Знакомо ли это перевод на английский

Prologue
We can forget. But to remember all our lives. To cherish something. It goes beyond the limits. We have already gone wild. Nothing brings joy, there is nothing to remember.

Chapter 1
Does this sound familiar? Something like this. God is resting on the sidelines.
“We are Orthodox,” you will say.
-And why did you end up with God there? Take everything under your arm. And don't complain about heaven. It will be better if you warm your soul. No, not with alcohol.

Chapter 2
Spirituality must be first of all. And a conscientious mind. When you are responsible to yourself, that is the truth. "Go, even if it hurts, be silent and gather your insides into a fist. And clench your fists, but do not let go of your hands."

Chapter 3
Patience is the key to health. "Candles are not put on display. But they burn even inside." Hatred leads to nothing. It kills the good in you. People gloat over other people. These are evil people.

Chapter 4
Critics can be wrong. Look at it from the wrong angle. Again, critics are not all the same. Getting the gist of it is half the battle. The creator does not always have to reveal all his cards. He is a creator. And something can change every day.

Chapter 5
And this is a deviation in the fight against evil. It is useless to say anything to the creator until he himself dives into the problems and begins to solve the questions. "A question is a solvable problem. A problem is an answer to a question."

Chapter 6
Not everyone can turn the old into the new. You will say, how is this possible? Here is the word "sila". We change two letters and get "sel". The strength is in the Russian people, and where did these people live before, in the village. The Russian language is a treasure trove of philosophy.

Chapter 7
When it is too hot, we walk around sluggishly. It is necessary to gain energy. You can draw inspiration everywhere. "A rose will not wither as long as it is nourished and watered." And it is the same with a person. He must fill himself. With everything exclusive and wise.

Chapter 8
Rivers flow and we see how the water flows. How everything changes around. In spring the ice drift is rapid. In winter it will be covered with ice. Have you ever skated on a river in winter. Or have you ever sledded down the river bank.

Chapter 9
"He walked along the road, not noticing either the trees or the sky. It seemed as if all the candles inside him had long since gone out. But one day an old woman at the well handed him a mug of water and said: "Drink, my dear. After all, water also remembers how it flows."

Chapter 10
He took the mug from the old woman's hands, and the water, cold and clear, touched his lips. It seemed that at that moment something inside him trembled, as if a frozen river began to crack under the rays of the spring sun. He wondered: how much does this water remember? Maybe it flowed through forests and fields, saw people's joys and sorrows, heard their laughter and tears. And now it was here, in his hands, reminding him of something important that he had long forgotten.
The old woman looked at him attentively, her eyes shining with quiet understanding.
“Water remembers everything,” she repeated. “And you can remember, too.”
He looked down, feeling something warm and long lost rise in his chest. Maybe hope.

Chapter 11
From that day on, he began to notice things he had previously passed by indifferently. Trees with leaves whispering in the wind, clouds floating across the sky like ships – all of this became part of his world. He realized that life had not stopped, he had simply stopped seeing it.
One day, while sitting on the river bank, he heard children's laughter. A group of kids were launching paper boats into the water, their faces shining with delight. He closed his eyes and imagined himself as a little boy, just as carefree, believing in miracles.
“Do you want to try?” a voice said nearby.
He opened his eyes and saw a boy handing him a boat folded out of newspaper.
“Thank you,” he smiled for the first time in a long time.

Chapter 12
The boat sailed away, carried by the current. He watched it grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared from sight.
“That’s it,” he whispered.
“No,” the boy replied. “He just went on a trip.”
He thought about these words. Perhaps it was time for him to set out on his own journey - not to escape the past, but to seek out the new.
The wind picked up his thoughts and carried them over the river, where the sun touched the water, turning it into gold.

Chapter 13
The boat disappeared around the bend of the river, but he felt a strange sensation in his chest, as if part of his weight had floated away with it. The boy, still standing nearby, suddenly said:
- They always come back. Just by a different route.
“Boats?” he asked in surprise.
“No,” the boy laughed. “Thoughts.”
And he ran away, leaving him alone with this unexpected thought.

Chapter 14
In the evening, he sat on the porch of an old house he had rented for many years. In his hands was a tattered notebook where he had once written down poems. The pages had turned yellow, the ink had faded, but the lines were still legible.
"The candles go out, but the light remains..."
He reread this line and suddenly realized: he had not written anything new because he had stopped seeing the light. And it was there - in a drop of rain on glass, in a child's laughter, even in the silence of an old woman at the well.
He took out a pencil. On a clean page he wrote:
"Water remembers. And I begin to remember."

Chapter 15
The next day he went to the library. Dusty volumes, the smell of old pages – time flowed differently here. He accidentally took a book about Russian traditions from the shelf. Leafing through it, he came across a chapter about rural holidays:
“On Trinity they decorated houses with birch branches, and on Ivan Kupala they looked for fern flowers…”
Childhood came back to him: his grandmother, the steppe, the campfire, the round dances. He suddenly felt clearly that these customs had not disappeared. They were just waiting for him to be ready to remember them.
"Are you looking for something?" the librarian asked.
“Myself,” he answered unexpectedly.

