суббота, 19 января 2013 г.

A Morning in Rome by Helene Zarina

Перевод на английский язык рассказа Елены Зариной "Утро в Риме".
Translation into English. A short story by Helene Zarina.

A Morning in Rome



In the morning I found myself standing at the Trevi fountain. I was looking at the sky-blue water and enjoying the absence of red. It has always seemed to me that there’s nothing behind this fountain - no city, no people. That this place is a kind of final point. Through the oasis of perfection a door into another world should open. Water, infused with dreams and love. Coins at the bottom, gleaming with wishes and hopes…


To wish or not to wish?

“First, make a wish. Take a coin, stand with your back to the fountain and throw the coin with your left hand across your right shoulder,” a girl with red hair explained in English to someone next to me, speaking in a solemn conspiratorial manner. In this early hour there were not many tourists nearby and her speech was heard clearly. “And your dream will come true! Let’s do it!” she persuaded her friend.

In the East they say, if you want to be happy, have no wishes. In the West a man is believed to be happy if his wish comes true. And if a person is born between the East and the West, in Russia for example, should he have such wishes that bring no luck? Or shouldn’t he wish things that can make him happy? I came closer and my hand slid involuntary into the pocket for the odd money… Rituals are contagious


A fountain is circulating water. But its circulation is inevitably beautiful. When you look at the streams among the antique statues and bas reliefs, you may think it is eternal life spring sparkling from the earth. Endless spring, abundant, generous. Nobody thinks that it’s just a stream running in the prescribed track. That it’s a simplified model of cycle of matter in nature. We also run in some prescribed track. We even think we have chosen it ourselves. A year ago my wish came true, I had made it without any coins or amulets, but in quite clear words. “I want to arrange my life, to live in Europe, to have a strong shoulder nearby.” And here it is – Europe, my Rome holidays, a speaker of Dante language and owner of Cavalli jackets sleeping in the hotel. Now we are going to have croissant and coffee for breakfast. And a question if I’m all right and where I had gone to from the hotel in the morning. And another my attempt to excuse politeness and respect, to excuse my forgiveness myself for absence of something bigger.

It is not the future that is misty, but the past. 

“Close your doors of the past and lose the keys…” When a person says the right thing in the right moment, it seems like destiny. But in a couple of weeks you find out that he has a right phrase for every situation. It begins to alarm you. A border between sincere sympathy and using clichés becomes apparent. But still, I locked all the rooms of my past and presented the keys to him. To my past and my future. Happy future, of course. And a year later I found a new key in my hand. When does the present become the past? An escaping moment always arouses a bit of regret. Because it’s difficult to part with your present. It’s easier to live in your past or future. They both are something complete and have shape. No matter if it’s experience or illusion, our conscience records the past and the future as something concise. And the present with all its “visibility” is just water, which flows in the prescribed track and never stops.
All roads lead to …


The Trevi fountain got its name from three streets which make a little square at their crossroad. “Tre” means “three”, “via” means “street”. They say, all roads lead to Rome. And these three streets go far beyond the city, winding, dusty streets they are. Where do they begin upon? In Russian folklore there is a tale of a crossroad stone with signs: turn to the right and find the fame, turn to the left and lose your horse, go straight ahead and gain something. But not a word that all the three roads finally meet at one point. Somewhere in Rome at the fountain with sky-blue water.


A telephone call stopped my reflection on roads and water. “Faccio una passegiata. A dopo!” “Why don’t we go for a walk together?” I have no answer yet. Neither have I complaints or grievance. What percentage of my wish has come true? Or do I have no more wishes in Rome? Or had I put thoughts into the wrong words back then?

I took a coin. Even for a moment I didn’t want to turn my back to the fountain. Moreover, expressing my wish is like writing with sea form on the sand. Let it be in the eastern way – without words. But if I throw a coin here, in the West, maybe my wish will come true?

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