the mind of the body

The mind or the body.

Otto’s house was shabby, old. It seemed that in a couple of years it will definitely fall, but it stood. These couple of years added every time. In the house everything was also simple, there was nether repair nor good equipment. Looking at this house it feels like it is still the 19-th century. Otto was sleeping, but he woke up abruptly. 

"Pfiou.. Oh what a dream it was. I go to the kitchen and notice that the walls have become shabby. The wallpaper disappeared and it has left only the whitewash, and the whitewash was checkered and in each cage was written a number , but these numbers were constantly changing from any of my movement. If I run appear two-digit number, if I fall appear straightforward ones. Is it really a time period of my life, and from each different breath something will change? Life is round, but why everything changes and is not recovering backwards?" 

Otto thought a lot and hard about it. He wanted more time to look at these numbers: "if it is the answer, if because of this I will be able to find the right steps to recovery?". Like went crazy, Otto went to the room, took some sleeping pills, placed them on the nightstand and went into the kitchen, took his favorite cup with his name written on it, poured in some water, put it near the pills and thought, "I'll have three or four hours to consider all carefully, but is it worth it? Maybe I just have to give in to circumstances and to do nothing?". The clock rang twelve o'clock in the afternoon, Otto realized that it will make things more difficult and gave up. After some time, the fatherentered the house. He was sober and terribly upset. Otto thought he had a hangover. "But why does Dad not yell at me as usual? Why did he not even say “Hello” and just went to the kitchen? There is something wrong." 

- Son, have you eaten? 

Otto was breathless. He did not hear these words, not even words but the tone for a couple of years. The last time father won the lotto, but lost all the money. And with a good attitude to me he either tried to apologize because he couldn't say it , or tried to lose himself. 

-Yeah,dad, I had lunch. 

-Okay. Son, could you come to me for a second?

And then Otto realized that now he will hear something very, very unfavorable. He went to the kitchen slowly and hesitantly, his heartbeat increased with each step and it had decreased with every breath. He felt weaker with every hand movement, but he got strength again with every glance at the doorway.Eventually, he came and realized that he’d better not come. For the first time in his life he saw the tears on father’s face. It was something for him, something terrible. Otto thought that such people as Murakami are unable to experience any emotions , but it turns out the other way around.

Why does a person experience emotions? Why do people in any incident - whether it is favorable or not - become soft and powerless. If you're happy, you do not perceive something bad. If you're sad, then you don't even want to listen any good thing. All people are something similar to a computer. They’re like a processor, operate on a certain frequency; and this frequency varies only on the number of files, and it is important not their weight , but what is inside, something harmless, or a virus. This can be called our weakness , and vice versa. It all depends on the situation , sometimes you need to think of only one, and sometimes it leads to madness. 

Murakami is a gambling man , but he never won; what about to hit the jackpot is not even worth talking about. In this delightful moonlit night he decided to play big, but how can you play big, if behind you there’s not a huge villa, the vault where to put millions. If to play big in this condition, it is still possible to understand , but if you play at high stakes you know that to repurchase the debt in case of a loss is almost impossible. Then it is not "a big game" - it is a game of small people , and the most appropriate game title is "game of madmen" . 

Murakami returned home after a game of madmen and was in madness. He lost everything from hours to - perhaps the most valuable - the house. He stood in the kitchen and cut the salad , namely the tomatoes. Otto went up hesitantly and asked: 

- What happened? 

- Son. 

- Dad, what happened? 

- Forgive me, son . 

- Father!? 

The clock’s hands chined midnight. A black car drove down the street and the roar of its engine was clearly audible in the house. It started raining, not drizzling, but pouring. It feels like the vegetables are watered somewhere in the country. The sky was empty and the rain poured down. It does not beat with small droplets, but with whole bunches of grapes. Another car passed. It had lights on, and this light illuminated the room where they were. Whereas the light was shining on the wall, and it could clearly see the shadows of raindrops.

Chapter 7.

Redemption.

Redemption can be displayed in two points. The first sense is the atonement to God and, second one is redemption in front of a man. The question is why are there two points, not the one? Seemingly, everything tends to have a single significance.

