Mr. blockhead also cries. specially for veronika
Somewhere at the outskirts of London in a small narrow street in a tiny house there lives not in the least tiny, but comparatively big Mr. Blockhead, better known as Charlie the Searcher. Nobody knows when he was born, because it remains to be a mystery even to him. His childhood was obscured by clouds of inscrutability but it’s quite a different story. All his life he tries to find his vocation but all the time something prevents him of doing that, although he is a sturdy-built, hardworking man of 40 years old only. At his day of birth his skin was of a blackish colour, so everybody was at a loss concerning his origin, but everything turned out to be as easy as a pie when they simply washed him. As it appeared to be the accoucheur earned additionally as a coal-miner and forgot to wash his hands that day.
Charlie tries himself in various fields of activity. For instance, he has a good deal at philosophizing, having devised the definition of the sense of life that runs as: “Life is like a sewer, what you get out of it depends on what you put into it.” He has a faithful friend Henry Turn-Up-Muzzle, who always helps him in his constant pursuits, but as a rule, the situations turn in such a ridiculous way that nobody knows exactly whether that help was desirable. In spite of that they coexist rather peacefully, arguing from time to time who is dumber, not having an idea that stupidity doesn’t have the degree of congruence. Anyway, there remains a little possibility for the readers to find something instructive in this endless novel, so let’s begin.
Mr. Blockhead a Detective.
One day Charlie heard on radio that the majority of people were mad about various detective stories. It suggested him an idea to inaugurate a “Private Detective Agency” for those who felt a deep desire to experience pungent sensations not only with the help of books, but in real life either. It took some time for him to rent a flat in one of the newly-erected buildings and furnish it in the corresponding way for it to look like an office at least. Naturally he appointed Henry Turn-up-muzzle to be his assistant, otherwise it wouldn’t correspond to the settled conception about a well-respected detective. They placed an advertisement in one of the newspapers (they didn’t have money for more) and for three days had been waiting for a visitor, but nobody even phoned. On the fourth day, when Charlie was almost ready to give up that shady venture they heard long-expected steps up the stairway. In a flash Charlie set himself in an armchair, snatched a pipe, pushed it in his mouth not having an idea how to lit it and froze there in a pose of a thinker.
-A man is coming…- he uttered, solemnly looking at Henry.
-Why do you think so?- displayed interest Turn-up-muzzle with genuine astonishment.
-Deduction,- hemmed Charlie thoughtfully,- Don’t you hear he is stepping too hard.
The door of the office opened and they saw an elephant-looking woman stamping in the doorway. Charlie goggled at her and grumbled:
-It seems a misfire took place…
-Why do you think so?-repeated Henry innocently.
-Hush,- hissed Mr. Blockhead at Henry and, having flung a slipper in his direction without any hope to hit, turned to the lady:
-What brought you here, Mrs…
-Well-well,- interrupted Charlie,- As far as I see, you are trying to recall your name… it happens, when a person is agitated coming in a detective agency, believe me.
-Nothing of the kind, -flashed the lady,- It’s my full name and I haven’t finished yet. So, where have I stopped?
-Tur…- tried to prompt Henry but having noticed the ferocious expression of Charlie’s face broke off.
-Oh, pardon, madam,- confused Mr. Blockhead and having expressed the resemblance of a smile mumbled,-May I call you simply Maria?
-Sure, but usually they call me Judy.
-From bad to worse…-grumbled Charlie under the nose,- Ok, Mrs. Judy, seat yourself and tell me everything about the problems that disturb you.
-Actually…- started the lady uncertainly.
-Wait, I’ll try to anticipate your story with a surmise, for all that I’m a specialist,- interrupted Charlie again,- Judging by the expression on your face you’ve been robbed...
-N-no,- the lady lifted her eyebrows surprisingly,- what possessed you to think so and what kind of a specialist you are?
-Oh Lord,- Mr. Blockhead was in the grip of deep emotion,- Can it really be true that someone has been killed?
The lady blinked at Charlie brokenly and stepped back:
-I… one question, Mr…
-Blockhead, madam, Charlie Blockhead.
-Then tell me, are you Ok, Mr. Blockhead?
-In what sense?- Charlie was taken aback.
-In the most common one, I’m your new neighbour and came to ask for some salt, but you are getting me round with your idiotic guess-work.
-What?- roared Charlie at the top of his voice,- Then what a hell you didn’t you say it earlier, old cabbage stump? It’s a detective agency but not a toyshop!
-Following your deductive method,- managed to put in Henry,- I dare say, it’s hardly possible to buy salt in a toyshop…
-I don’t give a damn, don’t cavil at every word.
-Wait a minute,- the lady had been looking at Mr. Blockhead attentively for several minutes,- Are you really that Mr. Blockhead whose name is Charlie?
-Yes,- nodded Charlie proudly,- have you already heard of me?
