Готовый перевод Иоанна Хмелевская "Подозреваются все" / Joanna Chmielewska "All suspected": Роман

Joanna Chmielewska. All suspected.

HOW I HAVE NOT WRITTEN THE STORY

Since early youth I was tormented by a burning desire to write a story. It was so old, so deeply rooted that, apparently, was born at the same time with me.

I didn't dream of career of the movie star, or about marriage with the fantastic prince.

I wasn’t interested in all this.

I dreamed to write the story.

In immemorial times of the early childhood I intended to write an impressive story about love.

About love, of course, unfortunate because in happy I didn't see anything interesting.

I myself had to play the role of the main heroine, the young girl of extraordinary beauty and the outstanding advantages, having ardent feeling to some little known person.

The person was the burning brunette with black eyes and black moustaches.

The first kiss has forever connected us in some unusual circumstances: black horses, night, a terrible storm, a hailstones, lightnings, an edge of dark forest.

God knows why it all looked so dramatically!
Later, without receding from intention to immortalize unearthly feelings, I have changed some details.

Storm night was replaced in the magic lunar evening, I had shaved off person’s moustaches and liquidated horses.

Then came other changes, both in appearance and in behavior of the main characters, but no matter how I tried, I've never been able to go beyond the first kiss scene.

And once there was insignificant at first sight a case which has knocked me from this theme.

I was already twelve years old.

Late in the evening I sat at home at the table, lit a lamp, in a society of mother and her sister, my aunt and read great detective named "terrible hunchback," from which the blood froze in veins.

The detective was so terrible that I climbed with feet on a chair and double up on it in a very uncomfortable position, trying to take as less as possible places.

I was deathly scared and tried not to put out an extremity, which undoubtedly were exposed to the biggest danger.

Apparently, I was so pale and frightened look, that my aunt looked at me, broke away from the solitaire, which is already laying out and did not take her eyes off me.

Then she has shown on me to mother and has told a quiet voice as though spoke about weather:
- Look, he's behind you.

At the same moment with terrible cry, I jumped off the chair.

The next three days no power on earth couldn't force me to enter into a dark room.

Few came to myself, free from the impressions made a book about a hunchback, and a little reflection, I came to the conclusion that crime - much more exciting event than love, even unearthly.

From that moment I decided to write a detective story.

Years passed, time flew, I got married, completed education, but no matter what happens in my life, I still wanted to write a story.

Unfortunately, over time I grew up in an insuperable barrier.

Sneaky fate gave me too much imagination, which made it difficult not only my best work, but also life.

In life, it was the cause of my complications of family relationships.

One day I suddenly came to the conclusion that it must try to arouse jealousy from my husband.

In fact I had no time to any actions, but I could imagine everything that comes to mind.

My imagination went to work, and before I knew it, has found myself with unbelievable beautiful blond man, who tried very much to attract me, staring at me with admiring eyes.

Of course, his efforts from the beginning was doomed to failure, because I do not dream about relationships, but only a demonstration of it.

I pretended to be interested in it for the only purpose - that my husband at last has begun to worry.

It lasted long enough, the blonde showed impatience, the husband like again would start to flare feelings, and at last there has come time to finish the relationship with the blonde and explain everything.

I stood at an ironing table and ironed a baby's shirt, but in my imagination I saw the interior of the cafe "Crocodile".

I sat at a table with a blonde near the wall and tried to explain to him that he had served only as a tool, and my passionate feelings for him were only fiction.

I also expressed the hope that he will forgive me for it and we will remain friends.

Blond man was polite and cultured, he did not take offense, and we continued our conversation in full accord and in good mood.

Further I intended to imagine, how the husband who is going mad with despair and jealousy, make a row, how I fall into his embraces, how everything becomes clear, and we're playing in the bridge with the blonde man in perfect harmony.

Anyone could be the fourth player.

Continuing to talk to the blonde, I looked up at the door and suddenly saw my husband with a charming blonde girl.

This upset me, because this scene was not in my script.

The husband and blond woman came in and sat at a table.

I can't believed my own ears.

I was a friend, and she was a brother.

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
Его статус: идёт перевод

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/20619/67572

Переводчики: laranazira