|Модератор форума: Диана
Дуэль №607 (Eng): кипрес & Lambengolmo
Замечания : 0%
Требования: рассказ без жанра на английском.
Сроки: 3 недели на написание, две на голосование.
Добавлено (25.03.2016, 18:33)
Дуэль переносится на понедельник.
Замечания : 0%
- That’s because you don’t have enough interest to read books, - said Laura. – How do you expect to attain any knowledge without reading?
Jody kept silent for a moment.
- Well, I do read… - she replied finally. – I just need more practice, I think.
Laura smiled gloomily and put a piece of ham onto her bread and cheese sandwich.
- I just don’t understand, - Jody continued. – Am I so completely wrong?
John came in carrying a lump of used surgical drapes. John was tall, with his hair almost shaved off, which made him look small-headed. He was just as awkward in outward appearance as he was mentally. John pushed the drapes into the washing machine, turned it on and looked around.
- What’re you talking about, that little fever guy? – He asked.
Probably he thought they were taking about that fever guy because everyone in the clinic was talking about that fever guy.
- Yes and no, - said Laura – How is he doing?
- Just good enough to last out till tomorrow if we don’t do anything. They are going to cut him out and look for a foreign body, haven’t you heard yet?
Jody had already heard and she had a lot to say about it, but she wouldn’t. It was a strange story that she obviously could not truly comprehend, for what other doctors in the clinic were doing with that dog seemed to her to be completely pointless. Anyways, no one had asked for her opinion, and after all, she is only a student. Just a minute ago Jody was complaining about lack of skills and experience and describing to Laura how useless she felt sometimes, so it would be ridiculous to question somebody’s competence aloud.
The patient was a six months old chihuahua who had suddenly ceased eating and become inert about a week ago. All this time he had had fever that couldn’t be subdued with any medicine. Owners had tried several doctors before finally landing here two days ago, and since they had come nothing changed.
He was put on antibiotics and they didn’t do any better. He was x-rayed three times without and two times with radiocontrast agent and didn’t show any sign of a foreign body. For some reason nobody was about to do further diagnostic like attempting to differentiate the infection or considering a possibility of an autoimmune disease. They looked for some purely surgical problem with an enormous persistence.
Jody wondered why Laura was quiet about it. Laura was the one you would certainly wish to be alike. She was a dermatologist, but it seemed, she knew everything. If you would ask her, whether spleen or liver bleeds most, Laura would never give you a ready answer, but, instead, would ask you in turn about what functions do both organs have and how do they work. She loved thinking and believed theory was everything. But this chihuahua wasn’t her patient, and in such cases she preferred to stay at a reasonable distance and tried not to mess in someone else’s deal. When Jody inquired why nobody would do a bacterial inoculation or attempt another type of antibiotics, Laura said: “They just do what they can do. Sometimes it is more complicated to carry out a procedure than you can imagine.”
The dog’s owner was a woman in her fifties, very well dressed and with an incredible commotion on her face. She was holding one hand on the dog’s neck while steadily repairing something in her hair construction with the other. When Jody came in, the woman gave her a long uneasy gaze. Although Jody already knew the whole story, she started a new conversation, asking questions from the very beginning - partly to divert the woman and partly because she hoped to fish out some more information, something that would give her a new idea.
This time the narrative was supplemented with some more details faintly relevant to the case. The dog didn’t actually belong to the lady herself, but to her daughter. The daughter was struggling from some sort of physical illness that forced her to spend the last year almost completely in hospital. Physical illness was then followed by a mental one, and that was the time the dog was bought in order to help the girl in her fight against depression. The anti-depression remedy sat now motionless on the table before them, his head strained, his eyes protruding, and seemed to have no interest to any aspects of life other than the possibility of being left alone in complete darkness and silence. He didn’t feel good.
Neither did Jody. Again and again she tried to make up an elegant and logical explanation of what was going on and again and again she failed. She only came to a conclusion that everybody not excepting her was wrong.
John lived about a mile away from Jody’s house and he didn’t have a car, so she was bringing him home this evening. It had been long since Jody had her internship duty on the same day John worked, and she has already forgotten what is it like to drive with him sitting to the right of her and listen to his endless speeches about everything and nothing.
