Reach

Majstor i margarita

vrlo relativno. dobro, ja sam zla. i kriva za sve. za tvoje zdravlje, tj manjak istog, za nepaznju, za neljubav, za tvoje... znas ti sto. jesam. jesi li ti zaista toliko slab da se ne mozes izborit protiv mene? a jebiga dragi, ja nikad nisam tvrdila da sam vrelo ljubavi, mira i razumjevanja. svi misle da je slatko kad kazem pazi se ja sam kucka. da, nosim cvike, i ne, nisam sminkerica, i da, pnekad sam znala sjedit u prvoj klupi, to ne znaci da zelim da me se mjesa s pickom u koju se zaljubio freddie prinC junior u "she's all that". sigurna sam da su oni bili jako sretni do kraja zivota. i da, mozda si u pravu, mozda ni jedan muskarac nece moc bit samnom. a dobro, zivot ce mi se svest na polupovrsne uglavnom sexualne veze koje mi nikad nece pruzit stabilnost ni mir. jos prije nekog vremena bila sam spremna uvjerit sebe da je stabilnost i mir bas ono sto mi treba. da sam ja ta koja je cudak u ovom svijetu i treba mi neko da me preodgoji, smiri, uredi, pretvori u normalnu malu djevojcicu i zenu sto svako mora bit. a mozda i ne mora? ipak, mislim da mi normalan zivot ne donosi zadovoljstvo. zao mi je zbog toga. i zao mi je zbog nas, jer iako neces priznat, i ne zelis shvatit, ja znam da ako nije danas bit ce sutra... ili za godinu dana. nije bas neka perspektiva jelda? ne necu doc zivit doli kuhat ti i radat djecu, najveci podhvat mogao bi biti da ostanem u splitu i tamo nesto napravim... ali i to je toliko malo vjerojatno da ne bi ni kupon za kerum sacuvala. metafore li. i ostaje cinjenica da se nikad necemo razumit i da cu te ja ipak uvijek pokusavat promjenit, a ti mene jos i vise. ostaje jedna velika zbrka, za koju sam se nadala da se nikad nece meni desit, ali i cinjenica da si se potpuno promjenio od kad si dosao s broda. da, znam, ja sam te prije mucila, a onda si se vratio i ne dopustas da te mucim. a vidim. jedino sto ne dopustas su planovi koje smo imali prije. zajednicki. ja bi trebala izigravat sluskinju u ovoj vezi? ne zelim... ne mogu. znam, nije zivot okrutan, ja sam... mogu zivit s tim. ne mogu zivit znajuci da sam odustala od svih svojih snova i ideja zato da bi nekome prala robu. to nisam ja. a to je, na kraju svega, ipak ono sto ti zelis da napravim. ja sam zla. dobro. zivim s tim vec 20 godina, valjda cu moc jos koju prije nego moj pakt s vragom dode do krajnje tocke i on me odvede natrag u svoj krevet. e da, i jedna apropriate pjesma, jes da nemam dick, ali da ga imam vjerojatno bi bila pisana bas za mene: by body count - evil dick Evil dick Evil, dick, evil, dick. Evil, dick, evil, dick. Evil dick likes warm, wet places, evil dick don't care about faces. Evil dick likes, young, tiny, small spaces, evil dick leaves little gooey telltale traces. Evil dick. Evil, dick, evil, dick. Evil, dick, evil, dick. Late at night evil dick he comes to me he says, "Don't sleep alone, don't sleep alone." Late at night evil dick he wakes me up he says, "Don't sleep alone, don't sleep alone, don't sleep alone, don't sleep alone, don't sleep aloooooooooone." Evil, dick, evil, dick. Evil, dick, evil, dick. I had this girl she said she loved me, thought there was no one ever above me, she wanted to marry and have my child, but evil dick he had to get buck wild. Took me out one night out with the freaks if ever there was pussy, evil dick would seek. My girl caught me skeezin' she said I wasn't shit! I said, "It wasn't me, baby. it was the muthafucka evil dick!" Late at night evil dick he comes to me he says, "Don't sleep alone, don't sleep alone." Late at night evil dick he wakes me up he says, "Don't sleep alone, don't sleep alone, don't sleep alone, don't sleep alone, don't sleep aloooooooooone." Evil, dick, evil, dick. Evil, dick, evil, dick. And when evil dick has its way, it sounds a little like this. AH, AH, AH, AH, OH, OH, OH, OH COME HERE BABY, COME HERE BABY, AH, AH, AH, AH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, OH SHIT, OH, OH OH, OH... DAMN DICK! Evil, dick, evil, dick. Evil, dick, evil, dick. Late at night evil dick he comes to me he says, "Don't sleep alone, don't sleep alone." Late at night evil dick he wakes me up he says, "Don't sleep alone, don't sleep alone, don't sleep alone, don't sleep alone, don't sleep aloooooooooone." Dugonjo... vako ti to ide, posto smo gore zakljucili da sam cruela d'evil, moglo bi se rec da sam blize paklu nego raju. moja verzija pakla za mene osobno nije toliko okrutna, jer ja sam ipak u svemu tome bride to the devil... ej!? jesi li citao majstora i margaritu? nemam verziju na hrvatskom ovdi, ali i engleski ce valjda posluzit - malo je veliko :/ sumnjam da nisi procitao ali za svaki slucaj, margarita je zaljubljena u majstora, i on u nju, ljubav cvate. vrag je "zamoli" da mu bude domacica na jednom balu koji proprema za svoje ... prijatelje. e pa ovo je isjecak o gostima i otprilike moja slika pakla, ipak je ovo bila prva knjiga o paklu koju sam procitala, izuzev biblije :D ‘Ten seconds to midnight,’ said Koroviev, ‘ it will begin in a moment.’ Those ten seconds seemed unusually long to Margarita. They had obviously passed but absolutely nothing seemed to be happening. Then there was a crash from below in the enormous fireplace and out of it sprang a gallows with a half-decayed corpse bouncing on its arm. The corpse jerked itself loose from the rope, fell to the ground and stood up as a dark, handsome man in tailcoat and lacquered pumps. A small, rotting coffin then slithered out of the fireplace, its lid flew off and another corpse jumped out. The handsome man stepped gallantly towards it and offered his bent arm. The second corpse turned into a nimble little woman in black slippers and black feathers on her head and then man and woman together hurried up the staircase. ‘The first guests!’ exclaimed Koroviev. ‘Monsieur Jacques and his wife. Allow me to introduce to you, your majesty, a most interesting man. A confirmed forger, a traitor to his country but no mean alchemist. He was famous,’ Koroviev whispered into Margarita’s ear, ‘ for having poisoned the king’s mistress. Not everybody can boast of that, can they? See how good-looking he is!’ Turning pale and open-mouthed with shock, Margarita looked down and saw gallows and coffin disappear through a side door in the hall. ‘We are delighted!’ the cat roared to Monsieur Jacques as he mounted the steps. Just then a headless, armless skeleton appeared in the fireplace below, fell down and turned into yet another man in a tailcoat. Monsieur Jacques’ wife had by now reached the head of the staircase where she knelt down, pale with excitement, and kissed Margarita’s foot. ‘Your majesty...’ murmured Madame Jacques. ‘Her majesty is charmed!’ shouted Koroviev. ‘Your majesty...’ said Monsieur Jacques in a low voice. ‘We are charmed!’ intoned the cat. The young men beside Azazello, smiling lifeless but welcoming smiles, were showing Monsieur and Madame Jacques to one side, wlhere they were offered goblets of champagne by the Negro attendants. The single man in tails came up the staircase at a run. ‘Count Robert,’ Koroviev whispered to Margarita. ‘An equally interesting character. Rather amusing, your majesty -- the case is reversed: he was the queen’s lover and poisoned his own wife.’ ‘We are delighted. Count,’ cried Behemoth. One after another three coffins bounced out o.f the fireplace, splitting and breaking open as they fell, then someone in a black cloak who was immediately stabbed in the back by the next person to come down the chimney. There was a muffled shriek. When an almost totally decomposed corpse emerged from the fireplace, Margarita frowned and a hand, which seemed to be Natasha’ s, offered her a flacon of sal volatile. The staircase began to fill up. Now on almost every step there were men in tailcoats accompanied by naked women who only differed in the colour of their shoes and the feathers on their heads. Margarita noticed a woman with the downcast gaze of a nun hobbling towards her, thin, shy, hampered by a stsrange wooden boot on her left leg and a broad green kerchief round her neck. ‘Who’s that woman in green?’ Margarita enquired. ‘A most charming and respectable lady,’ whispered Koroviev. ‘Let me introduce you -- Signora Toffana. She was extremely popular among the young and attractive ladies of Naples and Palermo, especially among those who were tired of their husbands. Women do get bored with their husbands, your majesty...’ ‘ Yes,’ replied Margarita dully, smiling to two men in evening dress who were bowing to kiss her knee and her foot. ‘Well,’ Koroviev managed to whisper to Margarita as he simultaneously cried: ‘ Duke! A glass of champagne? We are charmed!... Well, Signora Toffana sympathised with those poor women and sold them some liquid in a bladder. The woman poured the liquid into her husband’s soup, who ate it, thanked her for it and felt splendid. However, after a few hours he would begin to feel a terrible thirst, then lay down on his bed and a day later another beautiful Neapolitan lady was as free as air.’ ‘What’s that on her leg?’ asked Margarita, without ceasing to offer her hand to the guests who had overtaken Signora Toffana on the way up. ‘And why is she wearing green round her neck? Has she a withered neck?’ ‘Charmed, Prince!’ shouted Koroviev as he whispered to Margarita: ‘ She has a beautiful neck, but something unpleasant happened to her in prison. The thing on her leg, your majesty, is a Spanish boot and she wears a scarf because when her jailers found out that about five hundred ill-matched husbands had been dispatched from Naples and Palermo for ever, they strangled Signora Toffana in a rage.’ ‘How happy I am, your majesty, that I have the great honour...’ whispered Signora Toffana in a nun-like voice, trying to fall on one knee but hindered by the Spanish boot. Koroviev and Behemoth helped Signora Toffana to rise. ‘I am delighted,’ Margarita answered her as she gave her hand to the next arrival. People were now mounting the staircase in a flood. Margarita ceased to notice the arrivals in the hall. Mechanically she raised and lowered her hand, bared her teeth in a smile for each new guest. The landing behind her was buzzing with voices, and music like the waves of the sea floated out from the ball-rooms. ‘Now this woman is a terrible bore.’ Koroviev no longer bothered to whisper but shouted it aloud, certain that no one could hear his voice over the hubbub. ‘She loves coming to a ball because it gives her a chance to complain about her handkerchief.’ Among the approaching crowd Margarita’s glance picked out the woman at whom Koroviev was pointing. She was young, about twenty, with a remarkably beautiful figure but a look of nagging reproach. ‘What handkerchief?’ asked Margarita. ‘A maid has been assigned to her,’ Koroviev explained, ‘ who for thirty years has been putting a handkerchief on her bedside table. It is there every morning when she wakes up. She burns it in the stove or throws it in the river but every morning it appears again beside her.’ ‘What handkerchief?’ whispered Margarita, continuing to lower and raise her hand to the guests. ‘A handkerchief with a blue border. One day when she was a waitress in a cafe the owner enticed her into the storeroom and nine months later she gave birth to a boy, carried him into the woods, stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth and then buried him. At the trial she said she couldn’t afford to feed the child.’ ‘And where is the cafe-owner?’ asked Margarita. ‘But your majesty,’ the cat suddenly growled, ‘ what has the cafe-owner got to do with it? It wasn’t he who stifled the baby in the forest, was it?’ Without ceasing to smile and to shake hands with her right hand, she dug the sharp nails of her left hand into Behemoth’s ear and whispered to the cat: ‘If you butt into the conversation once more, you little horror...’ Behemoth gave a distinctly unfestive squeak and croaked: ‘Your majesty... you’ll make my ear swell... why spoil the ball with a swollen ear? I was speaking from the legal point of view ... I’ll be quiet, I promise, pretend I’m not a cat, pretend I’m a fish if you like but please let go of my ear!’ Margarita released his ear. The woman’s grim, importunate eyes looked into Margarita’ s: ‘I am so happy, your majesty, to be invited to the great ball of the full moon.’ ‘And I am delighted to see you,’ Margarita answered her, ‘ quite delighted. Do you like champagne?’ ‘Hurry up, your majesty!’ hissed Koroviev quietly but desperately. ‘You’re causing a traffic-jam on the staircase.’ ‘Yes, I like champagne,’ said the woman imploringly, and began to repeat mechanically: ‘ Frieda, Frieda, Frieda! My name is Frieda, your majesty!’ ‘Today you may get drunk, Frieda, and forget about everything,’ said Margarita. Frieda stretched out both her arms to Margarita, but Koroviev and Behemoth deftly took an arm each and whisked her off into the crowd. By now people were advancing from below like a phalanx bent on assaulting the landing where Margarita stood. The naked women mounting the staircase between the tail-coated and white-tied men floated up in a spectrum of coloured bodies that ranged from white through olive, copper and coffee to quite black. In hair that was red, black, chestnut or flaxen, sparks flashed from precious stones. Diamond-studded orders glittered on the jackets and shirt-fronts of the men. Incessantly Margarita felt the touch of lips to her knee, incessantly she offered her hand to be kissed, her face stretched into a rigid mask of welcome. ‘Charmed,’ Koroviev would monotonously intone, ‘ We are charmed... her majesty is charmed...’ ‘Her majesty is charmed,’ came a nasal echo from Azazello, standing behind her. ‘I am charmed!’ squeaked the cat. ‘Madame la marquise,’ murmured Koroviev, ‘ poisoned her father, her two brothers and two sisters for the sake of an inheritance... Her majesty is delighted, Mme. Minkin!... Ah, how pretty she is! A trifle nervous, though. Why did she have to burn her maid with a pair of curling-tongs? Of course, in the way she used them it was bound to be fatal . . . Her majesty is charmed!... Look, your majesty -- the Emperor Rudolf -- magician and alchemist... Another alchemist -- he was hanged... Ah, there she is! What a magnificent brothel she used to keep in Strasbourg! . . . We arc delighted, madame!... That woman over there was a Moscow dressmaker who had the brilliantly funny idea of boring two peep-holes in the wall of her fitting-room...’ ‘And didn’t her lady clients know? enquired Margarita. ‘Of course, they all knew, your majesty,’ replied Koroviev. ‘Charmed!... That young man over there was a dreamer and an eccentric from childhood. A girl fell in love with him and he sold her to a brothel-keeper... On and on poured the stream from below. Its source -- the huge fireplace -- showed no sign of drying up. An hour passed, then another. Margarita felt her chain weighing more and more. Something odd was happening to her hand: she found she could not lift it without wincing. Koroviev’s remarks ceased to interest her. She could no longer distinguish between slant-eyed Mongol faces, white faces and black faces. They all merged into a blur and the air between them seemed to be quivering. A sudden sharp pain like a needle stabbed at Margarita’s right hand, and clenching her teeth she leaned her elbow on the little pedestal. A sound like the rustling of wings came from the rooms behind her as the horde of guests danced, and Margarita could feel the massive floors of marble, crystal and mosaic pulsating rhythmically. Margarita showed as little interest in the emperor Caius Caligula and Messalina as she did in the rest of the procession of kings, dukes, knights, suicides, poisoners, gallows-birds, procuresses, jailers, card-sharpers, hangmen, informers, traitors, madmen, detectives and seducers. Her head swam with their names, their faces merged into a great blur and only one face remained fixed in her memory -- Malyuta Skuratov with his fiery beard. Margarita’s legs were buckling and she was afraid that she n^ight burst into tears at any moment. The worst pain came from her right knee, which all the guests had kissed. It was swollen, the skin on it had turned blue in spite of Natasha’s constant attention to it with a sponge soaked in fragrant ointment. By the end of the third hour Margarita glanced wearily down and saw with a start of joy that the flood of guests was thinning out. ‘Every ball is the same, your majesty.’ whispered Koroviev, ‘ at about this time the arrivals begin to decrease. I promise you that this torture will not last more than a few minutes longer. Here comes a party of witches from the Brocken, they’re always the last to arrive. Yes, there they are. And a couple of drunken vampires ... is that all? Oh, no, there’s one more . . . no, two more.’ The last two guests mounted the staircase. ‘Now this is someone new,’ said Koroviev, peering through his monocle. ‘Oh, yes, now I remember. Azazello called on him once and advised him, over a glass of brandy, how to get rid of a man who was threatening to denounce him. So he made his friend, who was under an obligation to him, spray the other man’s office walls with poison.’ ‘What’s his name?’ asked Margarita. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ said Koroviev, ‘ You’d better ask Azazello. ‘And who’s that with him?’ ‘That’s his friend who did the job. Delighted to welcome you!’ cried Koroviev to the last two guests. The staircase was empty, and although the reception committee waited a little longer to make sure, no one else appeared from the fireplace. veliko :( ebga. a raj? ne znam... ne mogu zamislit savrsenstvo koje ne bi postalo zamorno nakon nekog vremena... posebno tokom vjecnosti :) zato raj zamisljam vise kao neko mjesto u kojem bi bilo puno... informacija... i gdje bi mogli saznat sve sto zelimo, i bavit se bilo cime i druzit se s bilo kim i postat bilo sto. raznoliko. ne monotono... raj prikazuju uglavnom kao bijelo - plavi svijet oblaka gdje svi leze i uzivaju... prvih godinu dvije mozda bi bilo ok... ali nakon nekog vremena pozelis... hm... zivjeti. a stulica sumnjam da pustaju na radio Raj :D

Objavio Rea u 1. listopad 2004 10:20:00