Christmas story by Sibin Mianlovski traslated by Ann Wood
Christmas storyOnce upon a time ... Strangely why all the tales must necessarily start with "Once Upon a Time" when in most cases what was there at that time is still there; neither became less sad nor less beautiful or less exciting ... Strangely. But ... custom, what to do. You, the people, are sometimes so attached to the customs, canons and rules that in places I have even wondered if there is anything you do without a plan written ten thousand years ago (and, of course, irrevocably outdated).
Anyway - it's not my job to philosophize. I am a narrator, and the narrator's work is to extract from his soul exactly such words and stories that must necessarily appeal to the respectable audience, that is, you. That is why we start by the rules.
There was ... more precisely - there was a sad magician one time. In general, if we have to call things with their real names, real sorcerers are always sad, as wisdom and maturity are weighing on their shoulders as an overwhelming burden compared to the so-called "people". But in the last few centuries the world was overwhelmed by fake and self-styled sorcerers who concealed their incomprehension behind widely cheated and false clown faces, so the sight of a sad magician was indeed unusual. As he walked in the streets, thinking about something known to him only, people turned after him, raised eyebrows, and some even made a significant gesture with a forefinger to the temple. So the sad sorcerer did not like to walk very much among the people, but spent his time alone in his castle over the Crying Mountain (for the sake of truth, no one knew whether the mountain was named after the magician or he on it, since both have existed in this world long before any of today's people was born ...).
One day, however, the magician decided to come out to enjoy the sun's rays for the first time in centuries. He was a very interesting person in general, because he could enjoy the little things that are usually hidden for you, people, because of their seemingly insignificant. He, for example, loved sunrise and sunset (he had built his castle on top of the mountain), was fascinated by the sight of the starry sky and could sit still for hours, staring at the mysterious diversity of stars, galaxies, nebulae and planets, he was a friend of the birds and animals and was regularly walking through the woods ... Here are some other reasons why people thought the sad magician was crazy. Not that it hindered him - he only condescendingly (and with a little sadness) smiled at the human stupidity.
When the magician came out, only the sun rejoiced because he had not seen him for a long time. People had also forgotten his face, but that did not bother them at all, and on the contrary, they were happy that they did not have to look at the old man's frown. He was, in fact, an old man only according to his petty standards, since he was not yet 7,000 years old - a completely decent and even youthful age for a magician, but only try to explain this to a biased man ... For humans he was long ago written off and forgotten in the dusty archives of libraries book.
But I moved away again. Forgive me - I keep forgetting that you, people, love everything (even the Christmas fairy tales) to be short and clear. I keep on going, and if she gets tangled up again in the labyrinth of her own story - keep me informed.
In the middle of his city tour, the sad sorcerer remembered that he had no tobacco for his pipe, and went into one of the local pubs to buy. As he roared in his pocket for small money, he sensed subconsciously that someone was watching him. When she turned, she was surprised to see a young girl looking at him. The magician froze. At one point before his eyes were the views of the summer breeze, the hot blizzard, the spring rain and the autumn forest, gathered in a single image - that of the girl opposite. If they were not the drunken shouts of the peasants around, the magician could swear he had not entered the pub, but in the ballroom of the royal palace, at the height of the annual ball given by the majesty, and now watches no one but the strange princess of the neighboring kingdom who first appeared on such a noble gathering.
Two long seconds passed. The sorcerer snatched his eyes away from the unearthly flower, blossomed among the crutch of gray and impersonal people, and turned to the publisher asking him to sell his pipe tobacco. As he took the pouch in his cloak pocket, thousands of thoughts passed through his head - all the women who had mocked him for years, all the humiliations he had been forced to endure for his love, all the manifestations of petulance and indifference by the women ... so even he was surprised by what he did - he turned, walked slowly to the table, sat down and met the girl.
Since then, few people could have known the old sad magician. He began to go out often, trying to always be close to the girl. For this purpose, she was even forced to suffer from some uncomfortable companions, but what to do - even for a sorcerer, it is never too late to blur enough to succumb to his feelings.
And his feelings, for the sake of truth, had been stored somewhere in the depths of the virgin soul - most likely between the first love affair at the age of eight and the famous love explanations greeted by the bards of the village dinners. The young girl was looking with the magician's interest, but ... it was youth's interest in the supposed wisdom of old age. Eventually, the magician is a magician, but there were so many other admirers around her. For a short time, the beauty changed her surroundings from men so many times that part of the sad sorcerer's molars had been wiped off. He watched powerlessly as the girl's attention moved like a butterfly from "man" to "man." First through her heart she walked with light footsteps, like a joke, the citygirl who was crazy about all the girls (the magician even knew how they had exchanged several passionate kisses at a reception in the girl's house); then a wealthy son came to her around, who had come to the city to finish the local school, and instead spent her parents' money alone and stroked the girls; went on his way and courted the local gendarme, a fearsome person, whose shaved skull and crazy eyes saw the kids crying in the streets, pregnant women getting cramps (some even swallowing), and the old men baptized and made a sign against the lessons ...
Actually, yeah, you're right - I'm moving away again. But I think you understood the idea. I pause with the tearful description of the girl's tumultuous love life and keep going.
One day the sad magician is desperate. It was obvious that the path to the girl's heart was barred by millions of rising bridges, ditches filled with water, metal spikes, and starving dragons. The magician sealed his castle in a spell, took only the rod and his hat with him, and went to wander around the world. When he got tired, he just walked into the first city that had walked in his path and offered his services. People rejoiced because they had not had a city magician for a long time, and immediately hired it (true, for a penny, but it was something). The magician was doing his job conscientiously, and he was watching as soon as possible even forgetting the thought of the girl. Well, he occasionally confused a spell and made strange mistakes, but he always found a way to justify himself - in front of people, but mostly in front of him - with something other than love thoughts.
One day, however, a poison pigeon landed on the window of the new castle of the sad magician. He had traveled half the world until he found the old man, and he was bringing a message from the girl, who had long wondered where the little, strange and strange but otherwise entertaining old man had disappeared. There was something in the magician's soul. For weeks, he doubted whether to respond to the message, thus unleashing a new storm in his soul ... but finally he took a piece of parchment and the pen feather and wrote two sentences, one of which was "Missing Me" and the other would not I tell you, because we are all entitled to small secrets in our privacy.
That's how a long line of letters began. The distance did not bother the sorcerer, but something was shaking his soul constantly. Is this another mockery? Or the next case of elemental friendship without a drop of feelings? Or just filling the free time? Or a diversification of the gray everyday life spent among citizens with rural manners? ...
The magician did not know.
But one day ...
Oh, is it Christmas now? Happy Christmas, ladies and gentlemen! Let evil magic never cross the door of your house! And now, if you like ... the best prize for the narrator is the chirping of the coins in his hat ...
Am I the magician? I do not know ... I may be, or maybe not. Ultimately, the story is important, not who is involved in it and who is the narrator ...
How does he end? Well ... there's time next Christmas. Then, if you still have a wish, I'll tell you the end of the story. Do you want me to bring you all at once? So what will I tell you after a year? Now go celebrate. And when you sit down behind the Christmas table, take a goblet for the old sorcerer's health ... and if you like your story, hope these 365 days expire faster.
Short story by Ann Wood
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Written on 2018-11-28 at 19:06
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