Dear sir!
I am so glad that you have rung me on Wednesday. Thank you. I like not only your words but the sounds of your voice also, so to say.
As to the articles by Petrov, this situation may be described with the help of three proverbs:
I tell him about Thomas and he tells me about Jones.
Empty vessels make the greatest sound.
Fools are fools - they observe no rules.
I've noticed that you are frightened of me. It's not necessary to do it.
"Why" - you'll maybe ask me. I'll answer in the following way:
1. In the first place, I don't bite (I only "bark" a little);
2. Secondly, I am also frightened of you.
Of course, I am joking.
Now some words about my English lessons. A favourite author of our teacher is a well-known American poet Emily Dickinson. She was born in Amherst, where she lived all her life. Her father, a lawyer and State Congressman, was a very severe man. She had a brother and a sister. Though after her middle twenties Emily emerged seldom and in later years not at all, this made little difference to her as an artist. Of all her poems only seven were published during her lifetime, and those anonymously.
Most of all I like this poem of Emily Dickinson.
We never know how high we are
Till we are asked to rise.
And then if we are true to plan
Our statures touch the skies.
The Heroism we recite
Would be a normal thing
Did not ourselves the cubits warp
For fear to be a king.
I want to write a little story in the way of Richard Bach. I like his "Jonathan Livingston seagull" very much. What a philosophical concentration on every page of this book!!!
The life-story of this seagull reminds mine a little, especially the scene of trial, where the Flock accused Jonathan of discovery that "boredom and fear and anger are the reasons that a gull's life is so short." And Jonathan Livingston said with a bitter voice: "I want only to share what I've found, to show those horizons out ahead for us all."
But when I read Jonathan's mother asking: "Why, Jon, why? Why is it so hard to be like the rest of the flock?!" I recollected with heart pain my parents. And Jonathan's answering - "I just want to know what I can do in the air and what I can't" - reminds me my own words. Recently I've said to father: "I only want to know what I can do in life, love, profession, hobby and what I can't. That's all I want!" I just want to know.
Only, just.
Isn't it impossible to a willing heart?!
Mr. Journalist!
Here I am. Oh, it seems so strange to be writing letters to somebody you don't know. But - as far as I understand - I don't know you. And you don't know me too! Some people, who knows me very well, consider my person to be a Sunny Soul. Maybe it is so. But I - myself. - know only one thing. This is my secret but I've decided to tell you about it. Are you ready, sir?! Well, I'll begin - "courage, dear, you must tell everything for Him" (it's my "support" for me myself).
Sir! I feel every day (practically - every!), every hour that I am alive, but all the rest is simply dead. And it's so difficult for me, very difficult to speak with them. And I try to reanimate them, try to revive, try to enliven, try to vivify, try to revitalize, try to brighten up, but I - almost - always fail (like in the case with you). And after these failures my soul like a bleeding wound. Trust me it's very painful, inexpressively painful.
Sometimes I feel that the most well-known poem by E.Dickinson is about me:
This is my letter to the world
That never wrote to me –
The simple news that nature told
With tender Majecty.
Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see -
For love of Her - sweet - countrymen
Judge tenderly - of me.
Well, sir, and now tell me when are you going to tell me that I am the first problem of your life?! Only I am, but not work, conflicts and so on. Frankly speaking, I am very tired (or "exhausted" - as you like to say) of your Reserveness and Restraint. Of course, I know that "intellect is Beauty of a man and restraint is the only index of intellect," but I can't stand any more your coldness! Why do you treat your only "happiness" in such a way? Why are you as cold as a frog if I am as warm as a toast?! Why are you as melancholy as a cat if I am as gay as a lark?! Why are you as dead as a stone if I am, sir, as live as a bird?! And why, why are you as dry as a bone if I am as wet as a fish?!
Sincerely speaking, I am a little gloomy today. Why, my darling, why? (it's your question, sir!)
My answer: I don't know.
Yours: You know! Tell me, please (I want to call these words, yours, sir, as "impertinent").
My answer: Because I had no your telephone call yesterday.
Well, good-bye, Mr. Snowman.
See you soon.
Sir!
Don't you feel that I am in Almaty?! Why, why you don't?! Are you so tired (of life's difficulties) that have lost the smallest ability to feel where I am?! Well, I shall be able to be offended by your "behaviour" and leave you alone for ever, by the way. Sorry, but I think you haven't to treat your "happiness" in such away. Am I right?! (Maybe I am not).