-Sure,- faltered the lady,- they say you’re not a detective but a defective…
-How… what… - Mr. Blockhead choked with fury and leaped in his armchair with such strength that it squeaked sorrowfully and shattered into pieces having buried the great detective in its debris, from under which it could be heard- Be off, Judy-Jady-Shady-Damned-Old-Boot! Get away home and smell a fico! A lot I care of her salt!
The frightened woman rolled down the stairway with a surprising speed taking into account her complexion and vanished into the thin air weeping on the way: “Defective… popular wisdom never lies.” Henry carefully extracted swearing detective out of the armchair’s remains and put him on the sofa with the words:
-My congratulations, chief, with the successful beginning?
-What are you talking about?- Charlie was indignant,- A bit more and she would have sent me to Kingdom Come…
-You should be proud of yourself then. If you managed to stay alive it means that one impingement upon life you have averted.
(to be continued)
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И куда ни ткнись - русизмы. Беру наугад, концовка. You managed to stay alive... Там русский дух, там Русью пахнет. Under such circumstances a native speaker would, most likely say :"IF YOU SURVIVED, YOU JUST AVERTED ANOTHER BLOW IN YOUR LIFE". Why strain one's guts out God know for what?
Сергей Елисеев 13.04.2012 13:42 Заявить о нарушении
How did we manage to stay alive?
Has anyone else noticed that all the 'food' things we did as children, now come with direct warnings
(Line Cook - English edition)
You're lop-sided Sergey,
English is much richer than you imagine:-)
What you call "straining one's (my) guts" is just having fun mixed with kidding,
And there are much more coincidences in both languages, much more than one (you) can imagine:-)
I.e. many thanks for your admonitions, I repudiate your petulant expostulations (Jeorge Mikes, my uncle by the by:-)
Александр Ахманов 13.04.2012 18:35 Заявить о нарушении
It's so awesome to hear this word-combination "dear boy" being 50...
You know it was not an attempt to immortalize my modest person, it was just an exercise for one of my students... (you could have paid your attention to the addition "specially for Veronika")
She wasn't good at lexics, just decided to help her in such a ridiculous way...
As far as "asshole" is concerned it is spelled together, though the sense doesn't differ much:-)
I inherited English from my Granny, she hadn't spoken Russian to me since I was 5, that's why I don't dive a damn which one to speak or write...
Haven't caught why you should be cross with me, haven't said anything offencive:-)
Чуть-чуть русского, а то целый день только английский, да английский...
Если Вы читали то, что на страничке написано, так там чёрным по белому: Я себя к числу писателей не причисляю:-) (в отличие от большинства здесь обитающих)
И уж, тем более, не претендую на роль мессии в английском языке...
Помню, был у нас один стажер из Old Rectory, Jeoff Eagleson...
Сказал хорошую фразу: Since English became the world one it has lost its charm...
Абсолютно с ним согласен, поэтому и респондент, который native изгалялся как мог, лишь бы бедного Вашего товарища в лужу посадить... Зачем?:-) Мы же можем и русского носителя так же носом, да в салат, благо, филологи... А это ещё смешнее, носитель языка - носителя:-)
Я ко всему спокойно отношусь, ибо Буддист по вероисповеданию, родился и вырос в Индии... Надеюсь, в курсе, какой ТАМ английский:-)
Так что, спасибо на добром слове, Вам успехов, удач, дач, кляч, по желанию калач, с наступающей Пасхой и не болеть:-)
Александр Ахманов 13.04.2012 22:40 Заявить о нарушении
Ещё раз Вам добра, удач, приятного хобби.
Сергей Елисеев 13.04.2012 23:51 Заявить о нарушении
Сергей Елисеев 13.04.2012 23:58 Заявить о нарушении
Наш бы, конечно, по всем статьям подошел:-)
Взять за основу ненормативный - и обучение займет не больше пары месяцев...
А английски - да, он скуп на эмоции, да и в устной речи тоже...
Александр Ахманов 14.04.2012 00:11 Заявить о нарушении
Сергей Елисеев 14.04.2012 12:27 Заявить о нарушении
Сергей Елисеев 14.04.2012 12:29 Заявить о нарушении
Some years ago I spent a lot of time with a young lady who was very proud and conscious of being English. Once she asked me - to my great surprise - whether I would marry her. "No," I replied, "I will not. My mother would never agree to my marrying a foreigner." She looked at me a little surprised and irritated, and retorted: "I, a foreigner? What a silly thing to say. I am English. You are the foreigner. And your mother, too." I did not give in. "In Puna, too?" I asked her. "Everywhere," she declared with determination. "Truth does not depend on geography. What is true in England is also true in India and Hungary, in North Borneo and Venezuela and everywhere."
Still it explains much I guess:-)
Александр Ахманов 14.04.2012 17:10 Заявить о нарушении