The Road by Helene Zarina

Перевод на английский язык рассказа Елены Зариной "Дорога".
Translation into English. A short story by Helene Zarina.
The Road

I go along the road. Carts, cars, bicycles, limousines and vans pass by. Some people foot it or crawl. From time to time somebody forces his way through the stream in the opposite direction. Constantly somebody changes traffic lane. The road is very broad and you can’t see its waysides. Do they really exist? Suddenly there stops a man on a battered Opel. He is short of petrol. The man starts to ask for it. “Help me with some spirit. Mine finished.” Some people are surprised – what kind of a driver are you if you didn’t get enough petrol with you. Others are ironical – use a bicycle! Some gloat – you can easily make it on foot. Here comes not-quite-new Volkswagen and gives a can of fuel. “I’ve been there, I’ll give you petrol. But only once. You must not beg on the road anymore.” “Sure, I’ll be more cautious! I promise.”

I go on. It’s very hot. I meet people. They tell me about themselves and what they have seen on the road. They persuade me to stop. To have a rest. They don’t believe I’m not tired. They are angry and drop back. Probably they’re already drinking martini and talking of other people’s cars. 

A huge van splashes me all over with sand and dust. A huge is given way by many people. A huge doesn’t feel dust on my teeth.

All of a sudden a mountain is seen ahead. Confusion, people stop. “No need to go further. The way is blocked. We need to find another road. We were on the wrong track.” Disappointed cries are all over the place. It becomes hard to go on. The disappointed make real camps.  I have to come round them. “Don’t you see? There’s a mountain. We must go back!”

I go on. A cyclist tries to fix the saddle, but the bike keeps falling. “Shall I hold it?” I ask. “Yes, if you have time!” The bike has a wonderful luggage rack. I travel on it for some time. Then I get off and want to leave. The man wants me to stay and travel further on his rack. “It’s not very comfortable – to sit on an iron rack for a long time. I’d better walk.” The man doesn’t agree. As a reason he speaks of his love which - according to his idea - must keep me on his rack forever. I change the traffic lane.

The mountain is seen more and more clearly. Motionless cars block up the way. Drivers make campfires and don’t know what to do next. But a lot of them try to ‘save’ me from continuing my way and to set me to die at their fires. 

I come across the empty Opel. It has no petrol. Again the driver is busy around looking for it. He doesn’t remember his promise. Nobody gives him fuel and he blames everybody in cruelty and injustice. He doesn’t think about the rock ahead. Nor about the way. He has found himself an employment forevermore.

I come up with the dismounted cyclist. He smiles to me. In his bright eyes I can see he will not turn aside. The road becomes narrow but the waysides are still not visible. I understood that when the road was broad, people thought there were other roads behind the wayside, maybe smoother and straighter or running across more beautiful scenes. Or leading to other places. People were sure there are a lot of places to go. They are just not seen through the stream of cars, horses and donkeys.

The road goes straight to the rock. It bumps into it like into the wall. Smiling cyclist goes beside me. I smile back. His eyes are shining. His light meets mine. He doesn’t ask what I think about the mountain. He knows.

I put my foot on a small jut and seize some stone.

“See you atop!” Meeting the eye is impossible at the moment. It’s necessary to look up. The mountain is the continuation of the road. For those who believe that the road never ends.