Glavo biography

He heats up in your soul - so you put the wall: exactly, smoothly, without a single wrinkle, like an angelic forehead! Your moans will stand while Tiflis stands, the houses of Afrikyan, Aramyan, Arutinov will stand up, while the moans that you have folded live in them, while their foundation stands in your works and sweat. Let the hearts of people be straight and true to you, as the walls you have erected, be healthy and strong, like your walls!

He himself, Glasto, puts it so cleanly and okay, a brick to a brick, a stone to a stone - like a Georgian song or an Armenian liturgy - that is, God, creating his wall, one brick put a mantos?

.. And this brick hurts, whirls, twitching, wants to destroy the masonry of his life, no matter how he tried to leve this brick inside himself. This brick always managed to get drunk on any reason, forced the body to whine, exhausted his soul, hesitated all the masonry when it began, from what time this grief arose - he could not remember. Maybe from that day that Little Glavo first found out what was mowing on one eye?

Then the father, in order to cheer him up, said that all interesting Tiflis men should mow on one eye. This is Tiflis beauty, Tiflis this is Tiflis. And Glastho believed his father - he always believed him - and began to pity those who had not mowed his eyes. Then, when he grew up a little, his squint for some reason caused him sadness, and already much later Glastho realized that his eyes were his misfortune, and sadness began to grow until she captured everything, from head to toe.

And no longer let go. In the afternoon and night she proceeded, went on the heels, even if the Tsitanovsky climb, run away, at least to Mount Mahat! .. And there was no gland of peace. Woe followed him on his heels, like a crazy donkey Mosa behind a hay of hay, a draw of grief could not be compared with his grief. Yes, and sorrow is not like anything, it causes laughter, like I am a buffoon, ”Glago thought.

But he was young, his whole life is ahead, and he still had hope, the inner confidence that his eyes would be straightened, and he waited for this time. Nevertheless, even during this expectation, it was worth seeing him in the mirror or in the shop window of the store, how sadness woke up, spread throughout the body, choked, puppy her heart, covered the skin of the camepurses' workshop: albeit squint, and put the walls so straight and even that the hunchbacked streets of Tiflis looked even more hunchbacked next to them.

It seemed that Glasto should forget about everything, but grief raised his head again, the body emitted the wandered smell of sadness, and he sniffed at his body and, with a fright, felt that he was arriving and arriving, and he arrived, he was constantly convinced that if the eye was not preventing him from putting the wall, then this misfortune was not that, but all this disappeared somewhere, there was nothing to be a damned sadness.

The calculation - neither logic nor facts, came, not knocking on the door, penetrated into it and comfortably arranged, as in her own house. Then his father drowned in the chicken, and grief in his father pulled from the ground to the sky, hung a cloud and fog over Glamo. The words of sympathy of the masons, the memorial toasts at the commemoration could not reduce his sadness, and he, bending under the weight of great sadness, completely forgot about his eye and, ashamed, thought: “Well, what kind of man I am from such a trifle?

Capiliarism, frivolity what matters to karachoheli eyes, nose or hair! And then crooked Sergo did not go into people? As they count with him in Harpukh and the bald Vaso in Ortachal is not the most respected karachheheli, or Verzila Avestyle-not the most famous lawyer in Vake? .. Kura through the whole city flowed and reached the shaitan-bazaar, licked the walls of the Shah-Abbas mosque, rolled back and spinning, as if a dog, chasing his own tail.

And if the Kinto boat got into this whirlpool, all day spinning in place, like a carousel. Majar turned into wine in a boat, and the intoxicated kinto at night in bed, clinging tight to his own wives, talked about their travels in the east around a thousand and one minaret. Glavo also once came from Avlabar, reached the Shah-Abbas mosque, looked at the people standing on the bridge, looked at the Kuru and fell into a whirlpool.

But not in the one that under the bridge, but in the one on it on the bridge stood slender, like a cherry tree, with eyes and eyebrows, as if drawn, descending from the sky and metech, the beauty Makhmur. And, like a boat of Kinto, Glasto spun the whole year in this abyss. In Metheh, around the balcony of Mahmur, he built four houses, opened four windows and looked at Mahmur on all four sides, but from any side he could not find the road to her heart.

Of all the windows, he saw only her back. And again, this time deeper than before, was bogged down in the abyss of his grief. Wherever he looked at what window Tiflis looked at - Mahmur, like a vision, appeared before his eyes. And a minute became unbearable, a minute became heavy, a minute became motionless, and in it - endless despondency. And the sad shadow of her father lost the wild dance of grief in Mahmur.Glavo tried to reduce his grief, to exchange, to exchange, erecting the walls, drown in wine or pour out the grief in the song, but sadness remained sadness with Mahmur tattered on it in a beautiful way.

