Burga
Created | Updated Jan 20, 2006
Russian lorry driver in a blue lorry crossing the Mongolian steppes. Very battered lorry, but Russian lorries take a lot of battering.
That reminds me, American astronaut meets a Russian colleague, makes conversation, says, "We had that problem that pens wouldn't write properly in zero gravity, so we developed a special pen, now that thing's just great, writes in any position, won't fail even when you're hanging upside down in outer space. Did you encounter the same problem, and how did you solve it?" Says the Russian: "We use pencil."
Back to the lorry driver on the steppe, green grass rolling, rolling, driver nodding, nodding, rolling off the road onto the grass.
Jerks up. "Keep awake man! Maybe I'll sing a bit to keep awake." starts singing in a rumbling but quite melodious voice. "Rasvetali yablony y grushy..."
Driving, driving, grass plain rolling, rolling. Oh man what a country!
Driver nodding again.
Wakes up.
"Yaaahhhh!"
Breaks, stops with fore wheels just on river bank.
"Whew, that was close! Maybe I'll exercise a bit, get some oxygen into the brain.
"Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka maya..." dance over the steppe throwing legs high "vsadu yagoda malinka, malinka maya..." scamper over a ridge.
Many birds flying up.
"Nu shto? Now what?"
Something is lying there. It don't look good. No not good at all.
"Yaahhh! A corpse! Lyooodie! Pomogitye, pomogitye! People! Help, help!"
Jump into lorry, start engine, forgetting that lorry is still in first.
"Yaahhh!"
Lorry hangs with nose in river and over the ridge the birds are eating a corpse.
Lean on the horn, yell "Lyoodie! Pomogitye, pomogitye!"
Oh man, what a country, are there any people here at all?
Yes there are. A rider appears in the distance.
Clamber on cab roof, holler. "Lyoodie! Lyoodie! Iditye syooda, syooda! Come here!"
Rider approaches, stops beside truck. Dark impassive face looks into lorry window, long, thin, black mustachio hanging over the mouth, dark, dark, very slitty eyes. He looks down, silent. Look like scout of Dshingis Khan's army, that one. Oh man!
Point frantically. "A corpse, a corpse! Over there!"
Rider turns round in saddle looking over to where birds are circling.
"Yes. That's my uncle. He was a fine, fine man. And the birds like him also."
That reminds me, American astronaut meets a Russian colleague, makes conversation, says, "We had that problem that pens wouldn't write properly in zero gravity, so we developed a special pen, now that thing's just great, writes in any position, won't fail even when you're hanging upside down in outer space. Did you encounter the same problem, and how did you solve it?" Says the Russian: "We use pencil."
Back to the lorry driver on the steppe, green grass rolling, rolling, driver nodding, nodding, rolling off the road onto the grass.
Jerks up. "Keep awake man! Maybe I'll sing a bit to keep awake." starts singing in a rumbling but quite melodious voice. "Rasvetali yablony y grushy..."
Driving, driving, grass plain rolling, rolling. Oh man what a country!
Driver nodding again.
Wakes up.
"Yaaahhhh!"
Breaks, stops with fore wheels just on river bank.
"Whew, that was close! Maybe I'll exercise a bit, get some oxygen into the brain.
"Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka maya..." dance over the steppe throwing legs high "vsadu yagoda malinka, malinka maya..." scamper over a ridge.
Many birds flying up.
"Nu shto? Now what?"
Something is lying there. It don't look good. No not good at all.
"Yaahhh! A corpse! Lyooodie! Pomogitye, pomogitye! People! Help, help!"
Jump into lorry, start engine, forgetting that lorry is still in first.
"Yaahhh!"
Lorry hangs with nose in river and over the ridge the birds are eating a corpse.
Lean on the horn, yell "Lyoodie! Pomogitye, pomogitye!"
Oh man, what a country, are there any people here at all?
Yes there are. A rider appears in the distance.
Clamber on cab roof, holler. "Lyoodie! Lyoodie! Iditye syooda, syooda! Come here!"
Rider approaches, stops beside truck. Dark impassive face looks into lorry window, long, thin, black mustachio hanging over the mouth, dark, dark, very slitty eyes. He looks down, silent. Look like scout of Dshingis Khan's army, that one. Oh man!
Point frantically. "A corpse, a corpse! Over there!"
Rider turns round in saddle looking over to where birds are circling.
"Yes. That's my uncle. He was a fine, fine man. And the birds like him also."