In that dark night, Maikeru made the atonement. In his view. He sank the knife into his rib cage, not in the heart, because he didn't deserve it; he just stuck it in the chest. But it was after he cooked a salad for his son. Maybe he wanted him to know something? Yes, he wanted to to redeem himself in front of the son and saw no other way but to commit suicide. He put him out of the torment with one movement. He brought him suffering, but saved from the torture. Murakami thought his son better grievs in his memory , and will forget .His suffering will end. But if he hadn't killed himself, he would make his son suffering. Otto would be left without an apartment, without money and without a father including. Suicide is a big sin, but with this sin the father allowed the son to live a little longer. Can it be called a sacrifice? If explain to people what a situation occurred, what would be their opinion? Fanatically religious people started to judge this act, because they are supporters of that God gave them life for the happiness. Catholics, on their belief, would not even bury a dead man. The pessimists would say that he had well done, because he faced his fear. Murakami could make this difficult move. Others would not answer this question, just passed by. Someone would began to tell a ridiculous story of his life, which even figuratively does not fit the incident. Where can you find yourself? In what direction of all the opinions to go to? It is different for everyone. Everyone decides where to put a dash or a dot, but anyway, the sentence must be definitely ended. A murder, a suicide, a sacrifice, an atonement - is all petty for the occasion, here hides a more primal sense. And the only word that can describe it - death. Just death. If a person dies, he leaves something from himself and he lives in the memory, if he leaves nothing - he does not. Each person has his own alarm clock , but someone had alredy heard his bell, and someone is only winding his clocks. Life is round. And it is impossible to find the correct choice. It may seem it was a right choice, but for someone it was right and for someone it will be disappointing. Otto and Murakami had a cycle lasted for a lifetime nonstop. The Father did right , and it didn’t work for the son. The son did everything he was supposed to ,and dad had problems. How you can emerge from this cycle? Again, the word “death’ comes up. Most of you will never support me. Someone will say this is a nonsense , but if you think about it , you can see in every action - whether it tragic or wonderful - a chain, a line which connects everything. In one part of the world a child was born, but in the opposite - the old man died; one scientist made a new discovery and the other thought it was stupid and burned his projects. The examples are endless, but you can clearly say that in books these cases are called "good and evil".

Chapter 8.

There is no cure

.

-Dad! Father! Dear! Where are you? Why are you... No, it's a dream I dreamt this (shouted Otto hitting himself in the face)

Murakami lay quietly, his body became pale and cold. He wasn’t t cold to the temperature, no, he was of a cool color. “Dad was just lying, I thought he was sleeping , so I wanted to walk up and say: "Daddy, wake up! Dad, I didn't do my homework! Pa, can I not go to school!". But I couldn't, I was unable to utter a single letter like I was gag. I couldn’t believe all this."

Otto put his father's head on his knees and sat up all night which passed like a fleeting moment. It came early in the morning.

The raw sunlight penetrated through the window. The tweeting sparrows who were looking for a bunch of chokeberry aroused the anger, they can't give to enjoy a quiet conversation of son and father. A heavy, gusty wind blew in the window and blew off all the droplets of the vegetable juice directly into the Otto’s and Murakami’s faces.

The alarm clock rang. It’s 6 a.m. Dad has always woke up at this time, he had to go to work. I also heard the wake-up call, opened my eyes and waited till dad walked in the room to wake me up. Maikeru used to have a shower first thing, then went to the kitchen, and after this went to my room and said:

- Son,wake up! Early bird gets the worm (he said with a smile)

- I’m up, Dad. ( I answered pitfullly)

He didn't know I'm awake. Dad always thought I hadn’t still got up and yelled at me:

-How can you sleep? We both have lots of issues and they need to be resolved early to be free later.

I didn't pay attention to these words and just moved along the hall to the bathroom.

Why doesn’t anyone wake me up now? Maybe I'm sleeping and Dad, as usual, will come and wake me up? I can't wait to wake up, I’m tired of this dream. But no one woke me up.

The alarm clock is still ringing its stupid song, and I ask myself, when will itbe over? When will it be quiet, when? And the melody spread its screams, louder and louder. I didn't turn it off. Why should I do it? Otherwise, the father will not wake up and be late for work.

After 15 minutes, it was quiet. The sounds had disappeared somewhere, the room was in impeccable silence. The silence that you listen to and enjoy.

My hands, my legs, my shoulders, my neck fell asleep, I could not move , although wanted to. I wanted to give father the diary, because the school has published the grades and it was needed a parents signature. But what school, what grades?It was all still last year. Why have I remembered that at this moment, in this terrible time?

