Читать книгу Were not were - - Страница 11

In his youth, my father was a very original and liked to shock others with his behavior and appearance. He wore a beard and mustache, dressed in some unimaginable rags, in his dorm room he painted all the walls, floor and ceiling black and always received guests by candlelight, holding a real human skull on the table for final chic. Neither stand nor take, but a kind of Prince of Denmark, playing a performance in front of ungrateful spectators called “melancholy dulce melody”, which, translated into a public language, means only “melancholy pierced my heart.” Among his guests was my future mother, a woman not only beautiful, but also practical, who appreciated the acting potential of her father and took patronage over him. First of all, she told him to shave, because the beard and mustache prevented her from kissing him. And then, step by step, she dressed him in a particular suit and forced him to wear a tie, returning ordinary people to society, for whom a chicken is needed to lay eggs, and not fight over the problem, which comes first – a chicken or an egg. When I was born, my father had no choice but to accept his fate, try on the role of a father and live the rest of his life, thanking his mother for giving him a son and saving him from false illusions to change this world. The world is already good enough to just live in it. Without skulls and outrageous.