Русское зазеркалье (двуязычная версия)

—those three lines of Verse 1 sound almost as an uncanny description of the contemporary cultural reality that Victor Tsoi was anticipating in 1983. Our culture has run out of themes, figuratively and literally so. We want to be mediocre, we praise mediocrity, we subdue to the power of mediocrity, which leaves us with no more themes to be explored, no new theories to be discovered, no new masterpieces to be created, no new magnificent temples to be built. We do not want our peace to be disturbed—no wonder, therefore, that the night surrounding us is way too dark. To be sure, it is better to light one small candle than to curse the darkness, as a well-known Chinese saying goes. But are we able to light this candle? Have we lit it?

All in all, the social reality too often forces us to make concessions. It sends us its

[f]lag-bearers one by one,

And each one of them knows how bitter the fruit tastes.

We all know too well that adult life can taste very bitter, indeed. The very necessity of choosing the lesser of two evils is in itself very unsweetened. The problem of Prince Myshkin, a character in The Idiot by Dostoyevsky, is that this ‘positively beautiful person,’ this ‘Prince Christ’ promptly refuses to make adult choices, almost each of which may be a choice of the lesser of two evils. A true warrior cannot allow himself this luxury.

You want to sleep, but here is the tea

—to quote from the song once again.

Does the combination of three words, ‘bitter,’ ‘tea,’ and ‘general,’ all of which emerge in the song’s lyrics, say anything to you? To me, it says a lot. It evokes in my memory The Bitter Tea of General Yen, a 1933 film by Frank Capra, a very ‘Victor-Tsoian’ story, if you allow me to use this rather ungrammatical adjective. ‘Do not be afraid to live your life,’ both the American film and the Russian song are saying to us. ‘Make adult decisions. Be prepared for their consequences, for one has to have wisdom, not just a kind heart, in order to do good works. If physical death is the consequence of your decision—drink the bitter tea of your choice. If, on the other hand, being unknown and living an unremarkable life is the consequence of your moral choice for good—accept your bitter tea without any hesitation.’

‘Why,’ you would ask me, ‘and what for?’ For the simple reason that courage becomes a man—a ‘man’ in the old-fashioned sense of this word, that is. The reward for your courage is still to come. ‘Tomorrow morning,’ Victor Tsoi promises, ‘you might find that one key in a bundle of keys.’ It is the key to Eternal Life—to the Final Liberation, if you want to put it in more Buddhist, more Tsoian terms. Will you ever receive that key? ‘Maybe’ is the only candid answer that can be given. Rest assured, though, that if you refuse to make moral choices, to accept your obligations, to drink the bitter tea of your life—you will never get hold of that one key. Amen.[1]

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Этим хулиганистым «Аминь», больше приличествующим проповеди, а не рассказу светского человека о светском предмете, я бы постеснялась закончить любую лекцию, кроме последней — но сейчас подумала, что мне, собственно, нечего терять.

Небольшая аудитория была полна, заняты оказались все двадцать четыре места. Но более того: примерно через четверть часа после начала занятия без всякого стука вошла Anya, помощница миссис Уолкинг; в руках она несла складной стул из актового зала. Встретившись со мной глазами, Anya улыбнулась, но ничего пояснять не стала, а вместо этого разложила и поставила стул в двух метрах от стола преподавателя. Вышла, так и не сказав ни слова.

Через минуту в аудиторию вошёл сэр Гилберт. Повернув голову к студентам, он приложил палец к губам, как бы говоря о том, что его не надо приветствовать, а, развернувшись ко мне, сделал мне знак продолжать, не останавливать лекцию, и несколько грузно уселся в поставленное для него кресло. Видеть его было приятно, и я продолжила с бóльшим воодушевлением.