John was weird. His age (he was nearly thirty) hadn’t reflected on him in any way. He looked like teenager, he acted like teenager, and he had neither a lot of experience nor any outstanding talents. He was always full of chaotic reflections, which appeared from nowhere and crowded in his head with no evident logic. He still worked as a veterinary assistant and didn’t seem to have any plans concerning his further career. Jody remembered him bent over the table, trying to collect blood sample from an old Siamese cat. John spent about ten minutes and just as many needles and was aiming here and there with no effort until finally the owner of the cat noticed very confusedly that the cat was getting a bit tired and maybe someone else can try. Laura did.
Jody tried to drive out of her mind a picture of her own staying dozens of times exactly the same under looks of owners, her hands shivering, her vision slowly becoming blurry. I am much younger than he is, she said to herself. I am not a doctor yet, she said. I still have a lot to learn. It didn’t help. Jody wasn’t blind, she saw other students learning within two weeks things she needed months for…
It was already dark outside. Vehicles on the road merged into rows of colorful blots. Songs on the audio player were too familiar to provoke any keen reaction. Jody was not deep in her thoughts and she was not reflecting very hard upon what John was telling her. Neither was she as concentrated as usually on the road in front of her. It was some sort of a borderline condition in which one doesn’t think at all but rather simply collects all his feelings, trying to put together everything he sees and hears, to keep in sight every patch of light, every movement, every note from audio player, and every syllable pronounced. John, for some strange reason she would never be able to understand, started asking her about degree of her interest in astronomy. She’d probably love it if she understood a bit more of physics, she said. And in frames of what she was able to imagine, she said, it was terribly boring. It is either physics and in this case wholly incomprehensible, or pure descriptions which is absolutely meaningless and boring to death.
How easy it was. It suddenly became so simple – you just open your mouth and let anything you’ve got on your tongue come out. John was listening carefully.
When she finally got silent, John started to randomly pick up questions, making her talk, and talk, and talk. He asked about her school times, her teachers and classmates. He asked, what she usually ate for breakfast. He asked, why in her opinion did some people pay so much attention to their role in society in comparison to others and what did she think about increased sense of self-importance. And, to her own surprise, she did answer these meaningless questions willingly and in many details.
When topics seemed to come to an end, he mentioned their clinic.
- I like the way that place works, - he said. – Although it might be uncomfortable
sometimes to feel a slight smell of unhealthy competition between…
- What do you mean?
- What do I mean? What I mean is that I notice sometimes there are people in our clinic who manage to do things much better than I do. I just stay at the same place while they move forward faster than I could ever dream of.
Oh god. I wish you didn’t say it, Jody thought.
She cast a glance at a panel board, saw that gasoline was nearly out and thought it was a good reason to change the subject. She informed John they needed to refuel the car and moved to the gasoline station. When they approached it, Jody paused for a while on the opposite side of the street. Previously she had once turned to the wrong passway somewhere here and got locked in an extremely narrow dead-end terminating with a barrier. It would have been unplesant to run into something like that again.
- Can you turn left here? – John asked.
- What if I miss the right passage, - she murmured, more to herself than to John.
- Don’t you worry, - he reacted immediately. – Why should you miss it? Just keep this
way and don’t worry, you know.
- I’m not worried at all, - she snapped out. – It’s called cautiousness.
- Oh, okay. – John paused. - To be honest, I think you’ve made a big progress in driving since last time.
Suddenly for her, Jody laughed. Strangely enough, it didn’t sound offensive, and she was even pleased to hear it.
They were a couple minutes away from his house when John said:
- There is gonna be a board-game party next Sunday. It promises to be fun. Would you like to go?
Jody said she needed to think about it a second before she realized there was nothing to think of. She just wasn’t able to give positive answers immediately. She was incurable.
Next day Jody arrived to the clinic pretty late. As she passed John, who was sitting at the reception desk, he smiled, and his smile was sly and obscure as always. Good afternoon, he said.
- Good afternoon, John, - she answered.
She went to the on-call room to change her clothes. Laura was there with two surgeons, all of them chattering briskly. As Jody came in, all three of them looked at her with some sort of gaiety. Obviously something important had happened in the clinic this morning. Jody asked carefully what it was.
- You can go to the surgery and take a look at what they’ve found, - Laura suggested. – It’s gorgeous.
What they’ve found was a half-digested piece of material which one, provided he had enough fantasy, could suspect to be a man’s sock in previous life.
- Did you?.. Is it?.. Wait a sec…
- Yep. He is doing all right now.
