Московские котята, на англ

MOSCOW KITTENS (в стиле хайбун)

I chaperone my mother to the clinic not far from her small apartment.
Doctors do not make appointments for their patients. People—mostly women—come and sit on chairs in the hallways for hours waiting for their turn.
The women discuss failing health, their meager pensions. One man with a cane says all of a sudden, " They want to live very well but they should understand that it may be done only at the expense of other people ."
Younger men lose their patience and try to open doors guarded by a female nurse who pushes them out.
Sometimes a nurse personally walks in a a patient who are more equal than others; the waiting lines erupt in loud cries.
Tension ensues and the older women start to moralize and opine how the outpatient care should be administered.
My mother keeps to herself and refrains from any comments.
I make my excuses and go downstairs to breathe some fresh air.
In the vestibule I see a group of people in the far corner; they are looking at something on the floor. I worm my way in there and get a glimpse of a shoe box with gray kittens.
They keep themselves warm together while moving around a little. I wonder whether the light reaches their small brains through their unpeeled eyes. It does so for me if I shut my myopic eyes.
The tall nurse with a white cap addresses onlookers, "Someone should drown 'em.”

Whole Health Expo
she takes off her fur coat
by the massage chair


1997