Joseph Brodsky. Dovlatov in Leningrad
We met in an apartment on the fifth floor near the Finland Station. The owner was a student of the philological faculty of Leningrad State University – now he is a professor of the same department in a small town in Germany. The apartment was small, but the alcohol in it was a lot. It was winter either 1959, or 1960, and we were precipitated whereas the same korotkostrizhenuyu comely castle, located somewhere on the sand. For reasons too outlandish to enumerate them here, the siege that I had to take off soon and go to Central Asia. When he returned two months later, I found that the fortress fell.
I always thought that the Giant his growing relationship with our squat blond reality had to emerge from it rather peculiar way .
He was always visible from a distance, especially given the prospects for flawless hometown, and unwittingly found himself the center of attention in any of its premises. I think this is its somewhat oppressed, especially in his youth, and his manners and speech was characterized by some ironic courtesy, as it justifies and excuses him physical redundancy. I think that is partly why he took later the pen: a feeling bordering on the absurd paradoxical nature of what is happening both outside and inside his mind, inherent in almost everything, from the pen of him out
On the other hand,. exclusivity of its appearance relieved him from excessive worries about his appearance. All my life, as I remember him, he passed with the same hairstyle: I do not remember it either long-haired or bearded. His weight was a certain finality, more peculiar, as a rule, dark hair than blondes; dark-haired man is always more specific, even in the mirror. Philological girls called him “our Arab” – because of the resemblance with Sergei was the first time appeared on our screens Omar Sharif. To me he was always vaguely reminded of Peter, though his face was completely been deprived of Peter koshachesti, for the prospects of his native city (as I imagined) keep the memory of this restless walking miles and someone must from time to time to fill left it to vacuum the air.
Then he disappeared from the street, because it thundered into the army.
he returned from there, as Tolstoy from the Crimea, with a scroll of stories and a dazed in his eyes. Why he brought them to me, it was not very clear, as I wrote poetry. On the other hand, I was a few years older, and as a young man in two years the difference is quite significant: the inertia effect of high school, senior high complex; if you write poetry, you’re a high school student to a greater extent with respect to the prose writer. Following this inertia, he showed he stories its still Naiman, who was still more senior
From both of us then it is strongly inherited:. Show them to us, however, he not stopped, because it does not stop them to write.
When a person dies so early, there are assumptions about the assumptions they or others error. This is a natural attempt to protect themselves from grief, from the monstrous pain caused by the loss. I do not think that grief should be protected, the protection can be successful. The arguments about the existence of other versions eventually humiliating for one of these options to be found. I do not think Seryozhin life could be lived differently; just I think that the end of it could be different, less terrible. Such a dreadful end – in the stifling summer day in an ambulance in Brooklyn, with gushing throat with blood and two Puerto Rican assholes as paramedics – he would never have written: not because they did not foresee, but because averse to too strong effects.
Tamara Zibunova. Sergei Dovlatov in Tallinn
Sergei Dovlatov arrived in Tallinn at the end of September 1972. We hardly knew. The first two did not answer the phone, and my answer. On the phone, agreeing on spending the night, he said:
– Tamara, but do not worry, when I see it. I’m a big, black, with a mustache. It looks like a merchant apricots from the market!
I fed him dinner and offered to go to bed. I had the morning to work. Sergei was excited. Lie could not. I wanted to drink. He was decent at that time with an amount of money – rubles and thirty:
– Tamara! I was the first time in Tallinn. Yet it is almost the West for us. So you want to get to the pub night, if we do not have what we have noted acquaintance.
We were lucky. We are in the famous Mundi bar. Sergey confused. Vodka is not. Serve the weak cocktails. Cognac is only a la carte – 50 grams. Even without knowing his relationship with alcohol and not realizing that he was with a hangover, I suggested to my taste is very beneficial and delicious cocktails – gin and vermouth. For breakfast there were only roasted nuts. No drink or snack Sergei did not like.
All sorts of courtship I slapped. Recalling that he had asked only for the night
His friends -. Repetsky Roginskii and Misha – he found only a few days. They were out in the city. Both worked in the “Soviet Estonia.” Repetsky – in the department of rural life, Roginskii – industrial. They took him to the editorial board of three Russian newspapers – his “Estonian Youth” and “Evening Tallinn”. Presented. Normal operation was not there. And if there was, no one wanted to take the cat in a bag. They offered to be a freelance correspondent. Sergei began to write for everyone. While fees gave the day of release material. By evening, the money tends to be spent. Attracts me not going. I decided to take care of. Six weeks later, I realized that I should call the police or to expel him, or surrender. Its one of the literary versions of love with his wife Lena, “I forgot Gurevich” – a copy of the beginning of our relationship, but on the contrary, he was in the house, from which he did not want to leave. Although Roginskii he always offered more affluent women and surprised his perseverance:
– Tamara same beggar
I tried to find some! even a permanent job. But there was no registration of Tallinn. This complicates the search. One of my student friends worked in the boiler room. There was the entire staff of their own. A sort of company dissident young people. In those years, a lot of work especially humanitarian intelligentsia stokers, watchmen and others. Day work, rest for seven days. In fact, it was necessary to work together again in four days. But all were young and physically strong. Duty one.
The company Sergey liked. But especially attracted operation. He worked there for about two months. Seven or eight duty. The work was hard and monotonous. Coal was on the street. We had to take the car, fill it with charcoal and carry into the basement in the boiler room. And there were several furnaces. Coal burned quickly. As I recall, the most irritated him almost continuous monotonous work with a wheelbarrow. Two days before the duty mood spoiled. Each worker evening he begged to come at least for an hour. Brighten life.
I have left in the memories of this incessant walking with a wheelbarrow. With an empty upstairs, with full – down. I laughed:
– Well, not vice versa
Yuri Druzhnikov!. Dovlatov in America
San Francisco in April 1989. Pre-announced in the newspapers Dovlatova meeting with readers. Sell tickets, the hall is full. Most of his pension represented the elite of the Russian emigration. Dovlatov also advertises itself is not, as some graphics Moscow, which brought in California exhibition of his perestroika, but still agitpropovskih posters
-. Serge, on the hell do you spend on it forces
? – and he’s a good guy, you have to support him …
I preside, and, therefore, represent its readers. It is, as it should be the speaker, clean-shaven and slightly drunk. Agreed even by phone to conduct the meeting as a dialogue, as the argument to the audience was more interesting. Of course, I try to talk more Dovlatov, but I feel that he kept silent, politely giving me this opportunity. During the break, I ask him what the matter
-. You are so right about me talking. Play a much more pleasant!
Hearing of Dovlatov’s death, I went to the university library and sat down on the floor next to the shelves, as do students. Here, in the silence, it was possible to turn away from the hustle and mourn. Before my eyes Dovlatov stood on the same shelf with Dostoevsky. I do not want to say that, in addition, that said, one letter on the same shelf.
I took the book off the shelf Dovlatova, went to the table and began to set. I put his picture. The result was a small exhibition.
We went to inquire of my graduate students, what I’m doing. I explained.
We sat around. I read them a little of his story. Most of them did not understand, I had to be transferred. Then we spent a few minutes in silence.
And so the days go on. We still have, and no Dovlatov. In this there is some problem of the logic of human existence that older alive, and someone who is younger, no. I can not explain why it seems so unfair, maybe because these things happening and does not depend on us.
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