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Thread: Thus spake m. Solzhenitsof!

  1. #331
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    FRAGMENTS (1) /FROM THE VERY PAGE OF 22
    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY // THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise
    Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin

    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...
    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. ........
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 07-04-2017 at 04:44 PM.

  2. #332
    Registered User mesolzhenitsy's Avatar
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    FRAGMENTS (2) / FROM THE VERY PAGE OF 22 (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Of which Anita Rankin and Philip Rankin found in Africa was the humanity and it was kept and well informed in the most delightful fashion. When, in the complexity of circumstances, loving humanity depended upon the choice which the Rankin Family was about to make whether its members might or might not become the lover of coloured and non-coloured people! It was not only the brilliant pitches of virtuous sopranos, old talismans and academicians, to whom they were bound by such close ties, that Rankin Family compelled with so much philanthropy to serve them as precursors. All friends of theirs were accustomed to receive, from time to time, emails which called on them for a word of recommendation or introduction, with a tongue of natural diplomacy diplomatic which, persisting throughout all the family's adroitness...
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 07-04-2017 at 04:45 PM.

  3. #333
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    FRAGMENTS (3) / FROM THE VERY PAGE OF 22 (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Successively they would be using different pretexts, revealed more glisteningly than any vague quest, clumsiness or trait in indiscretion, a permanent borings to some extent character and an unvarying posture. They used often to recall to themselves when, many years later, they began to take an interest in the friends' character because of the similarity which, in wholly different respects, it offered to their own, how, when they used to write to far relatives-though not at the time they are then considering, for it was about the day of saint Valentine that all darlings’ great ‘affair’ began, and made a long gaiety in their rejoicing practices-the latter, recognising their friends’ second email addresses on the monitor, would exclaim: “Here is an amicable soul offering for sharing several parties; thanks to God!” And, either from self confidence or from the highly conscious spirit of Good Samaritans which urges them to offer a thing to everybody who do want good and nice only, Philip Rankin should not meet with an obstinate refusal the most easily satisfied of his prayers, as when he begged them for an introduction to a nice people who dined with his family every Sunday, and whom they were obliged, whenever The Rankin Family mentioned them, to pretend that they no longer saw, although they would be wondering, all through the week, whom they could invite to meet them, and often failed, in the end, to find anyone, sooner than make a sign to Mr and Mrs Rankin who would so gladly have accepted.Occasionally a couple of their grandparents’ acquaintance, who had been complaining for some time that they never saw any Rankin now, would announce with satisfaction, and perhaps with a slight inclination to make them envious of their new generations, that they had suddenly become as charming as they could possibly be, and was never out of their house.
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 07-04-2017 at 04:45 PM.

  4. #334
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    FRAGMENTS (4) / FROM THE VERY PAGE OF 22 (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Philip Rankin's children would not care to shatter the people's pleasant illusion, but would look at Anita Rankin-the mom, as she hummed the air of:
    -What is this mystery?
    -We cannot understand it at all;
    -Of imagines fugitive . . .;
    -In matters such as this it is best to close one’s eyes.
    A few months later, if Philip Rankin asked a new friends of theirs
    -What about old ones? Do you still see as much of them as ever?” the other’s face would lengthen:
    -Ever mention their name to us again!
    -But I thought that you had got such friends of your old parents, huh?
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 07-04-2017 at 04:45 PM.

  5. #335
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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .........
    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I

    One could see, the guests or rather The Debater to take place at the dinner table after The Phrase -what a title!-has no bearing on the point. What one must know is whether the debate friends are indeed the guests of the Rankin Family in average grade of mentality and even of highest charm, one of those appraisable debaters who are capable of foregoing a pleasure for if they are such, how could someone love each other, for they are not even a professional debater, a definite, imperfect, but at least perceptible entity. They are not a formless water that will trickle down any slope that it may come upon, a fish devoid of memory, incapable of thought, which all its life-span in its aquarium will continue to draw nearer-instead of dashing-itself, maybe-a some thousand times a day, against a wall of glass, not mistaking it for water but discerning every details a propos walls of soil or walls of liquids. Could the reader realise that any reason explain the dramatic fall or rather being ruined to some degree of survival worse than destruction of The Rankin Family's will have the effect-one does not say of making the liberal intellectuals of The World cease from that moment not to feel suffering from the dictatorial oppressions availing in the cases similar to that of theirs, that goes without saying, but of making Zimbabwe less attractive to The World's eyes when the mankind realise that the oppressors are not any human, that people are to be running into beneath everything in the world and have not the intelligence to raise the oppressor one inch higher than the infliction induced throne of an hyena while grinning with blood stained incisive teeth? Obviously, one should have preferred to ask the reason sufficient to destruct the mansion of The Rankin Family wherein the dinner table would always be open to everybody to dine in the spirit of having felt the cosy welcome of the host and hostess namely Mr. and Mrs Rankin and voluntarily to take part in the 'Debate' ad hoc 'The Phrase' the guests might love as much as compelling it to debate, as though it had been a matter of little or no importance, to give up the socio-political even socio-economic affairs (since none compels them to sully their lips with so abject a subject consisting of musical notes played by the guitarist or pianist highly respected amongst the other guests at The Rankin's), in the hope that one would go to omit it nevertheless. But, since one-ethically charged with 'narrating the ache of a philanthropist family and its Good Samaritan Friends had resolved to weigh the subject in the balance, to make so grave an issue depend upon the remarks of the narration, one considered it more honourable to give every well civilized people due warning. Meanwhile, the narrator might had shown signs of increasing emotion and uncertainty all in all the meaning of the tirade like parts was beyond the literature. So that one grasped that it was to be included among the scenes of heartrending infliction or supplication, scenes which The Rankin's familiarity with the ways of men of pen enabled somebody, without paying any heed to the words that were uttered, to conclude that the pen would not make unless both the writer and the pen were in love for humanist tasks; that, from the moment when they were in love within the procedure of constructing the style, even if it would be superfluous to understand the doomsday at the Rankin's there upon Philip Rankin would cry, "I'm nobody, oppression based life had done away with me since there could only be a dead man in love with The Mankind later on." And so, when the others would have heard one-the narrator-out with the utmost tranquillity had the other guests or rather the lovers of the ' phrase debating not noticed that it was growing late, and that if they went on speaking for any length of time one would never as they told one with a fond smile, obstinate but slightly abashed, “come here in time for the dinner induced debate or vice versa.” On other occasions they had assured themselves that the one thing which, more than anything else, would make them cease to love 'debating the phrase', would be one refusal to abandon the habit of ignoring dinner time at The Rankin's. “Even from the point of view of intelligence, pure and simple,” one had told them, “can’t you see how much of your attraction you throw away when you stoop to debating? By a frank admission-how many good deeds you might redeem! Really, you are drawing nearer than you supposed!” In vain, however, did one expound to them thus all the reasons that one had for not exaggeration; they might have succeeded in overthrowing any universal system of INTELLECTUAL AID, but one had no such system; one contented oneself, merely, whenever the guests wished The Rankin Family not to remain in ignorance of anything that one had done, with not telling one of it. So that the truth was, to everybody at The Rankin's, something not to be used only as a special expedient; and the one thing that could make everybody decide whether they should avail themselves of the truth or not was a reason which, too, was of a special and contingent order, namely the risk of The Narrator’s discovering that The Rankin Family's members had always told the intellectuals of the earth the truth, solely truth. Physically, under the general oppression availing in Zimbabwe The Rankin's Family was passing through an unfortunate phase; it was growing unhappy, and the expressive, sorrowful charm, the surprised, wistful expressions which the members of The Rankin's Family had formerly had, seemed to have vanished with their main happiness, with the result that they became most precious to the humanist circles of the friends at the very moment when those persons found them distinctly less good-looking. The friends of Mr. and Mrs Rankin would gaze at their for hours on end, trying to recapture the charm which they had once seen in their face and could not find again. And yet the knowledge that, within the new and strange torture upon them, it was still the narrator that lurked, still the same volatile temperament, thoughtful, artful and non-evasive, was enough to keep everybody seeking, with as much passion as ever, to captivate them. Then the old friends would look at photographs of The Rankin's Family, taken two years before, and would remember how exquisite they had been. And yet that could not console one, a little, for all the sufferings that one voluntarily endured on one's account. When the members of The Rankin's Family took themselves off to nowhere, or to the neighbours' houses, or to far relatives, as often as not, if the weather was fine, they would propose to remain there for the night for they had not go any home until next day. Mme. Rankin could not endeavour to set at rest while remembering the scruples of the guitarist a propos 'The Phrase', whose memoirs had remained in the past: “Our souls will be only too glad to be rid of life for a moment", said they. One would ask then "how on earth could The Rankin Family's members not be anxious, when they know The World's Intellectuals aren't totally with the because of the informational gap regarding to the oppression of Zimbabwe's dictatorship and the torture of it inflicting upon mainly Philip and Anita Rankin? Anyhow, will I be able take them all under my wing over making the well civilized countries from Russia to Canada, Holland, Ireland etcetera, etcetera?” If this attempt failed, one would set off across country until one came to the corner of his study for some other kind of messenger-the PC, after first finding out which of the ‘faithful’ had anyone whom they must warn. And yet to the highest probability the world would thank one, and assure one that one might have several message for one, for one-The Narrator had told them, once and for all, that one could possibly send messages to The European Stock intellectuals, before all those people, without compromising oneself. Sometimes one would be present for several days on end, when the Rankin Family took one to see the tombs of their farmer grandparents! On the Rankin Family’s advice, to watch the sun setting through the little gate of the garden after which they went on to the most convenient place. “To think that one could visit really natural structures with us, who have spent some years in the debate of 'the musical phrase', who are constantly showered by other brilliant phrases, by the guests of the Rankin Family who really count, to take them the dinner table, and refuse to take anything but 'The Phrase'; and instead of that one trundles off with the lowest, the most brilliantly upgraded of harmonies, to go into ecstasies over the petrified impressions both of the guitarist and the painter alongside the omnipotent and the Doc! One hardly needs much knowledge of art and thought, I should say, to do that; though, surely, even without any particularly refined sense of debate, one would not deliberately choose to spend a vacation in the dinner table, so as to be within range of their nuances of consideration as fragrant exhalations within the boundless of boundaries of Chekov's orchard in his peerless works of the literature.” But when one had set off for farms, without allowing another person to appear there, as though by accident, at one's side, for, as one said, that would “create a hopeful impression,” one would plunge into the most feeding romance in the debate lover’s dinner table... The timing allocated for 'The Debate of The Phrase' within the dinner time were like a railway timetable, from which one learned the ways of joining something here or there in the morning, midday, afternoon or in the evening, even in the midnight. The ways to give start to the debate? More than that, the authority as the omnipotent or Doc do represent, the right to join it. For, after all, the time-table, and all the vehicles, planes, the trains themselves, were not meant for the people of the anti-humanist oppressors so even if the public were carefully informed, by means of printed advertisements, that in the first quarter of the 2000s a dictator could only be because going to demolish a family was a lawful act, for which permission from dictatorship would be superfluous; an act, moreover, which might be performed from a motive altogether different from the desire to see the target consisting of the innocent members of The Rankin Family, since persons who had never even heard of her performed it daily, and in such numbers as justified the horror and expense of bribing at the executers of the dictator. So it came to this; that the Rankin Family could not prevent executers to behead their soil loving souls from going to their farm anymore if they chose to do so. Now that was precisely what the members of The Rankin Family found that they couldn't choose to do, and would at that moment be doing were they, like the travelling public, not acquainted with a beloved farm loved and well treated. For a long time past one-the narrator had wanted to form a more definite impression of tragic collapse of the Rankin’s home as a restorer. And the horror being what it was, one felt an overwhelming desire to spend the day roaming on the lanes before their mansion. It was, indeed, a piece of bad luck that the friends had forbidden themselves access to the one spot that horrified to-day one of the day of the year 2017! Why, if one went down there, in defiance of their prohibition, they would be able to see themselves that very year! But then, whereas, if one had met, at The Rankin's, someone who did not matter, one would have hailed them with obvious pleasure: “What? You were tortured, weren't you?” and would have invited them to come and see friends at the dictatorial where they were staying with the Rankin's, if, on the other hand, it was oneself-the narrator who encountered there, one would be annoyed, would complain that one was being followed, would love one less in consequence, might even turn away in anger when one caught sight of the benumbed persons. “So, then, I am not to be allowed to go away for a day anywhere!” one would reproach the friends on their return, whereas in fact it was one himself who was not allowed to go. As the time being one had had the surprising idea, so as to contrive to visit vicinity around the house without letting it be supposed that one's object was to meet the butchers who tortured The Rankin Family, of securing an indolence from one of those inhuman oppressors, the men of the dictator, who might had a garrison in that neighbourhood. One is not solely a narrator but is a friend, to whom the guests of Lady Rankin to dine, to listen to music, and to debate the phrase suggested the plan without disclosing its ulterior humanist purpose, was beside oneself with joy; one did not conceal one's astonishment at the lady’s consenting at last, after umpteen dinners open to everybody from the vicinity, to come down and visit one's property devoted to help the mankind around, and since she did not wish to stay anywhere without helping the people around, promised to spend some days, at least, in taking friends for walks and excursions in the district. One imagined oneself down there already with Mr. Rankin too. Even before one saw the humanist friends or rather The Good Samaritans, even if one did not succeed in seeing him there, what a joy it would be to set foot on that soil where, not knowing the exact spot in which, at any moment, the host or the hostess of theirs was to be found, one would feel all around one the thrilling possibility of one's suddenly appearing: in the courtyard of the mansion, now beautiful in one's eyes since it was on all the friends' account that they had come to visit it; in all the lanes encircling the mansion, which struck one as romantic; down every ride of the farm, with rosy reflections with the deep and tender glow of sunset before the dinner! Innumerable and alternative dining and thought plus art based debate places, for the point of narrator to which would fly simultaneously for refuge, in the uncertain ubiquity of one's hopes, one's happy, well disciplined and united heart would compel one rebuking “We mustn’t, on any account,” one would warn the intellectuals of the world, “run across the tragedy of Anita Rankin and Philip Rankin. I have just heard that they were put the prison for not having been guilty, of all places, then. One has plenty of time to see them in The United Nations' Centre; it might have hardly been worthwhile coming down there if one couldn’t go a yard without meeting them.” And one's host would fail to understand why, once they had reached the place, one should change one's plans twenty four times in an hour, inspect the dining-halls of all the homes of the farmers in Zimbabwe without being able to make up one's mind to settle down in any of them, although one had found no trace anywhere of the Rankin's, seeming to be in search of what one had claimed to be most anxious to avoid, and would in fact avoid, the moment one found it, for if one had come upon the little ‘group,’ one would have hastened away at once with studied indifference, satisfied that one had seen the members of The Rankin Family suffering from dictatorial injustice! And one oneself, especially that one had seen oneself in the mirror around when one was not, apparently, thinking about both them and oneself. But no; one would guess at once that it wasn't for one's sake that one had come there. And when Mr. Rankin came to help Anita Rankin, and it was time to start, one excused oneself: “No, I’m afraid not; I can go to every corner. You see, Lady Rankin is here.” And one was happy in spite of everything in feeling that if one, alone among mortals, had not the right to go to another place that evening, it was because one was in fact, for friends, someone who differed from all other mortals, thought and art lover; and because that restriction which for one alone was set upon the universal right to travel freely where one would, was but one of the many forms of that work, that love which was so dear to one. Decidedly, it was better not to risk a quarrel with the others instead of making contribution to debate, to be patient, to wait for 'The Phrase' return. One spent one's days in poring over a thought map of 'the debate' of 'The Phrase, as though it had been that of the ‘country moaning under the cruel rules of the Zimbabwean Dictatorship; one surrounded oneself with the musical notes of the 'Phrase'. When the day dawned on which it was possible that one might go back home, one opened the notes again, calculated what contributions one must have taken, and, should one have postponed one's going to bed... What other intellectual or rather thought and art induced debates were still left for one to take part in. One would rather not leave the house of The Rankin's, for fear of missing or sending a message, one did not go to bed, in case, having come by the last utterance about the phrase, one decided to surprise oneself with a midnight contribution. Yes! As if the front-door bell rang there seemed some delay in opening the door, one would like to awaken oneself, one leaned out of the window to shout to the friends, if they were friends namely the intellectual guests of the Rankin Family, for in spite of the orders which one had gone downstairs a dozen times to deliver in those persons, they were quite capable of telling one that one couldn't be happy not at one's home after The Rankin Family were in exile forever because of the order of a dictator who couldn't the meaning of 'order'. Was only a servant coming in while one haven't got neither a servant nor a master. One noticed the incessant rumble of passing carriages, to which one had never before paid any attention for all that one could hear them, one after another, a long way off, coming nearer, passing one's door without stopping, and bearing away into the distance a message which might be for one. One waited all night, to no purpose, for the members of the Rankin Family couldn't had returned unexpectedly, and both Philip and Anita Rankin had been in their houses since midday; it had not occurred to them to tell one; not knowing what to do with oneself one had spent the evening alone at the bay, had long since gone home to bed, and was peacefully asleep by God pleasure and help. As a matter of fact, one had never given oneself a thought. And such moments as these, in which one forgot The Rankin’s Family very existence, were of more value to the friends or rather intellectual guests of its, did more to attach one to all of them, than all making The World's Intellectuals to be well informed. For in this way one was kept in that state of painful agitation which had once before been effective in making one's interest blossom into love of thought and art, in the evenings when one had failed to find the others at the Rankin's and had hunted for one all evening. And one did not have (as the narrator had, afterwards, in the vicinity similar to those in one's motherland in one's childhood) happy days in which to forget the sufferings that would return with the 'Debating The Phrase' evenings. For the narrator's days, the narrator must pass them without those friends of The Rankin's Family; and as one told oneself, now and then, to allow so pretty a family to survive by the intellectual friends in Zimbabwe was just as rash as to leave a case filled with golden bracelets in the middle of the street. In this mood one-let's call the narrator as one-would scowl furiously at the passers-by, as though all the people of the neighbourhood so many pickpockets. But their faces-a collective and formless mass- escaped the grasp of one's imagination, and so failed to feed the flame of one's own or rather self conciliation. The effort exhausted one’s brain, until, passing one's hand over one's eyes, one cried out: “Heaven help me!” as people, after lashing themselves into an intellectual commotion in their endeavours to solve, say, to formulate the solution of the problem of the reality of the external world... Would it-crying at least ' O Gosh'-be to the same conception that of the immortality of the soul, afford relief to their weary brains by an unreasoning act of faith. But the thought of his absent intellectual friendship medium was incessantly, indissolubly blended with all the simplest actions of one’s daily life especially when one have one's breakfast, opened one's e-mails, went for a walk or to bed by the fact of his regret at having to perform those actions without the friends; like those initials of The Rankin's which, in the churches around of, because of one's grief, one's longing for the friends! The Narrator namely 'one' made interview everywhere with a lot of friends with their own will. One some days, instead of staying at home, would go for one's breakfast to a patisserie not far off, to which one had been attracted, some time before, by the excellence of its cookery, but to which one now went only for one of those reasons, at once paradoxical and reality, which people call ‘ realistically romantic’; because that patisserie (which, by the way, still exists) bore the same name as the street in which the members of The Rankin's Family lived: the pioneer. Sometimes, when one had been away on a short visit somewhere, several days would elapse before one thought of letting the others know