по мотивам рассказа Михаила Елизарова "Кубики"
режиссер Алексей Чёрный при поддержке Александра Токарева и Павла Мильмаистера.
If you imagine that the whole world is a house, then the fabled, toy death would be dwelling in the basement, which is also part of the house that God built. Under the basement, though, there would be a trench that not God, Father of the preset Father, dug, but a cursed, unknown old man, who had died before the Son was born.
Since a time before memory existed, the cadaverous organism of Foredeath has been residing in this tomb, and even God has no power over it.
There are no words to describe the blasphemy inflicted upon people, committed in that inconceivable absolute darkness, with not a single bright atom.
Fyodorov understood at once and forever that everybody would die, and that he, Fyodor, would also die, and this is the worst thing that could ever happen.
Alphabet blocks with multi-colored letters revealed to Fyodorov the awful mystery. When his Babylon made out of wooden blocks toppled into pieces, the letters formed the Eternal Word. And the Word was uttered, and it was the truth about death.
No adult would ever bear the burden of such a revelation. Fyodorov managed to compose himself, he withstood, and only occasionally would he burst into tears, and then…nobody could calm him down, neither his mother and grandmother, nor the doctors with their hallucinatory medicine.
Human life is like running through a minefield, where mines are planted not only in the ground, but also in the clouds, beetles, flies, grasshoppers, mist, in the rustling of grass stems or in the ringing from faraway bell towers.
Everywhere were many special traps, and though not all of them were instantly fatal, each one brought the end closer.
The traps were guarded by the Beasts. Fyodorov learned about the Beasts from the prayers his grandmother would sometimes read, asking to be saved from the Aphid and from the mental Wolf.
Fyodorov himself never saw the Beasts, but he imagined them very clearly. Once you might be caught off and not notice that the Mental Wolf had devoured the former meaning of things, and the Aphid had infected you with the deadly decay and turned you into Carrion, which is the Sin.
If a man is full of sinful Carrion, he dies. What made Fyodorov different from other people was that he learned to create antidote rituals – acts, supported by a short prayer, as dictated by the blocks.
To leave the apartment safely, Fyodorov would stroke the door knob five times and say Rock-a-bye, baby. If a stranger or an old woman with a poodle appears, he would return home, walking backwards. He would run into the kitchen, touch the table, press his cheek to the fridge, and only after all that did he stroke the door knob… by no means saying “Rock-a-bye, baby” because the baby is not rocking anymore. Instead, you should say: “Riddance, riddance – good riddance.”
At some point Fyodorov stopped going outdoors. At first he allowed himself to look out of the window, but soon he closed the curtains forever, to limit the influx of images.
The Beasts were not dozing. The Wolf gobbled the meaning of bread and water – the last bits of Fyodorov’s poor rations, and the Aphid turned them into Carrion immediately.
Then the fatal moment came, when Fyodorov didn’t manage to reach for the blocks. The Mental Wolf and the Aphid were patiently waiting for their prey…
… But the essence is unknown to The Beasts. In Fyodorov’d end is hidden the great defeat of Foredeath, because Foredeath has no right to him. Of all living creatures he is the only one not contaminated by the cadaverous organism of carrion, but instead filled with the Eternal Word.
And when Fyodorov ‘s spirit leaves him, a new realm of death will expand in the black emptiness left behind. This new realm will be stretched as a net over the former, and it will catch everyone. From then on everybody will be dying into Fyodorov’s death. Nobody knows what it will exactly feel like, but even if we are reincarnated as simple alphabet blocks with coloured letters, at least no one will ever get us or trouble us – not the mad old man, not Father, the Mental Wolf nor the Aphid.
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