Аннотация: Перевод рассказа "Изобретатель" из сборника Игоря Беля "Сигналы памяти."
Writing is a difficult task, as said by one of the classic authors. Trying to get the gist of the matter in order to describe a scene vividly requires right combination of mood and energy and as a rule these are not readily available. One has to accumulate energy lingeringly and tediously, but sometimes it makes a sharp comeback and inspires to act.
To act in order to perpetuate some of memories of the days gone by, including one of the days when I was in a habit of passing my time sitting on a balcony of a rented crappy apartment while sadly gazing into depth of a back alley, surrounded by ugly little houses that were built 80 years ago and stood all this time without single facade renovation done. Almost all the houses looked the same and constituted a large district of Tel Aviv. "The district" was adjacent to another one, orthodox district, with its own peculiarities. People left "the district" only if needed to buy something, to go to a lawyer or to spend an evening in a particular orthodox restaurant.
So, I was sitting and observing a sad-faced immigrant on a balcony of the opposite building, who was about my age, and who sometimes glanced in my direction. It went on for several days in a row, eventually I got tired of his sad face and decided to break the ice:
"Hey there!" I shouted. "Would you care to joint me for a cup of something warming?"
"No," responded the "neighbour". "I am in the middle of a contemplation session."
"I don't get it," I said.
"I mean that I contemplate my idea."
"Is your idea practical at all?"
"Of course it is, because I'm an inventor."
"Fair enough, I am an engineer as well, so let's exchange our ideas..."
The neighbour, still ridden by doubts, half stood from his timeworn chair.
"What is a number of your apartment?" He asked doubtfully.
"Twelfth, please come on in, I am waiting."
I quickly prepared everything needed for a pleasant pastime and opened up all the windows because heat was substantial despite early spring, but air conditioner was an inexcusable luxury for a new immigrant.
He arrived and politely sat down on the edge of a chair.
"Ah, you drink vodka...it is not my favourite drink," he said, while looking at the glasses with acute fascination, as I thought.
"What do you prefer to drink? I have a semidry wine if you will?"
"I prefer to invent ..."
"In my understanding one does not exclude another."
"Ok," responded the neighbour and hesitatingly reached for a glass.
We clinked glasses, finished them up and had a bite of pita bread with hummus.
"In which field do you invent?" I wondered.
"In the field of electrical technology, or rather, in the field of
inductors."
"What is there to invent, just coils and wires..."
"You are wrong. It opens a door to endless opportunities for engineering ideas."
We emptied our second drink. The neighbour became noticeably more cheerful, but his eyes were still tense.
"I mean there is length and thickness of a wire, metal from which the wire is made, type of winding etc. I specialize in a type of winding. I've recently had a stroke of genius which has haunted me for many days. My wife is not happy about it. She said that I would better start searching for a job and stop looking at the ceiling all day."
We drained our third drink to the bottom and the neighbour brightened up considerably. He did rotational movements with his left hand, while his right hand was busy hooking hummus on pita.
"Tell me more about your idea," I said while getting up in order to go for an additional portion of hummus and pickled tomatoes.
"You know, wire usually wraps clockwise but I came up with..."
"Counterclockwise! I exclaimed with delight and dropped into a chair.
"That is correct! Please do not mention it to anyone until I file an application for the invention."
I got perplexed, completely forgetting about tomatoes.
"What is going to happen in electrical engineering from now on?" I wondered with a note of tragedy in my voice.
"Revolution, I think, but I have to register it accordingly..."
The neighbour got obviously tipsy. His eyes looked somewhere past me into technical details and specifics. His left hand continued to do rotational movements but his right hand knocked over a glass on the table while groping for a napkin.
"I should be going," he said and stood up sharply.
"Can I accompany you downstairs?" I proposed with sympathy.
"No worries, I should be fine," responded the neighbour and knocked over a chair.
I picked up the chair and decided to sober up my neighbour a little.
"By the way, I've heard that an application for invention is quite expensive, tens of thousands of dollars."
The neighbour was startled. He began to rub his temples with his hands and bend his whole body as if at the Wailing Wall.
"What can I do, what can I do?" He kept repeating while pacing the hallway.
"Maybe to look for sponsors," I suggested, taking a pity on him.
"But how am I supposed to look for them without speaking Hebrew?"
"Right ...," I responded. "It would be difficult to find them without speaking Hebrew. Do you speak English at least?"
The neighbour mumbled and shook his head from side to side.
"It's an obstacle...," I concluded while scratching my head.
The neighbour suddenly looked at me sternly with completely sober eyes and raised his index finger up.
"I know!" He exclaimed and turned sharply towards the front door.
I was left alone while listening to the retreating footsteps. Then I went to the window to check if the neighbour managed to descend from the fourth floor, which he did. He was swiftly moving towards his building.
The next day as well as the following week the neighbour did not show up on his balcony. Sometimes I could observe an old woman, presumably his mother, seating there and staring into empty space for extended periods of time. My worries about the neighbour grew considerably by Friday and I was about to go out and search for him when he suddenly appeared on the balcony with some sort of a book in both hands, white striped cloak on his shoulders and black kippah on his head. He began to beat bows and read a prayer out loud.
"Hey!" I cried out when he finished. "Why don't you come up for a cup of something?"
There was no answer. The neighbour began to beat bows again, clearly disconnected from reality.
I could hear cats stirring up a shouting match outside, kids cruising around on bikes and screaming with delight while from the windows across were heard passionate moans of a middle-aged woman. But the neighbour didn't seem to care about anything. He went on beating bows and muttering prayers.
The next day somebody knocked on my door and I hurried up to open it.
I saw a group of men with side locks, dressed in black and wearing hats.
One of them, looking older then others, asked in Russian with a very strong accent:
"VladimIr lives here?"
As he accentuated last syllable of the neighbour's name, I did not understand him right away.
"Ah," popped out of me as soon as I got it. "He lives in the opposite building on the fourth floor. I do not know his apartment number though. What do you want him for?"
"We brought him some kosher meat," he said while showing a transparent bag, with no less than six pounds of meat in it.
"A ...," I pronounced drawlingly dumbfounded.
During the time I pronounced my "A" the group of men managed to descend one level down. I closed the door while listening to the retreating footsteps ... Noise from outside kept me from recollecting myself. To make things worse, I could hear migrant workers from Poland cursing and damning while working on something in the neighbouring building. I could hear repeatedly such words as "bitch" and "son of the bitch", but apparently there was no fight in view. I could hear my other neighbour yelling at her son, who managed to slacken a gas bottle and, with matches in his hand, intended to check if gas was going to burn. It seemed like a normal sunny day. Unknown seemed somewhat intimidating and fascinating at the same time. Train of thoughts did not want to go sky-high but hovered near the mundane. "Yes," I thought. "If I buy a piece of meat like that it may last for a week... what will be left is to buy some bread and a few vegetables, which is a matter of a few pennies..." And from the windows across were heard passionate moans of a middle-aged woman, accompanied by oriental music...