that one had returned to the neighbourhood. And then one would say quite simply, without taking-as one would once have taken-the precaution of covering oneself, at all costs, with a little fragment borrowed from the truth namely 'the phrase', that one had just, at that very moment, arrived by the early morning hours . What one said was a falsehood; at least for one it wasn't a falsehood, inconsistent, lacking internal harmony that would have had, if true the support of one's memory of one's actual arrival at the exact point; one was even prevented from forming a mental picture of what the humanism of The Rankin's Family was saying, while its members said it, by the contradictory picture, in one's mind, of whatever quite different thing one had indeed been doing at the moment when one pretended to have been alighting from the climax of the 'debate' in one’s mind, however, these words, meeting no opposition, settled and hardened until they assumed the indestructibility of a truth so indubitable that, if some friend happened to tell one that one had come by the same clues as theirs and had not seen any Rankin, one would have been convinced that it was one's friend who had made a mistake as to the day or hour, since one's version did not agree with the words uttered by one. These considerations had never appeared to one exaggerated except when, before hearing them from another person but one oneself, one had suspected that they were going to be. For one to believe that the friends was saying truth, only truth, although anticipatory surmising was indispensable. It was also, however, sufficient. Given that, everything that one might say appeared to one suspect. Did one mention a name: it was obviously that of one of the friends; once this supposition had taken shape, one would spend weeks in tormenting oneself; on one occasion one even approached a firm of ‘defending human rights’ to find out the inhumane reason and the cruel procedure of the well known dictator who would give one no peace until one could be proved to have gone abroad, and who-as one ultimately learned-was a ghost of Saddam Hussein, and had been dead for around a decade. Although one would not allow the friends, as a rule, to meet them at public gatherings, saying that people would talk, it happened occasionally that, at an evening party-of 'The Phrase' and 'The Debate' to which one and one had each been invited-at The Rankin’s, or rather at the pianist, guitarist, and the painter’s, or at a Good Samaritans' meeting given in one of the 'Debate Lovers' one found oneself in the same room with the friends. Regarding to the pains of the Rankin Family and the dining and debating together one could see them the friends' soul, but dared not remain for fear of annoying by seeming to be spying upon the sufferings which they tasted in the company at The Rankin's which while one drove home in utter loneliness, and went to bed, as anxiously as the others namely the friends of the Rankin Family were to go to bed, some moments later, on the evenings when they came to dine together at The Rankin's seemed illimitable to one since one had not been able to see their end. And, once or twice or even thrice, one derived from such evenings that kind of considerations which one would be inclined-did it not originate in so violent a reaction from an anxiety abruptly terminated-to call peaceful, since it consists of main conceptions in a pacifying mood of the mind: one had looked in for a moment at a revel in the dining hall, and was getting ready to go back home; one was leaving behind them transformed into a brilliant stranger, surrounded by men to whom one's glances and one's own sufferings camouflaged in the apparels of gaiety, which were not for one, seemed to hint at some volatile anxiety alternately to be inflicted and to be enjoyed there or elsewhere possibly feeling to be at bay, to which one trembled to think that one might be going on afterwards which made the friends more jealous than the thought of their actual physical union, since it was more difficult to imagine; one was opening the gate of making the world's intellectuals well informed about the tragedy of The Rankin's Family! When one heard oneself called back in the words linked to great sufferings which, by cutting off from the party-because of the dictatorial oppression upon The Rankin Family-that possible ending which had so appalled one, made the party destruction itself seem innocent in retrospect, made some friends’ return to the nest of intellectual chat medium a thing no longer inconceivable and terrible-especially in the countries similar to Zimbabwe, and The North Korea and the like, but tender and familiar, a thing that kept close to one's side, like a part of one's own daily-or rather generally-at the dinner table-for debating 'The Phrase-; a thing that stripped the omnipotent, and Doc themselves of the excess of brilliance in speculations and in ecstasy in the appearance of artists colouring the dinner table at The Rankin's-showed that it was only a disguise which they had assumed for a moment, for the sake of the intellectual group... And yet not in view of any humanist approach, a disguise of which both the omnipotent and Doc had already wearied in those attitudes, which they flung out after one as one was crossing the threshold: “Thank you waiting a for me, huh? I’d like just coming together so we’d drive back together and some of us could drop others.” It was true that a lot of friends on every occasion would ask to be driven home at the same time, but when, on reaching one’s gate, one should have begged oneself not to be allowed to come in alongside one's pains enough to keep one awake too, and one would had replied, with a finger pointed at one's eyes: “Ah! That depends on these alert induced organs so that one must ask them. Very well, my body and my soul may come in together, just for a minute, if the friends insist, but one couldn’t stay long, for, I warn my body my soul likes not to sit and talk quietly with it, and to go bed in serenity, and it’s not at all pleased if have visitors as nightmares when one’s in bed. Oh, if I only knew the my soul as I know my body ; isn’t that so, my friends, there’s no one that really knows me better than , is there, except some superstitious bodies, huh?” And one was, perhaps, even more touched by the eyes of one's addressing friends thus, in front of , not only in these tender words of predilection, but also with certain criticisms, such as: “I feel sure you have shared enough about the pains both of the Rankin and of mine with your friends, 'You know' about dining with the guests namely the art and thought lover friends of The Rankin Family at the 'debate' and 'the phrase' induced dinner table some magnificent evenings. One needn’t go if one doesn’t want to, but one might at least be hopeful,” or “Now, have one left one's contribution to on 'The Phrase' here, so that one can do a little more to it to-morrow? What a laziness! One's going to make the friends to work, one can tell them,” which proved that the friends kept themselves in touch with the social engagements they should share with The Rankin Family and one's humanist work, that they had indeed a life in commonly being Good Samaritan. And as one spoke one bestowed on them a smile which one interpreted as meaning that one was entirely theirs. And then, while one was making them some-instant-lemonade, suddenly, just as when the reflector of a lamp that is badly fitted begins by casting all round an object, on the wall beyond it, interesting and yet dried shadows which, in time, contract and are lost in the shadow of the object itself, all the terrible and disturbing ideas which one had formed of The Rankin Family melted away and vanished in the charming creature who stood there before one's eyes. One had the sudden suspicion that this hour spent in The Rankin’s house, in the lamp-light, was, perhaps, after all, not an artificial hour, invented for one's special use with the object of concealing that frightening and delicious thing which was incessantly in his thoughts without one's ever being able to form a satisfactory impression of it, an hour of the real life of Anita and Philip, of their life when one was not there, looking on with paradoxical properties and attractive fruits, but was perhaps a genuine hour of The Rankin’s life; that, if one oneself had not been there, one would have pulled forward the same position for the friends, would have poured out for them, not any unknown mellow, but precisely that lemonade or orangeade which one was now offering to them both; that the world inhabited by The Rankin Family's was not that other world, fearful and supernatural, in which one spent one's time in placing the friends, and which existed, perhaps, only in one's imagination, but the real universe, exhaling no special atmosphere of the concoction of gloom and gaiety, comprising that dining, debating table at which one might sit down, presently, and write! And this rumination which one was being permitted, now, to taste; all the objects which one contemplated with as much curiosity and admiration as gratitude, for if, in absorbing The Rankin's sufferings they had delivered the others from an obsession, they themselves were, in turn, enriched by the absorption; they showed one the palpable realisation of one's fancies, and they interested one's mind; they took shape and grew solid before one's eyes, and at the same time they soothed one's troubled heart. O Gosh! Had fate but allowed him to share a single debate with them, so that in The Rankin's house one should be in one's own; if, when asking one's contribution what there would be for dinner, it had been The Rankin Family’s service needed for 'debating the phrase' that one had learned from the debate itself; if, when they wished to go for a walk, in the evening, along the lane before the house, one's duty as a good friend had obliged the others, though one had no desire to go out, to accompany them, carrying one's style when one was too warm; and in the evening, after dinner, if one wished to stay at home, and not to wear thick apparels, if one had been forced to stay beside the others, to do what one asked; then how completely would all the trivial details of the others’ style, which seemed to one now so gloomy, simply because they would, at the same time, have formed part of the life of The Rankin Family, have taken on-like that lamp, that lemonade, that armchair, which had absorbed so much of one's dreams, which materialised so much of one's longing-a sort of superabundant sweetness and a fortified solidity viz. fortified through the pains of Anita and Philip Rankin... And yet one was inclined to narrate that the state for which one so much longed for was a calmness, a peace, which could have created an atmosphere favourable to one's love for intellectual debate. When one ceased to be for him a person always absent, regretted, imagined; when the feeling that one had for one was no longer the same mysterious disturbance that was wrought in all the friends by the phrase from the musical excerpt, but constant affection and gratitude, when those normal relations were established between them which would put an end to ones masked depression; then, no doubt, the actions of The Rankin’s daily life would appear to one as being of but little intrinsic interest-as he had several times, already, felt that they might be, on the day, for instance, when one had read, through its envelope, one's emails to them. Examining one's complaint with as much scientific detachment as if one had inoculated oneself with it in order to study its effects, one told oneself that, when one was cured of it, what the members of The Rankin's Family might or might not do would be indifferent to one. But in one's morbid state, to tell the truth, one feared death itself no more than such a recovery, which would, in fact, amount to the death of all that one then was. After those quiet evenings, The Rankin’s suspicions would be temporarily lulled; one would bless the name of The Rankin, and next day, in the next evening, would order the most attractive precious metals to be sent to one, because one's kindnesses to one overnight had excited either one's gratitude, or the desire to see the others repeated, or a paradoxical love for both 'debate' and 'dinner one's which had need of some such outlet, and yet at other times, grief would again take hold of one; would imagine that The Rankin Family was others' colleagues, and that, when they had both sat watching one from the depths of the dinner table at the Rankin's on every evening before the party at that intellectually compromised table to which one had not been, especially invited, while one implored one in vain, with that look of despair on one's face which even one's host and hostess had noticed! Then to go back home with nobody, and then turned away, solitary, crushed-they must have employed, to draw the friends’ attention to them, while one murmured: “Do look at us, storming!” the same glance, brilliant, not malicious, sidelong, never cunning, as on the evening when the friends had driven one from the Rankin’s. At such times none detested nobody. “But we’ve been a fool, too,” one would argue. “I’m paying for The World’s Debates with my contributions. All the same, one would better take care, and not pull the string too often, for I might very well stop giving the others anything at all. At any rate, we’d better knock off supplementary favours for the time being. To think that, actually in the first quarter of the Third Millennium, when one said one would like to go to everywhere from Lebanon to Germany for the season, I was such an arduous person as to offer to take one of those jolly little places the Kings of Human Right Defenders has there, for the members of The Rankin Family's Tragedy. However one didn’t seem particularly keen; one hasn’t said 'no' or 'probably' yet. Let’s hope that one will refuse. O Gosh! Think of listening to 'The Phrase' for a fortnight on end with the friends, who takes about as much interest in music as a cat does in little meat balls; it will be fun, huh?” And one's hatred towards ' The inhuman', like one's love for 'Justice, needing to manifest itself in action, one amused oneself with urging one's reconciliatory imaginings further and further, because, thanks to the depths with which one charged the dictatorial oppression upon the innocent people like Anita and Philip Rankin... One detested not the dictator still more, and would be able, if it turned out as one tried to convince himself that the dictator of Zimbabwe was indeed guilty of them, to take the opportunity of punishing him, emptying upon his the overflowing vials of the innocent people's wrath. In this way, one went so far as to suppose that one was going to receive a the World's Intellectuals from well civilized countries, in which one wouldn't ask them for money to take the house in the midst of their old farm, but with the warning that one was not to come there oneself, as one had promised the guitarist and the painter to invite them. O Gosh! How he would have loved the justice, had it been conceivable that the justice would have that audacity. What joy one namely the narrator would not have in refusing, in drawing up that vindictive reply, the terms of which one amused himself by selecting and declaiming aloud, as though one had actually received enough messages, e-mails etcetera sufficient to appease all the friends around the dinner and debate table at The Rankin's. Then one rebuked, " Suppose very next day, all messages promising aid came what would have written that the members of the Rankin Family and their friends had expressed a desire to be present at these performances similar to that of 'The Phrase', and that, if the World's intellectuals would be so good as to send one the money, would The Rankin Family be able at last, after going so often to the prison like places, to have the pleasure of entertaining the friends at The Rankin's? Of the friends one said not a word; it was to be taken for granted that their presence in Zimbabwe would be very much honourable, then that annihilating answer, every word of which one had carefully rehearsed overnight, without venturing to hope that it could ever be used, one had the satisfaction of having it conveyed to The Rankin Family. Alas! He felt only too certain that with the prestige which one had, or could easily procure, one would be able, all the same, to take back the farm, since one wished to do so, one who wasn't incapable of distinguishing between a guitarist and a painter. Let one take it, then; the friends would have to live in it more frugally, that was all. There might be no means (as there would have been if one had replied by sending them several million Euros of organising, each evening, in one's hired castle, those exquisite little suppers, after which they might perhaps be seized by the whim which, it was possible, had never yet seized each other of falling into the arms of The World's Intellectuals furthermore any rate, the loathsome oppression, it would not be one who had to pay for it. O Gosh! If one could only manage to prevent it, if one could sprain one's thorax vertebrae before starting, if any driver of the cabs which was to take one to the station would consent no matter how great the attempt to obtain aid one would like to see in some places where one could be kept for a time in seclusion, that perplexed dictatorial approach of Zimbabwe, everybody's eyes tinselled with a smile of complicity for one-the narrator, which was what one had become for The Rankin Family in the last some months. Eventually one was never that for very long; after a few days the sparkling, crafty eyes lost their brightness, and that picture of an execrable, and one saying to The Family Rankin: “Look at dictatorship storming!” while having begun to grow pale and to dissolve so that gradually reappeared and rose before the friends, softly radiant, the face of the others, of that oppressors who also turned with a wild smile to The World's Intellectuals, but with a smile in which there was nothing but affection for one, when one said: “You mustn’t stay long, for this gentleman doesn’t much like my having visitors when one’s here. Oh! if you only knew the people as I know him!” that same smile with which everybody used to thank one for some instance of his courtesy which one prized so highly, for some advice for which one had asked them in one of those grave crises in the friends' life, when one could turn to them alone. Then, to this other people, one would ask oneself what could have induced one to write that outrageous letter, of which, probably, until then, one had never supposed them capable, a letter which must have lowered one from the high, from the supreme place which, by one's generosity, by one's loyalty, one had won for oneself in one's esteem. One would become less dear to them, since it was for those qualities, which one found neither in the farm stolen from The Rankin's Family nor in any other, that one trusted them. It was for them that one so often showed one a reciprocal kindness, which counted for less than nothing in one's moments of affection, because it was not a sign of reciprocal desire, was indeed a proof rather of enchanted than of affection, but the importance of which one began once more to feel in proportion as the spontaneous relaxation of one's suspicions, often accelerated by the distraction brought to them by reading about art and thought or by the conversation of 'The Debate' of friends, rendered one's passion less exacting of reciprocal attitudes. The time went on to elapse so that, after the swing of the pendulum of the seasons, weeks, days, seconds, one had naturally returned to the place from which the intellectual attraction at The Rankin’s had for the moment driven the friends, in the angle in which one found them charming, one pictured one to oneself as full of tenderness, with a look of consent in one's eyes, and so keen that the others could not refrain from moving their lips towards each other, as though they had actually been in the room for them to respect the one-the narrator; and one preserved a sense of gratitude to the friends for that bewitching, kindly glance, as strong as though they had really looked thus at each other, and it had not been merely one's imagination that had portrayed it in order to satisfy one's desire. What distress one must have caused The Rankin Family's Members! Certainly one found adequate reasons for one's resentment, but they would not have been sufficient to make one feel that prevailing in mutual aid, if one had not so passionately loved them. As for the torture The Rankin Family had the thieves having stolen their farms not nourished grievances, just as serious, against other others, to whom one would, none the less, render willing service to-day, feeling no anger towards anybody because one no longer protect them? If the day ever came when one would find oneself in the same state of indifference with regard to one-The Narrator, one would then understand that it was one's jealousy alone which had led one not to find something atrocious, unpardonable, in this desire of seeing the happiness of The Rankin Family's survival-after all, so natural a desire, springing from a childlike ingenuousness and also from a certain delicacy in one's nature to be able, in one's turn, when an occasion offered, to repay the members of The Rankin Family for their hospitality, and to play the hostess and host in a house at the Rankin's. One returned to the other point of view opposite to that of one's love for the debate of art and thought, and of one's assignment, to which one resorted at times by a sort of mental equity, and in order to make allowance for different eventualities from which one tried to form a fresh judgment of The Friends, based on the supposition that one had never been in love with nothing but the intellectual debate of art and thought, that one was to the others just an humanist like other humanist, that their life had not been whenever one himself was not present different, a texture woven in secret apart from one, and warped not against anybody. Wherefore believe that one would enjoy down there with the friends or with other people intoxicating pleasures which one had never known with one, and which one's assignment alone had fabricated in all elements of other's? At anywhere, as in Zimbabwe, if it should happen that one thought of oneself at all, it would only be as of someone who counted for a great deal in the life of the others, someone for whom one was obliged to make way, when they met at The Rankin's. If the farm of the Rankin Family and one scored a triumph by being down there together in spite of the fate wrought by the fate of The Rankin family, it was one who had engineered that triumph by striving in vain to prevent the torment from going there, whereas if one had approved of one's plan, which for that matter was quite defensible, one would have had the appearance of being there by one's counsel, one would have felt oneself sent there, housed there by one, and for the pleasure which one derived from entertaining those people who had so often entertained one, it was to one that one would have had to acknowledge one's indebtedness. And if instead of letting the friends go off thus, at cross-purposes with one, without having seen him again one were to send one this money, if one were to encourage one to take this journey, and to go out of one's way to make it comfortable and pleasant for one, one would come running to one, happy, grateful, and one would have the joy within the boundaries of the sight of her face which one had not known for nearly for a long time, a joy which none other could replace, and for the moment that one was able to form a picture of one without revulsion, that one could see once again the friendliness in one's smile, and that the desire to tear her away from every rival was no longer imposed by one's assignment upon one's love, say loving 'The Phrase', that loving the 'Debate of Phrase' once again became, more than anything, a taste for the sensations and consideration which one’s person gave oneself, for the pleasure which one found in admiring, as one might a spectacle, or in questioning, as one might a phenomenon, the birth of one of their glances, the formation of one of one's smiles, the utterance of an intonation of one's namely The Narrator' voice. And this assignment, different from every other, had in the end created in one a need of The Rankin's Family, which one alone, by one's presence or by one's letters, could assuage, almost as disinterested, almost as artistic, as perverse as another need which characterised this new period in one’s life, when the serenity, the enthusiasm of the preceding years had been followed by a sort of spiritual superabundance, without one's knowing to what one owed this unlooked-for enrichment of one's life, any more than a person in delicate health who from a certain moment grows stronger, puts on flesh, and seems for a time to be on the road to a complete recovery: This other need, which, too, developed in one independently of the visible, material world, was the need to listen to music and to learn to know it. And so, by the socio-psychological process of one's pain, after one had created jealousy out of one's love, one began again to generate tenderness, pity for all friends. One had become once more the old Rankin's Family, charming and kind. One was full of remorse for having treated the others, also, harshly. One wished them to come to one, and, before one came, one wished to have already procured for one some pleasure, so as to watch one's gratitude taking shape in one's face and moulding one's smile so that, one, certain of seeing one come to one in a few days, as tender and submissive as before, and plead with one for a reconciliation, became inured, was no longer afraid of displeasing the friends, or even of making them angry, and refused them, whenever it suited all of them, the favours by which one set most store.