The clock’s hand froze at 6 a.m., I gathered all the strength to sit up and see what is wrong with them. A good clock by Casio. They were given to father's birthday, but why this clock was out of battery, they has stopped relatively recent. Do the Japanese, the nation which is strong in technology, has failed this project? No, they are and were and will be the best in this area. It’s just the clock has stoppe and they are actually a fake. And my whole life is a fake. If the person is not "branded", then he has a lot more to pay than other people.

Everything is distributed. Someone gets everything and someone - nothing and this nothing can be taken, even not just taken but forcibly confiscated. Those people who are talking about justice, unity, legitimacy , have not still come out from their little world, which includes all things. It’s like a five-star hotel in Turkey: there is everything you need, from quality food and drinks and to quality women. How can there be a nation, a society, company united? This is the utopia which lots of countries, groups, friends tried to create. The Soviet Union tried, with the help of the Communist system, to make men equal, it did not work out. Hippies tried to create a unified peaceful, equitable society and in the end many of them were shot, and others realized and ran away. Friends, in youth always say that when you grow up, you'll still be friends. And in the end, they all drift apart. Sometimes they meet, but the only thing that has left is the photo album. Once one of the company will show it to his son and will say: “This is my best childhood friends, good guys.” And that's all, the history lesson is over.

In my pocket the phone rings. It's the worst thing to talk to someone now. I want to be alone, to take a cigarette, a bottle of whisky, sit down and think. But no, someone definitely need to call! I picked up the phone.

- Hello.

- Hello. Hey Otto, it's me.

- Mirai, hi.

- Why do you sound upset?

- There’s nothing to get upset, everything is fine.

- Where are you now?

- I don't know.

- Otto, what's happening?!

- We live.

Beeps, Beeps, Beeps.

                                                       Chapter 9.

Colorless smoke.

The hands get cold. But I love this place - the open platform of the roof, blown in all possible winds, coming around the world; the stars can be seen. Bright moths in the obsidian sky. They make you confidence. No, it’s wrong, they bring hope. For what?

That today will be no more day.

I laugh and throw down an empty bottle, listening to the barely discernible bell of the broken glass. I'm not afraid to look at the sky, not afraid to hear the thunder rumbling, not afraid of a hurricane sweeping off the feet. But my hands are shaking a little from the thought that in a few hours I'll have to look into her eyes, beautiful green eyes, the color of eternal separation. After our last conversation, I am ashamed, I behaved like an idiot, now I have to pay. How much will I pay?

Everything was back to square one. Perhaps this is a great natural pattern, no in vain the Phoenix has always been a symbol of the life circle. If so, then I feel sorry for him, because it is very painful to live.

Eyes are melting under the burning eyelids from the tears excess. There is some blood on the bitten lip . I smile, painfully, hysterically. Being inspired by the half-liter of whiskey, a half-stragled sense of justice awakens somewhere inside of me. No, go to sleep, in the name of all the people I lost.

Soul. It died long ago, crushed by guilt. "Forgive me ,son" - the memory suggests now so pleasant words of the recently deceased person. Whiskey, how well this blessed elixir can quench sorrow, fear and any other emotion.

A bright lantern, that stands in front of the house, is shining in my face, and I have to put my head down. Puddle placing underneath me, mirrored my features and just now I saw my pathetic eyes. This brown color exasperates me, maybe because of this color I’m blind? It’s hardly possible.

Why do strong people have such bright eyes? Blue, red... Green. But unfortunately they will be also closed, but this time without my presence.

A soft, translucent smoke rises to the sky, leaving behind only the wondrous, sophisticated fragrance. The full moon went up over me, and smoke was flying right at her. I've been watching this phenomenon for a few hours and ready to do this forever, but unfortunately soon it will be a sunrise.

Where is my irreproachable desire to have wings? It left me, just like everything else. The only thing left is a senseless, unbridled existence. At first drops of sadness in my bottomless heart stopped, the vessel is completely filled with ashes of hope, it did his time, and the time for its utilization approached .

On the road, the ambulance drove by, so even for one person it may be a turning point. The branching of events in which it is impossible to find the right way. And the time is coming, bottle is empty, just like me. I had very abruptly sobered up, and wanted to eat.

I went down to the kitchen, to my father. I want to have dinner with him so much.

- Dad, what would you like to eat?

