Склонились у ног его боги и бесы, Ведь даже они не поверили смерти. Гитара под утро озябнет без песни. Согрейте ее -- бога ради! Согрейте! начало августа 1980 г...
Забрав свечу, она уйти Хотела, я позвал ее, Прося подушку принести Под изголовие мое. Она подушку принесла..
Веслами отрубленных рук Вы гребетесь в страну грядущего. Плывите, плывите в высь! Лейте с радуги крик вороний!..
Этель Лилиан Войнич (Ethel Lilian Voynich) родилась 11 мая 1864 г. в семье известного английского математика Джорджа Буля (Boole). Она окончила
Берлинскую консерваторию и одновременно слушала лекции по славяноведению в
Берлинском университете. В молодости она сблизилась с политическими эмигрантами из разных стран. В их числе были русские и польские революционеры, итальянцы.
В конце 80-х годов будущая писательница жила в России, в Петербурге. По свидетельству ее русских современников, она уже в ту пору хорошо знала русский язык, живо интересовалась вопросами политики. Ее мужем стал участник польского национально-освободительного движения Вильфрид Михаил
Войнич, бежавший в 1890 г. из царской ссылки в Лондон. Через Войнича, бывшего одним из организаторов эмигрантского «Фонда вольной русской прессы» в Лондоне и сотрудником журнала «Свободная Россия» (Free Russia), Э. Л.
Войнич тесно сблизилась с русскими народовольцами, и особенно с С. М.
Степняком-Кравчинским.
...' After a moment, he standing, drinking water, she like a crystal witch over the caramel brew bubbling like a prehistoric mudpot on the stove, she said, 'Oh, I must light the pumpkins!' and she rushed to the living room to make the pumpkins smile with light. He came after, smiling, 'I must get my pipe.' 'Oh, the cider!' she had cried, running to the dining room. 'I'll check the cider,' he had said. But when he tried following she ran to the bathroom and locked the door. He stood outside the bathroom door, laughing strangely and senselessly, his pipe gone cold in his mouth, and then, tired of the game, but stubborn, he waited another five minutes. There was not a sound from the bath. And lest she enjoy in any way knowing that he waited outside, irritated, he suddenly jerked about and walked upstairs, whistling merrily. At the top of the stairs he had waited. Finally he had heard the bathroom door unlatch and she had come out and life below-stairs and resumed, as life in a jungle must resume once a terror has passed on away and the antelope return to their spring. Now, as he finished his bow-tie and put his dark coat there was a mouse-rustle in the hall. Marion appeared in the door, all skeletons in her disguise. 'How do I look, Papa?' 'Fine!' From under the mask, blonde hair showed. From the skull sockets small blue eyes smiled. He sighed. Marion and Louise, the two silent denouncers of his virility, his dark power. What alchemy had there been in Louise that took the dark of a dark man and bleached the dark brown eyes and black hair and washed and bleached the ingrown baby all during the period before birth until the child was born, Marion, blonde, blue-eyed, ruddy-cheeked? Sometimes he suspected that Louise had conceived the child as an idea, completely asexual, an immaculate conception of contemptuous mind and cell. As a firm rebuke to him she had produced a child in her own image, and, to top it, she had somehow fixed the doctor so he shook his head and said, 'Sorry, Mr Wilder, your wife will never have another child...