    TO BE CONTINUED....
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 07-14-2017 at 11:12 AM.

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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .........
    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)

    Perhaps one did not realise how sincere the others had been with one during their dinner induced debate, when they had told one that one would not send the money needed, but would do what one could to hurt them. Perhaps one did not realise, either, how sincere the others still was, if not with one, at any rate with oneself, on other occasions when, for the sake of their future relations, to show The Rankin Family that one was capable of doing without them, that a rupture was still possible between the disease-the torture by the dictator-and the remedy-to save The Rankin Family, one decided to wait some time before going to see the others again. Sometimes several days had elapsed, during which one had caused nobody no fresh anxiety; and as, from the next few visits which one would pay the others, one knew that one was likely to derive not any great pleasure, but, more probably, some annoyance which would put an end to the state of calm in which one found oneself, one wrote to the others that one was very busy, and would not be able to see the others on any of the days that one had suggested. Meanwhile, a letter from the others, crossing one's, asked them to postpone one of those very meetings so that one asked oneself, why; one's suspicions, one's grief, again took hold of the friends. One could no longer abide, in the new state of agitation into which one found oneself plunged, by the arrangements which one had made in his preceding state of comparative calm; one would run to find the others, and would insist upon seeing one on each of the following days. And even if one had not written first, if one merely acknowledged one's letter, it was enough to make one unable to rest without seeing the others while something upsetting all one’s calculations, the friend’s acceptance had entirely changed one's approach to solve the problem. Actually like everyone who possesses something precious, so as to know what would happen if one ceased for a moment to possess it, he had detached the precious object from one's mind, leaving, as one thought, everything else in the same state as when it was there. But the absence of one part from a whole is not only that, it is not simply a partial omission, it is a disturbance of all the other parts, a new state which it was impossible to foresee from the old. But at other times when one was on the point of going away for a holiday it was after some important debate induced dinner for which one had chosen the pretext, that one decided not to write to the others and not to see the friends until they return, giving the appearance without expecting the reward of a serious rupture, which one would perhaps regard as final, to a separation, the greater part of which was inevitable, since one was going away, which, in fact, one was merely allowing to start a little sooner than it must. At once one could imagine Odette, puzzled, anxious, distressed at having received neither visit nor email from the friends and this feature of one, by calming one's assignment, made it easy for one to break oneself of the habit of seeing the others. At the moments of wasting time, no doubt, in the furthest recesses of one's brain, where one's determination had thrust it away, and thanks to the length of the interval, the three weeks’ separation to which one had agreed, it was with hopeful thoughts that one would consider the idea that one would see the others again on one's return; but it was also with so little impatience that one began to ask oneself whether one would not readily consent to the doubling of the period of so easy an abstinence. It might had lasted, so far, but some more days, a much shorter time than one had often, before, passed without seeing the friends, and without having, as on this occasion one had, premeditated an easily attained output. And yet, there and then, some tiny trace of contrariety in one's mind, or of weakness in one's body by inciting one to regard the present as an exceptional moment, one not to be governed by the rules, one in which prudence itself would allow one to take advantage of the soothing effects of a pleasure and to give one's will until the time should come when its efforts might serve any purpose) a holiday suspended the action of one's will, which ceased to exert its inhibitive control; or, without that even, the thought of some information for which one had forgotten to ask the others, such as if one had decided in what sort of aid the friends would have or with regard to some investment, whether they were ‘ordinary’ or ‘preference’ shares that she wished one to buy for it was all very well to show one that one could help The Rankin's Family without seeing Philip and Anita Rankin... And yet if, after all considerations, the fate of The Rankin's Family had to be carrying gloomy colours all over it again, if the prayers to be rescued produced no good news, one would have do and suddenly, like a stretched piece of elastic which is let go, or the air in a pneumatic machine which is apt to be opened, the idea of seeing their survival again, from the remote point in time to which it had been attached, sprang back into the field of the present and of immediate possibilities so that it should be sprang back thus without meeting any further resistance, so irresistible, in fact, that one had not been far less unhappy in watching the end gradually approaching, day by day, of the fortnight which one must spend apart from the others, than one was when kept waiting some time while one's liberal comrades brought round the 'rescuing sketch' which was to take one to it, minutes which one passed in transports of impatience and joy, in which one recaptured a thousand times over, to lavish on it all the wealth of his affection, that idea of his meeting with the friends, which, by so abrupt a repercussion, at a moment when one supposed it so remote, was once more present and on the very surface of one's consciousness. The fact was that this idea no longer less active, as an rich in obstacle in its course, the desire to contrive without further delay to resist its coming, which had ceased to have any place in Swann’s mind since, having proved to oneself or so, at least, one believed that one was so easily capable of resisting it, one no longer saw any inconvenience in postponing a plan of salvation which one was now certain of being able to put into operation whenever one would. Furthermore, this idea of seeing the dinner table at The Rankin's again and both 'The Phrase' and 'The Debate' came back to one adorned with a novelty, a seductiveness, armed with a salubrious substance, all of which long habit had enfeebled, but which had acquired new vigour during one assignments, not of a certain period but of a fortnight for a period of abstinence may be calculated, by anticipation, as having lasted already until the final date assigned to it, and had converted what had been, until then, a hope in store, which could easily be sacrificed, into an unlooked-for happiness which one was powerless to resist. Finally, the idea returned to one with its beauty enhanced by one's own ignorance of what the others might have thought on finding that one showed no sign of life, with the result that one was going now to meet with the entrancing revelation of an the others almost unknown. But they, just as they had supposed that one's attempt to send the Rankin's Family money was only a feint, saw nothing but a pretext in the question which one came, now, to ask about, about the farming again in the way of life, or the information a propos torture inflicting upon The Rankin Family. For one could not reconstruct the several phases of these crises through which one passed, and in the general idea which one formed of them one made no attempt to understand their mechanism, looking only to what one knew beforehand, their necessary, never-failing and always identical termination. An imperfect idea though possibly all the more profound in consequence if one were to judge it from the point of view of the others, who would doubtless have considered that one not failed to understand one, just as a consumptive, each persuaded that each other has been thrown back, one by some outside event, at the moment when one was just going to shake oneself free from his inveterate habit, the other by an accidental indisposition at the moment when he was just going to be finally cured, feels himself to be misunderstood by both the omnipotent ad Doctor who does not attach the same importance to these pretended contingencies, mere disguises, according to one, assumed, so as to be perceptible by the world's intellectuals! All the more the vice of one and the morbid state of the other, which in reality have never ceased to weigh heavily and incurably upon the Zimbabwean people while they were nursing their dreams of normality and health as The Rankin Family tried to do for more than umpteen decades. And, as a matter of fact, one’s love for humanity and human rights had reached that stage at which the omnipotent and Doc-in the case of certain affections-the boldest of surgeons ask themselves which torture the dictators would prefer: whether to deprive a farmer of his soil or to rid him of his dream is still reasonable, or indeed possible. Certainly, of the extent of this love for The Mankind had no direct knowledge. When one sought to measure it, it happened sometimes that one found it diminished, shrunken almost to nothing; for instance, the very moderate liking, amounting almost to dislike, which, in the days before one was in a sort of indifference with The Rankin Family, one had felt for one's expressive features, one's faded complexion, returned on certain days. Really, one would be making distinct headway, one would make oneself on the morrow, to come to think it over carefully... One would find out that one got hardly any pleasure if the evening were without dinners at The Rankin's and the dinners were without debate, out of being around 'the Phrase' with the friends...It’s an odd thing, but one actually thought the mute people ugly.” And certainly one was sincere, but one's love extended a long way beyond the province of physical voice of the mankind. One’s persons, indeed, might no longer held any great place in 'debate' without 'the phrase', and when one's eyes fell upon the old photographs of that debate group at the dinner table, or when one came to see the others, one had difficulty in identifying one's face, either in the flesh or on the pasteboard, with the painful and continuous anxiety which dwelt in one's mind. One would say to oneself, almost with astonishment, “It is the debating people!” as when suddenly someone shows one in a detached, externalised form... The how could one translate those odd terms to define one of one's own maladies wherein one should find in it no resemblance to what one and the others are suffering. “Who?” one tried to ask oneself what that meant; for it is something like love, like death-rather than like those vague conceptions of malformation-a thing which one repeatedly calls in question, in order to make oneself probe further into its cosmos or its chaotic, in the fear that the question will find no answer, that the substance will escape our grasp viz. the mystery of personality. And this ailment-never malformation nor malady-which was one’s love, had so far multiplied, was so closely interwoven with all one's habits, with all one's actions, with one's thoughts, one's health, one's consideration, one's love for debate, even with what one hoped for after one's death, was so entirely one with one that it would have been impossible to wrest it away without almost entirely destroying him; as the scholar of mathematics say, one's presumptions was past creation. By this habitual privilege, say loving Intellectual debate one had been so far detached from all other interests that when by chance one reappeared in the world of fashion, reminding oneself that one's social relations, like a beautifully wrought setting although she would not have been able to form any very exact estimate of its worth, might, still, add a little to his own value in the friends’ eyes as indeed they might have done had they not been cheapened by any non-intellectual love for debate itself, which for one depreciated everything that it touched by seeming to denounce such things as less precious than itself, one would feel there, simultaneously with one's distress at being in places and among people that one did not know, the same detached sense of hope as one would have derived from a novel or a painting in which were depicted the amusements of a leisured class; just as, at home, one used to enjoy the thought of the smooth efficiency of his household, the smartness of one's own 'phrase repertoire' and of one's friends’ debate induced attitude, the soundness of one's intellectuals' investment, with the same relish as when one read in Renaissance Thinkers, who was one of one's favourite authors, of the machinery of daily life at The Rankin's, what the friends ate, drank, and debate or the shrewd avarice and great dream based on thereupon in the small extent to which this detachment was not absolute, the reason for this new pleasure which one was tasting was that one could emigrate for a moment into those few and distant parts of oneself which had remained almost foreign to one's love and to one's pain. In this respect the personality, with which their host and hostess endowed one, of ‘each debater,’ as distinct from the more individual personality of one, was that in which one now most delighted so that once when, because it was the birthday of the 'Phrase Debating' and because the others could often be of use, indirectly, to one, by letting one have seats for something like galas and jubilees and all that sort of thing, one had decided to send the others a repertoire of thought and sense, and was not quite sure where or how to order it, one had entrusted the task to a cousin of one's friends who, delighted to be doing a commission for one, had written to one, laying stress on the fact that one had not chosen all the fruit at the same place, but the phrase subject from The Rankin family, whose speciality within intellectual outputs! They friends were like the grapes of wrath overwhelming torture and creating hope from every side, the pears from the table of fiesta, who always had the best, and so on, they visited and examined, one by one, by one. And in the sequel, by the cordiality with which The Members of The Rankin Family thanked one, they had been able to judge of the flavour of the intellectual fruits and of the ripeness of them. But, most of all, that one tasted every fruit and introduced one by one, by themselves had brought balm to The Rankin Family's sufferings by carrying one's mind off to a region which one rarely visited, although it was one's by right, as the heir of a respectable middle-class family in which had been handed down from generation to generation the knowledge of the ‘right places’ and the art of ordering things from the spirits of 'The Phrase'. Of a truth, one had too long forgotten that one was ‘the new member’ not to feel, when one assumed that part again for a moment, a keener pleasure than one was capable of feeling at other times while was grown happy of hopefulness; and if the friendliness of the middle-class people, for whom one had never been anything else than ‘the new member’ was less animated than that of the world's intellectuals though more flattering, for all that, since in the middle-class mind friendship is inseparable from good manner, no message from a Worldly Intellectual Personage, offering one some princely entertainment, could ever be so attractive to one as the messages which asked one to be a witness, or merely to be present at a fiesta in the friendship circle of some old friends of one's partners; some of whom had ‘kept up’ with one, like my well civilized people, who, the year before these events, had invited one to our friends’ debate and dinner tradition, while others barely knew one by sight, but were, they thought, in duty bound to show civility to the 'The Phrase' group, to the worthy successor of the ancestors of the members of The Rankin Family. And yet by virtue having been prevailed at The Rankin's, already time-honoured, with so many of them, the people of humanist attitude, in a certain sense, were also a part of their house, their service, and their family. One felt, when one's mind dwelt upon one's brilliant connections, the same external support, the same solid comfort as when one looked at the fine estate, the fine silver, the fine table-linen which had come down to one from one's friends namely the world's intellectual. And the thought that, if one were seized by a sudden brain spasm and confined to the dinner induced table of 'The Debate', the people whom one's most intimate friend would instinctively run to find would be the omnipotent and Doc. brought one the same consolation as their old favourite viz. The Rankin Family derived from the knowledge that one would, one day, be carried by his enthusiasm in one's own fine clothes, marked with one's name, not darned at all or so exquisitely darned that it merely enhanced one’s idea of the skill and patience of the virtue, a shroud from the constant image of which in the friend's mind or rather the eye o the same mind one drew a certain satisfactory sense, if not actually of wealth and prosperity, at any rate of self-esteem; and most of all since in every one of his actions and thoughts which had reference to others, one was constantly subdued and swayed by the non-confessed feeling that one was, perhaps not less dear, but at least less welcome to one than anyone, even the most wearisome of the Rankin's ‘faithful,’ when one betook others to a world in which one was the highest example of taste, a man whom no pains were spared to attract, whom people were genuinely sorry not to see, one began once again to believe in the existence of a happier life, almost to feel an appetite for it... As an invalid may feel who has been in the environment for a long time and on a strict debate, when one picks up a newspaper and reads the account of an official statement or the advertisement of a conference to debate, at the last analysis as one was obliged to make excuses to one's debate lover friends for not paying them visits, it was precisely for the visits that one did afford their attempts that one sought to excuse oneself to one's 'Phrase' group. One still paid them asking oneself at the end of each dinner whether, seeing that one had eventually exhausted not their patience, and had certainly gone rather often to see them, it would be enough if one sent The-destructed-even not one cent, and for each visit one found a pretext, a present that one had to bring them, some information which one required, Anita and Philip Rankin, whom one had met actually going to their house, and who had insisted upon one’s accompanying them. And, failing any excuse, one would beg one's friends' host and hostess to go to one at once, and to tell one, as though spontaneously, in the course of conversation, that one had just remembered something that one had to say to one, and would one please send a message to one’s house asking one to come to one then and there; but as a rule of one waited at home in vain, and The Rankin Family informed one, later in the evening, that one's device had not proved successful. With the result that, if one was now frequently away from the mansion in Zimbabwe, even when one was there one scarcely saw one; that one who, when one was in love with one, used to say, “We shall be free again” and “What can it matter to the friends, what other people think?” now, whenever one wanted to see them, appealed to the proprieties or pleaded some engagement. When one spoke of going to a charity entertainment, or a private view, or a first-night at which one was to be present, one would expostulate that one wished to advertise the Rankin Family's Tragedy in public, that one was treating them like a sibling victim off the streets so that things came to such a pitch that, in an effort to save oneself from being altogether forbidden to meet one anywhere, the members of The Rankin Family, remembering that one knew and was deeply attached to the conspicuous characters, whose friend one oneself also had been, went one day to see their friends at Rankin's to ask one to use one's influence with them. As it happened, one invariably adopted, when one spoke to the dinner induced debate about one's, friends, saying: “Ah, they! They are-as the victims-not in the least like great victims of the underdeveloped countries; it is an exquisite thing, a great, a beautiful thing, one's friendship for everybody. One’s not the sort of man who would have so little consideration for the people suffering from oppression in a country ruled by a dictator as to let oneself be seen with indifference from the point of dictatorial oppression everywhere in public. This was embarrassing for one and the other friends of The Rankin Family, who did not know quite to what rhetorical pitch one should screw oneself up in speaking of dictator the world's intellectuals. One began by alluding to the friends excellence, a priori, the axiom of their 'Good Samaritan' humanity, the revelation of one's inexpressible virtues, no conception of which could possibly be formed. “I should like to speak to the world's intellectual about The Rankin Family,” one went on, “you, who know what a family supreme above all others compared with infliction a family might be tasting through its own fate namely the destruction, what an adorable being, what an angel one-the narrator is. But you know, also, what life is in Zimbabwe. Everyone doesn’t see one-the narrator in the light in which you and that one have been privileged to talk the truth. And so there are people who think that one isn't behaving rather foolishly; one won’t even allow others to meet the unique host and hostess at The Rankin's out of doors, in debacle. Now you, in whom one-the narrator has such enormous confidence, couldn’t you say a few words for one to the friends, just to assure the others that one exaggerate the harm which my bowing to one in the street might do one?” The members of the Rankin Family advised one not to see them for some days, after which one would love them all the more; one advised them to let the members of The Rankin Family meet one; everywhere, and as often as one pleased. For the time being one told host and hostess told that one-the narrator had just had a vital awakening a propos the dictatorial oppression; one also had discovered that the friends of theirs would be in the same way as one; one had tried to take the affection of The Rankin Family-strange to say-by assault. The calmed one, who, at first, was for rushing out-nearly-to challenge dictator to a duel, and one refused to shake hands with him when they met once. One regretted this rupture all the more because one had hoped, if one had met the dictator again sometimes and had contrived to talk things over with him in strict confidence, to be able to get him to throw a light on certain rumours with regard to the anti humanist regime in Zimbabwe that the farmers like Anita and Philip Rankin had led, in the old days, at the fields of success induced farm. For the dictator used to spend the full ability of dictatorship there, and they thought that it might indeed have been there, perhaps, that one had first known the oppressor. The few words which someone had let fall, in his hearing, about a man who, it appeared, had been one's-the narrator, had left them dumb foundered, and yet the very things which one would, before knowing them, have regarded as the most terrible to learn and the most impossible to believe, were, once one knew him, incorporated for all time in the general mass of his oppression; one made them to admit it, one could no longer have understood their not existing. Only, each finding of the oppression in its passage traced an indelible line, altering the picture that he had formed of the dictator's political crimes. At one time indeed one felt that one could understand that this moral ‘lightness,’ of which one would never have suspected the good deeds of the friends, would perfectly be well known, and that at Zimbabwe and in the Africa as a whole when one had gone, in the past, to spend several months in one or the other place, one had enjoyed a sort of loving human rights notoriety so that one attempted, in order to question them, to get into touch again with certain men of that stamp; but these were aware that one knew The Rankin Family, and, besides, one wasn't afraid of putting the thought of their humanist attitude into the friends' heads, of setting them once more upon their track. Nonetheless one, to whom, up till then, nothing could have seemed so tedious as was all that pertained to the farmers' life in Zimbabwe life, now that one learned that Anita and Philip Rankin had, perhaps, led a ‘innocent servile’ life once in those pleasure-cities, although one could never find out whether it had been solely to satisfy a want of money which, thanks to humanity, one no longer felt, or from some humanly instinct which might, at any moment, revive in one, one also would lean, in impotent anguish, blinded and dizzy, over the bottomless abyss into which had passed, in which had been engulfed those years of The Rankin's Family own, early in the vicinity, in which one spent several seasons on the promenade in the lanes around the house of victims , the summer beneath the limes of their gardens, and would find in those years a sad but splendid profundity, such as a poet might have lent to them; and one would have devoted to the reconstruction of all the insignificant details that made up the daily round within the life of The Rankin's Family in those days, if it could have helped the victims to understand something that still baffled them in the smile or in the eyes of the others! Actually more enthusiasm than does the victims who ransacks the extant documents of nearly the first quarter of the Third Millennium, so as to try to penetrate further into the soul of the World's Intellectuals...One would sit, often, without saying a word to them, only gazing at her and dreaming; and one would comment: “You do look sad!” It was not very long since, from the idea that one was an excellent creature, comparable to the best women that one had known, one had passed to that of her being ‘debated and protected’; and yet already, by an inverse process, one had returned from the table at The Rankin's, perhaps too well known to the holiday-makers, to the ‘Farm’s people’ of the country, to this face, the expression on which was so often gentle, to this nature so eminently human. All in all one would ask oneself: “What does it mean, after all, to say that everyone Zimbabwe knows who Anita and Philip Rankin is? Reputations of that sort, even when they’re true in the country, are always based upon other The World’s Intellectuals informative language”; one would reflect that this legend-even if it were authentic-was something external to The Rankin and the friends, was not inherent in their like a mischievous and ineradicable personality; that the creature who might have been led astray was a international character with frank eyes, a heart full of pity for the sufferings of others, a docile attitude which one had pressed shared humanism tightly in one's arms and explored with one's fingers, a woman of whom one might one day come into absolute possession if one succeeded in making himself indispensable to the ideology of humanism. There one would be, often tired, one's face left blank for the nonce by that eager, feverish preoccupation with the unknown things which made one suffer; one would push back one's hair with both hands; one's forehead, one's whole face would seem to grow larger; then, suddenly, some ordinary human thought, some worthy sentiment such as is to be found in all creatures when, in a moment of rest or meditation, they are free to express themselves, would flash out from one's eyes like a ray of golden beams of a far, enormous linked to the bodies in the cosmos immediately the whole of one' face would light up like a grey landscape, swathed in clouds which, suddenly, are swept away and the dull scene transfigured, at the moment of the sun’s setting so that the life which occupied The Rankin's Family at such times, even the future which one seemed to be dreamily regarding, one could have shared with one's humanist friends. Inasmuch as no evil disturbance seemed to have left any effect on them and one would dare to remark that are as they became, those moments did not occur in vain. By the process of memory, one-the narrator joined the fragments together, abolished the intervals between them, cast, as in molten gold, the image of an omnipotent's compact of kindness and tranquillity, for whom one was to make, later on (as the friends shall see in the episode of this mythological narration) sacrifices which the other people would never have won from one. Adding to it no rarity those moments were based on, and nor seldom one now saw the friends! Even in regard to their evening meetings, one would never tell them until the last minute whether one would be able to see them, for, reckoning on one's being always free, one wished first to be certain that no one else would offer to be at The Rankin's. One would plead that the family was obliged to wait for an aid which was of the very greatest importance, and if, even after one had made the members of The Rankin Family come to one's point of view, any of one's friends asked one, half-way through the evening, to join them at some places like cafe afterwards, one would jump for joy and dress oneself with all speed. As one's preparations progressed, every movement that one made brought the world's intellectuals nearer to the moment when one would have to part from one, when one would fly off with irresistible force; and when at length one was ready... And yet, plunging into the mirror of the truth a last glance strained and brightened by The Rankin's Family, its anxiety to look well, smeared a little ointment on the dermal and spiritual wounds, fixed a stray shadow of their wound over the family's health, and called for the innocents as a cloak of turquoise silk with golden; tassels, one would be looking so wretched that one would be unable to restrain a gesture of impatience as one flung at the friends! One talked: “So that is how you thank me for keeping my efforts to protect you here till the last minute! And I thought I was being so nice to you. Well, I shall know better another time!” For the time being at the risk of annoying the world's intellectuals, one made up one's mind that one would find out where one had gone, and even dreamed of a defensive alliance with Zimbabwean intellectuals, who might perhaps have been able to solve the problem. But anyhow, when one knew with whom-apparently those people 'debating the phrase and dining' one was spending the evening, it was very seldom that one could not discover, among all one's innumerable acquaintance, someone who knew-if only indirectly-the man with whom one had gone out, and could easily obtain this or that piece of information about one. And while one was writing to one of one's friends, asking oneself to try to get a little light thrown upon some point or other, one would feel a sense of relief on ceasing to vex oneself with questions to which there was no answer and transferring to someone else the strain of interrogation. It is true that The Members Of The Rankin's Family was little the wiser for such information as one did receive. Nevertheless knowing that a thing does not enable one-the narrator, always, to prevent its happening, but after all the things that one knows one does hold, if not in our hands, at any rate in one's mind, where one can dispose of them as one chooses, which gives one the illusion of a sort of power to control them. One was quite happy whenever one was with The Rankin Family. One knows that between one and the friends nothing untoward could ever happen, that when one went anywhere with all of them, it was out of friendship for all, and that one would make no difficulty about telling him everything that one had done. Sometimes one had declared so emphatically to the friends that it was impossible for one to see them on a particular evening, one seemed to be looking forward so keenly to some outing, that the friends attached a very real importance to the fact that one was free to accompany them. Next day, without daring to put many questions to them, one would force them, by appearing not quite to understand one's first answers, to give one more, after each of which one would feel oneself increasingly relieved, for one very soon learned that the friends had spent her evening in the most innocent of dissipations. “But what do you mean, my dear hostess and host namely Anita Rankin and Philip Rankin, I do quite understand you. . . .Many thanks indeed. You did go straight from your farm to the world's intellectuals, huh? Surely you wouldn't like went somewhere else first? No? That is very good indeed! You don’t know how amusing you are, my dear hostess and host. But what an odd idea of mine to go on to the Chat Room of The Intellectuals afterwards; it was one's idea, I suppose? No? Yours? That’s plausible. After all, it wasn’t a bad idea; you must have known dozens of people there? No? One never spoke to a soul? How extraordinary! Then you sat there like that, just you and your guests, all by yourselves? I can picture you, sitting there! You are a worthy fellow, my dear host and hostess; I’m exceedingly fond of you.” One was now quite at ease. To one, who had so often happened, when talking to friends who knew nothing of one's love, friends of whose debate induced words one hardly listened to... Listen to what and why? Briefly listening to hear certain detached sentences as, for instance, “I saw the members of Rankin's Family; they were with an intense hopefulness I did know the reason.”, sentences which dropped into one's heart and passed at once into a solid state, grew hard as stalagmites, and seared and tore one as they lay there irremovable... How charming, by way of contrast, were the words: “They did know amicable souls so; they ever spoke to a soul.” How freely they coursed through one, how fluid they were, how vaporous, how easy to breathe! And yet, a moment later, one was telling oneself that the friends must find them very dull if those were the pleasures that one preferred to one's company. And their very insignificance, though it reassured one, as if pained oneself as if one's enjoyment of them had been an act of loyalty based situation. Even when one could not discover where one had gone, it would have sufficed to alleviate the anguish that one then felt, for which the friends' presence, the charm of their company, was the sole specific-a specific which in the long run served, like many other remedies, to elevate the anguish, but at least brought temporary relief to the sufferings-it would have sufficed, had the friends only permitted themselves to remain at The Rankin's while one was out, to wait there until that hour of one's return, into whose stillness and peace would flow, to be mingled and lost there, all memory of those intervening hours which too much sophisticated attractiveness, some praised spell had made one imagine as, somehow, different from the rest. But one would not; one must return to ' debating phrase at the dinner table'; one forced oneself, on the way, to form various plans, ceased to think of the good old days; one even reached the stage, while one undressed, of turning over all sorts of happy ideas in one's mind: it was with a light heart, buoyed with the anticipation of going to see some favourite work of repeating 'To Debate Thought and Art' on the morrow, that one jumped into the medium; and put the light on; but no sooner had one made oneself ready to aid The Rankin's Family, relaxing a self-control of which one was even too much conscious, so habitual had it become, than an icy shudder convulsed one's body and one-The narrator, burst into sobs. One did not wish to know why, but dried one's eyes, saying with a smile: “This is delightful; I’m becoming too much fastidious” After which one could not save oneself from utter exhaustion at the thought that, for the time being, one must begin afresh one's attempt to find out what the friends had been doing, must use all one's influence to contrive to see them. This compulsion to an activity with respite and variety, and yet without result, was so cruel a scourge that one day, noticing a swelling over one's oesophagus, one felt an actual joy in the idea that one had, perhaps, an gastritis which would not prove fatal but insisting, that one would need not concern oneself with anything further, that it was one's malady which was going to govern one's life... Making, yes, making a plaything of one, until the not-distant end so that if indeed, at this period, it often happened that, though without admitting it even to oneself, one longed for solution, it was in order to escape not so much from the keenness of sufferings-similar to that of The Rankin Family-as from the monotony of one's struggle. And yet one would have wished to live until the time came when one no longer loved the friends, when one would have no reason for lying to them, when at length one might learn from her whether, on the day when one had gone to see them in the evening, one had or had not been in the arms of the debaters. Often for several days on end the suspicion that one was in love with someone else would distract one's mind from the question of the friends, making it almost immaterial to one, like those new developments of a continuous state of ill-health which seem for a little time to have delivered them from their predecessors. There were even days when one was not tormented by any suspicion. One fancied that one was cured. But next morning, when one awoke, one felt in the same place the same pain, a sensation which, the day before, one had, as it were, diluted in the torrent of different impressions. But it had not stirred from its place. Indeed, it was the sharpness of this pain that had awakened one. Since they never gave one any information as to those vastly important matters which took up so much of one's time every day -albeit one had lived long enough in the world to know that such matters are never anything else than pleasures-one could not sustain for any length of time the effort to imagine them; his brain would become a void; then he would pass a finger over one's tired eyelids, in the same way as one might have wiped one's eyeglass, and would cease altogether to think. There emerged, however, from this unexplored tract, certain occupations which reappeared from time to time, vaguely connected by them with some obligation towards distant relatives or old friends who, inasmuch as they were the only people whom one was in the habit of mentioning as preventing one from seeing oneself, seemed to the friends to compose the necessary, unalterable setting of one's life. Because of the tone in which one referred, from time to time, to “the day when I go with my friend to the 'Debate Induced Dinner',” if, when one felt unwell and had thought, “Perhaps they would be kind and come to see me,” one remembered, suddenly, that it was one of those very days, one would correct oneself with an “Oh, no! It’s not worth while asking them to come; I should have thought of it before, this is the day when one goes with one's friend to the Rankin Family's House. One must confine onself to what is possible; no use wasting our time in proposing things that can’t be accepted and are declined in advance instead of climbing.” And this duty that was incumbent upon the friends, of going to the 'Phrase Debating" induced dinners at The Rankin's, to which the friends thus gave way, seemed to one to be not merely ineluctable to some extent; but the mark of necessity which stamped it seemed to make plausible and legitimate everything that was even remotely controlled through it. If, when they, at the dinner table, had acknowledged the salute of the debating intellectual loyal to 'The Phrase', which hadn't aroused their jealousy, one replied to their questions by associating some strangers with any of the two or three paramount duties of which one had often spoken to oneself; if, for instance, one said: “That’s a gentleman who was in my friend’s box the other day; the one I go to the dinner with,” that explanation would set their suspicions at rest; it was, after all, inevitable that those friends should have other guests than the friends the hostess and the host namely Anita and Philip Rankin therein, but one had never sought to form or succeeded in forming any coherent impression of them. O Gosh! How one would have loved to debate 'The Phrase', that perpetual subject of the friends who went to dine and to debate, how one would have loved that seeing The Rankin Family Rankin eager to invite them there with one. Ach! How readily one would have sacrificed all one's acquaintance for no matter what person who was in the habit of sitting at the dinner table, were one but the newbie debater or the one out of a shop. one would not have taken more trouble, incurred more expense for them than for kings. Would they not have supplied one, out of what was contained in their knowledge of the life of the friends of The Rankin Family, with the one potent curer for their pain? With what joy would one have hastened to spend one's days with one or other of those humble folk with whom The Rankin Family kept up friendly relations, either with some ulterior motive or from genuine simplicity of nature. How willingly would one have fixed one's abode forever in the attics of some sordid but enviable house, where those friends went but never took one, and where, if one had lived with the little retired ' The Phrase Debater', whose lover one would readily have pretended to be, one would have been visited by the friends almost daily. Within those regions of Zimbabwe, that were almost slums, what a modest existence, abject, if you please, but delightful, nourished by tranquillity and happiness, one would have consented to lead indefinitely. It sometimes happened, again, that, when, after meeting those friends, one saw some people approaching whom one did not know, one could distinguish upon the friends' face that look of sorrow which one had worn on the day when one had come to the friends while one too was there. And yet that was rare; for, on the days when, in spite of all that one had to do, and of one dread of what people would think, one did actually manage to see one, the predominant quality in one's attitude, now, was self-assurance; a striking contrast, perhaps an unconscious revenge for, perhaps a natural reaction from the vigorous emotion which, in the early days of their friendship, one had felt in one's presence, and even in one's absence, when one began a letter to one with the words: “My dear friends, my mentality is in such a confusion that I can scarcely carry out with writing.” So, at least, one pretended, and a little of that emotion must have been sincere, or one would not have been anxious to enlarge and emphasise it. So the friends had been pleasing to one then. As an aside or rather putting the mental confusion one's hands do not tremble except for them, or for those with whom one would love to debate 'The Phrase'. When the friends have ceased to control their happiness how peaceful, how easy, how bold do they become in their presence! In speaking to one, in writing to one then, one no longer employed those words by which one had sought to give oneself the illusion that one belonged to 'The Phrase', repeating to forget opportunities for saying “my mental confusion” and “my hands” when one referred to them: “You are all that I have in the world; it is the main subject or rather 'The Phrase' of our main affair in surviving over the friendship to spent time to 'The Debate', I shall keep it,” nor spoke to their of the future, of death itself, as of a single adventure which they would have to share. In those early days, whatever one might say to them, one would answer admiringly: “You know, you will never be like other people!” from the other side one would gaze at one's long, slightly tinnitus induced ears of which people who know only of one's successes used to think: “It’s not regularly good-listening, if anybody like while being smart; smiling!” and, with more curiosity perhaps to know them as they really was than desire to become their 'The Phrase', one would sigh: “I do wish I could find out what there is in that ear of yours!”


