2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43
When I was a translator, even before the occupation of Crimea, I went with my superiors to the base of the Paralympians.
It was March, frost, even in the seemingly warm Evpatoria. Hotels are closed, cafes are boarded up, cold and deserted. The central beach is the edge of the ice, behind which frozen swans swam interspersed with seagulls.
When it got dark it seemed that the swans were glowing in the black water, the stars were reflected in the sea, Waves rustled on the ice. The poems were written by themselves, until the phone said "Piiik" and was not discharged.
The picture was spoiled only by a group of gopots, with vodka and mats at the exit from the beach. I have a backpack with a laptop, all the cash for the trip and tickets back. I suspected that I could become an event for the gopota, it was scary to walk past them. There was only one exit from the beach. Tears did not give anything, I did not want to spend the night on the shore in the frost. After still crying about my ruined life, I put a backpack under my jacket, a hood on my head - I turned into a hunchbacked old woman. She dug the stick harder in the sand, and dragging her leg slowly walked towards the exit. The natives accompanied me with a couple of comments, such as "why would a grandmother climb the beach in the evening." and "isn't it from the base where these freaks train". It was very difficult not to run, but to slowly stomp past.
The morning was sunny, there were people on the embankment. It smelled of sea, frost and fish. We were taken by car to the base of the Paralympians. One of the places where my character has changed a lot. Buildings, ramps, halls over the sea and many people in different physical conditions. Most are very happy.
I remember how one of the trainers came running and warned that "he will now go into Tosya's room and so that we should not be surprised at her while he is gone." A young lady drove into the room in a wheelchair: scarlet lipstick, strong shoulders, no legs up to her hips. She spoke quickly, I barely had time to translate. Instead of answering one of the questions, Tosya told a vulgar joke, and while my face and ears were changing the shades of red, she told a second similar one and demanded that I translate them word for word. I hesitated, the boss was boiling like a kettle and demanded an explanation. I fought with shame and thought about how to translate the names of some parts of the body into English. Breathless coach returned
- Well Tosya, are you as always ?? - he said reproachfully, looking at Tosya from my red face.
When she left, the coach apologized for a long time that she was strange. And only then I realized that the strangeness was for him in the vulgar anecdotes that she liked to tell everyone.
Then the team came. Young loud guys. One went to shake my hand for some reason. When I squeezed, his elbow remained in mine. He stepped back, I dropped his brush on the gray carpet, yelled and somehow ended up behind the boss. He placed the rounded carcass in a fighting stance. The guys laughed so hard that the windows flinched, someone lifted the prosthesis from the carpet and handed it to the owner.. My face was not just red, it burned.
- Get to work! - the chief bellowed. They laughed for another ten minutes.
And now a boring afterword. Recently I realized that people's reactions to the trauma of the Other are very different. Not only curiosity and a desire to help, who will have disgust and anger. And criticism.
There are visible physical injuries, and there are mental injuries. Invisible from the outside, but very painful. They diminish from psychotherapy, albeit gradually.
In the meantime, let's condemn less. Less criticism of the incomprehensible. Don't laugh at the weird. Don't ask personal questions. A guy in camouflage who falls over at a harsh sound. The girl who buries the cat. Childless couple. Adept of an incomprehensible religion. The lady is in mourning. Single mother. Tears down your face for no reason that is logical to you. Let's just respect, and learn to accept, maybe not understanding.
After all, this rage, anger and laughter is not really about the traumatized person, in fact it is about something of the soul, condemning. After all, we are all alive, we are all somewhere in our traumas and scars.
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