Spring of a Down - 13
Записки українського самашедшого
I know I have been mad. Look at all the streets crawling with people, and I know I am different. Божевільний.[1]
When I was young at the time, I did not seem to be mad. But how do you prove madness? I have thought about this more than anything else. I grew up in orchards and the fields sometimes thinking about this. I grew up in Evermore.[2]
Then I then grew up in the forests. No one told me I was mad there. I prayed to feel the softly spoken magic spells. But time was pursuing me. With great vigor and force. That is why I clung to the Dnieper, desperate for the guard she offered. I prayed for it.
But then I came to Kyiv and saw the six bridges spring up. I never knew when they came up, which ones were new and which ones were built and the rebuilt. The was a war, though I do not know when the dates were. That’s the city – things spring up from no place in any colour you like.
That is why I dislike the center. Between the five mighty bridges,[3] there are too many people who are called “Saints.” Why go to the city to prove you love God? City folk and country people are different. Not better just different.
You show love to the animals.
One time many years ago, they took me into the hospital. They wanted to see what kind of madness I had. I told them I was mad. They believed me. That should have been the end of it. If everyone agrees, what point is there to see what degree? They said it was to help other people. But what did I care for other people? No one had ever helped me, and I wasn’t so rich as to give away free help. They said they would feed me. I took that but I knew they could feed me if they wanted to. That is called hoarding where I grew up.
There in a room with a plate full of food – more than I had for myself – a man came in. In between bread with sweet creamier butter, he asked me what I knew about my parents. I told him that my mother had died giving birth to me and I did not know what a father was.
He showed me a picture. Yes, that is the one. How did you find him to get the picture from him? I do not understand “copy,” sorry.
What do you want to know?
I will look that up in my notes. Where is my purse? If you have taken it, you will know I take lots of notes with everything paid close meaning. The color of a man’s beard will tell you whether it is real or not.
Oh, that is simple: if they match it is likely that the beard is false.
Who taught me how to write? I learned the men would teach me to write if I did things for them.
That is secret. But it was urgent for them. I got what I wanted, and they got this need scratched. I got what I wanted, and they got this need scratched. It was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It simply was.
You are looking down at your notes. Yes, I had a child. It was taken from me. I was grateful. Then things were fixed. It was made to sleep then they let me go. Maybe they did not know that they let me go, I do not remember. It may be in my notes.
May I please have more bread and butter? It will keep me warm. It quiets the ticking; do you not hear it? Your watch makes it. It is one of many reasons I do not like cities. Noise.
I think silence and music are better.
Yes, I wander away from Kyiv. Yes, to the North. No, I know not to head to Chornobyl. I came from there. There was confusion. A great catastrophe happened. I was sent to live with a woman and a man. She wanted a child, but I was not the one. I grew away and then wandered.
Back to the point? I do not understand.
You want to talk about what I saw? About the convoy? Well, it was long. No, I do not know how long it was. Why did they stop? I will tell you a story and that way you can grasp it better. I must have my notes. To remember.
Thank you. May the angels of Avalon bless you.
Here it is. It was night, the deep dark kind with clouds dropping snow. Four men called me. They asked if I was cold. I said yes. They asked if I wanted to sleep with them. I said yes and thanked them kindly.
In the middle of the night, they wanted me to do something for each and every one of them. I said what would they do for me? They said I would like it too. I said no, I would not. They asked why.
I said I did not like it. They scratched their heads.
They asked me if you do not know if I will enjoy it with them. I told them it had been the same with whoever I tried it with. It is the same. I knew I was being crowded towards the edge of the tent. It took a while. Do you want the exact time? I have it noted here.
Then the thing happened. I was gagged. Do you want details and lengths? Yes, I have all the details. I put them down before I forget. No, it was not pleasant.
I got up when they slept and left. I took bread without any butter. I walked and got a rides to the city. The Russians were not here. Yes, even with the rockets and shelling I felt safe. A woman sent me to you. I think she thought it was kind.
No, I do not have any feeling for ‘country’ just the Dnieper Valley.
What is the point? I learned a word: reciprocity. You could feed me, but you do not. The soldiers could make a deal, but they did not. Hoarding is what it is called. The Russians are worse, but you have the same sin.
May I have some bread and butter? I have earned it.
Jam? That is a treat. What kind is it?
You have a cousin in the West who ships you blueberry jam.
Spread the butter out all the way and spread the blueberry jam on half of my bread to see whether I like it.
[1] Божевільний(Bozhevilnyi) - Insane.
[2] Led Zepplin, “The Battle Of Evermore.”
[3] “The Five” - César Cui, Aleksandr Borodin, Mily Balakirev, Modest Mussorgsky, and Nikolay Rimsky-Korsakov.