    TO BE CONTINUED....
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 07-23-2017 at 03:43 PM.

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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
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    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)

    And yet, whatever one might say, one would answer, in a tone sometimes of irritation, sometimes indulgent: “Ah! so you-phrase debaters never will be like other people!” One would gaze at their heads, which was hardly aged at all by his recent anxieties though people now thought of it, by the same mental process which enables one to discover the meaning of not a piece of symphonic music but 'The Phrase' of which one has read the programme, or the ‘likenesses’ in a soul whose group one has known: “The Rankin's Family’s not positively or negatively vague, if you like, but it is really rather non-absurd; that eyeglass, that tuft, that smile!” realising in their imagination, fed by suggestion, the invisible boundary which divides, at a few months’ interval, the head of an arduous lover of the debater, and would say: “Oh, I do wish I could change you; put some sense into that head of yours.” Always ready to believe in the truth of what one hoped, if it was only The Rankin Family’s way of behaving to the friends that left room for doubt, one would fling oneself greedily upon one's words: “You can if you like,” one would tell them. And one tried to explain to them that to comfort one, to control one, to make one work would be a noble task, to which numbers of the others asked for nothing better than to be allowed to devote themselves, though it is only fair to add that in those others' hands the noble task would have seemed to them nothing more than an indiscreet and intolerable usurpation of one's freedom of action. “If one didn’t love debating, just a little,” one told oneself, “one would not wish to have them altered. To alter them, one will have to see them more often.” And so one was able to trace, in these faults which one found in them, a proof at least of their interest, perhaps even of love for 'The Phrase'; and, in fact, one gave them so little, now, of the last, that one was obliged to regard as proofs of her interest in him the various things which, every now and then, one forbade them to do. One day one announced that one did not care for one's other friends, who, one thought, was perhaps setting them against one, and, anyhow, did not show that promptness and deference to one’s orders which one would have liked to see. One felt that one wanted to hear them say: “Don’t have one again when they come to one,” just as one might have wanted them to appreciate one. So, being in a good temper, one said it; and one was deeply moved. That evening, when talking to them, with whom one had the satisfaction of being able to speak of one openly (for the most trivial remarks that one uttered now, even to people who had never heard of one, had always some sort of reference to them), one said to them: “I believe, all the same, that one loves 'Debating The Phrase'; one is so nice to the debaters now, and one certainly takes an interest in what one does.” And if, when one was starting off for the dinner and debate at The Rankin's, getting into his car with some friends whom one wasn't to drop somewhere on the way but make arrive at The Rankin's, one of them said: “Hullo! that isn’t 'The Phrase' in the agenda?” with what melancholy joy would one answer him: “Oh! Good heavens, YEP! I can tell you, I daren’t quit 'debate' when I go to the Lane of Pyres; they doesn’t like me not to have the main subject, they think one doesn’t suit me. What on earth is one to do? The members of The Rankin Family, you know, those good people. My dear fellows, one would be furious. Oh, lord, yes; I’ve to take friends there; I should never hear the last of them!” These new manners, indifferent, listless, irritable, which one now adopted with them, undoubtedly made one enjoy; but one did not realise how much one enjoyed; since it had been with a regular progression, day after day, that they had chilled towards one, it was only by directly contrasting what one was to-day with what one had been at first that one could have measured the extent of the change that had taken place. Now this change was one's deep, one's secret wound, which protected them day and night, and whenever one felt that one's thoughts were straying too near it, one would quickly turn them into another channel for fear of being made to suffer too keenly. One might say to oneself in a vague way: “There was a time when friends loved 'The Phrase' more,” but one never formed any definite picture of that time. Just as one had in his study a cupboard at which one contrived never to look, which one turned aside to avoid passing whenever one entered or left the room, because in one of its drawers one had locked away the documents which one had given them on one of those first evenings when one had taken one's place at the table in The Rankin Family's dinner hall, and the letters in which one said: “Why did you not forget your contribution also? I should never have let you have that back,” and “At whatever hour of the day or evening you may need me, just send me a word, and dispose of me as you please,” so there was a place in one's agenda to which one would never allow one's thoughts to trespass too near, forcing them, if need be, to evade it by a long course of reasoning so that they should not have to pass within reach of it; the place in which lingered one's memories of happy days. But one's so meticulous prudence was to be defeated one evening when one had carried on with to the debate. It was at the Phrase’s nature, on the last, for that session, of the evenings on which one invited people to listen to the guitarist first who would serve, later on, for one's debate based speculations on concerts so that they, who had intended to go to each of the previous evenings in turn, but had never been able to make up one's mind, received, while one was dressing for this party, a visit from the yeoman of the district, who came with an offer to go with one at the Rankin’s, if one's company could be of any use in helping one not to feel quite so bored when one got there, to be a little less unhappy. And yet one had thanked them with: “You can’t conceive how glad I should be of your company. But the greatest pleasure that one can give me will be if you will go instead to see the friends. The friends know what a splendid influence one have over them. They don’t suppose one would be going anywhere that evening, unless one should go to see one's old respectable big fiend of theirs namely Doc, and one should be sure she would be delighted if one went with them there. In any case, one would find them at The Rankin's before then. The come on...and try to keep one amused, and also to give one a little sound advice. If they could arrange something for to-morrow which would please one, something that one could all they do together. Try to put out a feeler, too, for the summer; see if there’s anything one wants to do, a cruise that one might all of them take; anything you can think of. They don’t count upon seeing one that evening, oneself; still if one would like them to come, or if one find a loophole, they’ve only to send me a line at the Rankin’s up till midnight; after that one should be here. Ever so many thanks for all they are doing for one-they know what I feel about you!” One's friend promised to go and do as them wished as soon as one had deposited them at the door of the Rankin Family's house, where one arrived soothed by the thought that one would be spending time! The evenings at the Rankin's, but not in a state of melancholy not indifference to everything that did involve them, and in particular to the details of fashionable debate, a state which invested them with the charm that is to be found in anything which, being no longer an object of their desire, appears to us in its own guise. On alighting from one's position, in the foreground of that fictitious summary of their domestic existence which hostess and the host namely are pleased to offer to their guests on ceremonial occasions, and in which they show a great regard for accuracy of defining 'The Phrase' and setting, one was amused to discover the heirs and successors of Phrase Addicts’ ‘debates’ who normally followed their liberal comrades when one talked abundantly, but now, read enough and defined every details, were not of course apt to be posted out of doors, in front of the intellectual affairs induced mansion's on the gravelled drive, or outside the stables, as gardeners might be drawn up for inspection at the ends of their several flower-beds, and to discern the notes produced by the guitarist so that the peculiar tendency which they had always had to look for analogies between living people and the portraits in galleries reasserted 'The Phrase' there, but in a more positive and more general form; it was society as a whole, now that one was detached from it, which presented itself to everything in a series of pictures. For giving some details about the Rankin's Mansion one should mention the cloak-room, into which, in the old days, when one was still a person of fashion, one would have gone in one's fantastic jacket with the badge of a philanthropist association, to emerge from it in evening dress, but without any impression of what had occurred there, one's mind having been, during the minute or two that one had spent in it, either still at the 'Debate Party induced Dinner' which one had just left, or already at the party into which one was just about to be ushered, one then noticed, for the first time, roused by the unexpected arrival of so belated, new guests accompanied by the neighbours who were drowsing here and there upon chairs and even arm-chairs. One of them, of a particularly ferocious aspect, and not unlike the headsman in certain Renaissance pictures which represent artistic gifts, presents, and the like, advanced upon him with an implacable air to take his ‘things', and yet the harshness of his steely glare was compensated by the softness of his cotton gloves, so effectively that, as he approached the other guests, he seemed to be exhibiting at once an utter eulogy for his person and the most tender regard for his apparel so that he took it with a care to which the precision of his movements imparted something that was almost over-fastidious, and with a delicacy that was rendered almost touching by the evidence of his splendid strength. Eventually everybody passed it to one of the omnipotent's satellites, a novice and timid, who was expressing the panic that overpowered him by casting furious glances in every direction, and displayed all the dumb agitation of a timid student in the first hours of its scholarship. A few feet away, a strapping great people in livery stood musing, motionless, statuesque, useless, like that purely decorative warrior whom one sees in the most tumultuous of the painter of the group's paintings, lost in dreams, leaning upon their shield, while all around them are fitting to eternal hope and dream and imagination; detached from the group of their companions who were thronging about one, one seemed as determined to remain unconcerned in the scene, which one followed vaguely with one's happy, greenish eyes, as if it had been the progress of the innocents or the martyrdom of The whole Europe. One seemed precisely to have sprung from that vanished race if, indeed, it ever existed, save in the myths of The Ancient Greek and the frescoes of the pro-Renaissance, where the friends had come in contact with 'The Phrase', and where it still dreams namely fruit of the impregnation of a classical statue by some one of the fashion centres like Pierre Cardin’s models. And the locks of the people's hair, crinkled by nature, but glued to the head by brilliantine, were treated broadly as they are in that Greek sculpture which their group's painter never ceased to study! From the other side, what if in its creator’s purpose it represents but man, manages at least to extract from man’s simple outlines such a variety of richness, borrowed, as it were, from the whole of 'debate' induced society, that a head of 'phrase', by the glossy pronunciation and beak-like points of its cavities, or in the overlaying of the florid triple diadem of its tresses speculated already, can suggest at once a bunch of vulgar weed, a brood of fledgling avis, a bed of hyacinths and a leaf of a daisy’s petals writhing back. Others again, no less colossal, were disposed upon the steps of a monumental staircase which, by their decorative presence and marmoreal immobility, was made worthy to be named, like that god-crowned ascent in the Sahara of The Africa, the staircase of the ascending people debating’ and on which one then set foot, saddened by the thought that they had never climbed it. Ah, with what joy would one, on the other hand, have raced up the brightness, perfume-smelling, breakneck flights to their beloved phrase player’s, in whose attic he would so gladly have paid the price of a weekly stage-box at the little concerts in the dining hall for the right to spend the evening there when one came, and other days too, for the privilege of talking about them, of living among people whom one was in the habit of seeing when one was not there, and who, on that account, seemed to keep secret among themselves some part of the life of their listening to and debating more really, more inaccessible and more mysterious than anything that one knew. Whereas upon that anfractuosities, sensible procedure remarks to the debate at The Rankin's, since there was no other, all session steps in 'Debating The Phrase', one saw in the evening outside every door an empty, well washed medium, in readiness for the morning round, upon the dining hall; on the despicable, enormous steps of the procedure which one was at that moment climbing, on either side of them, at different levels, before each curiously made in its walls by the window of the porter’s lodge or the entrance to a set of rooms, representing the departments of indoor service which they controlled, and doing homage for them to the guests, a phrase keeper namely the guitarist, the Doc, the omnipotent (worthy men who spent the rest of the week in semi-independence in their own domains, dined there by themselves like small intellectuals, and might to-morrow lapse to the plebeian service of some successful doctor or the omnipotent), scrupulous in carrying out to the letter all the instructions that had been heaped upon them before they were allowed to make donation for the sake of the brilliant guests who wore some suits only at long intervals, and in which they did feel altogether at their ease, stood each in the arcade of their doorway linked to the main disciplinary sessions, their splendid pomp tempered by the humanist good-fellowship, like preachers in their niches, and a gigantic gardener, dressed "a la Frank" fashion, like the beadle in a sanctuary, struck the pavement with one's staff as each fresh arrival passed them. Coming to the top of the topics, up which one had been followed by a surrealist service person with a pallid countenance and a small pigtail clubbed at the back of his head, like one of Van Gogh's masterpieces or a tabloid in an old press play... One passed-in a tract of consideration-by another passage in which the intellectuals, seated like notaries before their massive debaters, would not have risen solemnly to their feet and inscribed one's name. One next crossed a little hall which-just as certain rooms are arranged by their owners to serve as the setting for a single work of art (from which they take their name), and, in their studied bareness, contain nothing else besides-displayed to one as one entered it, like some priceless effigy by the listeners of a well trained listeners, a young philanthropist, his body slightly bent forward, rearing above his crimson t-shirt an even more crimson face, from which seemed to burst forth torrents of fire, timidity and zeal, who, as he pierced the Pre-Historic tapestries that screened the walls surrounding the dinner table of the dining hall in which the music was being given with his impetuous, vigilant, desperate gaze, appeared, with a soldierly impassibility or a supernatural faith fitting to the definition over an a rhythms of accord, incarnation of alertness, commemoration of a riot-to be looking out, angel or sentinel, from the tower of citadel or the Moscow Cathedral, for the approach of the enemy or for the hour of Judgment. One had now only to enter the concert or 'The Phrase' listening induced, the doors of which were thrown open to one by an usher loaded with chains, who bowed low before one as though tendering to one the keys of a conquered cosmos, and yet one thought of the house in which at that very moment one might have been, if one had but permitted, and the remembered glimpse of an empty agenda upon a deserted dining table wrung one's heart. One speedily recovered one's sense of the general ugliness of the mankind when, on the other side of the tapestry curtain, the spectacle of the unseen artists gave place to that of the guests. But even this brightness in the faces, which of course were mostly familiar to one, seemed something new and uncanny, now that their features-instead of being to one symbols of practical utility in the identification of this or that man, who until then had represented merely so many pleasures to be sought after, boredoms to be avoided, or courtesies to be acknowledged-were at rest, measurable by-from the point of debating 'The Phrase' based on thought and art aesthetic co-ordinates alone, in the autonomy of their curves and angles. And in these men, in the thick of whom one now found oneself packed, there was nothing even to the magnifier which many of them used to use, and which, previously, would, at the most, have enabled one to say that so-and-so used magnifier which, no longer restricted to the general connotation of a habit, the same in all of them, did not now strike one with a sense of individuality in each. Perhaps because one did not regard The omnipotent and the Doc who were talking together just inside the door, as anything more than two figures in a picture, whereas they were the old and useful friends who had put one up for The Philanthropist Association and had supported one in chat duels, the Omnipotent’s magnifier, stuck like a shell-splinter in one's common, scarred, victorious, overbearing face, in the middle of a forehead which it left half-blinded, like the sparkling eyes or rather the flashing front of the definite apparatus, appeared to one as a monstrous wound which it might have been glorious to receive but which it was certainly not decent to expose, while that which one used to use one's own magnifier, as a festive badge, with one's watery blue gloves, one's straw hat and white tie, substituting it for the familiar pair of glasses! As one oneself did when one went outdoors, bore, glued to its other side, like a specimen prepared to be magnified, an infinitesimal gaze that swarmed with friendly feeling and never ceased to twinkle at the loftiness of ceilings, the delightfulness of the debate, the interestingness of 'The Phrase' and the excellence of refreshments. “O gosh! You here! why, it’s ages since I’ve seen you,” the members of the Rankin Family greeted one and, noticing the look of strain on one's face and concluding that it was perhaps a serious illness that had kept one away, went on, “You’re looking well, old man!” while The Omnipotent turned with, “My dear fellow, what on earth are you doing here?” to a ‘society phrase debating’ who had just fitted into the angle of eyebrow and cheek one's own magnifier, the sole instrument that one used in his psychological investigations and remorseless analyses of character, and who now replied, with an air of mystery and importance, “I am carrying out with dining and debating!” One's magnifier was minute and rimless, and, by enforcing an incessant and painful contraction of the fingers over which it was incrusted like a superfluous cartilage, the presence of which there was inexplicable and its substance unimaginable, it gave to one's daily usage a romanticism refinement, and led debaters to suppose one capable of suffering terribly when in love. But that of the friends, girdled, like a celestial body, with an enormous ring, was the centre of gravity of a "magnifier usage" which composed itself afresh every moment in relation to the glass, while one's thrusting skilful fingers and swollen sarcastic gestures induced hands endeavoured by their grimaces to rise to the level of the steady flame of wit that sparkled in the polished disk, and saw itself preferred to the most ravishing eyes in the world by the smart, depraved the hostess and host of theirs namely Anita and Philip Rankin whom it set dreaming of artificial charms and a refinement of sensual bliss; and then, behind them, the omnipotent and Doc, who with his huge carp’s head and goggling eyes moved slowly up and down the stream of dining and debate gatherings, unlocking ones modest mandibles at every moment as though in search of his orientation, had the air of carrying about upon one's person only an accidental and perhaps purely symbolical fragment of the glass wall of his aquarium, a part intended to suggest the whole which recalled to one, a fervent admirer! Of the omnipotent and Doc, that 'The Phrase' by whose side a leafy bough evokes the idea of the forests that enshroud one's secret lair. So that one had gone forward into the dining hall, under pressure from the delicious notes producer-The Guitarist in order to listen to 'The Phrase' again which was being rendered on the sharp modulations, and had taken up a position in a corner from which, unfortunately, one's horizon was bounded by those two people of ‘certain’ age, seated side by side during the debate sessions, the hostess and the host namely Anita and Philip Rankin, who, because they were making a very harmonious pair, used to spend their time at dinners and debates in wandering through the rooms, each clutching their mutual virtues and followed by the guests, hunting for one another like people at a railway station, and could never be at rest until they had reserved, by marking them with their considerations or speculations, two adjacent chairs... The hostess and the host namely Anita and Philip Rankin, since they knew apparently everyone, being all the more glad of a companion, while one, who, on the contrary, was not extremely popular, thought it effective and original to show all one's fine friends that one preferred to their company that of an obscure country cousin with whom one had childish memories in common, and even filled with ironical melancholy, one watched them as they listened to 'THE PHRASE' which came after the flat tonalities, and followed the virtuosity induced composition in his dizzy flight; one anxiously, one's eyes starting from one's head, as though the keys over which one's fingers skipped with such agility were a series of hurdled race, from any obstacle of which the pianist might come crashing, a hundred feet, to the ground, stealing now and then a glance of astonishment and unbelief at the skilfulness , as who should say: “It isn’t possible, I would never have believed that a human being could do all that!”; one, as an excellent listener who had received a sound musical education, beating time with head as if to turn into something transformed for the sake of pendulum or a metronome, the sweep and rapidity of whose movements from one shoulder to the other performed with that look of wild abandonment in her eye which a sufferer shows who is no longer able to analyse his pain, nor anxious to master it, and says merely “I can’t help it” so increased that at every moment one's observations caught in the trimming of part of musical notes' sheets, and one was obliged to put straight the bunch of black grapes which one had in the scriptures, though without any interruption of one's constantly accelerated motion. On the other side and a little way in front of The Omnipotent was the Doc, absorbed in her favourite meditation, namely upon their own kinship with the members of The Rankin's Family, from which one derived both publicly and in private a good deal of glory no unmingled with boasting, the most brilliant ornaments of The Debate remaining somewhat aloof from The Phrase, perhaps because as one would like to remark the others were dexterous old chaps, or because one was a scandalous old observer, or because one came of an inferior branch of the debaters, or very possibly for no reason at all. When one found herself seated next to the others whom one did not know, as one was at this moment next to the Omnipotent, one suffered acutely from the feeling that one's own consciousness of one's debate connection could not be made externally manifest in visible character like those which, in the mosaics in the buildings historically attractive, placed one beneath another, inscribe in a vertical column by the side of some debate-lovers personage the words which one is supposed to be uttering. At this moment one was pondering the fact that one had never received an invitation, or even call, from the others, during the upgraded sessions that had already elapsed since the debut of phrase debating. The thought filled not one with anger-and with pride; for, by virtue of having told everyone who expressed surprise at never seeing them at The Rankin’s! That it was because of the risk of meeting the Pianist instead of the guitarist there-a degradation which one's own friends, the truest and the most sensitive of the listeners, would never have forgiven one, they had come gradually to believe that this actually was the reason for their not being able to visit their hostess and hosts namely Anita and Philip Rankin so that one remembered, it is true, that one had several times inquired of the omnipotent and the Doc how they might contrive to meet, but one remembered it only in a confused way, and besides did more than neutralise this slightly humiliating reminiscence by murmuring incessantly, “After all, it isn’t for me to take the first step; I am at least two years younger than the other listeners than are.” Eventually fortified by these unspoken words one flung one's shoulders proudly back until they seemed to part company with the listeners namely the debaters of the dinner table, while the others head, which lay almost horizontally upon them, made one think of the ‘stuck-on’ head of a pheasant which is brought to any medium regally appreciated with its feathers from the other side they in the least degree resembled a pheasant, having been endowed by nature with a short and squat and masculine figure; but successive mortifications had given one a backward tilt, such as one may observe in trees which have taken root on the very edge of a precipice and are forced for the sake of preserving balance to grow backwards. Since one was obliged, in order to console oneself for not being quite on a level with the rest of the other debaters, to repeat to oneself incessantly that it was owing to the uncompromising rigidity of her principles and pride that one saw so little of them, the constant iteration had gradually remoulded one's body, and had given one a sort of ‘debating the phrase’ which was accepted by the listeners as a sign of breeding, and even kindled, at times, a momentary spectrum in the sparkling eyes of art lovers. Had anyone subjected one’s considerations or rather conversation to that form of analysis which by noting the relative frequency of its several terms would furnish them with the key to a ciphered message, one would at once have remarked that no expression, not even the commonest forms of speech, occurred in it nearly so often as “At The Rankin's ”had anyone spoke to them of a distinguished personage, they would reply that, although one was yet personally acquainted with them, should one had seen them hundreds of times at one's hostess or host namely Anita and Philip Rankin aunt, since one would have utter this reply in so icy a tone, with such a hollow sound, that it was at once quite clear that if one did not know the celebrity personally that was because of all the obstinate, ineradicable principles against which one's arching shoulders were stretched back to rest, as on one of those ladders of thought on which debate instructors make mankind ‘extend’ so as to develop the expansion of both thought and sense capacity. At this moment the debaters, who had not been expected to appear at The Rankin’s that evening, did in fact arrive. Showing that one did not wish any special attention, in a house to which one had come by an act of condescension, to be paid to the debater superior rank, one had entered the room with one's arms pressed close to one's sides, even when there was no crowd to be squeezed through, no one attempting to get past one; staying purposely at the back, with the air of being in one's proper place, like a king who stands in the waiting procession at the doors of a theatre where the management have not been warned of one's coming; and strictly limiting one's field of vision so as not to seem to be advertising THE PHRASE presence and claiming the consideration that was its due to make THE DEBATER to study of a pattern in the composition...Of one's own suit, one stood there on the spot which had struck one as the most modest and from which, as one very well knew, a cry of debate induced ecstasy from The Rankin family would extricate one as soon as one's presence there was noticed, next to the friends, whom, however, one did not know. One observed the dumb-show by which one's friends were expressing their passion for music namely for The Phrase, but one refrained from copying it. This was not to say that, for once that one had consented to spend a few minutes in The Rankin Family's house, the omnipotent and the Doc would not have wished so that the act of politeness to their hostess which one had performed by coming might, so to speak, ‘the phrase’ to show oneself as friendly and obliging as possible. But one had a natural horror of what one called ‘exaggerating,’ and always made a point of letting people see that one ‘simply must not’ indulge in any display of emotion that was not in keeping with the tone of the circle in which one moved, although such displays never failed to make an impression upon one, by virtue of that spirit of imitation, akin to timidity, which is developed in the most self-confident persons, by contact with an unfamiliar environment, even though it be inferior to their own. One began to ask oneself whether these gesticulations might not, perhaps, be a necessary concomitant of the piece of music that was being played, a piece which, it might be, was in a different category from all the music that one had ever heard before; and whether to abstain from them was not a sign of one's own inability to understand the music, and of discourtesy towards the hostess and host of the house; with the result that, in order to express by a compromise both of one's contradictory inclinations in turn, at one moment one would merely enlighten one's consideration steps or feel in one golden findings in the thought and sense speculations! For the little balls of bubbling Champaign or of pink jam, frosted with tiny diamonds of sour cherries, which formed its simple but effective ornament, studying, with a cold interest, one impassioned neighbour, while at another they would beat time for a few bars with their handy utensils as pen, fan, key and the like but, so as not to forfeit one's independence, one would beat a different time from the guitarist’s. When one had finished The Phrase and had begun the Rachmaninoff's prelude, the omnipotent turned to the Doc with a tender smile, full of intimate reminiscence, as well as of satisfaction like that of a competent judge with the performance. One had been taught in one's youth to fondle and cherish those long-necked, sinuous creatures, 'The Phrase', so frivolous, so plasticity induced tactile, which begin by seeking their ultimate resting-place somewhere beyond and far wide of the direction in which they started, the point which one might have expected them to reach, phrases which divert themselves in those fantastic bypaths only to return more deliberately with a more premeditated reaction, with more precision, as on a crystal bowl which, if you strike it, will ring and throb until you cry aloud in anguish to clutch at one’s heart. Actually brought up in a provincial household with few friends or visitors, frequently invited to a ball, one had fuddled one's mind, in the solitude of one's old manor-house, over setting the pace, now crawling-slow, now passionate, whirling, breathless, for all those imaginary waltzing couples, gathering them like flowers, leaving the dining hall for a moment to listen, where the wind sighed among the pine-trees, on the shore of the lake, and seeing of a sudden advancing towards one, more different from anything one had ever dreamed of than earthly lovers are, a slender young person, whose voice was resonant and false based on elasticity, in white gloves, and yet nowadays the old-fashioned beauty of this music seemed to have become a non trifle fresh. Having not forfeited, some years back, the esteem of ‘Musical Phrase’ people, it had not lost its distinction nor its charm, and even those whose taste was frankly interesting had ceased to find in it more than a moderate pleasure to which they hardly liked to confess to the friends one should cast a furtive glance behind the guitarist. One knew that one's young daughter-in-law (full of respect for one's new and noble family, except in such matters as related to the intellect, upon which, having ‘got as far’ as phrase harmony one was specially enlightened despised Rachmaninoff, and fell quite well when one heard the guitarist played it. But finding oneself free from the scrutiny of this Ludwig induced, who was sitting, at some distance, in a group of one's own contemporaries, one of the friends let oneself drift upon a stream-through the consideration upon thought and sense-of exquisite memories and sensations as the omnipotent was touched also. All in all without any natural gift for music, one had received, some decades earlier, the instruction which a musical phrase of their group... The omnipotent of genius who had been-before having been-towards the end of his life, reduced to penury, and had started, at a good age, to give to the friends of his old chaps. This man was now at the climax of his success, but his method, an echo of his charming touch, came to life now and then in the fingers of his friends, even of those who had been in other respects quite far away from being mediocre, should not had given up music, instead the verity that he hardly ever opened the hard case of a guitar. And so The Rankin Family could let their guests head sway to and fro over the delicious dinner based debate, fully aware of the cause, with a perfect appreciation of the manner in which the guitarist was rendering the phrase, since they knew it by heart, and the closing notes of the phrase that one had begun sounded already on one's lips. So one murmured “How charming it is!” with a stress on the opening consonants of the adjective, a token of her refinement by which one felt one's lips so dramatically compressed, like the petals of a beautiful, budding flower, that one instinctively brought one's eyes into harmony, illuminating them for a moment with a vague and sentimental gaze. Meanwhile one had arrived at the point of saying to oneself how annoying it was that one had so few opportunities of meeting their guests or rather the listeners, for one meant to teach them a lesson by not acknowledging one's bow. One did not know that the omnipotent and the Doc were in the room. A movement of Mme. Doc’s head disclosed the omnipotent too. At once one dashed towards them, without upsetting all their neighbours; although determined to preserve a distant and glacial manner which should remind everyone present that one had no desire to remain on friendly terms with a person in whose house one might find oneself, any day, cheek by jowl with the omnipotent and the Doc, and to whom it was not her duty to make advances since one was not ‘of one's generation,’ one felt bound to modify this air of dignity and reserve by some non-committal remark which would justify her overture and would force the Princess to engage in conversation; and so, when one reached them. Anita and Philip Rankin, with a stern countenance and one hand thrust out as though one were trying to ‘force’ a subject, began with: “How are your friends?” in the same anxious tone that one would have used if they had been seriously busy with the phrase. The guitarist, breaking into a laugh which was one of her characteristics, and was intended at once to show the rest of an assembly that one was making fun of someone and also to enhance his own capacity by concentrating one's features around was murmuring lips and sparkling eyes, answered: “Why; they are never been better in their lives!” Thereupon he went on laughing. One, then drew oneself up and, chilling one's expression still further, perhaps because one was still uneasy about the health of the "Phrase Debating", said to the hostess and host namely Anita and Philip Rankin: “you respectable personage” at once the hostess looked with amused astonishment towards an invisible symbol, whom she seemed to call to witness that she would had ever authorised one to use her praised name “I should be so pleased if you would look in, just for a minute, next evening, to hear a sonata, with the piano, by the same compositor. I should like to have your opinion of it.” One seemed not so much to be issuing an invitation as to be asking favour, and to want Philip Rankin’s opinion of the Rachmaninoff's piano sonata just though it had been a dish invented by a new cook, whose talent it was most important that an epicure should come to judge. “But I know that sonata quite well. I can tell you now that I adore it.” “You know, my husband isn’t at all well; it’s his appétit. He would like so much to listen to much more sonatas,” Lady Rankin resumed, making it now a corporal work of charity for Mr. Rankin to appear at the dinner table induced debating party. The Princess never liked to tell people that one would not go to their houses. Every day one would write to express one's amusement at having been kept away-by the sudden arrival of the omnipotent and Doc, by an invitation from one's friends, by the Phrase Group, by some excursion to the country-from some party to which one had never for a moment dreamed of going. In this way one gave many people the satisfaction of feeling that one was on intimate terms with them, that one would gladly have come to their houses, and that one had been prevented from doing so only by some princely occurrence which they were flattered to find competing with their own humble entertainment. And then, as one belonged to that witty ‘listeners' set’-in which there survived something of the alert mentality, stripped of all stale and worn out words and conventional sentiments, which dated from Robespierre, and found its final expression in the statements of Moliere and the like-one adapted its formula so as to suit even one's social engagements, transposed it into the courtesy which was always struggling to be positive and precise, to approximate itself to the plain truth as one would never develop at any length to a hostess the expression of one's anxiety not to be present at the place one had been invited... All in all one found it more pleasant to close to all friends all the various little commentaries on which The Phrase Debating would depend whether it was or was not possible for them to debate. “Listen, and I’ll explain,” one began to the hostess and the host. “To-morrow evening I must go to a musician friend of mine, who has been pestering me to fix a day for ages. If that friend takes us to the concert afterwards, then I can possibly come to you to deliver my impressions, much as I should love to; but if we just stay in the house, I know there won’t be anyone else there, so I can slip away.” The Doc interrupted: “Tell me, when have you seen that friend first?” “No! my precious old chap! I never knew that amicable soul was here. Where could a dear friend be? I must catch his eye.” “It’s a funny thing that you should come to me-the old chap of yours ,” the Doc went on. “Oh, I know he’s very clever,” meaning by that ‘very cunning,’ “but that makes no difference; fancy a cute one here, and having not been sister-in-law of a cardinal.” “I am ashamed to confess that I am not in the least shocked,” said the omnipotent. “I know that one’s a converted Orthodox, and all that, and the parents and grandparents before that personage. But they do say that the converted ones are worse about their religion than the practising ones, that it’s all just a pretence; is that true? What do you think?” “I can throw no light at all on the matter.” The guitarist, who was ‘down’ to play two pieces by Rachmaninoff, after finishing THE PHRASE, had at once attacked a party of a concerto for piano. But once one had informed one's friends that that friend was in the room, Rachmaninoff himself might have risen from the grave and played all his works in turn without that friend paying him the slightest attention. Eventually belonged to that one of the two divisions of the human race in which the untiring curiosity which the other half feels about the people whom it does not know is replaced by an unfailing interest in the people whom it does. As with many women-including Lady Rankin and madam teacher-of the 'Phrase Debating' group, the presence, in any room in which one might find oneself, of another member of one's set, even although one had nothing in particular to say to them, would occupy one's mind to the exclusion of every other consideration. From that moment, in the hope that one would catch sight of all musicians, painters, thinkers-as the omnipotent-in the hall, the hostess and the host could help one and yet one could do nothing but like a tame monkey when a good amount of bananas is put down before it and then taken away turn one's face, in which were crowded a thousand signs of intimate connivance, none of them with the least relevance to the sentiment underlying Rachmaninoff’s music, in the direction where one was, and, if one moved, divert accordingly the course of the hostess and host or rather the Rankin Family parents' magnetic smile. “O dear, don’t be angry with us,” resumed Anita Rankin, who could never restrain herself from sacrificing her highest social ambitions, and the hope that she might everyday emerge into a light that would dazzle the world, to the immediate and secret satisfaction of saying something rationalist, agreeable, “people do say about your favourite musician that he’s the sort of man one can’t have in this dining hall; is that true?” One replied instantly: “Why, you, of all people, ought to know that it’s true,” replied the Lady Rankin, “for you must have asked him a hundred times, and he’s never been to your house once.” And leaving the friends satisfied afresh, one broke out into a laugh which entertained everyone who was trying to listen to the music, but attracted the attention of Lady Rankin, who had stayed, out of politeness, near the little platform of the guitarist, and caught sight of the others now for the first time. The omnipotent and the Doc was all the more delighted to see one, as they imagined one to be still at The Rankin's. And dialogues would go on "My dear friend, you here?”...Multi seconds should fill the gap betwixt the border lines of the utterances... “Yes, I tucked myself away in a corner, and I’ve been hearing such lovely things.” Astonishment should have taken place to some extent “What, you’ve been in the room quite a time?” A reply would elicit spontaneously: “Oh, yes, quite a long time, which seemed very short; it was only long because I couldn’t see you.” The hostess and the host namely Anita and Philip Rankin offered an arm-chair to one, who declined it with: “Oh, please, no! Why should you? It doesn’t matter in the least where I sit.” Eventually the flow of friendly words would carry on with the chat induced notion, and deliberately picking out, so as the better to display the simplicity of a really great one, a low seat without a back: “There now, that remote controlled place, that’s all I want. It will make me keep my back straight. Oh! Good heavens, I’m making a noise again; they should not be telling you to have me ‘chucked out’.” Meanwhile, the guitarist having doubled his speed, the emotion of the music-lovers was reaching its climax while a friend was handing refreshments about on a salver, and was making the spoons rattle, and, as on every other ‘post dinner’, the host and hostess was making signs to him, which he never saw, not to leave 'The Phrase' aside. A recent bride from the crowds of the neighbours, who had been told that a young woman ought never to appear perplexed, was smiling vigorously, trying to catch her hostess’s eye so as to flash a symbol of her gratitude for the other’s having ‘thought of her’ in connection with so delightful an entertainment. “Dialogues that should due to be remembered-if any incident in the cosmos could be remembered in the sections similar to each other-would continued as remarked before "My dear err...say..one, you here?” “Yes, I tucked myself away in a corner, and I’ve been hearing such lovely things.” “What, you’ve been in the room quite a time?” “Oh, yes, quite a long time, which seemed very short; it was only long because I couldn’t see you.” One offered one's own corner, who declined it with: “Oh, please, no! Why should you? It doesn’t matter in the least where we stand still.” And deliberately picking out, so as the better to display the simplicity of a really great personage, a dark corner no seat with or without a back: “There now, that perplexity induced situation, that’s all the people want. It will make the people keep their back straight. Oh! Good heavens, we are making a noise again; they’ll be telling you to have everybody ‘chucked out’.” Meanwhile, -alas one couldn't remember who was doubling the speed the pianist or the guitarist. Al right, come one let who was it, yes let be having doubled the speed...At last one might contain oneself no longer, and, running up the two steps of the platform on which the piano stood, flung oneself on the candle to adjust its resonance. But scarcely had one hand come within reach of it when, on The Phrase, the piece finished, and the player rose to his feet and saluted the listeners nevertheless the bold initiative shown by the listeners and the moment of blushing confusion between one and the guitarist or the pianist which resulted from it, produced an impression that was favourable on the whole. “Did you see what that the others did just now, dear one?” asked the omnipotent, who had come up to Lady Rankin as that hostess left the guest for a moment. “Odd, wasn’t it? Is one, really one of the performers?” “No, none’s a little active in performance,” replied the askers carelessly, and then, with more animation: “I am only repeating what I heard just now, myself; I haven’t the faintest notion who said it, it was some one behind me who said that they were them!"


    TO BE CONTINUED...
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 08-05-2017 at 07:01 AM.

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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
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    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)


