Page 77 - June 2021 Litterateur
P. 77


                    -Yes, wait a minute! I have an ending to finish here... - said the husband calmly.

                    -No, answer my questions first! - The wife was resolute.
                    And then the writer lifted his head from the papers:
                    - I can't use my gift for profit. Though who am I telling?! You will never understand it. If I wrote for
                    material  gain...  No,  no!  It's  hard  to  imagine...  If  you  want  a  luxurious  house  and  a  car,  I'll  go  to
                    Russia  tomorrow  to  work.  I'll  work  for  three  or  four  years  and  I'll  bring  you  that  money.  But,
                    remember once and for all, I will never write works that smell of money! Do you understand me?
                    The  writer  was  not  in  the  least  bit  angry,  which  made  the  enraged  woman  calm  down.  She
                    remembered the heart attack after another quarrel, which frightened her greatly. And really, what am
                    I doing with him? After all, the children are still very young, and we are young. We'll have a house
                    and a car...
                    The writer didn't sleep a wink that night. Couldn't even write a line. He waited for the e-mail. It was
                    now that he so needed those sincere messages that inspired him, gave him strength.
                    The  writer  never  responded  to  these  rare  letters.  But  that  did  not  stop  the  devoted  reader  from
                    writing again and again. And so the notification of a new letter made the writer very happy. After all,
                    he was in such need of a kind word and support.
                    "My dear writer!
                    Recently in one of the literary magazines I read your story - "The Living Man". It touched me to the

                    bottom of my heart. In the contents of your two books, which I have, there is no such a story. But I
                    would say it is a wonderful story, equal in plot to a whole novel. You know, I saw myself in the main
                    character. I sometimes too, watching around, cannot find living people. Are there any living people
                    at all? It seems as if everyone's heart is fading. I don't doubt that you are a living person. You don't
                    know me, but I consider you my closest person. Please keep writing such lively stories. I wish you
                    luck and inspiration!
                    Sincerely, A."
                    The  writer  recalled  "The  Living  Man,"  which,  after  several  returns,  was  finally  printed.  He
                    remembered how he had written it for a whole week without leaving the house. How he had received
                    a  severe  reprimand  for  it.  How  his  wife,  resentful  of  him,  left  with  the  children  to  her  parents.  It
                    wasn't their fault. The newspaper needs articles and the family needs attention. After all, they are
                    also living people ...
                    This time he decided to answer the letter.
                    "Dear A.

                    I read your letters all the time. These sincere reviews, wishes inspire me. Sometimes I want so much
                    to  abandon  everything,  but  when  I  receive  another  letter  from  you,  where  you  write  that  you  are
                    waiting for a new story from me, then I again take up the pen ... “
                    He kept writing and writing. And in the end he ended up with a very long an emotional letter, driven
                    by grief, sadness, and anxiety. The writer felt how each word made him feel lighter and brighter at
                    heart. When he sent the letter, it was already brightening in the courtyard. The man closed his eyes
                    and tried to relax. When he got back to work, there was a new e-mail.
                    And so began their correspondence.
                    One day, while cleaning up her husband's desk, his wife saw a notification on the monitor that a new
                    letter  had  arrived.  When  she  opened  the  mail,  she  saw  many  letters  sent  from  almost  the  same
                    "My dear writer!
                    In the last letter you sent a brief plot of your new novel. And you know, I don't agree about the image
                    of the main character. You describe a woman who lost her husband and found solace in books as a
                    beautiful woman. She can't be! A woman who has lost her strong and beloved shoulder will never be
                    beautiful. She is like a wilted flower without a caring gardener. The meaning of her life is books. And
                    so it would be wiser to make a man fall in love not with her outer beauty but with her inner beauty.
                    And then, love at first sight, not very convincing. Reconsider that point. If you want, I'll help you

                    create a psychological portrait of the main character.

                   Litterateur                                                                                            77

                         REDEFINING WORLD
                       EDITED BY SHAJIL ANTHRU
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