In response it was silence. I said even louder!

-Dad, ow!

In response it was silence! I started screaming!

- Dad, how long should I scream?

In regard it was a knock at the door.

There was a knock in the door as strong as the thunder. The terrifying screams of a man made me shudder. Even in the kitchen it could be heard his rapid breathing , his words sounded like an animal eagered to prey.

I was scared, but I decided to see who it was. I was moving to the goal with slow uncertain steps. My hands were shaking, heart was racing like a turbine aircraft. Beads of sweat were forming on my forehead, which soon turned into a waterfall. But I went, I just had no choice.

                                                         Chapter 10.

Pictures.

A small town was situated on the spot where the most wonderful river flowed. Why is the most wonderful? This river had no name. Of course, the townspeople created different silly phrases, but they didn't come up to it. Eventually when there was a rumor about this river, it was mentioned as "Unnamed".

I have been walking along its banks for hours. There was nobody here besides me and nature. I was young and foolish, but even then I understood that miracles do not exist long. Especially if they are near people. But I was not scared. I was happy to settle for those pleasant moments which gave me Ms. Fate.

The sun rose just to the river bed. Small rays , which were trying to cut through the water, mirrored up. Willows, being bent down, swayed from the light, morning, gusty breeze. Birds arriving from the long journey, flew down to drink the water. I have been standing for hours and watched all of this. I did not need anybody else. All I need is here, in this place where I can stay forever, where I will be in any age, a boy or an old man. How little I needed to be happy!

I was sitting on the small bridge, dangling my legs in the water. A pleasant shiver ran down me body. I had a notebook and a pen in my hands. I wrote the sonnets. Cute, joyful sonnets about this fricking life.

Monday, the beginning of the week, the beginning of a new time in some way. I was very lazy to go to school. Perhaps, this is the place I never wanted to go, but it just so happened that a man should go there. But on this sunny and cloudless day I decided to skip it, and go to my place. Since this morning I put on the sad face and allegedly moved to the halls of knowledge, but in fact went to the mouth of the river. I was scared that my father would pass by and see me, so I decided to sit down on the bank away from the road. I was on my way to this utopia with a scary face and a bag of books behind my back. Time went by, it seems I just came out, but it's been 20 minutes and the first lesson began. Fear chilled me to the bones, I looked in all directions so that it seemed my eyes were bulging out of their sockets. But I still continuously gazed in all directions.

Suddenly the leaves began sharply rustling, and I got the feeling that someone has run around. I stood up, took off the briefcase, leaned my hand on a stone and sat down at the same time, that I could not be visible. I began peering at the place where sounds were heard. There was no one. My cowardice streak played in my head. What if father decided to catch me red-handed that I would have nothing to explain? After this thought I can't think of anything else. Those few seconds were so terrible that I decided to go to school.

What shoгld I do? How to talk my way out of this in front of father? Why hadn’t I gone to school? Sudenly I came up with the idea in my little head. I have assumed it without thinking. Having unbuttoned my pants and mastered my bladder, I went to pee. Then, with a satisfied face I had gone to the citadel of knowledge.

There is a second lesson... a little, frightened boy with a happy face trying to pass unnoticed in his classroom, to tell a ridiculous story to the teacher, that he shouted at him and then put him in the class. Things were going pretty well, but when I sat down at the desk I realized that I left my bag at the banks. Everyone started to laugh, a swarm of classmates and the teacher laughed restless.

I felt ashamed. My face turned red, my eyes were watered, but I stayed in the classroom. That's why I hated school, because of a small incident you can become the laughing stock and at worst - an outsider.

Having sat up this embarrassing math class, I went for the bag without thinking. I was no longer scared that I will meet father. I did not not come up with any excuses, I walked purposefully .

Ten o'clock, or 10 o'clock in the morning. What's the difference? Why do all adults say: "Wow, it’s already teno’clock, and Teens say "10 o'clock in the morning"? Why do kids in general are not interested what time it is? There's no particular mystery. Adults are constantly rushing from one corner to another, repeating "the horror is already so much time has passed, teenagers and slowly say: " What a shame, it’s only an hour had passed! “ , and the kids just sit and listen. Adults, realizing that many years have passed, start caring about their time, teenagers are too lazy to care about time, as it’s all ahead, and the children just listen and keep quiet. It turns out it better to be a child? This is different for everyone, because a carefree life is boring, and then you want to do something at least. Therefore, it’s the way how it works, at first we are children, we just sit and they are doing for us. Then , when coming to the time when we got bored, time makes us teens, and we begin to do something. Well, after the teenager becomes an adult, who has children, he has to take care of them and everything do for them, and problems that urgently need to be solved. And everything works in the way that it is absolutely impossible to break the chain.