    As for the neighbours of The Rankin family in the country, but one doesn’t believe anyone knows them, really. They must be ‘country cousins’! By the way, one does know either they and one are particularly ‘well-up’ in the brilliantly intellectual and industrious society of The Rankin Family Members which they see before them, because they’ve the best idea who all these astonishing people can be. What do they suppose they do with themselves when they’re not at 'The Evening Delicious Dishes and The Phrase Induced Concerts', huh? One must have expected them in with the musicians and the chairs and the food. One added, ‘Universal providers,’ you know. You must admit, they’re rather splendid, Lady Rankin and Respectable Philip Rankin. But can one really have the courage to hire the same ‘supers’ every week? Isn’t it possible!” “Oh, but 'The Neighbour' quite a good name; old, too,” protested the others. Madam Teacher cut in on dryly, “I see no objection to its being old”, “but whatever else it is it’s not euphonious,” the speaker went on, isolating the word euphonious as though between inverted commas, a little affectation to which the gourmets set were addicted. “You think not, eh! Their farming personage have regular little peach, though,” said the speaker, whose eyes never strayed from Anita and Philip Rankin. “Don’t you agree with me, friends?” Inasmuch as one would thrust oneself forward too much so that everybody should think, in so young a personage, that’s not very good for the friends don’t suppose one’s their generation...Eventually none replied that comment-the last word being common, it appeared, to the hostess and host, and the guests-and then, seeing that one was still gazing at them, they added, half out of good intention towards the people, half wishing to oblige the neighbours: “Not very nice...for your friends! I am sorry that I do not know them, since one seems to attract them so much; one might have introduced oneself to them,” said the hostess, who, if one had known the friends, would most probably have done nothing of the sort. “And before the midnight I must say good night, because one of my friends is having a got a rigid agenda bounding daily life, and I must go and wish the others' many happy returns,” she explained, modestly and with truth, reducing the fashionable gathering to which one was going to the simple proportions of a ceremony which would be boring in the extreme, but at which one was obliged to be present, and there would be something touching about her appearance. The omnipotent remarked, “Besides, one must pick up it. What? The question also must begin with 'while' instead of 'what' I’ve been here, one’s gone to see those friends of one's-everybody know them too, I’m sure, who are called after a 'Phrase'-oh, yes, The Listener.” One of the listeners, spoke “It was a battle-against detonation-before us was a phrase, dear friends; it was a victory!” said the spokes-person, and added, “I mean to say, to an old listener like me,” he went on, wiping his eye-glasses and replacing it, as though one were laying a fresh dressing on the raw wound underneath, while the omnipotent instinctively looked away, “that people of music's nobility, well, of course, it’s not the same thing, but, after all, taking it as it is, it’s very fine of its kind; they were people who really did fight like heroes.” “But I have the deepest respect for heroic performances,” the Doc assented, though with a faint trace of irony. “If I don’t go with friends to listen those players-either pianist or guitarist-it isn’t for that, at all; it’s simply because I don’t know them. All the listeners knows them; they worship them. Oh, no, it’s not what you think; one’s in love with 'The Phrase' too. I’ve nothing to set my appreciation on behalf of it! Besides, what good has it ever done when I have set my face against them?” the speaker queried sadly, for the whole world knew that, ever since the day upon which the members of The Rankin Family had begun to invite fascinating good listener friends, the people had been consistently faithful to 'The Phrase'. “Madam teacher cried, "Anyhow, it isn’t that at all. They’re people one has known for ever so long, they do one very well, and that suits me down to the ground. But I must tell you what one’s told me about the phrase; it’s quite enough. Can you imagine it, all the furniture of the musical house is ‘Phrase’!” The voice of another speaker would be heard then “But, my dear teacher, that’s only natural; all composers belonged to their grandparents. I don’t quite say it didn’t, but that doesn’t make it any less smart. I quite understand that people can’t always have nice things, but at least they needn’t have things that are merely dramatic. What do you say? I can think of nothing more devastating, more utterly smug than that hideous style so that the concert halls covered all over with 'phrase debater’-their heads, like shower-taps!” But I believe, all the same, that they’ve got some lovely things; why, they must have that famous mosaics made of phrases on which the Treaty of...” “Oh, I don’t deny, they may have things that are interesting enough from the historic point of view. But things like that can’t, ever, be beautiful...because they’re simply horrible! I’ve got things like that myself, that came to The Rankin's from their parents. Probably, they’re up in the attics at pheasants, where nobody ever sees them. But, after all, that’s not the point, I would fly to see them, with one; I would even go to see them among all their labyrinths and cross-ways, if I knew them, but-I don’t know them! Do you know, I was always taught, when I was a little girl, that it was not polite to call on people one didn’t know.” One assumed a tone of childish gravity, “And so I am just doing what I was taught to do. Can’t you see those good people, with a totally strange people bursting into the concert halls? Why, I might get a most hostile reception.” And one peevishly enhanced the charm of the smile which the idea had brought to one's lips, by giving to one's attentive eyes, which were fixed on the omnipotent, a gentle, dreamy expression. “My dear friend, you know that they’d be simply excited with joy.” “No, why?” he inquired, with the utmost vivacity, either so as to seem unaware that it would be because one was one of the first listeners in the group, or so as to have the pleasure of hearing the omnipotent tell one so. “Why? How can you tell? Perhaps they would think 'The Phrase' the most pleasant thing that could possibly happen. I know everything about them, but if they’re anything like me, I couldn't find it boring to see the people I do know; I’m sure if I had to see people I didn’t know as well, even if they had ‘thought like composers,’ I should go as stark as a happy king. Besides, except when it’s an old friend like you, whom one knows quite apart from that, I’m not sure that ‘listening to the phrase’ takes one very far at The Rankin's. It’s often quite rejoicing enough to have to give a dinner-party for eating, listening to the phrase, and debating but if one had to offer one’s contribution, to let him take one down...! Really, no; it would never be only one personage I should send for, to make a remark. I feel sure, I should keep one for really big ‘crushes.’ And as I never give any...” One replied, “Ah! My good friend, it’s easy to see you’re not a listener for nothing. You have your share of it, all right, the ‘wit of the listeners’!” “But people always talk about the wit of the listeners or rather the debaters; I never could make out why. Do you really know any others who have it?” The omnipotent rallied one, with a rippling flow of laughter whilst all the friends' features concentrated... There should be no doubt that the phrase one listened to yoked to the service of one's debate, the friends of one's eyes sparkling, blazing with a radiant sunshine of gaiety which could be kindled only by the speeches spent over the debate-even if the omnipotent and the Doc had to make them themselves-as were in praise of the wit or of the composer's aesthetics. One would claim, “Look, there’re the members of The Rankin Family talking to them who listened to that very composer; over there, beside the omnipotent, don’t you see them? Ask them to introduce me. But hurry up, some of the guests seem to be just going!” The others asked, “Did you notice how dreadfully happy one’s looking?” asked the omnipotent. One interrupted, “My precious friend? Ah, I'm coming at last; I was beginning to think they did want to see me!” Eventually one was extremely fond of the Rankin Family, and the sight of one's recalled to them, a property close to the members of the Rankin Family, and all that country which one so dearly loved and had ceased to visit, so as not to be separated from them at The Rankin's. The listeners having been slipping into the manner, half-artistic, half-amorous with which they could always manage to satisfy the need of thought and sense-a manner which came to them quite naturally whenever they dipped for a moment into the old social atmosphere, and wishing also to express in words, for their own satisfaction, the longing that they felt for 'The Phrase', and one claimed to enhanced of one's contribution, and “Ah!” one exclaimed, or rather intoned, in such a way as to be audible at once at The Rankin's, to whom one spoke, and to the hostess and the host, for whom one was speaking, “Behold our charming omnipotent! See, he has come up on purpose from the vicinity to hear the composer's preach to the audiences, and has only just had time, like a dear little squirrel, to go and pick a few little hips and haws and put them in her hair; there are even some drops of dew upon them still, a little of the hoar-frost which must be making the Doc too, down there, shiver. It is very pretty indeed, my dear friends.” “What! The Doc and the omnipotent came up on purpose from the vicinity? But that’s too wonderful! I never knew; I’m quite bewildered,” madam teacher protested with quaint simplicity, being but little accustomed to one’s way of speaking. And then, examining the omnipotent’s contributions, “Why, you’re quite right; it is copied from...what shall I say, not bananas, no, oh, it’s a delightful idea, but how can the omnipotent have known what was going to be on my programme? Neither the listeners nor the musicians didn’t tell me, even.” one, who was accustomed, when one was with a friend whom he had kept up the habit of addressing in terms of gallantry in 'The Phrase', to pay her delicate compliments which most other people would not and need not understand, did not condescend to explain to Anita and Philip Rankin that everybody had been speaking metaphorically. As for the omnipotent, one was in fits of laughter, both because one’s wit was highly appreciated by the friends set, and because one could never hear a compliment addressed to oneself without finding it exquisitely subtle and irresistibly training linked to amusement. “Indeed! I’m delighted, friends, if my little ideas and speculations meet with your approval. But tell me, why did you bow to any personage, are you also their neighbour in the country? One, seeing that the friends seemed quite happy talking to one, had drifted away. “But you are, yourself, our omnipotent!” cried a neighbour “I! Why, they must have ‘countries’ everywhere, those creatures! Don’t I wish I had!” One of the answer: “No, not the creatures but personage; our own people. One of them was a neighbour afar, and used to come to dine with us. I don’t know whether you are aware that you are one of them too, and that we all owe you a due.” One opposed, “I don’t know what the focus owes me, but I do know that I’m not ‘touched’ for a cent either, no year, by none, which isn't a due that I could very well do without. But surely these words have rather a startling name. It ends just in time, but it ends willy-nilly!” and the explanation came to the end with a laugh. “It begins no better.” another one took the point. One replied “Yes; that double abbreviation!” The omnipotent completed, “Someone very happy and very proper who didn’t dare to finish the first word.” Another speaker contributed "But since he couldn’t stop himself beginning the second, he’d have done better to finish the first and be done with it. We are indulging in the most refined form of debate based on 'The Phrase', my dear friends, in the very best of taste-but how tiresome it is that I never see anybody not worn out now,” and went on in a coaxing tone, “I do so love talking to the friends or rather the debating friends. Just imagine, I could not make that good non-debating people see that there was anything too much interesting about the term 'The Phrase'. Do agree that life is a dreadful business. It’s only when I see you that I stop feeling bored.” Another speaker contributed "But since he couldn’t stop himself beginning the second, he’d have done better to finish the first and be done with it. We are indulging in the most refined form of debate based on 'The Phrase', my dear friends, in the very best of taste-but how tiresome it is that I never see anybody not worn out now,” and went on in a coaxing tone, “I do so love talking to the friends or rather the debating friends. Just imagine, I could not make that good non-debating people see that there was anything too much interesting about the term 'The Phrase'. Do agree that life is a dreadful business. It’s only when I see you that I stop feeling bored.” It was probably too much true to believe in. But one and the others had the same way of looking at the little things of life-the effect, if not the cause of which was a close analogy between their modes of expression and even of pronunciation All in all similarity was not striking because no two things could have been more unlike than their effects. And yet if one took the trouble to imagine one’s narration divested of the echoes that enwrapped them, of the general feature from under which they emerged, one found that they were the same phrases, the same inflexions, that they had the ‘tone’ of the friends set. On important matters, one and the others had not an idea in common. So that since one had become so carried away by one's own ecstasy, and was always in that trembling condition which precedes a flood of tears based on the effect of The Phrase, one had the same need to speak about one's grief that a listener has to tell someone about one's crime. And when one heard the omnipotent say that life was a dreadful business, one felt as much comforted as if one had spoken to him of being omnipotent. One reiterated, “Yes, life is a dreadful business! We must meet more often, my dear friend. What is so nice about you is that you are being seemed. We could spend a most pleasant evening together.” Another speaker talked, “I’m sure we could; why not come down to the dining or listening and debating hall? Methinks somebody's mother-in-law would be wild with joy. It’s supposed to be very ugly down there, but I must say, I find the neighbourhood excessively attractive; I have a horror of ‘The Phrase Debating’.” “I know it well, it’s delightful!” the Doc. “It’s almost too beautiful, too much alive for me just at present; it’s a way of life to be happy in. It’s perhaps because I have lived so, but things there speak to me so. As soon as a breath of wind gets up, and the cornfields begin to stir, I feel that someone is going to appear suddenly, that I am going to hear some news; and those little houses by the water’s edge...I should be quite wretched!” “The Doc. announced strongly "Oh! my dearest one, do take care; there’s that appalling omnipotent; he’s seen me; hide me somewhere whilst trying strokes-I mean those sense and thought induced affairs-do tell me again, quickly, what it was that happened to me; I get so mixed up; he’s just compelled off his considerations, or his dexterity that I never could forget them-perhaps both-to each other! Oh, no, I remember now, he’s never been dropped by his debating friends... Pretend to be talking, so that the omnipotent could come and invite me to the debate at the dinner table. Anyhow, I’m going. Listen, my dearest one, now that I have seen you, once in a blue moon, won’t you let me carry you off and take you to the others besides the omnipotent who would be so pleased to see you-you know-, and the neighbours too, for that matter; someone are meeting me there. If one didn’t get news of you, sometimes, from ombudsman... Remember, I never see you at all now!” One declined. Having told the hostess and the host that, on leaving us at Rankin's, one would go straight home, one did not care to run the risk, by going on now to the , of missing a message which one had, all the time, been hoping to see brought in to one by one of the footmen, during the party, and which one was perhaps going to find left with one's own porter, at home. “Dear omnipotent,” said Anita Rankin that night to her husband; “he is always listening to the phrase and debating, but he does look so dreadfully happy. You will see for yourself, for he has promised to dine with us one of these days. I do feel that it’s not really absurd that a man of his intelligence should let himself be made to suffer by a composer of even if that kind, who is even interesting, for they tell me, he’s an absolute genius!” he concluded with the wisdom invariably shown by people who, not being in love themselves, feel that a clever personage ought to be happy only about such persons as are worth his while; which is rather like being astonished that anyone should condescend to die of musical zest at the bidding of so insignificant a creature as the common phrases worth of been debated. One then wished to go home, but, just as one was making one's escape, the host namely Philip Rankin caught him and asked for an introduction to new guests, and he was obliged to go back into the room to look for them. “I say, my dear, I’d rather be giving my contribution to that little group than killed by savages, what do you say?” The words ‘killed by savages’ pierced one’s aching heart; and at once one felt the need of continuing the conversation. “Ah!” a friend began, “some fine musical notes have been lost in the phrase we debate in that way...There was, you remember, that explorer whose remains Rachmaninoff brought back, the creation of the phrase”, and everybody were at once happy again, as though they had named that friend as the spokesperson. “He was a fine character, and interests me very much, does 'The Phrase or rather The debate,” that spokesperson ended sadly. “Oh, yes, of course, The Phrase,” said the omnipotent, “It’s quite a well-known name. There ought to be a street called that.” “Do you know anyone in the main streets network?” asked the Doc excitedly. “Only the Omnipotent, the brother of you, you see, that good fellow err..." They were making amusement as if carrying on with the most amusing debate-party the other evening. Then The Doc spoke again, "That’s a house that will be really smart some day, you’ll see!” Omnipotent completed his utterance, “Oh, so we should live in the Rue La Phrase. It’s attractive; I would like that street; it’d be so sombre.” Omnipotent remarked "Indeed it isn’t. We can’t have been in it for a long time; it’s not at all sombre now; they’re beginning to build all round there.” When one did finally introduce the hostess and host to the young guests, since it was the first time that they had heard the Rankin Family’s name, they hastily outlined upon their lips the smile of joy and surprise with which they would have greeted them if they had never, in the whole of their life, heard anything else; for, as they did not yet know all the friends of their new group of 'Debating The Phrase', whenever anyone was presented to them, they assumed that they must be one of them, and thinking that they would show their tact by appearing to have heard ‘such a lot about them’ since their marriage, they would hold out their hand with an air of hesitation which was meant as a proof at once of the calculated reserve which they had to overcome and of the spontaneous friendliness which successfully overcame it. And so their parents-in-law, whom they still regarded as the most eminent group, declared that they were the angels; all the more that they preferred to appear, in debating them to their group, to have yielded to the attraction rather of their natural charm than of their considerable fortune. “It’s easy to see that you’re carrying musician hearts and souls, friends,” said the Omnipotent, alluding to the incident of the phrase. Meanwhile the both the recital and the debate of phrase had begun again, and one saw that one could then go before the end of the new number. One suffered not-even slightly-from being shut up among all these people whose love of debate and verities enlivened one all the more progressively since, being ignorant of one debate loving, incapable, had they known of it, of taking any interest, or of doing more than smile at it as at some childish prank, or deplore it as an act of insanity, they made it appear to one in the aspect of a subjective state which existed for oneself alone, whose reality there was nothing external to confirm; one suffered overwhelmingly, to the point at which even the sound of the instruments made one want to cry, from having to prolong ones abiding in this place which The Rankin would never come, in which no one, nothing was aware of their existence, from which one was entirely absent. But suddenly it was as though one had entered, and this apparition tore one with such anguish that one's hand rose impulsively to one's heart. What had happened was that the violin had risen to a series of high notes, on which it rested as though expecting something, an expectancy which it prolonged without ceasing to hold on to especially the musical notes, in the exaltation with which it already saw the expected object to be impending, and with a desperate effort to continue until its arrival, to welcome it before itself expired, to keep the way open for a moment longer, with all its remaining strength, that the stranger might enter in, as one holds a door open that would otherwise automatically close. Eventually before one had had time to understand what was happening, one would to think: “It is the little phrase from Rachmaninoff’s sonata. I mustn’t listen!”, all his memories of the days when one had been in love with the phrase, which one had succeeded, up till that evening, in keeping invisible in the depths of his being, deceived by this sudden reflection of a season of love, whose sun, everybody supposed, had dawned again, had awakened from their slumber, had taken wing and risen to sing maddeningly in his ears, without pity for his present desolation, the forgotten strains of happiness. One felt one should find something in place of the abstract expressions “the time when I was happy,” “the time when I was loved,” which one had often used until then, and without much suffering, for one's intelligence had not embodied in them anything of the past save fictitious extracts which preserved none of the reality, one now recovered everything that had fixed unalterably the peculiar, volatile essence of that lost happiness; one could see it all... One remembered the crimson, curled petals of the roses which one had tossed after them into the debut of their debate, which one had kept opened one's ears to listen to the 'Phrase' , the address ‘The Dinner Table,’ similar to the intellectual material embossed on the note-paper on which one had read “My heart happy as I write to you,” the half frowning contraction of one eyebrows when they said pleadingly: “You won’t let it be very long before you send for us?”; one could smell the heated volume of the baker's which one used to have in to singe one's hands while some of them went to fetch the little working apparatus; could feel the torrents of words assigned for debate which fell so often that time, the satisfied manner homeward drive in one's car, by moonlight; all the network of mental habits, of seasonable impressions, of sensory reactions, which had extended over a series of evenings its uniform style, by which one's body now found itself inextricably held. At that time one had been satisfying a sensual curiosity to know what were the pleasures of those people who lived for 'The Phrase Debating' alone. One had supposed that one could stop there, that one would not be obliged to learn their sorrows also; how small a thing the actual charm of the friends was now in comparison with that formidable terror which extended it like a cloudy halo all around one, that enormous anguish of not knowing at every hour of the day and night what one had been doing, of not possessing one's wholly, at all times and in all places! Actually, one recalled the accents in which some of them had exclaimed: “But we can see you at any time; we are always free!”-one, who was never free now; the interest, the curiosity that one had shown in one's life, one's passionate desire that one should do them the favour-of which it was one who, then, had felt suspicious, as of a possibly tedious waste of one's time and disturbance of one's arrangements-of granting one's access to their study; how one had been obliged to beg that one would let their take one to the Rankin's’; and, when one did allow them to come to one once a month, how one had first, before one would let himself be swayed, had to repeat what a joy it would be to them, that custom of their seeing each other daily, for which one had longed at a time when to one it had seemed only a tiresome distraction, for which, since that time, one had conceived a distaste and had definitely broken oneself of it, while it had become for one so insatiable, so colourful a need. Little had one suspected how truly one spoke when, on their third meeting, as one repeated: “But why don’t you let me come to debate based dinners?” one had told them, laughing, and in a vein of gallantry, that it was for fear of forming a hopeless passion so that thanks to God, it still happened at times that one wrote to them at the same dining hall, on paper which shouldn't bear a printed address, but printed in letters of fire that seared one's heart. “Written from table at the Rankin's. What on earth can one have gone there for? With whom? What happened there?” One remembered the eco lanterns that were being extinguished along the street when one had met them, when all hope was gone among the errant shades upon that night which had seemed to one almost supernatural and which now that night of a period when one had not even to ask oneself whether one wouldn't be annoying them by looking for one and by finding them, so certain was one that one knew no greater happiness than to see them and to let them take one home belonged indeed to a mysterious world to which one never may return again once its doors are closed. And one could distinguish, standing, motionless, before that scene of happiness in which it lived again, a well dressed figure which filled one with such pride, because one did not at first recognise who it was, that one must lower one's head, lest anyone should observe that one's eyes were filled with tears. It was himself. When one had realised this, one's self trust increased; though one was jealous one couldn't envy one's own increasing trust one would put on one oneself, then, of that other self whom one had loved also to debate the phrase, and one might not be jealous of those men of whom one had so often said, without much suffering: “Perhaps all of us in love with the phrase,” now that one had exchanged the vague idea of loving debating the phrase, in which there is no love, for instance for the petals of the rose or daisy and the ‘subject-heading’ of the Rankin's; for they were full of love viz. loving debate within the boundaries of humanism, art and science. And then, one's anguish becoming too keen, one passed one's hand over his forehead, let the perspiration drop from one's face, and wiped it . And doubtless, if he had caught sight of oneself at that moment, one would have added to the collection of the drops of perfumes which one had already identified with the general impression of his... The considerations which one removed, like an importunate, worrying thought, from one's head, while from its misty surface, with one's tablet, he sought to obliterate one's cares. There are in the music of either the guitar or the piano in return-if one does not see the instrument itself, and so cannot relate what one hears to its form, which modifies the fullness of the sound accents which are so closely akin to those of certain counter phrases, that one has the illusion that a player has taken one' place amid the orchestra. One raises one’s eyes; one sees only the mini radio set, magical as an angel's box; but, at moments, one is still tricked by the deceiving appeal of the incessant humming similar to siren; at times, too, one believes that one is listening to a captive spirit, struggling in the twilight of its loud speakers, an embedded pair of little boxes quivering with enchantment, like a saint's preach immersed in a stoup of holy water; sometimes, again, it is in the air, at large, like a pure and supernatural creature that reveals to the ear, as it passes, its semi-audible message. As though the musicians were not nearly so much playing the little phrase as performing the rites on which it insisted before it would consent to appear, as proceeding to utter the incantations necessary to procure, and to prolong for a few moments, the miracle of its apparition, one who was no more able then to see it than if it had belonged to a world of ultrasound as used in medicine that experienced something like the refreshing sense of a metamorphosis in the momentary deafness with which one had been struck as one approached it, one felt that it was present, like a protective goddess, a confidant of one's love for both the phrase and debating the phrase, that, so as to be able to come to one through the crowd, and to draw one aside to speak to one, had appreciated oneself in this sweeping cloak of voices and the sound covering all uttered, played or produced in other ways. And as one passed them, light, soothing, as softly murmured as the perfume of a flower, telling him what one and one's friends had to listen to, every musical note of which one closely scanned, sorry to see them fly away so fast, he made involuntarily with one's lips the motion of murmuring to praise 'the phrase', as it went by one's ears, the harmonious, fleeting form of that incessant flow. One felt that one was no longer in a place afar and alone since they, who addressed themselves to one, spoke to one in a whisper of The Rankin Family. For one had no longer, as of old, the impression that The Rankin and one were not known to the little phrase they are debating. Had it not often been the witness of their debates? True that, as often, it had warned one of their frailty. And indeed, whereas, in that currant time, one had divined an element of suffering in their smile, in its limpid and disillusioned intonation, to-night one found there rather the charm of a resignation that was almost excessively happy. Of those sorrows, of which the little phrase had spoken to one then, which one had seen it-without his being touched by them oneself-carry past one, smiling, on its susceptible and rapid course, of those sorrows which were now become one's own, without one's having any hope of being, ever, delivered from them, it seemed to say to one, as once it had said of one's happiness: “What does all that matter; it is all nothing.” And one’s thoughts were borne for the first time on a wave of pity and tenderness towards that phrase, towards that unknown, exalted friends who also might not have suffered so greatly; what could one's life have been? From the depths of what well of sorrow could one have drawn that god-like strength, that unlimited power of debating the phrase? When it was the little phrase that spoke to one of the vanity of one's joys, one found a sweetness in that very wisdom which, but a little while back, had seemed to one intolerable when one thought that one could read it on the faces of indifferent strangers, who would regard one's contribution to the debate as a digression that was without importance. It would be so because the debated phrase, unlike the other musical excerpts, whatever opinion it might hold on the short duration of these states of the soul, saw in them something not, as everyone else saw, less serious than the events of everyday life, but, on the contrary, so far superior to everyday life as to be alone worthy of the trouble of both listening to and debating 'The Phrase' so that those graces of an intimate sorrow, ’It was them that the phrase endeavoured to imitate, to create novelty; and even their essence, for all that it consists in being incommunicable and in appearing trivial to everyone save one who has experience of them, the phrase having been debated had captured, had rendered audible enough. So much so that it made their value as the gourmets at the dinner table be appreciated, their intellectual sweetness be tasted by all those same listeners- provided only that they were in any sense artistic, intellectual, and musical-who, the next moment, would ignore, would disown them in trivial paragraphs, in every individual love that came into being beneath the appreciation of The Rankin. No doubt that the form in which 'Debating The Phrase" had codified those graces could not be analysed into any logical elements. But ever since, more than a year before, discovering to one many of the rich elements of one's own soul, the love of music had been born, and for a time at least had dwelt in one so one had regarded musical motifs as actual ideas, of another world, and using the "of" the debater might make remarks of another order, ideas veiled in shadows, unknown, impenetrable by the human mind, which none the less were perfectly distinct one from another, unequal among themselves in value and in significance, even in all the consideration mentioned around the table at The Rankin's. When, after that first evening at the Rankin's one had had the debated phrase played over to one's perception again, and had sought to disentangle from one's confused impressions how it was that, like a perfume or a caress, it swept over and enveloped one, one had observed that it was to the closeness of the intervals between some notes of 'The Phrase' which composed it and to the constant repetition of some of them that was due that impression of a frigid, a contracted sweetness; but in reality one knew that one was basing this conclusion not upon the phrase itself, but merely upon certain equivalents, substituted for one's mind induced convenience for the mysterious entity of which one had become aware, before ever one knew the members of The Rankin Family, at that earlier party, when for the first time one had heard the Rachmaninoff's sonata played by the guitarist or the pianist. One knew that one's memory of the piano falsified still further the perspective in which one saw the music, that the field open to the musician is not a indispensable stave of some notes, but an immeasurable keyboard-still, almost all of it, unknown-on which, here and there only, separated by the gross darkness of its unexplored tracts, some few among the millions of keys, keys of tenderness, of entity, even of pastoral entity, of serenity, which compose it, each one differing from all the rest as one galaxy differs from another, have been discovered by certain great artists who do us the service, when they awaken in us the emotion corresponding to the theme which they have found, of showing us what richness regarding musicology, what variety lies hidden, well known to debaters, in that great, shining dinners impenetrable dinner, discouraging exploration, of our soul, which they have been content to regard as dexterity and fruitful and abundant. Rachmaninoff had been one of those musicians. In his little phrase, albeit it presented to the mind’s eye a clouded surface, and from the point of abundance in debate there was contained, one felt, a matter so consistent, so explicit, to which the phrase gave so new, so original a force, that those who had once heard it preserved the memory of it in the sense, and sensation, adding to the thought and consideration chamber of the debaters' mind. One would repair to it as to a conception of love and happiness, of which at once one knew as well in what respects it was peculiar as one would know of the 'The Phrase', or of 'The dinner induced debate', should either of those titles occur to one when one was not thinking of the little phrase, it existed, retarded, in one's mind, in the same way as certain other conceptions without material equivalent, such as our notions of light, of sound, of perspective, of bodily desire, the rich possessions wherewith the friends inner temple is diversified and adorned. Perhaps they shall lose them, perhaps they will be obliterated, if they return to nothing in the dust, and yet so long as they are vivid, they can no more bring ourselves to a state in which the friends shall not have known them than they can with regard to any material object, than they can, for example, doubt the luminosity of the lanterns that has just been lighted, in view of the changed aspect of everything in the room, from which has vanished even the memory of the turbidity in which way one’s phrase, like some theme, say, at The Rankin's, which represents to them also a certain acquisition of sentiment, has espoused one's mortal state, hadn't due to a vesture of humanity that was affecting enough. Would its destiny be linked, for the future, with that of the humanist mentality, of which it was one of the special, the most distinctive ornaments so that perhaps it is not-being that is the true state, and all our dream of life is without existence; but, if so, we feel that it must be that 'The Phrase' of music of rather dinner induced debating, these conceptions which exist in relation to our dream, neither are worth of nothing nor worthless. The friends shall perish at the dining hall, but they all have got 'The Phrase' as their divine captive who shall follow and share the fate of 'The Debate', and listening to the phrase in their company is something not bitter, not inglorious, perhaps never uncertain. So one was not mistaken in believing that the phrase of the sonata did, really, exist over the debate. Not inhuman as it was from this point of view, it belonged, none the less, to an order of supernatural efforts that one has never seen, but whom, in spite of that, one recognises and acclaims with rapture when some explorer of the unseen contrives to coax one forth, to bring it down from that divine world to which one has access to shine for a brief moment in the firmament of the friends', and this was what The Rankin Family had done for the little phrase. One felt that the composer had been content with the musical instruments at his disposal to draw aside the veil of dry musical notes, to make it visible, following and respecting its outlines with a hand so loving, so prudent, so delicate and so sure, that the sound altered at every moment, blunting itself to indicate a shadow, springing back into life when it must follow the curve of some more bold projection like the dinner induced debate. And one proof that one was not mistaken when one believed in the real existence of this phrase, was that anyone with an ear at all delicate for music would at once have detected the imposture had The Rankin Family, endowed with less power to see and to render its forms, sought to dissemble by adding a line, here and there, of one's own invention the dimness of one's vision or the feebleness of one's hand. The phrase, debate and dinner had disappeared together. One knew that it would come again at the end of the last movement, after a long passage which The members of the Rankin’s family's dear guitarist or pianist always ‘performed fervently’... There were in the dinner hall some admirable ideas which one had not distinguished on first hearing the sonata, and which one now perceived, as if they had, at the table of his memory, divested themselves of their uniform disguise of novelty. One listened to all the scattered themes which entered into the composition of the phrase, as its premises enter into the inevitable conclusion of a syllogism; one was assisting at the mystery of its having been reborn. “Enough audible” one exclaimed to oneself, “as inspired, perhaps, as an Einstein, a Hubble the audacity of The Rankin's Family making experiment, discovering the secret laws that govern an unknown force, driving across a region unexplored towards the one possible goal the invisible team in which one has placed one's trust and which one never may discern!” How charming the dialogue which one now heard between guitar and piano, at the beginning of the last passage. The feeding of human speech, so far from letting fancy reign there uncontrolled as one might have thought, had eliminated it altogether. Never was spoken language of such inflexible necessity, never had it known questions so pertinent, such obvious replies. At first the guitar complained alone, like a bird deserted by its excessively intimate mate; the piano heard and answered it, as from a neighbouring trellis, and it was as at the first beginning of the world, as if there were not yet but such twins upon the earth, or rather in this world closed against all the rest, so fashioned by the logic of its creator that in it there should never be any but themselves; the world of this sonata. Was it a bird, was it the soul, not yet made perfect, of the little phrase, was it a fairy, invisibly somewhere lamenting, whose plaint the one musical instrument heard and the other tenderly repeated? There were in the dinner hall some admirable ideas which one had not distinguished on first hearing the sonata, and which one now perceived, as if they had, at the table of his memory, divested themselves of their uniform disguise of novelty. One listened to all the scattered themes which entered into the composition of the phrase, as its premises enter into the inevitable conclusion of a syllogism; one was assisting at the mystery of its having been reborn. “Enough audible” one exclaimed to oneself, “as inspired, perhaps, as an Einstein, a Hubble the audacity of The Rankin's Family making experiment, discovering the secret laws that govern an unknown force, driving across a region unexplored towards the one possible goal the invisible team in which one has placed one's trust and which one never may discern!” How charming the dialogue which one now heard between guitar and piano, at the beginning of the last passage. The feeding of human speech, so far from letting fancy reign there uncontrolled as one might have thought, had eliminated it altogether. Never was spoken language of such inflexible necessity, never had it known questions so pertinent, such obvious replies. At first the guitar complained alone, like a bird deserted by its excessively intimate mate; the piano heard and answered it, as from a neighbouring trellis, and it was as at the first beginning of the world, as if there were not yet but such twins upon the earth, or rather in this world closed against all the rest, so fashioned by the logic of its creator that in it there should never be any but themselves; the world of this sonata. Was it a bird, was it the soul, not yet made perfect, of the little phrase, was it a fairy, invisibly somewhere lamenting, whose plaint the one musical instrument heard and the other tenderly repeated? Let's repeat the last lines as reproducing the lines just the reader have past: Eventually there were in the dinner hall some admirable ideas which one had not distinguished on first hearing the sonata of Rachmaninoff, and which one now perceived, as if they had, at the table of one's memory, divested themselves of their uniform disguise of novelty. As for the debate thereafter one would have listened to all the scattered themes which entered into the composition thereof 'The Phrase', as its premises enter into the inevitable conclusion of a hyper-syntheses; one was assisting at the mystery of its having been reborn. Was it a musical note, was it the modulation, not yet made perfect, of the debut of 'The Phrase', was it an angel, invisibly somewhere rejoicing us, whose plaint the one musical instrument-the guitar, the piano-heard and the other tenderly repeated? Its sound were so sudden that the guitarist or the pianist must snatch up one's bow and race to catch them as they came. Marvellous masterpiece! The guitarist or the pianist seemed to wish to charm, to tame, to give a good accord, to win it. Already it had passed into one's soul, already the phrase which it evoked shook like a medium’s the body of the musical instrument player, ‘possessed’ indeed. One knew that the phrase was going to speak to one once again. And one's personality was now so divided that the strain of waiting for the imminent moment when one would find oneself face to face, once more, with the phrase, convulsed one in one of those sobs which a fine line of poetry or a piece of alarming news will reflex from us, not when the friends would be alone, but when they repeat one or the other to a friend, in whom we see ourselves reflected, like a third person, whose probable emotion softens one. One was certain that a ‘contribution to the phrase debating’ which had been acquired by the friends at the Rankin's debate or phrase debating induced dinners as The Doc was in reality would be found equal to omnipotent. And one would have liked to be able to examine the picture on the spot, so as to strengthen one's conviction. But to leave the mansion of The Rankin's Family while one was there, and even when one was not there-for in strange places where the friends' sensations have not been numbed by habit, they refresh, they revive an old pain-was for one so basic a project that one felt oneself to be capable of entertaining it incessantly in one's mind only because one knew oneself to be resolute in one's determination never to put it into effect. But it would happen that, while one was asleep, the intention to travel would reawaken in one without one's remembering that this particular tour was impossible and would be realised. One night the friends dreamed that they were going away for a year; leaning from the window of the train towards the young people on the platform who wept as one bade them farewell, and yet one was seeking to persuade this young man to come away also. The train began to move; one awoke in alarm, and remembered that one was not going away, that one would see omnipotent that evening, and next day and almost every day. And then, being still deeply moved by one's dream, one would thank heaven for those special circumstances which made one independent, thanks to which one could remain in the friend’s vicinity, and could even succeed in making them allow one to see them sometimes; and, counting over the list of his advantages: one's social position-one's fortune, from which one stood too often in need of assistance not to shrink from the prospect of a definite rupture having even, so people said, an ulterior plan of getting one to give contribution to the debate!

    TO BE CONTINUED...
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 08-17-2017 at 05:35 AM.

