olhanninen (olhanninen) wrote,
olhanninen
olhanninen

Родина помнит, родина знает: только не бейте ногами по лицу: про любовь, морковь и помидоры...


Для разбивки. Чтоб не все время о грустном. Весна - как-никак...

А то давно я себя не хвалила, уж истосковалась вся из себя. И тем более - чужими руками, мозгами, словами, чувст... - и по-английски.
И не просите, не переведу - лень.
И потом уважаю аффтора, испорчу же все переводом,... - а он и еще один его тезка - единственные мои любовники, которые остались со мной в хороших... нет, вообще в каких-либо отношениях... (Все же остальные были такие, хоть и не вспоминай, - да вы себе даже представить не можете, какие - жуть с ружьем... а иногда - и с ножом. И за что мне такое? - страдалица я потамушта, да просто - подвижница, и ангел в глубине души, - а они - козлы и обезьяны, шекспировыми словами выражаясь)...

Для неанглоговорящих: там написано, что я - самая замечательная, аж до такой степени, что вся эта катастройк... прости, Зиновьев, вечная память... перестройка получилась из-за меня, вот...

Сам же аффтор стал спецом по аутизму, ага. В психологи пошел. Нонче в град-скул подвязался. (Это все - я, я, Я! Не верите? Ну, правда же... не мог же он сам... так над собой вырасти...ну, сами посудите...)

Когда я спросила, можно ли его стародавнее студенческое эссе опубликовать в моих меморизах, то он ответил, что по фигу - хоть где, хоть и с фамилией и адресом. Вот что психология с человеком делает: никакой скромности не остается... Не дождетси! - это же реклама, а я - правоверная жжистка: вроде как нельзя тут рекламировать ничего, а?)



Money first: she walks in beauty!
Byron & Olga


I met her in September 1989 in St-Petersburg Technical University. I was a freshman, and she was my philosophy instructor. That was time of great changes in Russia, and those changes were possible because of the people like Olga; if I had to choose only one word to characterize her it would be ‘freedom’.

It was a strange time for students – nobody knew what we had to study. Mathematics, physics and chemistry were not bad – even communists could not change it very much even though they tried really hard, but history, literature and first of all philosophy were drown in communist ideology. Everybody understood that we needed new courses, but most of the instructors did not want to take such risk – communists still were in charge, and the old times could come back with political prisoners, forced emigration and mental clinics for those who think different. Olga was not a professor; the professor, her boss, gave lectures to several classes, and she conducted seminars for each class. The attendance was free. I visited first hour of the first lecture and all seminars. Lectures were about dialectic Marxism; the professor did not change them since Stalin’s era. On the first seminar Olga said that she was supposed to discuss with us our lectures, but instead she was going to study what was interesting for her: Western philosophy such as Jose Ortega-I-Gusset, Nietzsche, old Russian philosophy – Berdyaev, Vasiliev, etc.

Olga was only 6-8 years older than her students. She was miniature gorgeous woman. I remember her smile, and smiles were not common on Russian faces that time, her fast movements and huge funny glasses. She always cared a walkman and said that she was studding English. Later I found out that she was kidding. Olga listened to music; she knew English perfectly; in fact, she had worked on her PhD in a Canadian university and even gave lectures in English there. I else found out that she spent more on taxi to get our university than was her salary. Her real income was formed by money she received from rich lovers and private English lessons for children. I saw her English lessons – children loved her, and she loved children. Olga did not like adults in general, and adult world did not like her either. We, her students, were between adults and children. We were adults by age, but world around us was changing dramatically, and we felt like children doing first steps. Our minds were open, and classes on her seminars were always full. Few years later Olga left the university – students of the same age did not care about philosophy anymore - they became adults.

After I had finished her course, only two semesters unfortunately, I did not see her for five or six years, but when I was in transition I thought of her. I had a small question for her – “What is the sense of live?” It was not easy to find her – she moved to another apartment, married three times and three times got divorced, emigrated and came back to Russia. First husband tried to kill her with knife; second caught her on cheating; third shot her in the back – I saw the scars from bullets. When I finally got here phone number and called her she spoke in very formal tone, but what she said was strange. It was about 9 - 10 in the morning. She said that she would meet with me right now and would appreciate if I could buy four bottles of beer, some food and cigarettes (I forget to mention she smoked the cheapest and strongest cigarettes without filter). One hour later I knocked in her door. She lived in an old house built in fifties during the Cold War; there was sign “Shelter” under the entrance. The bomb shelter was in the basement, but later I connected that sign to her apartment.

I do not remember what we talked about; it was not about sense of live for sure. She talked so fast that I could not follow all those stories about her live in Canada, her lovers and husbands. We were drinking beer and vodka; strange people came in and out; I had no idea what was going on. Around 10 p.m. I gave Olga and her friend, Natalie-Disaster, ride to a nightclub and went home – I had to work next day. At three in the morning I got a phone call. Olga said that she was in the nightclub and criminals did not let her go. When I got there I did not see any criminals; Olga said, “Common, let’s go”, and nobody tried to stop us. I brought her to my place. Suddenly, the next morning was without any bad feeling, which usually follows such nights.

We were together for two years; it was anything but boring. Finally, I made a mistake - I tried to change her, and we broke up. Olga got married fourth time and emigrated again. She is my closest friend now. If I decide to send this essay to her she will laugh at the idea that changes in Russia were possible because of her. Olga always was out of any politics. She just did what she wanted, and I consider it the best politics possible.
Tags: Россия, любовь, образование, перестройка, язык
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