Full of contrary emotions, Jody rushed to the station. Little chihuahua laid there in his box, still motionless from anesthesia but looking around curiously with big agile eyes. He was recovering after surgery slowly but surely.
His lady was sitting near him, still as worried as before because she didn’t realized yet, what had happened, and probably because she was strongly intimidated by surgeons about dangers of recovery period. But that trace of despair on her face was gone. On her side a young woman stood calmly, examining sutures on the dog’s belly. She also looked a bit anxious, but otherwise you would never notice something was wrong with her. Maybe nothing actually was, Jody thought. Or… maybe her four-legged medicine worked fine?
The March is marching on. Have you ever wondered why everyone is looking forward to the spring? Sprouts up, spirits up. Natural Renaissance, you'd probably say. Why would anyone not wish for the spring to come back? Now, that is the question.
Ever since my recent childhood, there was nothing more beautiful for my sight than the leaves dancing in the fall. Those little withered sprites waved to me in the wind as if to bid their farewell, leaving a warm spark inside me. It was those sparks that kept me warm in winters. Sometimes, walking among the snow mountains, I saw the leaves dance in the sparkling frost, just for a moment. Already then I'd feel a dull ache in the chest. But the ache would grow stronger and sharper and more intense once the snow would melt. The moment the thermometer rises in the red zone, my torment would begin.
‘Do you plan on going out or what? Stop staring at the wall,’ the mother said, half joking, half scolding.
‘Are you ill?’ the voice followed, slightly anxious.
‘What then?’ the helplessness leaked out.
After the door was closed shut again, I replayed the conversation in my head. I wasn’t honest with her. But she wouldn’t be able to help. That kind of illness is impossible to treat with syringes or hugs. Nor time.
My room was being kept dark and cold, I was keeping myself inside the multilayered blanket cocoon, unwilling to emerge. I was desperately gripping on this quiescence but it was evaporating in the vernal sunlight.
I didn’t dare to approach the window, feeling something trying to escape from within my being into the fresh air. It was fluttering in my rib cage, causing a deep sense of unease. In the worst moments it was nearly nauseating.
The mother was lenient for the time being, but she wouldn’t tolerate such limpness for long. I had to get prepared for the war.
‘Look how bright’s the sun!’ exclaimed the mother, windows suddenly wide open.
‘Shut it! I have allergies!’
‘No, you don’t! Get out of the bed, now!’
I felt her pulling my right leg and tried to break free:
‘Stop it! Why won’t you leave me alone?’
‘Because,’ she said panting. ‘I don’t want you to get mouldy. You’re a young boy, what’s wrong with you, lying here all day like a log! Don’t you have friends?’
‘Do you want me to go outside and swell up like a stung stray dog? Why do you hate me so much?’
The iron grip of hers loosened.
‘All right.’ she wiped her forehead. ‘I don’t know if you are really that allergic or it’s all just a bunch of crap. I’ll have a doctor see you.’
And then she left while I started to concoct an excuse for tomorrow.
‘I don’t see anything wrong with you.’ the doctor shook his head. ‘At least, nothing wrong I could help you with.’
‘Could you not tell my mum?’
The man was hesitant just for a moment, ‘I’m afraid not. Just in case, why?’
‘I have my reasons.’
‘Young man, if you have some kind of serious problem, you need to talk to your mother about it. I’m sure she would support you in anything.’
‘I would love to, doctor, but you see, the problem is too embarassing to discuss with my mum.’ I looked at the doctor with meaning. ‘I hope you understand.’
His expression got complicated.
‘I cannot tell I understand you.’ he began slowly. ‘But I suppose it won’t hurt to comply with your little request. I’ll give you a couple of days to settle your secret problem. But after that you’ll have to deal with your mother.’
‘Thank you for understanding’ I nodded gratefully.
‘Take care.’ and he left.
So much for male solidarity.
Two days later.
‘Mum, what are you doing?’
‘You. Are going. For a walk.’
‘But I don’t want to!’
‘I want you to.’
‘I have allergies!’
‘The doctor said you’d be ok in couple of days.’
‘I was not an exact diagnosis!’
‘I don’t think it either. I think you didn’t need those couple days in the first place.’
‘I won’t leave the house!’
‘Don’t make me boot you out in your pyjamas.’
‘Mum, I feel sick.’
‘Enough of your excuses! Out!’ and she pushed me out on the street.
