Роман Зинзер – 25 Famous Letters. Книга для чтения на английском языке (страница 2)

It is such a terribly long time since I last |в последний раз| wrote to you – almost two years but I know you’ll excuse me because you understand how I am, stubborn and realistic; and I thought there was no sense to writing.

But now I know my darling wife that it is right to do what I have delayed in doing |откладывал, чтобы сделать|, and that I have done so much in the past. I want to tell you I love you. I want to love you. I always will love you.

I find it hard to understand in my mind what it means to love you after you are dead – but I still want to comfort |утешать, успокаивать| and take care of you – and I want you to love me and care for me. I want to have problems to discuss with you – I want to do little projects with you. I never thought until just now that we can do that. What should we do. We started to learn to make clothes together – or learn Chinese – or getting a movie projector. Can’t I do something now? No. I am alone without you and you were the “idea-woman” and general instigator |вдохновитель| of all our wild adventures.

When you were sick you worried because you could not give me something that you wanted to and thought I needed. You needn’t have worried. Just as I told you then there was no real need because I loved you in so many ways so much. And now it is clearly even more true – you can give me nothing now yet |но все же| I love you so that you stand in my way |стоишь на пути| of loving anyone else – but I want you to stand there. You, dead, are so much better than anyone else alive.

I know you will assure me that I am foolish and that you want me to have full happiness and don’t want to be in my way. I’ll bet you are surprised that I don’t even have a girlfriend (except you, sweetheart) after two years. But you can’t help it |ничего не можешь с этим поделать|, darling, nor can I – I don’t understand it, for |здесь – потому что| I have met many girls and very nice ones and I don’t want to remain alone – but in two or three meetings they all seem ashes |пеплом|. You only are left to me. You are real.

My darling wife, I do adore you.

I love my wife. My wife is dead.

Rich.

PS Please excuse my not mailing this – but I don’t know your new address.

Воннегут – один из самых известных писателей 20 века (прочтите его «Бойню номер 5». Отличная книга). В 2006 году, когда Воннегуту было уже очень-очень много лет, Мисс Локвуд, учительница английского языка в старших классах, попросила своих учеников написать Воннегуту письма, где они могли бы расспросить его о работе и получить совет на будущее. Несмотря на возраст (84 года), Воннегут ответил молодежи. Ниже его письмо.

Dear Xavier High School, and Ms. Lockwood, and Messrs Perin, McFeely, Batten, Maurer and Congiusta:

I thank you for your friendly letters. You sure know how to cheer up a really old geezer |старикашку, чудака| (84) in his sunset years. I don’t make public appearances any more because I now resemble nothing so much |не напоминаю ничего другого, кроме| as an iguana.

What I had to say to you, moreover, would not take long, to wit |а именно|: Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, acting, drawing, painting, sculpting, poetry, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming |чтобы испытать создание|, to find out what’s inside you, to make your soul grow.

Seriously! I mean starting right now, do art and do it for the rest of your lives. Draw a funny or nice picture of Ms. Lockwood, and give it to her. Dance home after school, and sing in the shower and on and on. Make a face in your mashed potatoes. Pretend you’re Count Dracula.

Here’s an assignment |задание| for tonight, and I hope Ms. Lockwood will flunk |завалит| you if you don’t do it: Write a six line poem, about anything, but rhymed |зарифмованную|. No fair |справедливого, хорошего| tennis without a net. Make it as good as you possibly can. But don’t tell anybody what you’re doing. Don’t show it or recite |цитировать| it to anybody, not even your girlfriend or parents or whatever, or Ms. Lockwood. OK?

Tear it up into teeny-weeny |Разорвите ее на крошечные| pieces, and discard them into widely separated trash recepticals |выбросьте в далекие друг от друга мусорные контейнеры|. You will find that you have already been gloriously rewarded for your poem. You have experienced becoming, learned a lot more about what’s inside you, and you have made your soul grow.

God bless you all!

Kurt Vonnegut

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