Э.Асадов - Баллада о ненависти и любви
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I
Метель ревет, как седой исполин,
Вторые сутки не утихая,
Ревет, как пятьсот самолетных турбин,
И нет ей, проклятой, конца и края!
Пляшет огромным белым костром,
Глушит моторы и гасит фары.
В замяти снежной аэродром,
Служебные здания и ангары.
В прокуренной комнате тусклый свет,
Вторые сутки не спит радист.
Он ловит, он слушает треск и свист,
Все ждут напряженно: жив или нет?
Радист кивает: - Пока еще да,
Но боль ему не дает распрямиться.
А он еще шутит: "Мол, вот беда
Левая плоскость моя никуда!
Скорее всего перелом ключицы..."
Где-то буран, ни огня, ни звезды
Над местом аварии самолета.
Лишь снег заметает обломков следы
Да замерзающего пилота.
Ищут тракторы день и ночь,
Да только впустую. До слез обидно.
Разве найти тут, разве помочь -
Руки в полуметре от фар не видно?
А он понимает, а он и не ждет,
Лежа в ложбинке, что станет гробом.
Трактор если даже придет,
То все равно в двух шагах пройдет
И не заметит его под сугробом.
Сейчас любая зазря операция.
И все-таки жизнь покуда слышна.
Слышна ведь его портативная рация
Чудом каким-то, но спасена.
Встать бы, но боль обжигает бок,
Теплой крови полон сапог,
Она, остывая, смерзается в лед,
Снег набивается в нос и рот.
Что перебито? Понять нельзя.
Но только не двинуться, не шагнуть!
Вот и окончен, видать, твой путь!
А где-то сынишка, жена, друзья...
Где-то комната, свет, тепло...
Не надо об этом! В глазах темнеет...
Снегом, наверно, на метр замело.
Тело сонливо деревенеет...
А в шлемофоне звучат слова:
- Алло! Ты слышишь? Держись, дружище -
Тупо кружится голова...
- Алло! Мужайся! Тебя разыщут!..
Мужайся? Да что он, пацан или трус?!
В каких ведь бывал переделках грозных.
- Спасибо... Вас понял... Пока держусь! -
А про себя добавляет: "Боюсь,
Что будет все, кажется, слишком поздно..."
Совсем чугунная голова.
Кончаются в рации батареи.
Их хватит еще на час или два.
Как бревна руки... спина немеет...
- Алло!- это, кажется, генерал.-
Держитесь, родной, вас найдут, откопают...-
Странно: слова звенят, как кристалл,
Бьются, стучат, как в броню металл,
А в мозг остывший почти не влетают...
Чтоб стать вдруг счастливейшим на земле,
Как мало, наверное, необходимо:
Замерзнув вконец, оказаться в тепле,
Где доброе слово да чай на столе,
Спирта глоток да затяжка дыма...
Опять в шлемофоне шуршит тишина.
Потом сквозь метельное завыванье:
- Алло! Здесь в рубке твоя жена!
Сейчас ты услышишь ее. Вниманье!
С минуту гуденье тугой волны,
Какие-то шорохи, трески, писки,
И вдруг далекий голос жены,
До боли знакомый, до жути близкий!
- Не знаю, что делать и что сказать.
Милый, ты сам ведь отлично знаешь,
Что, если даже совсем замерзаешь,
Надо выдержать, устоять!
Хорошая, светлая, дорогая!
Ну как объяснить ей в конце концов,
Что он не нарочно же здесь погибает,
Что боль даже слабо вздохнуть мешает
И правде надо смотреть в лицо.
- Послушай! Синоптики дали ответ:
Буран окончится через сутки.
Продержишься? Да?
- К сожалению, нет...
- Как нет? Да ты не в своем рассудке!
Увы, все глуше звучат слова.
Развязка, вот она - как ни тяжко.
Живет еще только одна голова,
А тело - остывшая деревяшка.
А голос кричит: - Ты слышишь, ты слышишь?!
Держись! Часов через пять рассвет.
Ведь ты же живешь еще! Ты же дышишь?!
Ну есть ли хоть шанс?
- К сожалению, нет...