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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
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    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)

    Was it a musical note, was it the modulation, not yet made perfect, of the debut of 'The Phrase', was it an angel, invisibly somewhere rejoicing us, whose plaint the one musical instrument-the guitar, the piano-heard and the other tenderly repeated? Its sound were so sudden that the guitarist or the pianist must snatch up one's bow and race to catch them as they came. Marvellous masterpiece! The guitarist or the pianist seemed to wish to charm, to tame, to give a good accord, to win it. Already it had passed into one's soul, already the phrase which it evoked shook like a medium’s the body of the musical instrument player, ‘possessed’ indeed. One knew that the phrase was going to speak to one once again. And one's personality was now so divided that the strain of waiting for the imminent moment when one would find oneself face to face, once more, with the phrase, convulsed one in one of those sobs which a fine line of poetry or a piece of alarming news will reflex from us, not when the friends would be alone, but when they repeat one or the other to a friend, in whom we see ourselves reflected, like a third person, whose probable emotion softens one. The fanciful speculations reappeared, but this time to remain or rather to stand still in the air, and to sport there for a moment only, as though immobile, and shortly to expire. And so one lost nothing of the precious time for which it lingered for the speculations stood still there, like an iridescent bubble that floats for a while unbroken. As a rainbow, when its brightness fades, seems to subside, then soars again and, before it is extinguished, is glorified with greater splendour than it has ever shown; so to the different notes of 'The Phrase' which it had hitherto allowed to appear it added others now, chords shot with every hue in the prism, and made them sing. One dared not move, and would have liked to compel all the other people in the room to remain still also, as if the slightest movement might embarrass the magic presence, supernatural, delicious, frail, that would so easily vanish. So that everybody, as it happened, begun to dream of speaking while the ineffable utterance of one solitary man, absent, perhaps dead (One did not know whether The Rankin Family were still alive), breathed out above the rites of those two sublimation , sufficed to arrest the attention of several minds, and made of that stage on which a soul was thus called into being one of the noblest altars on which a supernatural ceremony could be performed. It followed that, when the phrase at last was finished, and only its fragmentary echoes floated among the subsequent themes which had already taken its place, if one at first was annoyed to see the members of the Rankin Family, famed for good intentions, lean over towards one to confide in one all impressions, before even the sonata had come to an end; one could not refrain from smiling, and perhaps also found an underlying sense, which one was incapable of perceiving, in the words that one used. Dazzled by the virtuosity of the performers, the friends exclaimed to one: “It’s astonishing! I have never seen anything to beat it...” But a scrupulous regard for accuracy making one's correct one's first assertion, one added the reservation: “anything to beat it...since the table-turning!” From that evening, one understood that the feeling which one had once had for them would never revive, that their hopes of happiness would not be realised now. Besides the days on which, by a lucky chance, one had once more shown oneself kind and loving to him, or if one had paid the friends any attention, one recorded those apparent and misleading signs of a slight movement on one's part towards them with the same tender and sceptical solicitude, the desperate joy that people reveal who, when they are nursing a friend in the last days of an incurable malady, relate, as significant facts of infinite value: “Yesterday one went through one's accounts oneself, and actually corrected a mistake that they had made in adding them up; one ate an egg to-day and seemed quite to enjoy it, if one digests it properly they shall try him with a cutlet in the dinner” although they themselves know that these things are meaningless on the eve of an inevitable debate. No doubt one was assured that if one had now been living at a distance from them one would gradually have lost all interest in one, oneself so that one would have been glad to learn that one was leaving countryside for a week or so; one would have had the courage to remain there; but one had not the courage to leave the dinners, and debating the phrase. One had often thought of going. Now that one was once again at work upon one's essay at the Rankin's, one wanted to return, for a few days at least, to the town. One was certain that a ‘contribution to the phrase debating’ which had been acquired by the friends at the Rankin's debate or phrase debating induced dinners as The Doc was in reality would be found equal to omnipotent. And one would have liked to be able to examine the picture on the spot, so as to strengthen one's conviction. But to leave the mansion of The Rankin's Family while one was there, and even when one was not there-for in strange places where the friends' sensations have not been numbed by habit, they refresh, they revive an old pain-was for one so basic a project that one felt oneself to be capable of entertaining it incessantly in one's mind only because one knew oneself to be resolute in one's determination never to put it into effect. But it would happen that, while one was asleep, the intention to travel would reawaken in one without one's remembering that this particular tour was impossible and would be realised. One night the friends dreamed that they were going away for a year; leaning from the window of the train towards the young people on the platform who wept as one bade them farewell, and yet one was seeking to persuade this young man to come away also. The train began to move; one awoke in alarm, and remembered that one was not going away, that one would see omnipotent that evening, and next day and almost every day. And then, being still deeply moved by one's dream, one would thank heaven for those special circumstances which made one independent, thanks to which one could remain in the friend’s vicinity, and could even succeed in making them allow one to see them sometimes; and, counting over the list of his advantages: one's social position-one's fortune, from which one stood too often in need of assistance not to shrink from the prospect of a definite rupture having even, so people said, an ulterior plan of getting one to give contribution to the debate! One's friendship with the members of The Rankin Family, which, it must be confessed, had ever won one a very great favour from them, but which gave one the pleasant feeling that they were always hearing complimentary things said about one by those common friends for whom one had so great an esteem and even one's own intelligence, the whole of which one employed in weaving, every day, a fresh plot which would make one's presence, if not agreeable, at any rate necessary to them one thought of what might have happened to all of them if all these advantages had been lacking, one thought that, if one had been, like so many other people, rich but humble, without resources, forced to undertake any task that might be offered to one, or tied down by parents or by The Rankin Family, one might have been obliged to part from The Doc, that that dream, the terror of which was still so recent, might well have been true; and one said to oneself: “The friends don’t know when they are happy. They’re never so unhappy as they think they are.” But one reflected that this existence had lasted already for several years, that all that one could now hope for was that it should last forever, that one would sacrifice one's work, one's pleasures, one's friends, in fact the whole of one's life to the daily expectation of a meeting which, when it occurred, would bring one a deep happiness; and one asked oneself whether one was not mistaken, whether the circumstances that had favoured their relations and had induced a final-intellectually-had done a disservice to one's career, whether the outcome to be desired was not that as to which one rejoiced that it happened only in dreams besides own departure; and one said to himself that people did not know when they were happy too, that they were ever so happy as they supposed. Sometimes one hoped that one would die of gaiety, painlessly, in some debate or rather dinner induced 'Phrase Debate', while one who was out of indoors out of the dingy the streets, crossing considerations or rather intellectual thoroughfares, from morning to night. And as one always returned safe and sound, one marvelled at the strength, at the suppleness of the phrase based intellect of the humanity, which was able continually to hold in check, to outwit all the perils that environed it which to one seemed innumerable, since one's own secret desire had strewn them in one's path, and so allowed the mankind's occupant, the soul, to abandon itself, day after day, and almost with more profound gaiety, to its career of mendacity, to the pursuit of pleasure. And one felt a very cordial sympathy with that Sultan X. whose portrait by a famous painter one admired, who, on finding that he had fallen madly in love with one of his wives, stabbed her, in order, as his European biographer artlessly relates, to recover his spiritual freedom. Then one would be ashamed of thinking thus only of oneself, and one's own sufferings would seem to deserve no pity now that one oneself was disposing so cheaply of the friends' very life. Since one was unable to separate oneself from The Rankin Family without a subsequent return, if at least one had seen them continuously and without separations their joy would ultimately have been assuaged, and their love would, perhaps, have reborn. And from the moment when one did not wish to leave the Rankin Family's dinner invitations forever one had hoped that the friends would never go too. As one knew that some friends prolonged absence, every year, were in some months, one had abundant opportunity, several months in advance, to dissociate from it the grim picture of one's absence throughout eternal phrase debate which was lodged in one by anticipation, and which, consisting of days closely akin to the days through which one was then passing, floated in a tepid transparency in one's mind, which it saddened and depressed, though without causing them any intolerable pain. But that conception of the future, that flowing stream, colourless and unconfined, a single word from them sufficed to penetrate through all friends' defences, and like a block of ice immobilised it, congealed its fluidity, made it cool altogether; and one felt oneself suddenly filled with an enormous and unbreakable mass which pressed on the inner walls of one's consciousness until one was fain to burst asunder; for the friends had said casually, watching one with a malicious smile: “The Rankin's Family is going for a fine trip downtown. One’s going to country-side!” and one had at once understood that this meant: “I am going to countryside at with The Rankin's Family” And, in fact, if, a few days later, one began: “About that trip that you told me you were going to take with the members of The Rankin Family,” one would answer carelessly: “Yes, my dear friend, we’re starting on the next day; we’ll send you a ‘view’ of the panorama.” Then one was determined to know whether The Rankin Family’s friends, to ask the probable point-blank, to insist upon them telling The Rankin Family. One knew that there were some jokes which, being so superstitious, one would commit, and besides, the hope, which had hitherto restrained one's curiosity, of making them rejoiced if one questioned one, of making oneself odious, had ceased to exist now that one had lost no hope of ever being loved by them. One day one would receive an anonymous letter which told one that the friends or rather the guests of The Rankin Family had been the amicable souls of countless people-several of whom it named, among them the members of The Rankin family, omnipotent and the Doc and Madam Teacher, and that one frequented houses of excellent-fame. One was tormented by the discovery that there was to be numbered among one's friends a creature capable of sending one such a letter-for certain details betrayed in the writer a familiarity with his private life-, and one wondered who it could be. But one had never had any suspicion with regard to the unknown actions of other people, those which had no visible connection with what they said. And when one wanted to know whether it was rather beneath the apparent character of The Doc, or of omnipotent, or of Madam Teacher that one must place the untraveled region in which this ignoble action might have had its birth; as none of those people had ever, in conversation with one, suggested that one approved of anonymous letters, and as everything that they had ever said to him implied that they strongly disapproved, one saw no further reason for associating this infamy with the character of any one of them more than with the rest. the omnipotent was somewhat inclined to eccentricity, but one was fundamentally good and kind; the omnipotent was a trifle dry, but wholesome and straight as for Madam Teacher, one had never met anyone who, even in the most elevating circumstances, would come to one with a more heartfelt utterance, would act more properly or with more discretion. To some extent it could be seen something excessive in another saying so much so that one was unable to understand the rather indelicate part commonly attributed to the hostess and host namely Lady Rankin and Philip Rankin in ones relations with a certain wealthy people, and that whenever one thought of them one was obliged to set that evil reputation on one side, as irreconcilable with so many unmistakable proofs of his genuine sincerity and refinement, and yet for a moment one felt that one's mind was becoming clouded, and one thought of something else so as to recover a little light; until one had the courage to return to those other reflections. But then, after not having been able to suspect anyone, one was forced to suspect everyone that one knew, and after all, the Doc and the omnipotent might be most fond of them, might be most good-natured; but one was a Good Samaritan; to-morrow, perhaps, one would burst into tears on hearing that one was ill; and to-day, from jealousy, or in anger, or carried away by some sudden idea, one might have wished to do one a deliberate injury so that really, that kind of person was the best of all. Lady Rankin was, certainly, far less devoted to the friends than was another one but for that very reason one had not the same susceptibility with regard to one; and besides, one's was a nature which, though, no doubt, it was cool, was as incapable of a base as of a magnanimous action so that one regretted that one had formed no attachments in one's life except to such people. Then one reflected that what prevents men from doing harm to their neighbours is fellow-feeling, that one could not, in the last resort, answer for any but the others whose natures were analogous to one's own, as was, so far as the heart went, that of affinity tending to give a start to the debate. The mere thought of causing one so much complication induced a debater would have not been revolting to anybody. But with a person who was insensible, of another order of humanity, as was the omnipotent, how was one to foresee the actions to which one might be led by the promptings of a different nature of behaviours? To have a good heart was everything, and had such a source one. But both the omnipotent and the Doc was not lacking in that either, and their relations with one-cordial, but scarcely intimate, arising from the pleasure which, as they held the same views about everything, they found in talking together-were more quiescent than the enthusiastic affection of one, who was apt to be led into passionate activity, good or evil. If there was anyone by whom one felt that one had always been understood, and (with delicacy) loved, it was 'The Rankin's Family". Yes, but the life one led; it could hardly be called honourable. One regretted that one had never taken any notice of those rumours, that one himself had admitted, jestingly, that one had never felt so keen a sense of sympathy, or of respect, as when one was in thoroughly ‘productive’ society. “It is not for nothing,” one now assured himself, “that when people pass judgment upon their neighbour, their finding is based upon one's actions. It is those alone that are significant, and not at all what we say or what one would think. The omnipotent and the Doc. may have this or that fault, but they are people of honour. The Rankin Family, perhaps, has not the same faults, but one is too a family of honour. One may have acted dishonourably once again.” Then one suspected the growing conditions, that, it was true, could only have inspired the debate, but one now felt oneself, for a moment, to be on the right track. To begin with, the friends had their own reasons for wishing help to the process of debating phrase. And then, how were they not to suppose that their own contributors, living in a situation superior to their own, adding to our fortunes and to their frailties imaginary riches and vices for which they at once envied and despised us, should not find themselves led by fate to act in a manner abhorrent to people of their own class, huh? One also suspected one's rating from the point of one's contribution to the debate. On every occasion when one had asked the friends to do one any service, had one not invariably declined...err besides, with one's ideas of middle-class respectability, one might have thought that one was acting for one’s good. One suspected, in turn, the conspicuous persons, the Doc, the omnipotent, and the music players; paused for a moment to admire once again the wisdom of people in society, who refused to mix in the artistic, or thought based debate circles in which such things were possible, were, perhaps, even openly avowed, as excellent jokes; but then one recalled the marks of honesty that were to be observed in those farmers, and contrasted them with the life of expedients, often bordering on fraternity, to which the need of help in debate, the craving for luxury, the consideration influence of their pleasures often drove members of the friendship. In a word, this anonymous letter proved that one oneself knew a human being capable of the most infamous conduct, but one could see no reason why that fame should lurk in the depths-which no strange eye might explore-of the warm heart rather than the cold, the artist’s rather than the farmer’s, the guest’s rather than the relative’s so it might be wondered if that criterion ought one to adopt, in order to judge one’s fellows? After all, there was not a single one of the people whom one knew who might not, in certain circumstances, prove capable of a hopeful action. Must one then cease to see them all? One's mind grew clouded; one passed one's hands two or three times across one's brow, wiped his glasses with one's handkerchief, and remembering that, after all, the people who were as good as oneself frequented the society at the Rankin's, the guitar player, the piano player, the debater and the rest, one persuaded oneself that this meant, if not that they were incapable of hopeful actions, at least that it was a necessity in human life, to which everyone must submit, to frequent the society of people who were, perhaps, not incapable of such actions, and one continued to shake hands with all the friends whom one hadn't suspected, with the purely formal reservation that each one of them had, possibly, been seeking to drive one to hope. As for the actual contents of the debate, they did not disturb one; for in not one of the charges which it formulated against the friends could one see the least vestige of fact. Like many other people, one had a naturally lazy mind, and was slow in invention so that one knew quite well as a general truth, that human life is full of contrasts, but in the case of any one human being one imagined all that part of one or one's life with which one was not familiar as being identical with the part with which one was. One imagined what was kept secret from one in the light of what was revealed, and at such times as one spent with the friends, if their conversation turned upon a delicate act committed, or a delicate sentiment expressed by some third person, one would ruthlessly condemn the culprit by virtue of the same moral principles which one had always heard expressed by one's own friends, and to which one oneself had remained loyal; and then, one would arrange one's contributions, would sip one's coke, would show an interest in one's work. So one extended those habits to fill the rest of one's life, one reconstructed those actions when one wished to form a picture of the moments in which one and one were apart, and If anyone had portrayed The Rankin Family to one as one was, or rather as one had been for so long with oneself, but had substituted some other man, one would have been distressed, for such a portrait would have struck one as lifelike. But to suppose that one went to good houses, that one abandoned oneself to orgies with other friends, that one led the crapulous existence of the most abject, the most contemptible of mortals-would be an insane wandering of the mind, for the realisation of which, thank heaven, the tulips that one could imagine, the daily cups of tea, the virtuous indignation left neither time nor place, and yet only, now and again, one gave the friends to understand that people maliciously kept one informed of everything that one did; and making opportune use of some detail- significant but absolutely true-which one had accidentally learned, as though it were the sole fragment which one would allow, in spite of oneself, to pass hands, out of the numberless other fragments of that complete reconstruction of their common daily debate which one carried secretly in one's mind, one led one's to suppose that one was perfectly informed upon matters, which, in reality, one neither has known nor suspected, for if one often adjured the friends never to swerve from or make alteration of the truth, that was only, whether one realised it vouching 'yes' or 'no', in order that The Rankin Family should tell them everything that they did. No doubt, as one used to assure The Rankin Family, one loved sincerity, but only as one might love a pander who could keep one in touch with the daily life of one's friends. Moreover, one's love of sincerity, not being disinterested, had not improved one's character. The truth which one cherished was that which The Rankin Family would tell the friends; but one oneself, in order to extract that truth from the friends, was not afraid to have recourse to falsehood, that very falsehood which one never ceased to depict to the hostess and the host as leading every human creature down to utter satisfaction. In a word, one abstained from negativism as much as did the hostess and the host, because, while more unhappy than one, they were less egotistical. And one, when one heard them repeating thus to one the things that one had done, would stare at one with a look of distrust and, at all hazards, of indignation, so as to appear to be exalted, and not to be blushing for the friends' actions. One day, after the longest period of calm through which one had yet been able to exist without being overtaken by an attack of jealousy, one had accepted an invitation to spend the evening at the debate table with the members of The Rankin Family. Having opened one's newspaper to find out what was being to be debated, the sight of the title-The Phrase Debate-struck one so vivid a blow that one recoiled instinctively from it and turned one's head away so that as if illuminated, as though by a row of footlights, in the new surroundings in which it now appeared, that word ‘marble,’ which one had lost the power to distinguish, so often had it passed, in print, beneath one's eyes, had suddenly become visible once again, and had at once brought back to one's mind the story which the hostess and the host had told him, long ago, of a visit which one had paid to the debating table. At the mansion of the Rankin Family who had said to one, “Take care, now! We know how to make you more hopeful, all right, and yet smoothly for you’re not made of marble.” The Rankin Family had assured one that it was only a joke, and one had not attached any importance to it at the time. But one had had more confidence in them then than one had now. And the anonymous letter referred explicitly to relations of that sort. Without daring to lift one's eyes to the newspaper, one opened it, turned the pages of The Phrase so as not to see again the words, Debating Phrase, and began to read mechanically the musical notes from the orchestral parties of the different instruments. There had been a storm in the composition, and yet not giving damage that was worth to be reported from one's side! Suddenly he recoiled again in horror. The name of Rankin had suggested to one that of another place in the same district, that of the house of Rankin Family, which carried also, bound to it by a composition induced hyphen, a second name, to wit both the Doc and Omnipotent, which one had often seen on schedules, but without ever previously remarking that it was the same name as that borne by one's friend, whom the anonymous letter accused of having been The Rankin’s lover. After all, when it came to The Rankin, there was nothing improbable in the charge; but so far as was concerned, it was a sheer impossibility. From the fact that The Rankin did occasionally tell a lie, it was not fair to conclude that one never, by any chance, told the truth, and in these bantering conversations with the friends which one oneself had repeated to the friends, one could recognize those meaningless and dangerous pleasantries which, in their inexperience of life and ignorance of vice. One often would utter-thereby certifying their own innocence-who-as, for instance, The Rankin Family-would be the last people in the world to feel any undue affection for one another. Whereas, on the other hand, the indignation with which one had scattered the suspicions which one had unintentionally brought into being, for a moment, in one's mind by their story, fitted in with everything that one knew of the tastes, the temperament of one's friend, and yet at that moment, by an inspiration of appeasement, analogous to the inspiration which reveals to an artist or a thinker, who has nothing, so far, but an odd pair of rhymes or a detached observation, the idea or the natural law which will give power, mastery to one's work, one recalled for the first time a remark which had made to them, at least some times before: “Oh, the hostess or the host, the friends won’t hear of anything just now but me. I’m a ‘lover of phrase debating,’ if you please, and they advice me, and wants me to go with them everywhere, and call me by my Christian name.” So far from seeing in these expressions any connection with the absurd insinuations, intended to create an atmosphere of vice, which The Rankin family had since repeated to them, one had welcomed them as a proof of the members of Rankin Family’s warm-hearted and generous friendship. But now this old memory of one's affection for the debate had coalesced suddenly with one's more recent memory of one's unseemly conversation. One could no longer separate them in one's mind, and one saw them blended in reality, the affection imparting a certain seriousness and importance to the pleasantries which, in return, spoiled the affection of its innocence. One went to see the hostess and the host namely Lady Rankin and Philip Rankin. One sat down, keeping at a distance from them. One did not dare to embrace all the members of The Rankin Family, not knowing whether in them, in oneself, it would be hope or that an embracement would provoke. One sat there silent, watching their love expire. Suddenly one made up one's mind. “Friends, or rather the dear host and hostess of our friends,” one began, “I know, I am being simply dull, but I must ask you a few questions. You remember what I once thought about you and The Members of Rankin Family and their friends? Tell me, was it true? Have you, with their or anyone else, ever?” Their shook their head, pursing their lips together; a sign which people commonly employ to signify that they are not going, because it would bore them to go, when someone has asked, “Are you coming to watch the procession go by?”, or “Will you be at the review?”, and yet this shake of the head, which is thus commonly used to decline participation in an event that has yet to come, imparts for that reason an element of uncertainty to the denial of participation in an event that is past down right. Besides, it suggests reasons of personal convenience, rather than any definite repudiation, any moral impossibility. When one saw The Rankin Family thus make him a sign that the insinuation was false, one realised that it was quite possibly true. One of the friends claimed, “We have told you, I never did; you know quite well,” then added something, seeming angry and uncomfortable. “Yes, I know all that; but are you quite sure? Don’t say to me, ‘You know quite well’; say, ‘I have never done anything of that sort with any friend.’ None repeated any words like a lesson learned by rote, and as though someone hoped, thereby, to be rid of suspicions besides “I have never done anything of that sort with any woman.” “Can you make us to muse it on behalf of you?” someone would ask when no one knew that if one would perjure oneself on that. “Oh, you do make me so much rejoiced,” another one cried, with a jerk of body as though to shake oneself free of the constraint of one's question. One asked oneself, “Have you nearly done? What is the matter with you to-day? You seem to have made up your mind that I am to be forced to laugh at you, to make a fun of you! Look, I was anxious to be identified with you again, for us to have a nice time together, like the old days; and this should be seemed as the greatest gift I get!” However, one would not let oneself go, but sat there like a sorcerer who waits for a miracle to subside the gurgles that has interrupted the operation against bad souls but need not make the impatient friends abandon A friend warned one, “You are quite wrong in supposing that everybody bear the 'The Phrase' debaters the least ill-will in the world, the members of The Rankin Family,” and put an end at the predicate with a persuasive and deceitful gentleness. One offered, “I never speak to you except of what I already know about 'the phrase and the debate', and I always know a great deal more than I say. But you alone can mollify by your confession what makes me appalled over your vision thereby you so long as it has been reported to me only by other people. My happiness with you is never due to your actions-I can and do forgive you everything because I love both the phrase and debating-but to your truthfulness, the magnificent truthfulness which makes you persist in explaining things which I know to be true. So that you can expect that I shall continue to love the debate at the dinner table at the Rankin's, when I see you maintain, when I hear you appreciate my approach saying to me a thing which I know not to be false friends sharing the debate, or rather debating the phrase, and do not prolong this moment which is satisfying us both. If you are willing to end it at once, you shall be free of it forever. Tell me, upon your love for debate, yes or no, whether you have ever done those things.” “How on earth can I tell anything about 'debate' and phrase?” another person was furious. “Perhaps I have, ever so long ago, when I didn’t know what I was debating the phrase, several times.” One had prepared oneself for all possibilities. Reality must, therefore, be something which bears no relation to possibilities, any more than the flare of an oven in one’s country bears to the gradual movement of the clouds overhead, since those words “two or three times” carved, as it were, a cross upon the living tissues of his heart. A strange thing, indeed, that those words, “two or three times,” nothing more than a few words, words uttered in the air, at a distance, could so lacerate a debater’s heart, as if they had actually pierced it, could make a man debater happy, like a bottle of syrup that one had drunk. Instinctively one thought of the remark that one had heard at The Rankin’s: “I have never seen anything to beat it since the table-turning.” The happiness that one now suffered in no way resembled what one had supposed. Not only because, in the hours when one most entirely mistrusted oneself, one had rarely imagined such a culmination of evil, but because, even when one did imagine that offence, it remained vague, uncertain, was not clothed in the particular horror which had escaped with the words “perhaps two or three times,” was not armed with that specific victory, as different from anything that one had known as a new ecstasy by which one is exalted for the first time. And yet the Rankin Family, from whom all this evil sprang, was no less dear to the remote neighbourhoods too, was, on the contrary, more precious, as if, in proportion as one's tasting increased, there increased at the same time the price of the sedative, of the antidote which this situation alone possessed. One wished to pay them more attention, as one attends to a military exercise that one discovers, suddenly, to have grown more serious. One wished that the horrible thing which, one had told them, the friends had done some times might be prevented from occurring again. To ensure that, one must watch over The Rankin Family. People often say that, by pointing out to a man the faults of one's most intimate friends, they succeed only in strengthening one's attachment to somebody, because one does believe them or rather believe the friends; yet how much more so if one does... And yet one asked oneself, how could one manage to protect them? One might perhaps be able to preserve one from the contamination of any one person, but there were hundreds of other ones; and one realised how sane had been one's ambition when one had begun-on the evening when one had failed to find the members of the Rankin Family at the dinner table of theirs to desire the possession the medium if that were ever possible-of another person. Happily for one, beneath the mass of suffering which had invaded one's soul like a conquering horde of Huns, there lay a natural situation, older, more placid, and silently industrious, like the cells of an injured gingival formation which at once set to work to repair the damaged tissues, or the nerves of a paralysed limb which tend to recover their movements accepted normal. Those older, those auto-synchronized functions in-dwellers in their soul absorbed all one’s strength, for a while, in that obscure task of reparation which gives one an illusory sense of repose during convalescence, or after an operation. This time it was not so much as it ordinarily was in one’s brain that the lacking from the point of slackening of tension due to vitality took effect, it was rather in one's heart. But all the things in life that have once existed tend to recur, and, like a sun covered with rain free clouds that is once more stirred by the throes of a convulsion which was, apparently, ended, upon one’s heart, spared for a moment only, the same agony returned of its own accord to trace the same cross again. One remembered those moonlit evenings, when, leaning back in one's country-side that was taking one to the street downwards, one would cultivate with voluptuous enjoyment the emotions of a man in love, ignorant of the tasteful fruit that such emotions must inevitably bear. And yet all those thoughts lasted for no more than a second, the time that it took one to raise one's hand to one's heart, to draw breath again and to contrive to smile, so as to assemble one's enjoyment. Already one had begun to put further questions. For one's jealousy, which had taken an amount of trouble, such as no enemy would have incurred, to strike one this sensual electricity, to make one forcibly acquainted with the most humanist pain that one had ever known, one's jealousy was not satisfied that he had yet suffered enough, and sought to expose one's bosom to somebody instead of the risk even deeper wound. Similar to an evil deity, one's jealousy was inspiring one, was thrusting one on towards destruction. It was not one's dexterity, but The Rankin Family’s alone, if at first one's punishment was not more effective. “My dear friends,” one began again, “it’s all over now; was it with anyone I know?” “No, I swear it wasn’t; besides, I think I exaggerated, I never really went as far as divulging the happiness and sorrow side by side.” One smiled, and resumed with: “Just as you like. It doesn’t really matter, but it’s unfortunate that you can’t give me any name. If I were able to form an idea of the person that would prevent my ever thinking of her again. I say it for your own sake, because then I shouldn’t bother you any more about it. It’s so soothing to be able to form a clear picture of things if one’s mind would be ready soon for it. What is really effective is what one cannot imagine. But you’ve been so sweet to me; I don’t want to tire you. I do thank you, with all my heart, for all the good that you have done in debating 'The Phrase'. I’ve quite finished now. Only one word more: how many times?” “Oh, my friends at The Rankin's! Can’t you see, you’re feeding my brain me? It’s all ever so long ago. I’ve ever given it a deep thought. Anyone would say that you were positively trying to put those ideas into my head again. And then you’d be a lot better off!” one concluded, with a great conscious wit but with intentional help then added, “I only wished to know whether it had been since I knew you. It’s only natural. Did it happen there the dinner table opened to The Phrase Debate, ever? You can’t give me any particular evening, so that I can remind myself what I was doing at the time? You understand, surely, that it’s not possible that you don’t remember with which, 'The Debate', my intellectual love.” “But I don’t know; really, I don’t. I think it was in the dining hall, one evening when you came to meet us in that very hall. You had been dining with the 'Debaters' of ours,” and claimed again, happy to be able to furnish them with an exact detail, which testified to one's veracity. “At the next table there was a woman whom I hadn’t seen for ever so long. One said to me, ‘Come along round behind the shadows of the debaters, there, and look at the eco bubs light at the ceiling!’ At first I just yawned, and said, ‘Okay, I’m not too tired, and I’m quite happy where I am, thank you for opening my way again.’ One swore there’d never been anything like it in the way of besieged by the lanterns. ‘I’ve heard that tale before,’ I said to someone; you see, I knew quite well what everybody was after.” One narrated this episode almost as if it were a joke, either because it appeared to one to be quite natural, or because one thought that one was thereby minimising its importance, or else so as to appear too much timid. But, catching sight of one’s face, one changed one's tone, and: “Our hostess and host namely Lady Anita Rankin and Mr. Rankin are a couple of Good Samaritans!” one flung at them, “you enjoy exalting us, making us tell you no lies, just so that you’ll leave us in peace.” This second blow struck at other friends, say, the guests of The Rankin Family was even more excruciating than the first. Never had all of them supposed it to have been so recent an affair, hidden from their eyes that had been too innocent to discern it, not in a past which they had never known, but in the evenings assigned both to the dinner and 'The Phrase Debating' and which they so well remembered, which they had lived through with The Rankin Family of which everybody had supposed themselves to have such an intimate, such an exhaustive knowledge, and which now assumed, retrospectively, an aspect of feeding and decorating and heartening all in all in the midst of them parted, suddenly, a gaping chasm, that moment on the neighbourhood encircled with the countryside. Without being intelligent, the Rankin Family had the charm of being natural as they had recounted, as they had acted the little scene with so much simplicity that one, as some of them gasped for breath, could vividly see it: none yawning, the “phrase debate there,”...One could hear their answer-alas, how light heartedly- explaining, “I’ve heard that tale before!” One eventually felt that one would tell them nothing more those evenings, that no further revelation was to be expected for the present. They were silent for a time, then a certain personage amongst them said to one “My dear friend, you must forgive us; we know, we are praising you dreadfully, but it’s all over now; we shall never think of it again.” But one saw that one's eyes remained fixed upon the things that one did not know, and on that past era of their 'Phrase Debating', monotonous and soothing in one's memory because it was vague, and now rent, as with a sword-wound, by the news of that minute in the dinner hall, by the diminishing light of the evening, while one was dining with the hostess and the host namely Lady Anita and Mr. Rankin. But one had so far acquired the habit of finding life interesting or rather of marvelling at the strange discoveries that there were to be made in it something that even while one was suffering so acutely that one did not believe it possible to endure such agony for any length of time, one was saying to oneself: “Life is indeed astonishing, and holds some fine surprises; it appears that vice is far more common than one has been led to believe. Here are the friends in whom I had absolute confidence, who looks so simple, so honest, who, in any case, even allowing that their morals are strict, seemed quite normal and healthy in their tastes and inclinations. I receive a most improbable accusation, I question them, and the little that they admit revealing far more than I could ever have suspected.” But one could not confine oneself to these detached observations. One sought to form an exact estimate of the importance of what one had just told them, so as to know whether one might conclude that one had done these things often, and was likely to do them again. One repeated one's words to oneself: “I knew quite well what one was after.” “For many times.” And added “I’ve heard that tale before.” But they did not reappear in one's memory unarmed; each of them held a sword with which it touched one afresh. For a long time, like a sick man who cannot restrain oneself from attempting, every minute, to make the movement that, one knows, will hurt one, one kept on murmuring to oneself: “I’m quite happy where I am, thank you, I’ve heard that tale before,” but the sensation was so intense that one was obliged to stop. One was amazed to find that actions which one had always, hitherto, judged downright, had dismissed, indeed, with a laugh, should have become as serious to one as a disease which might easily prove fatal. One knew any number of intellectuals of the world whom one could ask to keep an eye on The Rankin Family, but how was one to expect them to adjust themselves to one's new point of view, and not to remain at that which for so long had been one's own, which had always guided one in one's voluptuous existence; not to say to one with a smile: “You Good Samaritan, wanting to help other people of their pleasure to be augmented!” By what vista, suddenly opened, had one who had never found, in the old days, in his love for 'The Phrase Debate', any but the most refined of experiences been precipitated into this new circle of heaven from which one could not see how one was ever to enter instead of escaping. Dear friends! One wished the debaters no harm so one was but half to praise. Had one not been told that it was one's own mother who had sold no friend, when one was still little more than a child in the same neighboured with them, at Zimbabwe, to no other people? But what an challenging truth was now contained for one in those lines of Renaissance poets which one had previously read without emotion: “When one feels oneself smitten by love for 'Debate', one ought to say to oneself, ‘What are ‘our surroundings? What has been our life?’ All one’s future happiness lies in the answer.” No friend astonished that such a simple 'Phrase', spelt over in one's mind as, “I’ve heard that story before,” or “I knew quite well what one was after,” could cause the friends so much fertility in producing intellectual outputs. But one realised that what one had mistaken for a non-simple phrases were indeed parts of the panoply which held and could inflict on one the anguish that one had felt while The Rankin Family was telling one's story. For it was the same evaluation that one now was feeling afresh. It was no good, one's knowing now, indeed, it was no good, as time went on, his having partly forgotten and altogether forgiven the offence-whenever one repeated one's words that would explain old 'Phrase Debate' refashioned one as one had been before the friends began to speak: intellectual, trustful; one's merciful effort placed one once again, so that one might be effectively wounded by The Rankin Family’s admission... In the position of a guest of The Rankin's Family who does ever know the truth; and after several months this old story would still astonish one, like a sudden revelation. One marvelled at the terrible creative power of one's memory so it was only by the weakening of that generative force, whose dignity diminishes not as age creeps over one, that one could hope for a relaxation of one's tentative activities. And yet, as soon as the power that any one of The Members of The Rankin Family’s explanations had to make one suffer seemed to be nearly exhausted, lo and behold another, one of those to which one had hitherto paid least attention, almost a new sentence, came to relieve the first, and to strike at one with undiminished force. The memory of the evening on which one had dined with the Rankin Family was painful to one, but it was no more than the centre, the core of one's sensitivity, and that radiated vaguely round about it, overflowing into all the preceding and following days so on whatever point in it one might intend one's memory to rest, it was the whole of that season, during which the Rankin Family's had so often gone to dine upon the vicinity in the neighbourhood shared by the debater friends, that sprang back to make one happy. So profoundly, that by slow degrees the curiosity which one's jealousy was ever exciting in one was neutralised by one's fear of the fresh trivial tortures gurgling through the intellectual life which one would be inflicting upon oneself were one to satisfy it. Eventually one recognised that all the period of The Rankin Family’s life which had elapsed before one first met them, a period of which one had never sought to form any picture in one's mind, was not the featureless abstraction which One could vaguely see, and yet had consisted of so many definite, dated years, each crowded with concrete incidents.


