The Gallows. իմ անգլերեն ու թարգմանված աշխատանքները

[Վահե-91]

իսկ հայերենով որտեղ կարելի ա կարդալ ՞

[Rhayader]

Աշխատանքների որոշ մասն՝ այստեղ http://songoffall.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html

[Rhayader]

Այս մեկն Ակումբում էլ է ժամանակին տեղադրվել

Swing Me

Day One
I was walking, I like walking, actually. The snow got hard from the cold and was making cracking noises with each my step. It seemed like the air could crack too; but I'd need something more tender than my frozen feet to make it sound.

Didn't know the places was walking through; at least thought so. But, despite it, something directed the steps, knew where was going. The snow had covered the ground, but somehow knew there was paving under the snow.

Maybe you'll find it strange. Was so deep inside my thoughts, didn't even try to understand all the hows and whys. Not real thoughts, just followed the chaotic patterns in the snow, that the mind followed and repeated.

Wasn't surprised when reached an old, abandoned playground. Broken and rusty swings and benches were covered in snow caps. There he sat - on the only decent swings. He looked at the cold, white winter sun with half-closed eyes and swinging himself gently, pushing the ground with one foot.

Didn't want to speak, but he didn't disturb the loneliness either. Maybe didn't even notice. He just swung and looked at the sun.

Cleared one of the benches of snow and sat down. Maybe looked funny wearing that white, childish coat and a brown beret. Did it matter?

Don't know why, started watching him with a corner of my eye. Middle height, neat brown hair. His features were tender, almost feminine, but his chin spoke of strong-willed nature.

Just swinging on the swings, without noticing anyone or anything. The swings made a quiet rhythmic squeak. Forgot about his existence soon and slumbered a little.

Woke up, when the sun was turning to the horizon. He was still in his place, like only moments had passed. Stood up, rubbed my frozen hands. It was time to go home.

Day Two
Came back again, didn't know why. Maybe the reason was the same - the patterns of the snow took the body, forsaken by mind, to that place forsaken by people.

He was there too, unchanged like the playground. Swinging, like the day before.

- Hello.

He opened his half-closed eyes and smiled a little.

- Hello,- he said.

Cleared the bench from the snow once again and sat down. His voice was mild and deep, but a strange thing happened - like it sounded in the head, and a moment later forgot how it sounded. But the feeling remained.

The wind was a bit cold. Saw that he was human too, he had wrapped himself tight in his coat. So he felt was cold too.

The sun warmed a little, but that made the sharp wind even harder to bear. Dug inside the coat and started to watch the surrouning. Black, withered trees were everywhere, outstretched to the sky like bony senile hands. Like they cursed the heavens for their misery.

And snow. So much you wouldn't see the end of it. Snow covered in chaotic, strange patterns, that captivated the mind those days.

Day Three
- Are you always here?

He lifted his eyes and smiled.

- Hello.

Felt a little confused, it was impolite to approach a stranger and ask strange questions without even saying "hello". But he didn't notice it or didn't show he noticed.

- I really spend a lot of time here these days. Strange, isn't it? I like it here. But you should understand me; you're not coming here to watch me either.

The weather was fine that day, no wind. Felt nice to feel the mild warmth of the sun.

He paused a little, then asked:

- If you want to swing, I'll help.

Mouth acted quicker than the mind.

- Sorry, I'm married.

Just a standard answer given to all men who tried to be friendly. Maybe wanted to believe in that failed marriage still.

He wasn't even surprised. Just looked with that piercing, kind look and said:

- Did I suggest a date? Just swing; if you want to.

- As you wish,- put as much ice in the voice as could. Wanted to? Didn't know anymore.

He stood up, the same calm man. Sat on the swings and stopped thinking. Again the same black trees and the illogical patterns of the snow, they fitted alright with the numb state of mind.

Only one thing had changed: the playground was no longer in stasis; it swung before my eyes.

He swung for some hours, not showing any sign of boredom. With each swing fell deeper and deeper into my slumber. Swinging white ground and black trees; was it all that remained of life?

Woke up when it started to get colder.

Got off the swings.

- Thank you.

- Never mind: I think I won't be wrong to say - till tomorrow.

Didn't answer.

Day Four
No need to say he was right. Didn't come for him, just did what had to do, and it couldn't go the other way around. Sat on the bench again and tried to follow the weird game of snow and trees, where even the wildest movements had frozen into stasis. There was something wrong in it, something artificial.

He was there - sitting on his swings as always, swinging. Went to him and said:

- Will you swing me?

He raised his eyes and smiled again.

- Hello. Of course. I thought you'd want to swing, but let you decide.

Day Five
- What is your name?

- Does it matter? You're married, and I'm leaving in two days.

The snow and the trees were less interesting now than this strange man.

- Leaving? Where? Why?

- It doesn't matter. Let's not spoil everything, okay?

- As you wish. Just keep swinging, okay?

Day Six
Mind was heavy, went to the playground that day. Knew would be seeing him for the last time. As always, he was sitting on the swings with that calm on his face - and swinging himself.

- You're leaving tomorrow?

- Hello. Yes, it's time to. I've been staying in the same place for too long. Time to move on.

- May I write to you?

- If you want to.

He stood up. Hugged him, buried my head in his coat. He hugged back. Lifted my face and tried to catch his lips with mine, didn't know why.

He put his finger on my lips and said.

- No need to. Don't spoil everything.

Started crying.

- Don't cry, please.

His eyes were wet too.