Ни звука. Молчанье. Наверно, плачет.
Как трудно последний привет послать!
И вдруг: - Раз так, я должна сказать! -
Голос резкий, нельзя узнать.
Странно. Что это может значить?
- Поверь, мне горько тебе говорить.
Еще вчера я б от страха скрыла.
Но раз ты сказал, что тебе не дожить,
То лучше, чтоб после себя не
I
The blizzard roars like a gray gigore
The second day is not subsided,
Roars like five hundred aircraft turbines,
And there is no, damned, end and edge!
Dance with a huge white bonfire,
Dramatizes motors and extinguishes headlights.
In the snow airfield,
Service buildings and hangars.
The smoked room has a dull light,
The second day is not sleeping a radio operator.
He catches, he listens to a crack and whistle,
Everyone is waiting stress: alive or not?
The radio operator nods: - So far, yes,
But the pain does not allow him to straighten.
And he is still joking: "They say, here's the trouble
My left plane is nowhere!
Most likely a collar fracture ... "
Somewhere a drill, no fire, no star
Above the place of accident of the aircraft.
Only snow notice wreckage traces
Yes, a freezing pilot.
Looking for tractors day and night,
Yes, only wasted. It’s insulting to tears.
Is it possible to find here, is it possible to help -
Hand half a meter from the headlights is not visible?
And he understands, but he does not wait,
Lying in a hollow that will become a coffin.
The tractor even comes,
It will still take place
And he will not notice him under the snowdrift.
Now any operation is in vain.
And yet life is heard.
After all, his portable radio is heard
Miraculously somehow, but saved.
Would stand up, but the pain burns the side,
Warm blood is full of boots,
She, cooling down, grimaces in the ice,
Snow is stuffed into the nose and mouth.
What is interrupted? You can’t understand.
But just do not move, do not step!
So ended, see, your path!
And somewhere a son, wife, friends ...
Somewhere a room, light, warm ...
No need to about it! It gets dark in the eyes ...
Snow is probably a meter with a meter.
The body is sleepy ...
And in the helmophone the words sound:
- Hello! Can you hear? Hold on, buddy -
Stupidly dizzy ...
- Hello! Twue! They will find you! ..
Fuck? What is he, a kid or a coward?!
In which there were alterations of the formidable.
- Thank you ... I understood you ... while I am holding! -
And he adds to himself: "I'm afraid
That everything seems to be too late ... "
A completely cast -iron head.
Clack in the radio batteries.
There will be enough for another hour or two.
Like logs of the hand ... the back is numb ...
- Hello!- This seems to be the general.-
Hold on, dear, they will find you, they will dig ...-
Strange: words ring like a crystal,
They beat, knock, like a metal in armor,
And they almost do not fly into the cooled brain ...
To become suddenly happiest on Earth,
How little is probably necessary:
Having freezed completely, to be warm,
Where is the kind word and tea on the table,
Alcohol sip and tightening of smoke ...
Again, silence rustles in the helmophone.
Then through a blizzard:
- Hello! Here is your wife in the wheelhouse!
Now you will hear her. Attention!
For a minute, the bundle of a tight wave,
Some rustles, cod, squeaks,
And suddenly the distant voice of his wife
A familiar to pain, terribly close!
- I don't know what to do and what to say.
Dear, you yourself know very well
That if you even freeze,
We must stand, resist!
Good, bright, dear!
Well, how to explain to her in the end,
That he does not deliberately die here,
That the pain even frantically prevents from breathing
And the truth must be looked in the face.
- Listen! Weather forecasters gave an answer:
Buran will end in a day.
Will you hold out? Yes?
- Unfortunately no...
- How not? Yes, you are not in your mind!
Alas, words sound deaf.
The denouement, here it is - no matter how hard.
Only one head lives
And the body is a cooled wood.
And the voice shouts: - You hear, you hear?!
Hold on! Five dawn in five hours.
After all, you live again! Are you breathing?!
Well, is there even a chance?
- Unfortunately no...
No sound. Silence. Probably crying.
How difficult it is to send the last hello!
And suddenly: - If so, I have to say! -
The voice is sharp, you can’t find out.
