe gone cold in his mouth, and then, tired of the
game, but stubborn, he waited another five minutes. There was not a
sound from the bath. And lest she enjoy in any way knowing that he
waited outside, irritated, he suddenly jerked about and walked
upstairs, whistling merrily.
At the top of the stairs he had waited. Finally he had heard the
bathroom door unlatch and she had come out and life below-stairs and
resumed, as life in a jungle must resume once a terror has passed on
away and the antelope return to their spring.
Now, as he finished his bow-tie and put his dark coat there was a
mouse-rustle in the hall. Marion appeared in the door, all skeletons
in her disguise.
'How do I look, Papa?'
'Fine!'
From under the mask, blonde hair showed. From the skull sockets
small blue eyes smiled. He sighed. Marion and Louise, the two silent
denouncers of his virility, his dark power. What alchemy had there
been in Louise that took the dark of a dark man and bleached the dark
brown eyes and black hair and washed and bleached the ingrown baby all
during the period before birth until the child was born, Marion,
blonde, blue-eyed, ruddy-cheeked? Sometimes he suspected that Louise
had conceived the child as an idea, completely asexual, an immaculate
conception of contemptuous mind and cell. As a firm rebuke to him she
had produced a child in her own image, and, to top it, she had somehow
fixed the doctor so he shook his head and said, 'Sorry, Mr Wilder,
your wife will never have another child...
