Short Story – Ivan
Photo credit: dieraecherin from morguefile.com
- I live with your joy.
- I am because you were.
This editorial office was in small, ancient, very nice building. Working day was over, and all editors are gone, only Head Editor stayed to sit at the table still. Young man entered the editorial office.
-What is new, Ivan?- asked the editor.
Young man held out to him a pile of printed pages.
-Goodbye,- said editor and rose from the table.
From editorial office young man headed for his favorite cafe. It was situated in large beautiful garden with marvelous sight from there. He took coffee with cakes and after meal stayed sitting yet breathing pure and fresh air.
At home he sat down at the table piled with blank pages, took a quill, and first four lines were formed on the page. He heard marvelous clinking music and noticed, that tumblers in his cupboard are moving, clinking and shining with coloured lights. He felt, that his body is getting lighter, and saw, that walls of his room are moving and disappearing. Feeling a breath of night wind, he flied over river’s shore, where bonfires were burning and almost naked people were sitting around them, enjoying heat and meal. They filled all valleys between green hills, that looked like enormous empty homes in the light of bonfires. Smell of grapes from the hills was sweet and delicate. When Ivan saw river mouth, it was already light. On the water meadows wonderful flowers grew, and flock of little birds drank nectar.
He flied over seacoast and soon saw rocks instead of hills. Rocks went higher and higher, and at last Ivan stopped. He stood on a crest of volcano. Flame burst out of crater touched his hands and sleeves. Large stone thrown out of crater hit him, and he fell down on the slope. He fell downhill, and stones rolled down near him and bumped him until he fell in the sea. Underwater world was around him. His body was getting transparent more and more until it became liquid. He swam underwater. Going through every thing he saw its inner structure. Strange creations swam near him. They were unlike everything he ever saw. They talked in language, that nobody ever would understand, and Ivan answered them.
He swam quicker and quicker and at last swam so quickly, that was unable to discern anything, and suddenly everything vanished. He sat at the table in his room. He glanced at the heap of written pages:
-What an awful handwriting!
He lay down straight on the bed in trousers and shoes and didn’t notice as he fell asleep. Next morning when Ivan breakfasted in his favorite cafe Head Editor took a seat near him.
- – You are remarkable poet, Ivan and people are fond of you, but they could appreciate and adore your poetry if they would be able to see it.
- – To see it?!
- – I have a splendid proposal to you. I have a friend, director of theatre. He has a new theatre in very good part of city and longs to stage a play. I am sure that you are writing a play.
- – A play?!
- – Certainly! When people will see your play they will go mad from joy, being able to feel your poetry and to comprehend it.
- – To comprehend it?!
- – Do you feel yourself well, Ivan? You look tired.
- – Perhaps, you are right. I’ll saunter a little.
Sitting on the bench in city park, Ivan vividly represented to himself how the audience little by little is going mad watching his play. And he laughed heartily, surprising passing by walkers. Week later his editor visited him at home.
- – Did you glance over the script? It is excellent, isn’t it?
- – Excuse me, but I would never write such thing.
- – Ivan! Do you really want to relinquish your authorship?!
- – Of course, not, but only don’t ask me for watching it.
After premiere Ivan saw his editor in elated mood.
- – You are poet of the century, Ivan. Just look at the headlines. Tickets were sold up to the end of the season. Let’s celebrate.
- – How ridiculous it is! – thought Ivan, sitting with editor in restaurant, – people like most that I would never write…, but many years up to now they have read my poetry and were fond of it. Didn’t they deserve even once to admire by what they like most, though it’s bad? What does it matter?
- You know, – said he, – I am glad that just you are my editor and I’ll never change you even if I’ll be completely worthless.
__END__