Recently at our English lessons (devoted to the problems of character) one pupil said: "A real woman, a true woman must understand a true man more deeply than he himself." I think (excuse my being impertinent) that I am a real one. But who is you, sir? Maybe a true one too?! I know that you are in low spirits again? I suppose I must support you psychologically with the help of some proverbs. For example, these ones:
In the end things will mend.
It's a great life if you don't weaken.
Rain at seven, fine at eleven.
Every dog has his day.
Oh, I am tired to wait for you. Sir! It seems to me that you drive me crazy. I think about you from 7 o'clock till 23... And frankly speaking, I am very-very-very tired of all these thoughts. It's very interesting for me: How much do you think about me?!
Good-bye, my cold "heart",
Yours poor - I.Araeva
Dear Mr. Snowman!
I am sorry for my "scandal". But this is not my politelessness! Only an index of my deep despair. I love you and you don't (I think so). It's clear to me. Oh, my God, don't you understand that I am (only I am!) your "half".
I want to say to you, sir, that I feel very sorry for your not understanding where your "happiness" lives. I am sure: when you are very-very-very old, you will suddenly realize on one sunny day that the only bright "ray" in your gloomy sky was I, only - I. And I know: you will come to the market (on Sunday, for example) in order to buy a lot of flowers and - maybe - will decorate my poor tomb. But I think it's not "the wisest solution" of the problem of human relations... Do you agree with me? - of course, you don't (am I right in this case?!).
I've noticed that you consider me to be cleverer than you yourself. I think: it's a great mistake!!! We have the equal minds, so to say. But the point of things is as follows: I investigate this world with the help of notions, but you - with the help of images. And my favourite thinker (you know who is he, of course) said that "the latter is more difficult and important than the first." By the way, I said that idea at our University conference, but your friend didn't reflect it in his article. It's a pity!
Ever since the moment I read the Bible for the first time I've always been particularly struck by the parts around two chapters: "Ecclesiastes" and "The Song of Songs." And now it seems to me that this combination, this unity of "Ecclesiastes" and "The Song of Songs" will help me understand much in my own professional and private life. In anamazingly integral way I've personified this unity - my bitter love of thought and my delightful love of life. I feel that I am a thinker in the most literal, primordial, ancient sense of this word. But I am a woman too. A true woman, so to say. And if you don't understand it - so much the worse for you.
Sorry, but I am tired of our "friendship". I don't think I can stand any more of Almaty in my so great loneliness. I am thinking to leave it for Kazan in order to have the real professional and private communication.
I live only thank to Prishvin. I read him day and night. In conditions of the total destruction of sovereign personality (I mean not only social conditions, but family's one - as in my case) he had solved the problem of saving his soul. "I live as an orphan," - he wrote about his loneliness. So do I!!! But he had returned his personality to himself through the meeting with Valeria Dmitrievna - Lyalya (as he called her). It happened when he was - 67 and she - 41. But I have no time to wait for you so long. What must I do? "That is the question!" - as my favourite Hamlet said.
I want to be happy. That's all. Is it impossible to a willing heart?! (This question is for you, sir).
Good-bye, Mr. Fridge
Yours, sincerely, a "very sweet lady "
(a phrase from one silly book).
P.S. I begin to hate you. It's not a joke. It's the real truth.
Dear sir!
I suppose you haven't been offended by me. I think you are very clever and - that's why - understand that I am the only friend of yours.
Recently I've read in "Prostor" a very interesting story "Energy for living" by K. Kabdrakhmanov. The main hero of that story is a surgeon Dosumbeck Dosumbeckovich Mayramov. He feels - practically every day! - that his mind, his soul is "numb". Mayramov tries to explain it by his profession which calls for giving all doctor's energy to patients. But I think that his "numbness" must be explained by our "deculturalization." We are the strangers to our own ethnic roots and to the real Russian culture also. This alienation, to all appearance, is the most dangerous crisis: it leads to the phenomenon of thought atrophy and soul atrophy. Sorry, but I think, sir, it's useless to continue our relations because you are one of the bright representatives (of course, it's only my opinion) of the so-called "numb" people. That's why I want to part with you... For ever - if you don't mind.
Good-bye, Beloved One.
Have a good luck in everything!
You know my gratitude for all you gave me.
You know my gratitude and my love.
Farewell,
Yours, Irma.
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