Goddess of the Rainbow. Oleg Oka
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realized function. The function that we, the people, called the just GOD.
11****
10 billion years ago* —
– Everything went as usual. As ALWAYS.
By the Will of GOD there was light.
You can call it the Big Bang, only there was no explosion. There was nothing to explode. Just energy structure of Space is organized the smallest cell Space accordingly, and began the creation of our World. The world for people.
Everything, as in books of astronomy; – the smallest particles of matter, dust region, the power of the awakened gravitational fields…
ALL as ALWAYS.
And then failed. It can happen in any organized system, even in public organizations, and the presence of reasons is not necessary.
Can be a function of GOD at this time was in demand simultaneously in many regions of Space? There is no need to guess, just take this fact as realizovavshaja opportunity.
****
Chapter two
1***
– through **** billion years*-
…so, after many billions of years of eternity sitting on
the shores of forest lake.
It was early morning, and the far shore was closed by the veil of night mist which curled about a meter above the still water surface. At the top of the fog blend in with the cold pre-dawn sky. The other side of the lake was not visible, only the top of the mist could see the hint of a dark mass rising behind a veil of cotton – there protruded crowns of trees like toadstools.
Nick – the so-called human friends and acquaintances – was raised with books – good books – and lived idealistic notions. So friends had little – those whom he considered as such. To acquaintances-he treated with irony and contempt, regardless of their position. However, the number of friends has never bothered him, the good does not happen much, and our world is just a poor generous soul.
The deficit amount should be filled with quality, thought Nick, and selection conducted very carefully.
Now he sat on a fragment of a tree trunk, back towards the remains of the campfire, surrounded by blackened rocks. Nearby, under pine trees stood a yellow tent. There was stirring, occasionally heard muffled exclamations.
– Something happened – thought Nick – something definitely happened. —
He could not understand, whence this feeling and it bothered him. Ingrained habit, he began to sort through the last days, checking himself, trying to look different – and unexpected – sides in words and deeds.
Everything was in order. There seems to be. From experience he knew that after some time can open up unexpected nuances, but so far everything seems to be in order, and he pretended to calm down. Then it will be later.
Shivering, he stood up, walked over to the campfire, looked around, saw written in a dry branches collected from the evening. He squatted down and sorted through the sticks, choosing dry. Randomly over the forest, circling a flock of birds, and their cries cut the air irritable and anxious. It felt like somewhere far away in the sky my g string broke.
2***
– then —
Zakharovy, zykovy the Windows looked out into the street named after the great leader. Street
was like a little Grand canyon, the hillsides were yellow and
red walls of century-old houses. At the bottom of the canyon ran a tram river. In moments the tram floods the walls of the houses shook and the ceiling rained white dust. To live here was all the same, what about the runway of a military airfield. Here you can easily become crazy, thought Nick.
Only Zach didn’t look like a psycho, on the contrary, he resembled a large, good Olympic God; – there was something Greek-Caucasian. If you look at it I wanted to take in one hand a tall, narrow glass with yellow, tart wine, and another skewer with exhaling the smoke flavor of barbecue to stand the table upright and pronounce endless toast. He would be bald, blond, would have been the spitting image of Bacchus. Said the male significantly and impressively.
– Jackdaw with cubs at the zoo, so relax. What’s new? —
– I don’t know – Nick shrugged – a Couple of disappointments… Nothing serious. —
To the disappointment of nick’s friends used to, and did not perceive dramatic.
– I hope not in the sense of life? – calmly asked the male, – what shall we do? Need to enjoy freedom. —
– The meaning of life? And he is? —
Well… drink beer … —
– Fuck you… you Know, just now I opened a couple of books, and … – The male tried to pass a moan. It was hot the moaning did not happen.
– Chekhov, – ruthlessly continued Nick, James Joyce. Full surprise.
– The male lazily nodded, – Joyce – okay. Abstruse uncle. And Anton Pavlovich – what? —
– Joyce just unclear. But Chekhov… a New edition has recently acquired. For the sake of the pleasure of receiving. Well, there is “Chameleon”, “Burbot”, “Surveyor”, you know. What? what did I see?!
– Publication appeared in Yiddish, nodded the male, – and you know, forgotten. —
– No. There was a completely different Chekhov. Not one that is “Kashtanka”, “the Boys” and so on. Not a textbook, some other. Full negative. Feeling know how the earth under my feet is gone. Something like short stories Gorky. Physiology, naturalism, decadence… And no positive. – Nick thought.
– It is certainly… depressing, – agreed Zahar-Only because there is Chekhov Chekhonte, and there’s Chekhov-playwright, tragedian. Of course, from school, we planted positive perception of the world, well, there – we have ours, we will build a new world. In short, stop whining, still ahead. What is Joyce? —
– “Ulysses” – said Nick – he’s actually in my hands for the first time caught, it’s not happened once. Performance what it was, of course. For reviews …Hemingway, Fitzgerald critics… some … —
And what performance? – Nick shook his hand – you Know, something insanely complex and interesting, so…
– And?
– And interest was enough for one page. Tuned in, you know, there – Kafka, Meyrink, Golding… And understand nothing… That is what it is – just stupid. But after waiting for the biblical revelation, after all, Hemingway, others – a complete delight! And – here. Stupid untidy heroes -it is unclear who lead an empty conversation-I know – yard
grandmother… And the meaning slips away, the feeling – that’s it, grabbed it, and it waved its tail, escaped from his hands, and again wander to the touch, whisking between the cold, invisible stones, and only water is flowing between the fingers. Pages six I have chewed – just out of stubbornness, Hemingway, after all… no Longer made.
– Not bear the soul of a poet, ' – said Zachary, In General, is that surprising? It’s not “the Gingerbread man”, a book for adults. And the taste and color … —
– That’s not it, – waved Nick – but then, there are the most common criteria. The integrity of the plot, psychological characteristics … —
– The horror … – nodded the male – only I beg, do not say beautiful. All the same