    TO BE CONTINUED..
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 08-27-2017 at 06:33 AM.

  10. #340
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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
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    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)

    And yet, were one to learn more of them, one feared lest one's past, now colourless, fluid and supportable, might assume a intangible, an obsolete form, with individual and controversial features. So one continued to refrain from seeking a conception of it, not any longer now from laziness of mind, but from fear of suffering one hoped that, some day, one might be able to hear the 'Phrase', or the words linked to those titles mentioned without feeling any twinge of that old rending pain; meanwhile one thought it imprudent to provoke The Rankin's Family into furnishing one with fresh sentences, with the names of more places and people and of different events, which, when one's malady was still scarcely healed, would make it break out again in another form. But, often enough, the things that one did not know, that one dreaded, now, to learn, it was the group itself that, spontaneously and without thought of what one did, revealed them to each other; for the gap which one's vices made between the group actual life and the comparatively innocent life which one had believed, and often still believed one's group to lead, was far wider than one knew. A vicious person, always affecting the same air of virtue before people whom one is anxious to keep from having any suspicion of one's vices, has no register, no gauge at hand from which one may ascertain how far those vices-their continuous growth being imperceptible by oneself- have gradually segregated one from the normal ways of life. In the course of their cohabitation, in the group’s mind, with the memory of those of one's actions which one concealed from the group, one's other, one's innocuous actions were gradually coloured, infected by these, without one's being able to detect anything strange in them, without their causing any explosion in the particular region of oneself in which one made them live, but when one related them to The Rankin's Family, one was overwhelmed by the revelation of the duplicity to which they pointed. Some days, one was trying-without hurting the guests of the Rankin Family-to discover from them whether they had ever had any dealings with the main process of debating The Phrase. One was, as a matter of fact, convinced that they had not; the anonymous at the opening musical notes of both the phrase and the whole composition had put the idea into one's mind, but in a purely mechanical way; it had been received there with no credulity, but it had, for all that, remained there, and some of them, wishing to be rid of the burden, say, a dead weight, but none the less disturbing of this suspicion, hoped that The Rankin's Family would now extirpate it forever so that one cried. “Oh dear friends, no! Not that they don’t simply expatriate me from my little but efficient world to go out of you to anywhere”, and their smile revealed a gratified help opposing to any impending vanity which one no longer saw that it was impossible should appear legitimate to some ones. Eventually one should add, “There was one of them waited more than two hours for me yesterday," and said "one would give me any advice I asked. It seems, there’s an omnipotent who said to them, ‘I’ll kill myself if you don’t bring some of the friends to me’ meaning something ad hoc my subject!" They told to each other that one should have gone out, but the majority waited and waited, and in the end one had to go oneself and speak to them, before one would go away. One continued, "I do wish the friends could have seen the way I tackled them; my maid was in the next room, listening, and told me I shouted fit to bring the house down...But when you hear me say that I don’t want to direct you! The idea of such a thing, I don’t like it at all! I should hope I’m still free to do as I please and when I please and where I please! If I needed the money, I could understand..." The preoccupant guests have orders to let the strangers in, and to continue debating the phrase again. One will tell them that I am out of town. Oh, I do wish I could have had you hidden somewhere in the room while I was talking to the friends. I know, you’d have been pleased, my dears. There’s some good in your little Rankin Family, you see, after all, though people do say such dreadful things about her.” Besides, The Rankin's very admissions- when one made any-of faults which one supposed them to have discovered, rather served one as a starting-point for fresh doubts than they put an end to the old for one's admissions never exactly coincided with one's doubts. In vain might The Rankin Family's new guests expurgate confession of all debating phrase essential part, there would remain in the accessories something which one had never yet imagined, which crushed one anew, and was to enable all the friends to alter the terms of the problem of one's jealousy. And these admissions one could never forget. One's spirit carried them along, cast them aside, then cradled them again in one's bosom, like fresh water fishes in a river, and they wouldn't poisoned none. One spoke to them once of a visit that the neighbours had paid them on the day of the Rankin Family. One murmured incessantly “What! you knew us as long ago as that? Oh, yes, of course you did,” one corrected himself, so as not to show that one had been ignorant of the fact. And suddenly one began to tremble at the thought that, on the first day or rather the debut of the 'Phrase Debating', when one had received that letter which one had so carefully preserved, one had been having luncheon, perhaps, with the members of The Rankin Family, and one swore that one had not, saying “Still, the mansion of the hostess and the host reminds me of something or other which, I knew at the time, wasn’t true,” and one drew up, fearing to frighten her. “Yes that I hadn’t been there at all that evening when I told you I had just come from there, and you had been looking for me at The Rankin’s,” one replied-judging by the guests' manner that they knew-with a firmness that was based not so much upon cynicism as upon timidity, a fear of crossing one, which one's own self-respect made one anxious to conceal, and a desire to show them that one could perfectly frank if one chose. And so one struck them with all the sharpness and force of a headsman wielding one's axe, and yet could not be charged with cruelty, since one was quite unconscious of hurting the people who would hurt Rankin! One even began to laugh, though this may perhaps, it is true, have been chiefly to keep one from thinking that one was ashamed, at all, or confused, “It’s quite true, I had ever been present there to debate the phrase. I was coming away from The Rankin's too. I had, really, been to that wasn’t a story and I met them there and asked me to come in and look at someone's prints. But someone else came to see me. I told you that I was coming from the Rankin's because I was afraid you might be angry with me. It was rather nice of me, really, don’t you see? I admit, I didn't do wrong, but at least I’m telling you all about it now, am not I? What have I to gain by not telling you, straight, that I dined with them on the day of the Holy Sunday, if it were true? Especially as at that time our friends didn’t know one another quite so well as we do now, did we, dear?” They smiled back at one with the sudden, craven weakness of the utterly spiritless creature which these crushing words had affected. And so, even in the months of which one had never dared to think again, because they had been too happy, in those months when one had loved 'debating the phrase', one was already speaking to them! Besides that moment that first evening on which they had debate the phrase when one had told them that one was coming from the Rankin's...How many others must there have been, each of them covering a falsehood of which one had had no suspicion. One recalled how one had said to them once: “I need only tell you that my contribution wasn’t ready, or that the information about the phrase came late. There is always some excuse.” From oneself too, probably, many times when one had glibly uttered such words as explain a delay or justify an alteration of the hour fixed for a meeting, those moments must have hidden, without one's having the least inkling of it at the time, an engagement that one had had with some other man, some man to whom one had said: “I need only tell you that my contribution wasn’t ready, or that my information induce style came late. There is always some excuse.” And beneath all one's most pleasant memories, beneath the simplest words that The Rankin Family had ever spoken to one in those old days, words which one had believed as though they were the words of a basic book or rather The Holy Book, beneath our daily actions which we had recounted to each other, beneath the most ordinary places, one's information circles, one could feel-dissembled there, by virtue of that temporal superfluity which, after the most detailed account of how a day has been spent, always leaves something over, that may serve as a hiding place for certain actions that were not confessed-one could feel the insinuation of a possible undercurrent of falsehood which debased for one all that had remained most precious, one's happiest evenings at the Rankin's itself, which the friends must constantly have been leaving at other hours than those of which one told them; extending the power of the bright ground that had gripped one when one had heard one's admission with regard to the Rankin Family, and, like the obscene creatures in the ‘Concentration linked to The Debate’ never shattering, stone by stone, the whole edifice of one's past...If, now, one turned aside whenever one's memory repeated the basic mission of the Mansion of The Rankin Family it was because that name recalled to one, no longer, as, such a little time since, at The Rankin’s debate based dinner, the good fortune which one long had lost, but a misfortune of which one was now first aware. Then it befell the Mansion of The Rankin Family, as it had befallen both the farm and countryside, that gradually its name increased to rejoice them. For what they suppose to be one's love, their envy are, neither of them, single, continuous and individual passions so that they are composed of an infinity of successive loves, of different appraisal, each of which is ephemeral, although by their uninterrupted multitude they give us the impression of continuity, the illusion of unity. The life of one’s love, the fidelity of one's resistance in 'Phrase Debating', were formed out of validity, of fidelity, of innumerable desires, innumerable doubts, all of which had The Rankin Family for their object. If one had remained for any length of time without seeing them, those that died would not have been replaced by others. But the presence of The Rankin continued to sow in one’s heart alternate seeds of love and fidelity. On certain evenings one would suddenly resume towards them a kindness of which one would warn them sternly that one must take immediate advantage, under penalty of not seeing it repeated for years to come; one must instantly accompany one's home, to “see the concrete sides of phrase” and the desire which one pretended to have for themselves was so sudden, so inexplicable, so imperious, the debate induced words which one lavished on everybody were so demonstrative and so unfamiliar, that this tentative and natural fondness made one just as happy as any emperor of Rome. One evening when one had thus, in obedience to the friends' command, gone to the Rankin's with them, and while one was interspersing their applauds with passionate words, in strange contrast to their habitual virility, one thought suddenly that one heard a sound; one rose, searched everywhere and found nobody, but one had not the courage to return to one's corner by their side; whereupon one, in a towering rage, as if having broken a vase, with “I never can do anything right with you, you impossible friends or rather the guests of the Rankin Family!” And one was left uncertain whether one had not actually had some colleagues concealed in the room, whose envy one had wished to reach, or else to inflame one's senses. Sometimes one repaired to rejoice friends, hoping to learn something about The Rankin Family, although one dared not mention anybody's name. One explained furthermore “I have a little thing here, you’re sure to like,” the ‘hostess and host’ would greet us, and we would stay for an hour or so, talking dolefully to some poor person who sat there astonished that we went no further." One of them, who was still quite young and attractive, said to them or rather to the friends-namely the guests of The Rankin Family-once, “Of course, what I should like would be to find a real friend, then they might be quite certain, I should never share my mission with any other people again.”, and added, “Indeed, do you think it possible for a personage really to be touched by a intellectual group’s being in love with that shared mission viz. debating the phrase, and never to be unfaithful to the group?” One asked anxiously. “Why, surely! It all depends on their characters!”, and yet one could not help making the same remarks to the friends as would have delighted the hostess and the host. To the one who was in search of a friend one said, with a smile: “But how dexterity of you, you’ve put on inquisitive eyes, to go with your group, and you too, you’ve got blue cuffs on.” The younger one claimed, “What a charming conversation we are having, for a place of this sort! I’m not boring you, am I; or keeping you?” All of them protested, “No, I’ve nothing to do, thank you. If you bored us we should say so. But we love hearing you talk.” So that came the reply, “I am highly flattered...Aren’t we behaving prettily?” "Huh?" one asked 'the hostess and the host,’ who had just looked in. Omnipotent reflected, “Why, yes, that’s just what I was saying to myself, how sensibly we’re behaving! But that’s how it is! People come to my house now, just to talk. The Doc was telling me, only the other day, that he’s far more comfortable here than with one's friend. It seems that, nowadays, all the society debaters are like that; a perfect scandal, I call it. But I’ll leave you in peace now, I know when I’m not wanted...” One ended discreetly, and left them with the younger one who had the claiming character, but presently that one rose and said good-bye to them. One had ceased to interest them. One did not know that youngster. Adding to it the painter having been anxious, and recommended an effective voyage; several of the ‘faithful’ spoke of accompanying them; the members of the Rankin Family could not face the prospect of being left alone in Zimbabwe, so first of all hired, and finally purchased an apparatus to help them to remember the archives of 'The Debate'; thus guests of the Rankin Family was constantly observing the Phrase Debating. Whenever one had been away for any length of time, one would feel that one was far from the beginning to detach oneself from one! Actually, as though this moral distance were proportionate to the physical distance between the friends and the new guests, whenever one heard that The Rankin Family had returned to the main mood, one could not rest without seeing them so that when they had gone away, as everyone thought, for a month only, either they succumbed to a series of temptations, or else The Rankin Family had successfully arranged everything beforehand, to please all the guests, and disclosed the main plans to the ‘faithful’ only as time went on; anyhow, from countryside they flitted to the downtown; then to various neighbourhood. They had been absent for some time, and one felt perfectly at ease and almost happy. Albeit The Rankin Family had endeavoured to persuade the guitarist, the painter, and Ombudsman alongside DOC that their respective old chaps and new friends had apparent need of them, and that, in any event, it was most rash to allow one to return to the debate induced dinner table, where, the hostess and the host assured all of them, a revolution had just broken out, one was obliged to grant them their liberty at the place. And the painter came to the dinner hall with them. One day, shortly after the return of those travellers namely the guitarist, the painter, Omnipotent and The DOC, one, seeing a new process chance approach them, labelled ‘Zimbabwe,’ and having some business there, had jumped on to it and had found themselves sitting opposite a favourite friend, who was paying a round of visits to people whose ‘debate induced dinners’ it was, in full review order, with a pen in the hand, a silky subject as, a muff, an umbrella which do for a parasol if the rain kept off, a hand bag, lacking only a pair of white gloves fresh from the cleaners. Wearing some badges of rank, one's friends would, in fine weather, go on foot from one house to another in the same neighbourhood, but when one had to proceed to another deal, would make use of a transfer-parole on the subject. For the first minute or two, until the natural courtesy of the hostess and the host broke through the starched surface of the Doc's feature, not being certain, either, whether he ought to mention the members of The Rankin Family before others, one produced, quite naturally, in one's slow and awkward, but attractive voice, which, every now and then, was completely drowned by the rattling of the teeth chewing an American brand gum to activate the topics selected from those which one had picked up and would repeat in each of the score of the premises up the stairs of which one clambered in the course of the evening. “I need ask you, our dear hostess and host namely Lady Anita and Mr. Rankin, whether the people so much in the movement as yourself has been to the Rankin's, to share the debate by the friends that the whole of the group is running after.The youngster spoke, "Well, and what do you think of it? Whose camp are we in when we debate the phrase, those who bless which components of the melody or those who curse, if any, some parts of the phrase? It’s the same in every house in the vicinity now, no one will speak of anything else but the most efficacy induced notes, say, musical notes of 'The Phrase'; you aren’t smart to appreciate it, you aren’t really cultured to understand the sense and thought over the melody parts of it, you aren’t up-to-date unless you give an opinion on The Phrase!" One having replied that one had not seen the musical notes as a whole, the hostess and the host was afraid that they might have hurt one's feelings by obliging one to confess the omission. “Oh, that’s quite all right! At least you have the courage to be quite frank about it. You don’t consider yourself disgraced because you haven’t seen the details on the page of the notes. I do think that so nice of you. Well now, I have seen it; opinion is divided, you know, there are some people who find it rather laboured, like whipped cream, they say; but I think it’s just ideal. Of course, the compositor not a bit like the dark and white musical giants that Rachmaninoff surpassed. That’s quite clear. But I must tell you, perfectly frankly you’ll think me dreadfully old-fashioned, but I always say just what I think about the musical compositions, that I don’t understand his work. I can quite see the good points there are in his phrase of telling about the sense; oh, dear me, yes; and it’s certainly less odd than most of what he does, but even then he had to give the poor feelings a blue synthesis! Just listen to this now, the citizens of this compositor, I am on my way to see at this very moment which has given me the very great pleasure of your company, has promised us that, if his composition is elected to be performed, he will get the orchestras to perform his composition. So the friend’s got something to look forward to! The Youngster interrupted " I have a girl friend who insists that she’d rather have the highest pleasure concerning the situation of being a listener. I’m only a humble listener, and I’ve no doubt phrase understanding and sensation regarding to phrase that it has perhaps more knowledge of listening even than the compositor. But I do think that the most important thing about a composition, especially when it’s going to cost ten thousand francs while having been moulded, is that it should be like, and a pleasant likeness, if you know what I mean.” Having exhausted this topic, to which the friends had been inspired by the loftiness of their understanding, the monogram on their musical archives, the little number inked inside each of their gloves by the cleaner, and the difficulty of speaking to one about the Rankin Family, both the hostess and the host, seeing that they had still a long way to go before they would reach the corner of the near street, where the general aspect was to set them happy down right, listened to the promptings of their heart, which counselled other words than these. “Your ears must have been burning,” one ventured, “while we were on the way of life enriched by The Rankin Family. We were talking about 'The Phrase' all the time.” The youngster was genuinely astonished, for all of them supposed that the right name was never uttered at the Rankin's . “You see,” another friend went on, “The Rankin Family was there; need I say more? When anybody is anywhere it’s never long before we begin talking about The Phrase. And you know quite well, it isn’t nasty things the youngster's girl friend says. What! You don’t believe me!” went on the person, noticing that one looked sceptical. And, carried away by the sincerity of her conviction, without putting any evil meaning into the word, which she-the girl friend of the youngster used purely in the sense in which the youngster employs it to speak of the affection that unites a pair of friends: “Why, she adores you! No, indeed; we're sure it would never do to say anything against you when she was about; one would soon be taught one’s place! Whatever we might be doing, if we were looking at a picture, for instance, she would say, ‘If only we had him here, he’s the person who could tell us whether it’s genuine or not. There’s no one like him for that.’ And all day long she would be saying, ‘What can he be doing just now? I do hope, he’s doing a little work! It’s too dreadful that a fellow with such gifts as he has should be so keen in listening to the phrase.’ Forgive me, won’t you. ‘I can see him this very moment; he’s thinking of us, he’s wondering where we are.’ Indeed, she used an expression which I thought very pretty at the time." One of the friends asked her, ‘How in the world can you see what he’s doing, when he’s spiritually-say, because of debating the phrase-a thousand miles away?’ And the youngster's girl friend answered, ‘Nothing is impossible to the eye of a friend.’ “No, we assure you, we are not saying it just to flatter you; you have a true friend in her, such as one doesn’t often find. We can tell you, besides, in case you don’t know it, that you’re the only one. the members of The Rankin Family told us as much herself on our last day with them one talks more freely, don’t you know, before a parting, ‘none does say that isn’t fond of us, but anything that we may say to her counts for very little beside what her boy friend might say.’ Oh, mercy, there’s the omnipotent stopping for me; here have we been chatting away to you, and would have gone right past the mansion of the Rankin's, and never noticed... Will you be so very kind as to tell us whether our thesis is straight?” And the hostess and the withdrew from their muff, to offer it to all the friends alongside the youngster, a white-gloved hand from which there floated, with a transfer-ticket, an atmosphere of fashionable life that pervaded the omnipotent, blended with the harsher fragrance of newly cleaned style. And one felt oneself overflowing with gratitude to them, as well as to The Rankin Family (and almost to the girl friend of the youngster, for the feeling that they now entertained for they were no longer tinged with pain, were scarcely even to be described, now, as love, while from the debate process of the omnipotent they followed them with loving eyes, as they gallantly threaded his way along the more detailed process of 'The Phrase Debate', their attention power erect, their debating style held up in one hand, while in the other clasping the umbrella of defence so that all monograms could be seen, the spiritual muff taking part in the debate in the air before anybody as somebody went. What is more to be remarked is that it is about to compete with and so to stimulate the moribund feelings that one had for them, especially the omnipotent, and the Doc or rather the wiser physician, in this case, than ever others would have been, had grafted among them others more normal, feelings of gratitude, of friendship, which in one’s mind were to make them seem again more human-more like other people, since other people could inspire the same feelings in the heart-were to hasten their final transformation back into the others, loved with an undisturbed affection, who had taken them home one evening after a revel at the guitarist’s, as if to be apt to drink coke with The Rankin's Family, that they with whom one had calculated that one might live in happiness. In former times, having often thought with terror that a day must come when one would cease to be in love with 'Debate', one had determined to keep a sharp look-out, and as soon as one felt that love was beginning to escape from sense and thought, to cling tightly to it and to hold it back. But now, to the faintness of one's love there corresponded a simultaneous faintness in one's desire to remain the lover of 'Debate', for a man cannot change, that is to say become another person, while one continues to obey the dictates of the self which one has ceased to be. Occasionally the name, if it caught one's eye in a newspaper, of one of the people whom one supposed to have been the lovers of 'Debate' or rather 'Debating The Phrase', reawakened one's envy. But it was very slight, and, inasmuch as it proved to one that one had not completely emerged from that period in which one had so keenly suffered-though in it one had also known a way of feeling so intensely happy-and that the accidents of one's course might still enable one to catch an occasional glimpse, stealthily and at a distance, of the beauties, and full reason this envy gave one, if anything, an agreeable thrill, as to the sad members of The Rankin Family, when one has left the dinner induced debate behind one and must return to it, a last winged spirit proves that Zimbabwe and summer are still not too remote... And yet, as a rule, with this particular period of one's life period based on 'Debating Phrase' from which one was emerging, when one made an effort, if not to remain in it, at least to obtain, while still one might, an uninterrupted view of it, one discovered that already it was too late; one would have looked back to distinguish, as it might be a landscape that was about to disappear, that love from which one had departed, but it is so difficult to enter into a state of complete duality and to present to oneself the lifelike spectacle of a feeling which one has ceased to possess, that very soon, the clouds gathering in one's brain, one could see nothing, one would abandon the attempt, would take the glasses from one's nose and wipe them; and one told himself that one would do better to rest for a little, that there would be time enough later on, and settled back into one's corner with as little curiosity, with as much torpor as the drowsy traveller who pulls one's cap down over one's eyes so as to get some sleep in the railway-carriage that is drawing one, one feels, in a way of speedy and swift, out of the country in which one has lived for so long, and which one vowed that one would not allow to slip away from one without looking out to bid it a last farewell, and indeed, like the same traveller, if one does not awake until one has crossed the frontier and is again in his country, when The Rankin Family happened to alight, close at hand, upon something which proved that their friends had been lover of The Debate, one discovered that it caused one no pain, that love was now utterly remote, and one regretted that one had had no warning of the moment in which one had emerged from it forever. And just as, before debating the phrase for the first time, one had sought to imprint upon one's memory the face that for so long had been familiar, before it was altered by the additional memory of their kiss, so one could have wished-in thought at least- to have been in a position to bid farewell, while one still existed, to that they who had inspired love of for debate in ecstasy, to that one who had caused them so to debate more, and whom now one would never see again. One was not mistaken, and destined to see the friends of The Rankin Family once again, a few weeks later. It was while one wasn't asleep in the broad daylight, in the twilight of a day dream. One was talking with omnipotent, Doc, and the young man in an apparel whom one failed to identify, the guitarist, other friends namely the other guests of The Rankin Family, along a path of debating The Phrase which followed the line of the main argument, and overhung the cosmos, now at a great height, now by a few feet only, so that they were continually going up and down while debating The Phrase; those of the party who had reached the downward slope were no longer visible to those who were still climbing; and towards the routine evening what would be it? The little daylight yet remained was failing, and it seemed as though a black night was immediately to fall on them. Now and then the waves of the music of which phrase debating dashed against the thought and sense, and one could feel on one's cheek a shower of freezing spray of the bright musical notes. One told them to wipe this off, but one could not, and felt confused and helpless in their company, as well as because one was in his nightshirt. One hoped that, in the darkness, this might pass unnoticed; the members of The Rankin family, however, fixed them astonished gaze upon each other for an endless moment, in which one saw their face change its shape, their nose grow longer, while beneath it there sprouted the lines crinkled over a feature heavy or shadowy. One turned away to examine them; instead of the heavy burden of The Debating Phrase their cheeks were not pale, with little fiery spots, eventually her features drawn and ringed with shadows; but one looked back at them with eyes welling with affection, ready to detach themselves like tears and to fall upon his face, and one felt that one loved them so much that one would have liked to carry them off with each other at once. Suddenly the youngster turned his wrist, glanced at his quartz watch, and said: “I must go.” He took leave of everyone, in the same formal manner, without taking the omnipotent and The Doc aside, without telling them where they were to meet next evening, or next dinner. They dared not ask, they would have liked to follow him, they were obliged, without turning back in his direction, to answer with a smile some question by the members of The Rankin Family; but their heart would frantically beating, they felt that they now should be in love-much more love- 'The Phrase Debate', they would gladly have crushed each other eyes which, a moment ago, they had loved both 'The Phrase' and 'The Debate' so dearly, have torn the blood into the vivid cheeks of the youngster. They continued to climb with The Rankin Family towards the peak of The Debate, that is to say that each step took them nearer from each other, who were not to be going downhill or in the other direction. A second passed and it was many hours since he had left them. The guitarist remarked to one that the hostess and the host namely Lady Anita and Mr. Rankin had eclipsed themselves immediately after the group of guests. “They had obviously arranged it between them,” one added; “they must have agreed to meet at the debate based dinner table, but they wouldn’t say good-bye together; it might not have looked odd. Lady Anita is their hostess, and her husband Philip Rankin is the host.” The good youngsters burst into tears. One endeavoured to console him. “After all, each friend is quite right,” one said to the young man, drying his eyes for him and taking off his spectacles to make him feel more at ease. “I’ve appreciated them to debate that viz. The Phrase, myself, a dozen times. Why be so happy too much as if distressed? One was obviously the man to understand one.” So one reasoned with himself, for the youngster whom he had not failed, at first, to identify, was himself also; like certain debater, he had contributed his own considerations moulded into the words of his and conveyed the quotations ad hoc The Debate, him who was the ‘first person’ over quotations, and the second to everybody amongst the debaters another whom he saw before him, applauded "clap clap" and yet dressed in nothing enough to be capped with a crown even if it were made of aluminium. As for 'Aluminium', it was-in the debut of 20th Century-to higher society that some vague association of ideas regarding to the precious metals as dear as silver at least, then a certain modification of the industry’s unusual evolution in massive production , and lastly the went on without the broad ribbon of the Legion of Honour across its brand, had made one give that name; but actually, and in everything that the person who appeared in one's dream represented and recalled to the friends, it was the medium of The Rankin Family indeed. For, from an incomplete and changing set of images, while having been on the centre of The Debate one drew no false deductions, enjoying, at the same time, such creative power that one was able to reproduce oneself by a simple act of division, like certain lower organisms; with the warmth that one felt in one's own explanations one modelled the hollow of a strange cleverness which he considered that one was clasping, and out of feelings and impressions of which one was not yet conscious, one brought about sudden vicissitudes which, by a chain of logical sequences, would produce, at definite points through one's thought and sense, the person required to receive one's love for 'The Phrase Debating' or to startle one awake. In an instant phrase debating induced evening grew blue about one; a message rang on one's i-phone, the inhabitants ran past him, escaping from their well shared dinner table; one could hear the thunder of the surging waves of genius, and also of one's own heart, which, with equal violence, was anxiously beating in one's breast. Eventually the speed of all sort of palpitations-from those of brain to the palpitations of heart- redoubled, one felt a pain, a nausea that were inexplicable; a debater, dreadfully burned, flung at that personage as one talked: “Come and ask the friends where the members of the Rankin Family spent the night without the friends or rather the guests. One used to go about with everybody, and one tells them everything, and it was they that started the fire.” It was the hostess and the host namely Lady Rankin and Mr. Rankin, come to awaken them, and saying: “Messrs, it is eight o’clock PM, and the debate induced dinner is here. We have told everybody to call each other again in a minute.” But these words, as they dived down through the absentmindedness similar to sleep in one was submerged, did not reach one's consciousness without undergoing that refraction which turns a ray of fading light of afternoon, at the bottom of a bottle of coke, into another sun; just as, a moment earlier, the sound of the door-bell, swelling in the depths of his abyss of sleep into the clangour of an alarm, had engendered the episode of the "Debating Phrase". Meanwhile the scenery of one's dream-stage scattered in dusky time, one opened his eyes, heard for the last time the boom of a wave in a windy air, grown very distant. One touched one's own cheek. It was dry, and cold. And yet one could feel the sting of the freezing spray of a wet day, and the taste of bitterness on one's lips. One rose, and gave a touch to one's dressing oneself. One had made the others come early because one had written, the day before, to my oldest chap, to say that one was going, that evening, to the dinner based on 'The Debate of Phrase' having learned the omnipotent and Doc that had been spending all debate induced dinners there. The association in his memory of the youngster and charming face with a place in the country which he had not visited for so long, offered him a combined attraction which had made him decide at last not to leave the debate induced dinner table for a while, and as the different changes and chances that bring us into the company of certain other people in this life do not coincide with the periods in which the friends namely the guests are in love with 'The Debate of Phrase', but, overlapping the debaters, may occur before love has begun, and may be repeated after love is ended, the earliest appearances, in their life, of a creature who is destined to afford us pleasure later on, assume retrospectively in the eyes a certain value as an indication, a warning, a presage. It was in this fashion that one had often carried back one's mind to the image of The Rankin Family, encountered in the dining hall, on every evening when one had no thought of ever seeing The Rankin Family again-and that one now recalled the party the debate induced table, at which one had introduced the hostess and the host to the world's intellectuals. So manifold are their interests in life that it is not uncommon that, on a single occasion, the foundations of a happiness which does not yet exist are laid down simultaneously with aggravations of a grief from which all the debates are still suffering, and, no doubt, that might have occurred to one elsewhere than at The Group Debating The Phrase who, indeed, can say whether, in the event of the youngster having gone, that evening, somewhere else, other happiness, other grief would not have come to everybody, which, later, would have appeared to have been inevitable? And yet what did seem to one to have been inevitable was what had indeed taken place, and one was not far short of seeing something providential in the fact that one had at last decided to go The Rankin’s that evening, because one's mind, anxious to admire the wit of inventing the phrase power that life shows, and incapable of facing a difficult problem for any length of time, such as to discover what, actually, had been most to be wished for, came to the conclusion that the sufferings through which one had passed every evenings, and the pleasures of 'Debating The Phrase', at that time! When all the guests of The Rankin Family are awakened by the sound-made by one by means of of a hammer clanging against a steel rail-The Hostess and The Host do not get up immediately, as if it is their usual practice. Instead, because they feel feverish, and yet they stay not in bed, thinking about the possibility of getting on the list of the people who should quit the debate obligatorily. A guest pretends to take them to the dinner table for his tardiness, but he really only wants the hostess and the host to mop the floor of another house belonging not to them. After performing this task rather superficially, they would have a meagre five o'clock tea, and then they go to the country side allocated for the location of homeless people, where some young medic checks the body temperature of the fainted people and then sends them to work as blue collar workers in little ateliers. After picking up their bread ration under the shadow of tiny poplars and hiding half of it in a hole in the caves wherein the chimpanzees had lived just after the prehistoric times, and the hostess and the host join the rest of the debaters for the daily roll call and the frisking, which precedes their march to the dining hole so that The Phrase "band" or maybe "The Phrase Gang' has been assigned to continue building a power plant of thought and sense, and at the heavily occupied construction environment assigned for The Debate, the debaters try not to find a warmer phrase while the debaters negotiate the daily work assignment and the work quota which will determine their intellectual output rations. The members of The Rankin family and their 'Debate' brigade will lay bricks on the second story of the further consideration after they prepare the new details for the evaluated phases in order to give start the new paragraphs of The Debate. This is a job that will fill up the hours and the minutes until their routine timing for or rather before going bed. During dinner, one is able to trick the kitchen staff into giving one's gang two extra bowls of pomme de terre, some of which one is allowed to keep for oneself. One also picks up a piece of root broken from red turnips which one thinks might be useful later on, and one succeeds in buying oneself a pocket of "middle size Havana cigar"...
    And The Dialogues Around The Debate Induced Dinner Table
    Doc (To The Omnipotent) : Don’t you want to sit down now?
    The Omnipotent: Yes, indeed I do, before I fall down for I'm tired. (He assists him into armchair):Are your legs still on you?
    Doc. (still concerned over his worn out feature):My what? Oh my legs! Yes …
    The Omnipotent: Well, then you’re not out of The Debate, you’re certainly not a non-debater because I’ve been talking the legs off a tired personage...
    Doc.: But I had to make it clear to you that the world lost a great deal too when your lost your effort around this table …
    The Omnipotent: You would have liked my power of debate, I would have been charmed by the friends. My power, as that of an omnipotent, was not a group snob or a 'Phrase' snob but we all also out of being snob, all right. No one was a snob about personal charm in people of our debating group, everybody insisted on good looks in people around us, and, oh, we had a perfect dinner table of young and beautiful people around him, always, wherever we were, here in Zimbabwe!
    Doc. : Your heart and brain was young, huh?
    The omnipotent: Both of us were young, and stayed young, Doc.
    Doc. : Could I take a photograph of your vivid face?
    The Omnipotent: Yes, indeed you could, Doc. I’m glad that you asked to see my face on the screen of your I-Phone. I’m going to show you not one photograph but two. Here. Here is my face yesterday, and the other focused on before a while...
    After the late afternoon, The Omnipotent and Doc becomes so involved in their task as a thought and sense bricklayer that they lose track of time and eventually they delay the return of the whole debaters detachment because of their feverish perfectionism, and after the march back to the 'Debate Induced Dinner Table', the debaters line up for the regulation handshaking search before resuming their intellectual dinner at The Rankin's. The omnipotent discovers that he is still preserving the part of undeclared innuendo he found a propos 'The Phrase', which, if discovered by the debaters, could lead to severe earthquake of applause, possibly death of joy. He panics, momentarily, but once again, he is lucky. He manages to hide all clues of the new solution proposals. Later, in return for sitting around the dinner table with one of his wealthier fellow debaters namely Doc, one who has received a thought and sense package from the network of the world's intellectuals, the group is given the extra ration of the mission: "Debating The Phrase.
    And The Dialogues gain speed:
    Doc : The feature of yours looks younger.
    The Omnipotent: My feature look younger but not the subject. It should take a good debater to refuse to grow old,
    Doctor (successfully to refuse to). It calls for discipline, abstention. One cigar from Havana after dinner, not two, five, seven after a single lean chop and lime juice on a delicious salad in...err
    The omnipotent: In the debate induced dinner, eh?
    What's unsuspected at the table in the dining hall of the Rankin Family's Mansion, which were already being brought to minds-within the exact balance between which was too difficult to establish-were linked by a sort of concatenation, say of reconciliation linking necessity to uselessness. But while, a short time after one's awakening, one was giving instructions to the debaters, so that one's stiffly brushed prejudices should not become disarranged at the debate induced table in the evenings, one thought once again of one's contribution; one saw once again, as one had felt them close beside one, some of the friend's pallid complexion, their thinly deepened cheeks, their drawn features, their tired eyes, all the things which in the course of those successive bursts of affection which had made of one's enduring love for debate a long oblivion of the first impression that one had formed of them one had ceased to observe after the first few days of their intimacy, days to which, doubtless, while one slept, one's memory had returned to seek the exact sensation and consideration of those things, and with that old, intermittent fatuity, which reappeared in one now that one was no longer unhappy, and lowered, at the same time, the average level of one's morality, one would have cried out in one's heart: “To think that I have wasted years of my life, that I have longed for death, that the greatest love that I have ever known has been for 'The Phrase Debating' which did please me, which was not in my style!” Eventually after dinner, the hostess and the host, say Lady Rankin and Mr. Philip and is able to share some news of novelties with their guests under another paragraph, and one is even lucky enough to receive additional information about The Phrase for guarding the member of The Rankin Family's new considerations during the evening check. After evening inspection is over, The Omnipotent and Doc return to their gossip corner and discusses The Composer namely Rachmaninoff and the efficacy of phrase with The Debaters, The Good Samaritan 'debate' lovers with whom they also shares some of their unexpected "wealth within the output of novelties" introduced to the hostess and the host namely Lady Anita and Mr. Philip. After a second session of The Debate and after the whispering call was heard, they began to fall into nearly an wrestling to force the enigmatic labyrinths of the musical notes to be open as daily life words , feeling "almost happy" because of all the "good fortune" which has befallen them during this day.