Chapter 11.

And white spaces again.

The world of dreams. Our fantasies are displayed in clear images. What are these pictures for us? It is something restless or maybe vice versa, the past? The guesses of the future? Or just imagination?

Whatever it is, it is always pleasant to see another world on that side of the eyes. Maybe that is why it was created a dream?

How nice it would be in a dream. This memory , which in difficult times brought a film to the cloth through its old movie projector. And this film is special. There are no unique actors, no directors worked on it, there is no prepared script. It’s all improvised. The bright colors wonderfully definite converged with the soft chatter of old film. My pond. My river. My life.

Sorry that the tape ended. And it was old. I will no longer be able to rent it. Such a restartable, but in the same way a disposable film that I want to look again. So it seems as if it is disposable , it can not be reusable. It's the same as wet and dry leaf on the apple. Many people will say: "How so? It is not possible". And I will say the opposite - it's fairly standard. For example you go on a boat , it’s so wet and damp on the street after rain. Your package and your clothes are wet. And suddenly you wanted an apple. You took it, and it shows the rest of a small twig with leave. The leaf is drying. It had dried up a long time ago, but because of water that the package has collected - it is wet. And so it turns out - a wet, dry leaf.

The same happens in our lives. These wet and dry leaves are everywhere. It is no clear definition. You don't know what’s the best way. There is no truth. In this world where truth dictate "seasoned" adults and those who are stronger? So what can we talk about truth?

Maybe that’s why we always have a choice. The first case and second, how to go, where to go. No such laws of existence that used to substitute the value and display the result. There is only the coin, with the variation of the response to 50 percent.

Behind the door I could have been waiting for anything. Mirai, the postman , but it turned out to be friends of my father, whom he owed money. They entered the house like their home. Until they had seen his body. Their buzzing I couldn't hear, only felt a strong hit, and again fell to the floor.

My body was dried up, and my 729 days has become 1. I don't know how long I was in bed, but by the number of abandoned gifts from Mirai, for a very long time. I understood that I do not live. And I’ve never lived. The room was very light and a bit dusty. There are the choice and the case again. The bell of my body banged very poorly and I did not feel the power. I don't want her to see me. I don't want to talk to her.

Having put all his strength for the last step, Otto came out from the hospital.

“My story ends where I want.” - Otto repeated in his head.

His path moved to the stop where he once met a girl, who he did not really knew, but loved. The evening greeted him with chills and a desire to fall under the blanket. The smells have intensified. Each note held a memory. A total feeling of deja-vu and a haze from images of his past that stood before his eyes. Otto tried to push paint with his exhausted, blue, and thin to the bone hands, but nothing worked. When he sat down on a bench, hiding under a cover. The world became beautiful. And bell began to ring like the Church bells before the meeting.

He felt his voice, behind his left shoulder and the voice of Mirai behind his right one.

His eyes were being closed, but he tried to see. To see the world in paint. We begin to appreciate, just before we lose. A very handsome man in a suit appeared before him. He squatted down and looked at Otto. His cute face, with bright hollows and eyes with the color of thousands of lives.

- Are you ready?

- What will happen to me?

- You just fall asleep.

- But I’ve sleept so much.

- So do you not want to fall asleep?

- I want to. But not like this.

The man lit a cigarette and offered one to Otto.

- I quit smoking.

- You're gonna die. What's the difference?

- Give me a minute to live as a person.

Otto has not lit. He rose to his feet. He was exhausted, thin with huge hollows in his eyes.

- Give me one more chance. Please. I died as soon as I began to think. I was so long your subordinate, let me go.

Silence.

Otto suddenly began to dream about tea. A delicious tea of strawberries. But unlike execution in prison, they will not bring him a favorite dish.

-Sod off, take me , but don't let me sleep.

How often we live our days being dead. If you put it all together, all happy moments last no more than 729 days and the happiest are even less than 24 hours. Don't fall when you walk. And don't hate until you love.

Otto died. His body had been found by morning and nobody will know what happened. But this morning a boy was born.