I asked:

- Will you swing me? Please?

His moves were passionate, but the old tenderness wasn't los.

- More, please. More. More...

The swinging became violent. I was weeping and laughing, lost in that miserable euphoria.

Day Seven
The playground was empty. The wind moved his swings, but they were as dead and empty, as the frozen snow and the tree-claws in their meaningless curse.

Cleared the bench of snow and sat down. Depressed. Waited for an hour and took out my phone, called his number. It was busy. Tried once more - same thing.

Then I understood. Looked at the number and saw - it was my own.

My sadness disappeared, now I knew I'd never have to miss him. I sat on the swings, my swings. And swung myself, pushing the ground with my foot.

Then I left the playground. It was time to move on.

[Rhayader]

Goodreads-ի հղումն՝ այստեղ http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/312128-swing-me

[Rhayader]

The Legend of Cain

At last the first rays of the Sun touch the top of the Stone God. That day of each year is very important: when the old Sun starts dying, and in the womb of the God a new one starts forming.

Everyone knows how everything dies: people, the earth, the sun - everything but the Stone God, like she's thrown out of time - never changes. Glorious is the God, almighty and eternal. It is the good and the bad, and nothing ever happens if she wills not.

Two men are going up the hill, bearing gifts. They are tired: a whole night of dancing around the sacred bonfire hailing the Stone God, as the Sun dies and is reborn by her will.

When they come closer, their resemblance becomes visible: brothers. They reach the God and put their load on the stony altars. The one on the right puts a living lamb, and the one on the left puts fruits and vegetables. The right brother is a shepherd, the left one - a gardener. The right brother raises his black stony dagger and cuts the lamb's neck artery with one strike, pressing the animal to the stone with his other hand. The lamb convulses and goes cold. Its eyes become fogged, and the altar is red of its blood. Rays of Sun slide over the God's shoulder and rest on the right brother. And they both understand, that this year the accepted sacrifice was his.

On the way back the left brother asks the right one:

- Why does the God accept your sacrifice every time and ignore mine, brother?

- Because I give her what I love most - the smallest lamb of my herd, and my heart aches with it, when I raise the knife,- answers the right one.- I'm sacrificing the dearest that I have.

- If I sacrifice the God the dearest that I have, brother, will she accept my sacrifice?

- She will.

A year passes, and the same day comes. The left brother has lain the right one upon the altar. Tears run down his cheeks.

- God!- he calls.

The God is silent. The left brother continues.

- I sacrifice to you the dearest that I have; my own brother! Accept my sacrifice!

He raises the black stony dagger and cuts his brother's neck artery, pressing him to the altar with his other hand. The right brother convulses and goes cold. Rays of Sun slide over the God's shoulder and rest on the left brother. And he understands, that his sacrifice has been accepted.

Goodreads-ի հղում՝ http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/...legend-of-cain

[Rhayader]

The Cold

Can't say for sure, when I stopped moving. Maybe it was happening for a long time, and I just didn't notice. Maybe I didn't need to move for a long time. I just felt one day like I was stuck in some kind of a liquid losing my will and that I'm drowning. I felt cold; the only thing I know for sure.

When she entered the room, I tried to smile, say it was all right, but couldn't. Seemed like I only needed to use my will and my lips would draw a smile, but I couldn't. She went to the mirror and opened a bottle of perfume; it's honey-almond-muscat scent would drive me crazy once. Yet I didn't feel it. I understood - I couldn't smell anymore.

I was lying under the sheets - cold.

Tried to reconstruct the scent of Cristian Dior - Pure Poison, but I couldn't. The liquid was touching my back and pressing on my chest and pulling me deeper.

She came to my bed, called my name, called me sleepy and laughed: I remember how sunlight was falling through white curtains and grains of dust were shining through it. Remembered that I had forgotten to clear the dust on the piano and it made me sad.

The liquid was pulling me deeper, and I understood I wanted to sleep again. Remembered, how in summer, while walking through dry grass, wild barley spikes got into my socks, and that was unpleasant. How I sat down on a stone and pulled all the spikes out.

Then I remembered how I saw in my dream, when I was little, that the big, green plants near our house were violets. And in the morning, when I woke up, I went to gather them, a woman said:

"Don't bother, those aren't violets".

Though I never told anyone of my dreams and those plants didn't even look like violets. Maybe that woman had seen my dream too.

She pushed me: it was unpleasant. I wanted to sleep. Then she lighted a cigarette and started smoking, sitting near me. She had braided her hair already.

I remembered how my bones ached and my skin itched after laying on wet grass: I knew the liquid would do the same.

Then she looked at me and got pale. Called, pushed and laid me on my back, threw the sheets away. I tried to laugh, tell her it was all right, but then understood, why I couldn't. I didn't want to laugh, I didn't want to say it was all right.

She put her head against my chest, then the palms of her hands. She started pushing my chest, pushing me deeper into the liquid. And I knew what I wanted to tell her: don't push me deeper, help me. Help me get out of this swamp, tear my chest, there isn't enough space there for me.

But I knew she wouldn't understand me. She never understood me. When she embraced me and kissed my lips, the taste of her spittle mixed with her tears was unpleasant, and the weight of her body pushed me deeper.

But that didn't matter anymore, did it?

Then, I don't know how many years later, trees tore my chest and pulled me out in the sun. And I knew all the feelings I had last had come back to me with the spring grass.

Goodreads-ի հղում՝ http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/312456-the-cold