Strange. What can this mean?
- Believe me, I am bitter to tell you.
Yesterday I would have hidden from fear.
But since you said that you should not live
It is better that not after yourself
The blizzard roars like a gray gigore
The second day is not subsided,
Roars like five hundred aircraft turbines,
And there is no, damned, end and edge!
Dance with a huge white bonfire,
Dramatizes motors and extinguishes headlights.
In the snow airfield,
Service buildings and hangars.
The smoked room has a dull light,
The second day is not sleeping a radio operator.
He catches, he listens to a crack and whistle,
Everyone is waiting stress: alive or not?
The radio operator nods: - So far, yes,
But the pain does not allow him to straighten.
And he is still joking: "They say, here's the trouble
My left plane is nowhere!
Most likely a collar fracture ... "
Somewhere a drill, no fire, no star
Above the place of accident of the aircraft.
Only snow notice wreckage traces
Yes, a freezing pilot.
Looking for tractors day and night,
Yes, only wasted. It’s insulting to tears.
Is it possible to find here, is it possible to help -
Hand half a meter from the headlights is not visible?
And he understands, but he does not wait,
Lying in a hollow that will become a coffin.
The tractor even comes,
It will still take place
And he will not notice him under the snowdrift.
Now any operation is in vain.
And yet life is heard.
After all, his portable radio is heard
Miraculously somehow, but saved.
Would stand up, but the pain burns the side,
Warm blood is full of boots,
She, cooling down, grimaces in the ice,
Snow is stuffed into the nose and mouth.
What is interrupted? You can’t understand.
But just do not move, do not step!
So ended, see, your path!
And somewhere a son, wife, friends ...
Somewhere a room, light, warm ...
No need to about it! It gets dark in the eyes ...
Snow is probably a meter with a meter.
The body is sleepy ...
And in the helmophone the words sound:
- Hello! Can you hear? Hold on, buddy -
Stupidly dizzy ...
- Hello! Twue! They will find you! ..
Fuck? What is he, a kid or a coward?!
In which there were alterations of the formidable.
- Thank you ... I understood you ... while I am holding! -
And he adds to himself: "I'm afraid
That everything seems to be too late ... "
A completely cast -iron head.
Clack in the radio batteries.
There will be enough for another hour or two.
Like logs of the hand ... the back is numb ...
- Hello!- This seems to be the general.-
Hold on, dear, they will find you, they will dig ...-
Strange: words ring like a crystal,
They beat, knock, like a metal in armor,
And they almost do not fly into the cooled brain ...
To become suddenly happiest on Earth,
How little is probably necessary:
Having freezed completely, to be warm,
Where is the kind word and tea on the table,
Alcohol sip and tightening of smoke ...
Again, silence rustles in the helmophone.
Then through a blizzard:
- Hello! Here is your wife in the wheelhouse!
Now you will hear her. Attention!
For a minute, the bundle of a tight wave,
Some rustles, cod, squeaks,
And suddenly the distant voice of his wife
A familiar to pain, terribly close!
- I don't know what to do and what to say.
Dear, you yourself know very well
That if you even freeze,
We must stand, resist!
Good, bright, dear!
Well, how to explain to her in the end,
That he does not deliberately die here,
That the pain even frantically prevents from breathing
And the truth must be looked in the face.
- Listen! Weather forecasters gave an answer:
Buran will end in a day.
Will you hold out? Yes?
- Unfortunately no...
- How not? Yes, you are not in your mind!
Alas, words sound deaf.
The denouement, here it is - no matter how hard.
Only one head lives
And the body is a cooled wood.
And the voice shouts: - You hear, you hear?!
Hold on! Five dawn in five hours.
After all, you live again! Are you breathing?!
Well, is there even a chance?
- Unfortunately no...
No sound. Silence. Probably crying.
How difficult it is to send the last hello!
And suddenly: - If so, I have to say! -
The voice is sharp, you can’t find out.
Strange. What can this mean?
- Believe me, I am bitter to tell you.
Yesterday I would have hidden from fear.
But since you said that you should not live
It is better that not after yourself
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