Chapter 16
On the way home he turned to the river. Now it seemed to him not just water, but a living thread connecting the past and the present. A fisherman was sitting on the bank.
"Are there any bites?" he asked.
“The fish aren’t biting, but my soul is resting,” the old man chuckled.
They lit a cigarette while looking at the water.
- But the river is like life, - the fisherman suddenly said. - It flows, it spins, sometimes it drowns. But without it, it's empty.
He nodded. For the first time in years, he didn't feel alone.

Chapter 17
He had a dream at night. He was walking through a field, and bells were ringing around him - either the wind or invisible hands were calling him into the distance. He woke up with a clear thought:
"It's time to go back."
In the morning I packed my backpack. I took a notebook, a pencil and the same mug from which I drank water at the well. As a farewell, I left a note on the table:
"I'm going to look for what I didn't lose."
The door slammed shut. The wind tore the last dry leaf from the roof and carried it to where the river greeted the dawn.

Chapter 18
The Forgotten Path
The road led him to a place where the asphalt ended, giving way to ruts overgrown with tough grass. The bus had long since disappeared around the bend, leaving him alone at the edge of the field. The wind walked between the birches, rustling the pages of the old notebook in his backpack.
"Thirty years..." He squinted, peering into the distance. There, beyond the hill, should be a village. The very one.
Suddenly, a bicycle rolled out from behind the trees, and on it was a girl of about ten years old, with red pigtails.
“Are you going to see Baba Nina?” she asked, slowing down.
— To a coma?..
- Of course! - She laughed. - Everyone who walks along this road - only to her. She is waiting for everyone.

Chapter 19
Granny the Guide
Granny Nina turned out to be the same old woman from his dream - with eyes like cracks in old ceramics, wise and warm. Her hut smelled of dried mint and wax.
"Sit down, traveler," she said, placing a clay cup in front of him. "This is not simple tea. With a question."
- With what? - He sipped it carefully. It tasted like smoke and raspberry.
- With what you carry in your chest instead of a heart.
He froze. In the silence the floorboards creaked, as if the hut itself sighed.

Chapter 20
Talking to the house
He woke up at night from a sound. Someone was knocking on the wall. Not on the door, but on the wall.
"Don't be afraid," Granny Nina's voice came from the stove. "This house is remembering you. After all, you were born here."
- But this house...
— Burned? Yes. And this one — grew on its ashes. Trees do that. People — rarely.
He pressed his palm to the log. Something trembled in response - either the wood, or that same forgotten candle inside him.

Chapter 21
Well Stories
In the morning the girl (her name was Alice) dragged him to the well:
- The water here is special! Baba Nina says she remembers everyone who drank it...
“...and flows through time,” he finished the old woman’s phrase.
- Oh, so you heard her?! - Alice's eyes widened. - She just...
— ...to those who are ready? — he smiled.
The girl suddenly nodded seriously:
- You need to find your tree. Beyond the outskirts. Where the earth whispers.

Chapter 22
Roots and crown
The oak tree stood on the edge of the ravine, its roots exposed, clinging to layers of clay. He sat down on the ground, leaning his back against the rough bark.
Closed his eyes.
And I saw:
The boy (himself?) hides an iron box under the roots. Inside is a pebble, a button, a note...
He dug into the ground with his knife. A rusty roof gleamed a minute later.
With trembling hands he unfolded the half-rotted sheet of paper:
"I hid it to come back. If not me, then you. Read it and pass it on."
At the bottom, in children's letters: "Sasha, 1987."

Chapter 23
Circle
In the evening by the fire (Grandma Nina insisted) he read aloud to Alice:
— "The secret is that the candles don't go out. They're just... passed on."
“Like the relay race?” the girl whispered.
“Like a memory,” the old woman corrected, throwing a handful of herbs into the fire. The smoke formed a ring over them.
He took out a notebook, tore out the page with the morning entry ("I'm going to look for..."), and put it in the box. He added an acorn from the oak tree.
“Now it’s your turn to hide,” he said to Alice.
She ran towards the trees, laughing, and he looked up. Above his head were the same stars he had seen as a child.

Chapter 24
Water that remembers
At dawn he stood by the river with a mug in his hands. He scooped up some water. He drank it.
“Come back,” said Granny Nina, holding out a bundle of bread.
- I'm not leaving.
- That's not the point.
He understood. He nodded.
The train was taking him back to the city, but now he knew he could leave without leaving.
In my pocket is a handful of earth from that yard. And in my chest is light.

Epilogue: The Cycle
The city greeted him with noise, but now he heard something different in it - as if somewhere between the horns of cars and the creaking of trams there was hidden the same quiet song that the river sang in the village.
He went up to his apartment. The note was still lying on the table ("I'm going to look for..."), but now he placed a mug filled with water from the well next to it. A drop rolled down the icing, leaving a trace that looked like a map.
- Are you back? - the neighbor looked through the open door.
“No,” he smiled, “I just found a starting point.”
In the evening I lit a candle. Not for the light, but for the ritual. I took out a notebook and wrote:
"Does this sound familiar? Now it does."
And outside the window the first snow was falling on the asphalt, turning the city into an open field. Somewhere there, far away, Alice was hiding a box under a new tree, Granny Nina was pouring tea for the travelers, and the river was carrying its waters - from the past to the future, from oblivion to memory.