And it was then that Glasto began to suspect that grief exists on its own and it would still make him whine and sob, he would torment him and that in the mason created by God there is grief-brick inside him, which will bring the eyes of sadness, not even this strabismus, even his father is alive and even Stan Mahmur with his humble wife. And I also guessed Glasto that one grief would supplant another, that grief could only be replaced by grief and only a new misfortune can be removed from his heart with an exhausting soul of Mahmur.

And Glasto began to look for a new grief. But what could have been heavier than his sorrow, his heart ached, and Tiflis seemed to him a dark pit. Not a single blow of fate could withdraw the witchcraft of Mahmur out of him: he did not change anything in the inhuman act of the mason Tavada - small and insignificant, he immediately took refuge for grief along Mahmur.

Prince Tota Chenchebadze refused to pay Glauche for work, and this trifle, a weak pinch seemed and disappeared, disappeared behind grief according to Mahmur. And it grew and grew. Glavo could not find a place: he ran into Avlabar - Woe with a handkerchief was spread over Avlabar; rose to Narikala - grief like Papaha Pshava to the back of the head went down the whole quarter; He walked in Didube - grief, as if Burka, closed the whole word in one word, as we said, Glastho decided: “We must call a great grief so that it will go out, and what will happen after, think after, only now to get out of this hell.” But what could have been stronger than love, what could be great happiness, what could be a great misfortune?

Because of love, the city died, treason was committed, this crazy thought ended with suicide, like the wind, opened the door of the thought of Glasth. This is a grief for a strong man, male grief, will easily transfer him. If only a useless person was found so that the conscience would not torture, and there was benefit to others. It is a pity that Arsen Georgiashvili has already killed General Gryaznov.

All Tiflis had fun, feasted. I will find such a person - an unscrupulous daspery, fraud and rogue, and even childless - and my grief will be only mine, and God's punishment will be light. ” There were many such people, but the worst of them was the police chief, his Excellency of Babanas Libikh. Once Glastho went out onto Palace Street, stood in front of his Excellency Babanasov Libich and the general was taken aback - it seemed to him that General Gryaznov had exploded at him only a month ago, and he, caught up, looked around and thought which part of him would go now.

And the most terrible thought was that the head could suddenly fly into Avlabar or on the shaitan -bazaar, and the white hands in Dabahana wastewater. Well, if most of it sinks into the garden of the governor’s palace. And the general was waiting for his magnificent corps, and his gaze was surprised by Glaho. The act of Glavo was interpreted differently.

Who would have come to mind the grief-brick of the poor Glavo? And Glakho Ivangulyana, according to all the rules, - two armed soldiers on the sides, the prosecutor opposite, a hall full of Tiflis - was disheveled for two years and threw him into the Metekh prison. The prison was such an uncomfortable place for sensitive nature Glasto that the grief in Mahmur instantly disappeared.

Now he had only one grief. He looked at the four black and stained walls of the camera, then from the barred window to Narikala, and the longing for freedom and prison melancholy nibbled his heart. And Glastho scratched his cheeks, tore his hair. Come on, what else is Mahmur there, what else love! It turns out that the loss of freedom is the biggest misfortune, the most evil attack to somehow cope with grief, Glasto in his imagination erected the walls.

So he built buildings on Mount Mahat, behind a funicular to Codzhora, around Metech; The buildings were beautiful, tall, outlandish. And he strictly watched that the grief-brick was not accidentally in the wall, and at night he mentally counted bricks, ran his hand through the masonry, checked it, smoothing the wall inside himself as well. When Tiflis was no longer there was no longer a non -built place, he mentally went to the city of his great -great -grandfather - to Ani and erected a side of the wall, quickly and quickly restored the ruins of the city of Glastho knew Ani only from the picture in Avtandilyan’s house.

Then he mentally went to the city of his great -great -grandmother - to Erzerum. He built the walls, erected the house, and under them held the river - Kuru. He built, finished and was surprised: all his cities were an exact copy of Tiflis. Ani was Tiflis, Erzerum was Tiflis. Three typhlis at once - wa! Two years passed, and the grief-brick disappeared, disappeared into the masonry inside the Glasth, and he went beyond the iron gate of the Methekh, went down to the Maidan to the mason, the guys stabbed the ram, sat on the shore of the chickens, began to play on the pipe and had fun.

Everything was fine, the soul was open, the sky is open, the tall was crushed, the chicken is deep. And suddenly what's the matter? ..Again, everything inside him turned upside down, the food did not go for the future, the words stuck in his throat,- then the grief-brick continued his unchanged life. Additional information: Source: Agashi Aivazyan. Stories, stories. Translation from Armenian.

Publishing House "Soviet Writer", Moscow, G. provided: Irina Minasyan.