Читать книгу Very bad English / Очень плохой English - Яна Варшавская - Страница 22

Some people find answers to all their questions while reading books, someone on the Web, some particularly advanced ones are dictated by intuition or get tips in the information field. I have more than just questions, and most likely I won't be able to get any answers…

It has long been dark. Tomorrow was a day off and I did not want to sleep. I turned on the telly. There was Top-Twenty on RU TV[8]. Having opened a bottle of beer, I looked for something to eat.

Beer made me feel bad. I turned off the TV, deciding to at least pass the time in non-binding communication…

Heck!

Everything happened by itself…

Having heard about this chat roulette or Chatroulette[9], I went online several times, if you say so…

This time I turned on the computer as usual. At first, some pimpled teenager made my brain explode telling about entering MEPhI, then a horny girl gave me signs until I pressed F9.

Then…

He looked at me, eyes wide, and stuttered. From surprise, I think. At first, I also thought that I was looking at my reflection in the monitor glass. Then he pushed the curtains shut so that the light from the lantern did not hit the window, and went to the screen. His face became brighter. Unlike me, he was wearing a whitewashed T-shirt without any logos, while I was wearing a black T-shirt with a lemon-yellow John Lennon face.

He stuttered in English for half a minute. It is never possible to guess what will happen next with Skype. Therefore, the guy tried to hear something from me, before the connection is interrupted, not even through my fault.

What the hell are the astral twins. I looked at him and saw myself…

I think he saw the same. But he constantly kept talking about some dreams. I understood a little. From the pronunciation of this guy it was difficult to determine his country. Apparently, that was some kind of northern state… This whole situation…

A damn joke!

And then an idea came to my mind. I asked:

«When you were born?»

«August 9th, 1985,» he answered.

«August 9? Right? And where?» Three of my short questions followed at once, but I did not receive a single intelligible answer. Well, at least I could understand and answer something.

«My mother reluctantly talks about it,» my twin said.

«And now, can you tell where you are?»

«Minneapolis, USA.»

«I'm in Tomsk. Siberia! Well, you know: matreshka, lapti and bears!» I tried to joke.

I was not good at joking. A sticky stream of cold sweat ran down my back… Finally, I asked for his name.

«Donald Frost, or just Doni,» he answered. «And you?»

«Dormidont,» I answered for some reason…

He said that he was going to Europe for business or personal reasons and that he wanted to come to St. Petersburg if he was approved by a Russian visa. When I was ready to break the connection, he suddenly, noticing my watercolor portrait hanging on the wall, asked who its author was.

I could literally feel a treacherous cold stream of sweat running down his spine…

«Her name is Tatiana,» I replied, and showed the recent Taska's photo, taken against the backdrop of a gobbled Wolf, «The Monument to Happiness.»

His face changed even more than at the beginning of the conversation.

«I know her! Rather, I saw her. In a dream. Really. I just did not know where to look for her. Whether it is real or just an obsession,» he sighed.

He exhaled and looked at me as if his whole life depended on me now to say the least! I saw an unhealthy glow in his eyes. I know it happens in the eyes of people whose despair borders on madness… Or love. In a word, it was a kind of painful and desperate sparkle. He begged me to give at least her address. I reasoned that Taska would risk absolutely nothing if he wrote her a few lines… And send her a letter. In an envelope. Maybe she wouldn't read it… Which would be in her style. She'd throw it somewhere without even opening the envelope, or immediately take it in the trash. Carefully, in block letters, he copied Tatiana's address. «The idea is hopeless!» I thought. We wanted to exchange phones just in case… But at this very moment the lights went out in the entire house. «Damn!» I swore, and went to look for a flashlight.

In the morning, this whole story seemed a terrible delirium. The beer still made me feel bad. Maybe I even took myself off. The beer was horrible. The guy from the monitor obviously was my nightmare, and the electricity seemed to be gone nowhere. The refrigerator vibrated pleasantly, the computer was also on! Definitely I took myself off… Gotta call Tasks later. You don't get drunk from one bottle of beer every day!