Svyatoslav LOGINOV
CARE
The axes clattered loudly. Their different colors
This song was heard as usual throughout
Posad. There's never a time when
nothing was cut down anywhere, only on holidays
the ringing of an ax gives way to the sound of a bell. No
sound more comfortable to the human ear.
But today it’s like a good knock
another - makes you listen and cringe
in fright, imagining carpentry work.
We got along with the log house. Made well with you
lying forest, they chopped it down in the paw, as not all
what kind of hut they make. We tried, even though we knew,
that the work will not stand for long. Yes, and she herself
Bota, Lord have mercy, what kind of log house is this?
Great for a well, big for a hut - whatever,
for a hut - for a seedy bathhouse, and even then it’s not enough
wat. And the place was not chosen for food, but
voivodeship chorus, in front of the red
porch.
Lord, it is your will. Bayna is being built
carpenters. The sinful soul will be washed in it, and
there, as God decides.
In other countries, they say, with this
simply - they will tie the poor fellow to a post, cape-
They give it some brushwood - and it’s all short-lived. But we
tea, non-catholics, baptized people, about the soul
we make a living. The High Priest ordered that
log house so that there is no shame. So they are working
guys. Caring about people.
The culprit of the noise was sitting in the basement. That le-
pressed prostrate on the straw, then ran like a prisoner
beast from wall to wall then praywanted
to an empty corner - where God's blessing comes from -
in the pit? - No. But more often he stood,
heading towards the tightly barred window. Through
such a hole does not allow light to pass through, and
it is not possible to climb through it, even if
will be able to break the chains. But still don’t leave
from the window, you can hear it too well there
carpenter's clatter. They put up a log house. It's not a matter of
experienced, and an unprecedented offense. Not my dad
executed, not a murderer, not a sovereign thief.
I sinned with words, dog, and in that stubbornness -
He worked both in freedom and in prison. Well
just sit there, son of a bitch, listen to the funeral
chime of hatchets.
The iron-lined door opened.
Cat came in. He came in undressed and in shabby clothes.
So, not for him yet.
- Come here, bitch, - affectionately
called kat.
The prisoner approached.
- Turn around. I want to take the measurements.
-Are you afraid the log house will come at the wrong time?
- Oh, God's plague! And here the language
didn't shorten it. And I care about you. I begged
the commander with the high priest. You have been ordered to add
cut the fire to strangle. That means I need a shirt
without a gate. Times, you know, are difficult.
Where can I get all the rubles? But otherwise, myself
Judge, it doesn’t look like Christianity. Well,
turn around.
Knock, hatchets, knock. Not for
I'm getting along with a log house - for a dead body. Mine
The concern now is about the bait. Wonderful things
yours, Lord!
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