My dilated pupils shrank from the massive sunlight, unable to withstand its brightness. I’m walking blindly in the wild, searching for a place to hide from all of that piercing light. A bench under the canopy of a tree seemes good enough.
The pain in the chest stirred like a dormant animal. I feel it won’t be that way for long, its spark reigniting.
Why don’t I long for the spring? Because all of this radiating life doesn’t come from nowhere. The spark isn’t carried in Persephone’s gentle hands, it’s carried in people’s gentle hearts. The spring depression is nothing more but the spark you carried for several months coming back to the nature. But I’m not ready to give it back. It becomes a part of me, a part as integral as a limb.
I’ve already sacrificed so much of me I’m afraid that one day I won’t be anymore.
It started to crawl out, towards the blue sky and the blazing sun. The tree crown blurred as I lied down on a bench, eyes filled with water. Another move would make me sick. My heart is pounding like a wild animal on the run.
Resting buds on the tree arose.
I swept all the tears off my face and sit on the bench, eyes screwed up, inhaling deeply. A quarter of an hour must have passed while I was looking around. The scorched crater of a previously tender spark was filling with warm light.
I stood up, still regretful, and headed home.
‘Muuum, what’s for lunch?’
Замечания : 0%
Пусть Ян проверяет
Замечания : 0%
Секунданту отдельный рекспект за тему, я бы слил…
Ранее, мне не приходилось сталкиваться с прозой Кипрес, так что было любопытно взглянуть, что же получилось.
А вышло вот что: живое, интересное начало, затянутая середина и хороший финал.
Идея очень актуальная – сомнения новичка, постоянное сравнивание себя с другими, зацикливание на достижениях других – стандартный набор студента на ответственной должности. Уверен, что многие через это проходили и так же глупо смеялись, как только кризис уверенности в себе успокаивался.
Начало действительно интересное, правда, я не понял, зачем вы назвали собачку GUY (ладно Fever), но, думаю, это глупости. Все идет гладко и ровно, подача идеи на должном уровне, читается быстро и легко. К середине, как только героиня пустилась в собственные думы, я немного заскучал, но как только она начала выговариваться и стала увереннее в себе и после слов, что она уже водит лучше, прежний ритм вернулся. Концовка получилась легкой и быстрой.
Приятно, что и собачка введена в повествование не просто объектом, хотя называть ее remedy ветеринару…странно.
Итого – хорошая проза.
Второй рассказ полностью раскрыт в названии.
Очень красивое начало. Если бы автор продолжил бы в том же русле, уверенно голосовал бы за него, потому что получилась бы очень легкая, но в то же время запоминающаяся и интересная проза. Идея танцующих листьев не новая, но яркая, сочная.
Затем идут диалоги, сакральный смысл которых я не разглядел.
Концовка немного невнятная, открытая, но красивая. Ламбенголмо, видимо хотел закрутить весь сюжет вокруг того красивого образа контраста жизни и смерти, весны и осени.
Голосую за первый. Второй меня запутал.
Замечания : 0%
Глупо, наверное, оценивать работы по языковой сложности. Это же все-таки не какие-то учебные сочинения, а вполне себе независимые от читательского уровня владения английским тексты. Однако в моем случае сложность все-таки влияет, потому что если я не знаю значения слова, приходится лезть, переводить, потом возвращаться. Это так утомительно.
В первом тексте незнакомых слов оказалось чуть-чуть, и подавляющая часть - терминология, которую я переводил догадками, и уверен, это никак не повлияло на общее мое впечатление. А оно так себе. Что-то похожее на эпизод из жизни, скучный и какой-то невнятный.
Язык второго текста мне показался значительно лучше первого. По крайней мере читалось легче и быстрее, а это в моем случае явный плюс. Я не сильно хорошо разобрался в нежелании мальчика выходить на улицу, но мотивы его показались мне патологичными и даже какими-то темными, хотя к концу все вроде прояснилось.
Голос отдаю второму, потому что то ли почувствовал, то ли сам надумал атмосферу по ходу чтения. Первый же просто прочитал.
Замечания : 0%
С разрешения Олли продливаем голосование до 26-го апреля. Салюты и фейерверки.
Замечания : 0%
Ну что, секундант наш пропал и на письма не отвечает, придётся подводить итоги мне:
и так, по итогам подсчета голосов объявляется ничья (дуэль мастер честно пытался проголосовать, но ничего не понял)