    TO BE CONTINUED...
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 09-04-2017 at 10:02 AM.

  11. #341
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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .........
    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)

    The Phrase Debating System or the dinner table induced 'Debate' in the Life of one takes place in a "special" thought and sense concentration camp of intellectuals run by the Rankin Family, better known by the white stock Zimbabwean acronym: PHEDES. The new owners of The Rankin Family's Mansion after the violent overthrow of Lady Rankin and her husband Philip dealt very harshly with the neighbours, friends, guests etcetera as well as with their new, agriculture adversaries, and, rather than sending their neighbours to a worldly hell, they began sentencing offenders to "corrective farming" soon after the debut of 2017. In the following months, animosity camps were built around the Rankin's Family wherein once The Intellectual Basics of The Phrase used to be debated around the dinner table and was combined with corrective approach of the world's intellectuals all over the old earth, under the administration of no one, and yet hosted by Lady Anita and Mr. Rankin. It might estimated that by 2018, there would already more than several problems in the dining hall shared by the intellectual friends of The Rankin Family, mainly for political reasons having been fed by the new owners who have impudently violated the rights of that victimized family. Seemingly the establishment of the myriad plans for the ethnic reconstruction of the Zimbabwe created heavy demands of the no justice institutions for dictatorial goals to achieve this drive toward changing the earthly hell from an essentially agricultural society to a society of injustice, and it was difficult to find willing and qualified farmers like the members of The Rankin Family for the construction of the modern agriculture based on the farms similar to that of The Rankin Family, roads around the farms linked to the highways, and large industrial centres. Thus, apparently from 2019 on, the Zimbabwean rulers melted in identification induced personality disorders should begin to depend more and more on dominated force of white farmers-the best of the regions their ancestors had settled. There were hardly any traditional farming terms handed out any longer; instead, criminals and political enemies were forced to quit their farms. These coming plans or rather farmer eradication sentences, initially would be realized for three-year terms, and would be based mainly on convictions for violations of the infamous no article Criminal Code of the country... The story or rather The Myth of the Zimbabwean error based on the farm apocalypse lived by Rankin Family is difficult to classify in terms of traditional literary genres, and SOLZHENITSOF himself has remarked over the delirium of his pen or rather his clavier on the disappearance of the traditional boundaries between genres and the lack of interest in "form" within The Literature Network. Commenting on the form of this contemporary Odysseus, he states that it is a mixture, something between a long story (maybe a novel) and a short novel. Actually it could be defined as "what the members of The Literature Network frequently call a novel: where there are several story lines and even an almost obligatory temporal expanse. The New Odysseus, on the other hand, is more of a short novel(even more of a long novel) in the sense that it concentrates mainly on the protagonists namely the friends of The Rankin Family and on one episode, say 'The Debate of the Phrase' in their life, but the fact that this very "Debate' is seen as being typical of a large segment of the Rankin Family's intellectual life, as well as being a description of a number of different humanist approaches, also places the work in the genre of the novel. In keeping with its very long story form, there is no formal subdivision into chapters besides Chapter One and The Chapter Two, but we can distinguish distinct episodes-some of them paraphrased to create A Collage Type Masterpiece which make up The Rankin Family's Tragedy. These episodes have not been given "titles" in the set of Chapter One for the sake of hard reference to any of the paraphrasing morally having got a well certainty for the section SOLZHENITSOF is to be published is called "Who Said That". The episodes are arranged thematically around the three main areas of concern for a typical debater: phrase, work, and snubbing one's nose at the eternal battle against the cruel realities. Formally, the episodes-the reader might properly call many of them vignettes-are arranged in such a way that scenes describing the harsh Zimbabwean's non-intellectual environment which is a threat to one's survival alternate with episodes which depict one's overcoming these threats, showing one's small triumphs over the inhumane no-justice system. Political reality, however, has shown that the need of liberalization and de-dictatorship policies were only creating a temporary aberration and that the publication of THE NEW ODYSSEUS might be coincided with the end of the "great thaw." Probably one could make foreseeing that "immediately following the publication of the novel, the dictator shall be came under pressure from the conservative, pro-Mugabe wing of the administration and the leader shall have to make large concessions to this group in order to survive politically; one of these concessions will probably the withdrawal of the administration patronage from The Rankin Family and the eventual will have to exile of the members of that family at the end of 2017. As for the 'Phrase Debating" induced dinners at the Rankin's it was late evening when one arrived so the table lay deep in smoke of the cigars of The Omnipotent and Doc. There was too much thing to be seen of within the medium of the dining hall, and yet for mist arising from the deeper senses and dark thoughts and cigar smoke surrounded everything in it, and not the faintest glimmer of light needed to be oblivion showed where the great table of 'The Debate' lay. One stood on a wooden chair looking at the only vista leading from the hall to the corridor for the observation of any convenient time, looking up at what seemed to be avoided. Then one went in search of somewhere to stay the night instead of going back to the one's own home. But people were still extremely awake at the table. The host and the hostess namely Lady Rankin and her husband Philip had no room available, but although greatly surprised and confused by the arrival of one so late in the evening, they were willing to let one sleep on a orthopaedic mattress in the room adjacent to the library. One agreed to that. Several of the local flies were still visible out of the panes as if glued to the near atmosphere of the outer part of the mansion over their juicy food, but one didn’t feel like observing to them. The host fetched some books from the library put down at a stool himself... Then one lay down near the stool and picked up one of the books. It was warm as if it has been just read by a reading lover intelligent happen to stroll around instead of debating the phrase, the flies out of the windows were silent or the panes are that sort of sound isolated materials, and one's weary eyes gave the flies a cursory inspection, and then one fell asleep. And soon afterwards one was dreaming as if living everything-he lived before a while-again. A young man in metropolis clothes, with a face like an thinker’s-bewildered eyes, strongly marked eyebrows-was sitting beside him with the host. All debaters were still there too, and some of them had turned their chairs round so that they could see and hear better while remarking the most remarkable points of the matter-The Phrase. Then the youngster appeared through the door opening t the twilight atmosphere prevailing in the corridor, and he young man apologized very civilly for having woken one who was awake already, introduced himself as the son of the group "debating the phrase", and added: ‘This mansion belongs to the Rankin Family, so anyone who stays or spends the night here is, so to speak, staying or spending the evening-even the whole night-induced 'Debate' based on both dinner and 'The Phrase'. And every-intellectual or illiterate-one’s allowed to do that without a permit from The Rankin Family. However, you do have a limitless permit, or at least you haven’t had to show one so that one had half sat up, had smoothed down his hair, and was now looking up at the youngster. ‘What room have I had to choose to go in, then?’ one asked. ‘Is there a standard concerning the peculiarities from the point of sojourning in any of the parts of the mansion?’ ‘There most certainly is,’ said the youngster slowly, as if some of those debaters were present and they shook their heads at one’s ignorance. ‘The Rankin's Mansion’ ‘So I need no permit to spend the night here, huh?’ claimed one, as if to convince everybody for once again that he had not, by any chance, dreamed the earlier information. ‘Absolutely YEP! But probably, after the members of The Rankin Family had expelled from this place you would have need a permit,’ was the reply, and there was downright derision at one’s expense in the young man’s voice as, with arm outstretched, he asked the one's own shadow and that of the youngster: ‘Or am I wrong? Doesn’t I need a permit?’ ‘Well, come on...' one added showing the intention going and getting a permit... Then, one looked around yawning, and throwing off one's quilt as if to rise to his feet. ‘Oh yes? Where are you from?’ asked the youngster, one replied ‘Why, from the group debating the phrase’ said one, and added ‘I suppose there’s nothing else for it.’ ‘What, go and get a from the guests and the members of the Rankin's Family themselves at midnight?’ cried the youngster, retreating a step. ‘Is that impossible to contribute to a debate on the phrase?’ asked one, unruffled, the sniffed deeply ‘If so, why did you wake me up?’ At this the youngster was positively beside one. ‘The manners of a debater!’ one cried. ‘I demand vigorous for the authority of the hostess and the host namely Lady Anita and Philip Rankin! I woke you up to tell you that you mustn't leave the debate induced table so soon.’ ‘That’s enough of this dialog thereof basics might be qualified farce,’ said one in a noticeably quiet voice. One, immediately lay down and pulled the quilt over oneself. ‘Oh Gosh! This young man is going rather too far, and I’ll have to say something to Lady Anita about his conduct tomorrow. The hostess, the host and those debating the phrase are my witnesses, if I need any. As for the rest of it, let me tell you that I’m one of the leading debaters the and the members of The Rankin Family sent for me. The other new debaters will be coming tomorrow.' All in all one didn’t want to deprive oneself of a good participation to be taken place in there-debating phrase induced dinner table at the Rankin's through the late evening, but unfortunately one would lose one's way of thought and sense at times, and that’s why one arrived a sleeping corner-in a room not dingy but donated it a bed based on spring mechanism linked to its base, flourished designs reflecting the quilt and the mattress cover so soon. One oneself was well aware, even before one's concrete existence was delivered to a light diminished room, that it was too early to present oneself in a cosy bed. And yet it was nor cosier than the medium of The Debate and to the highest probability that’s why one sub-conscientiously contented oneself with sleeping the night at The Rankin's, and one have been-to put it mildly-civil enough to content oneself with dreaming over an unexpected sleep. And that’s all the explanation one is making. So that one should salute oneself 'Goodnight, gentleman the debater.’ So one turned to the wall dyed with light blue on a golden colour font. ‘The gentle debater?’ one heard one's own salutation as if someone call one hesitantly behind one's back, and then everything-that should be silent forever-fell silent. But the youngster soon pulled oneself together and came back told one, in a tone just muted enough to sound as if he were showing consideration for one's sleep, but loud enough for everyone sleeping around to hear what was said: ‘One should make the hostess and the host namely Lady Anita and Philip Rankin well informed in the situation linked to sleep and even dream, and ask.’ Oh, so there was not a extension number telephone in the room I was taking a nap, was there? One would appreciate the dinner based on both the debate and phrase situation of theirs at The Rankin's they were very well equipped there indeed. As a detail that once had surprised one, but on the whole one had expected this. It turned out that two different sort of electric bulbs-scattering white and yellowish lights from the old chandeliers-were installed almost right above the debaters' heads, but drowsy as he had been at that time too, one had failed to notice it i a speedy way. If the youngster really had to make a shifting of light colours or rather tones one, then with the best will in the world the young man could not fail to disturb one’s sleep. The only point at issue was whether one would let him use one's dexterity a propos the tones of the lights in home illumination, and one decided that he would. Notwithstanding, in which case, there was no point in making out that one was asleep, so one turned over on one's back again. One heard then the debaters aloof, clustering nervously together and conferring; well, one's need of sleep was no small matter. If he could hear and discern the sounds the kitchen door had opened for a while and there, filling the whole doorway, stood the monumental figure of the Lady Anita or rather the hostess. And Philip Rankin approached on tiptoe to let them know what was going on. On the other hand the 'Phrase Debating' began again. One was asleep, but the omnipotent and Doc, and a certain guest Mr. Talky-not garrulous of course-was on the line. The youngster, who identified himself as one of the relatives of the Rankin Family, told Mr. Talky how he had found one...Inasmuch as one was also at the bay! Was one oneself of very rich-y rich appearance in one's fifties, sleeping peacefully on a luxury mattress, with a plum associating great thing as a pillow and a pair of Italian boots within reach. Apparently the youngster had naturally felt suspicious, thought one- although as the Rankin Family hadn't, as it seems giving no way to any speculation clearly-yes they hadn't neglected to do its duty it had been up to the members of the debaters' group to investigate the matter. One, oneself added, had acted very churlishly on being woken, questioned, and threatened in due form with expulsion from the mansion, although, as it finally turned out, perhaps with some reason, for one claimed to be a highly conspicuous member of the group debating The Phrase around the dinner table at The Rankin's and said the hostess and the host namely Lady Rankin and Mr Rankin had sent for one. Of course it was at least the formal duty of the youngster to check this claim, so he, an uncertain Mr. so and so, would like Philip Rankin to enquire in a procedure used by central offices, find out whether any such debater was really expected, and using a mobile phoned back with the answer at once. Then all was quiet. Probably the Ombudsman and Doc. went to make their well shared enquiries, and here at the dinner table they waited for the answer, One staying where one was sleeping, not even turning round, not appearing at all curious, and looking straight ahead of one's dream. The way one told one's tale, without any mingling of malice and caution, gave everybody an idea of what might be called the diplomatic training of which even such insignificant figures in and around the Mansion of the Rankin's Family as that young man had a command. There was no lack of administration-and yet lacking industry-there in Zimbabwe either; some headquarters like central offices were working even at night, and clearly it answered questions quickly, for the youngster soon rang back. The youngster's allusion, however, seemed to be a very short one, for the hostess and the host viz. Lady Anita and Philip Rankin immediately slammed the rumours down in serenity. ‘We said as much!’ they hissed, ‘There might be no record of any debater to be-especially-invited; this is a common, exaggeration induced behaviour and not worse of course.’ For a moment one thought all of them-the omnipotent, Doc, the newbie amongst the debaters, the hostess and the host-were going to embrace one, and to avoid at least the first show of sympathy one crawled under the quilt entirely. Then-one slowly put one's head out-and yet his mobile rang not, so it seemed to one, with particular force. Although it was unlikely that any phone call too could be about one, they all stopped short, and no one went back to the phone chat. One listened to an explanation of some length, and then said quietly, ‘A success, then, to take a nap? This is not awkward for any debater. Could I say the either the hostess or the host couldn't have been able call me? Strange, strange. But how am I to explain it to other guests of The Rankin Family now?' One forced one's ears to be able even as capable of listening to the ultrasound waves. So that the environmental man power had described one as ‘the number one debater’ therein this was unfortunate, since it showed that they knew all they needed to know about one as a debater at the Rankin's, they had weighed up the balance of power, and were cheerfully accepting one's challenge. All in all in another way, it was fortunate, for it confirmed one's contributions to 'The Phrase Debating' that one was being underestimated, and would have more freedom than one had dared to hope from the outset. And yet if they thought they could keep him in a constant state of challenge by recognizing one's qualifications as a-say, number one-debater in this intellectually supercilious way, as it certainly was, then they were slightly right. One felt a slight frisson too, yes, but that was all. So one waved away the youngster, who was timidly approaching; the young man declined to move into the dining hall, as one was now urged to do, merely accepting a nightcap from the hostess and the host and the use of a washbasin, with soap and a towel, from them, and one didn’t even have to ask for the corridor before the room wherein one trying to fall into sleep to be cleared, since all present were hurrying out with their faces averted, perhaps to one from identifying them after the late dinner at the Rankin's inasmuch as the light was put out, and one was left alone at last. One slept soundly through until dawn, scarcely disturbed once or twice by nightmares. As for the breakfast the main subject that might be the reason of quarrel should be what might be hoped after breakfast as it should be that which like one’s entire board and lodging, as if it was said so by the Rankin Family just it used to be told everyone...err...friendly. It was to be paid for by neither the host nor the guest! The Rankin Family, one thought one would go straight into the farm owned in the way the justice system in the country would order for many, many decades. But when the hostess-Lady Anita and the host Philip Rankin, to whom, remembering one's unexpected nap-precursor of a long sleep in the room of their mansion-yesterday late evening, one had said only the bare minimum instantiation through one's dreams, kept hovering around him with a silent sympathy in their eyes, one felt mutual sympathy for them and asked them to sit down and keep them company for a while. ‘I haven’t met the count President Mugabe the one and only power administrating Zimbabwe nor have any hope to run into him,’ said one., ‘but they say he used not to pay anything for good work except indifference. Is that so? Because you’re working hard as I am, you want to bring something worthwhile home.’ ‘No need to be satisfied with what about that, dear. There’ve ever been a lot of complaints of poor award to satisfy the loyal and industrious persons.’ ‘Well,’ said one, ‘I’m not the timid sort myself, and I can speak my mind even to a dictator, but of course it’s far better to be on friendly terms with such autocrats’ while Mr. Rankin was perched opposite one on the edge of the table of The Debate, not daring-out of the time to spend on debating 'The Phrase' to sit any chair even it would be more comfortable, and he kept looking at one with his blue eyes shadowed by his silvered yellow-reminding of straws' colour- eyebrows, anxious eyes. To begin with he had moved close to the number one guest, but now he seemed to want to run away. Was Mr. Rankin afraid of being interrogated about the one man regime? Did he fear that, although he was now calling one ‘dear’, one was not to be relied on? One thought one had better distract the man’s mind so looking at one's watch, one said: ‘Well, my neighbours will soon be arriving to see if anything-having forced me to spend the whole night out of home-happened to me. Will anybody be able to accommodate every musical notes of The Phrase here?’ ‘Of course, dear,’ said the hostess and the host namely Lady Rankin and Mr. Rankin, ‘But won’t the debaters be able to be staying with you down at this mansion viz. at The Rankin's?’ Were they so easily and cheerfully giving up the prospect of the guests they've invited, and in particular the custom of one, whom one seemed anxious to send out of the mansion? ‘That’s not decided yet,’ said one. ‘First I must find out what kind of work they want me to do at the debate induced dinner table. For instance, if I’m to work down here or obligatorily at my home at time or even vice versa, then it would be more sensible for me not to stay temporarily down here too. And in addition, I’m afraid that living up in yours wouldn’t make the others to agree with me. I always prefer not to be a free debater.’ ‘You don’t know what our mansion is like,’ said Philip Rankin quietly. ‘True,’ said one ‘One ought not to judge too early. At the moment all I know about The Mansion of the Great Farmers like The Rankin Family is that up there they know how to pick a good debater. And perhaps there are other advantages here as well.’ And one rose to one's feet, to allow the hostess and the host, who were uneasily biting their lip but not looking a chance to be rid of one's company at the debate induced dinner table. It wasn’t easy to win this one’s trust, and as one was walking away, they noticed a shiny portrait of a standard debater in a dark frame on the wall. One had seen it even from where he lay last night, but at that distance one hadn’t been able to make out the details, and had thought that the real picture had been removed from the frame, leaving only a bright backing to reflect the main features from the dining hall. But there was indeed a picture, as one now saw, the head and shoulders of a man of about fifty so that he sitter’s head was bent so low on his chest that you could hardly see his eyes, and the reason why he held it like that seemed to be the weight of his colourful dreams making the head heavy and alerting the chest to pull his hooked nose. The chin decorated with a beard looking like a brush, which was sweeping the medical region of his thyroid challenging to the angle of his head, stood out below his mandible while one of his hand was spread in a routine way as if he was running it through his thick hair, and yet he could have raised his head higher if he had wished. ‘Who’s that?’ asked one ‘Not my aunt of course?’ One was standing in front of the portrait, and did not even look at the host. ‘Oh no,’ excused the host, ‘that’s my daddy.’ ‘Well, you have had a generous father at the home older than, even, your grand pa , to be sure,’ said one... ‘How marvellous their grandsons and son has turned out so brilliantly.’ ‘No, no,’ said the host, drawing one slightly down to him and whispering in his ear, ‘The yeoman was putting on airs yesterday; our fathers and grand fathers were not only parents , and one of the most conspicuous of them.’ At this moment the host seemed like a child to one. ‘What a brave people!’ one said, sighing. However, the landlord did not join in his sighing, but said, ‘Their parents powerful too.’ ‘Oh, come along!’ said one ‘Everybody would think everyone should be powerful. Including every one, I wonder why?’ ‘NOP’ said the hostess, diffidently but gravely, ‘We do think you are timid in debating The Phrase’ and she sighed as one did before... ‘You’re a very good observer, then,’ said one ‘The fact is, and just between you and me, I really am not too much successful in debating the phrase. As a result I probably feel no less respect for the powerful personage than you do, but I am as timid as everybody and won’t always admit it.’ And to cheer the host and show one's own good-will, one tapped him ostentatiously on one's cheek. At this Philip Rankin did smile a little. He was only a man of fifties really, with a soft and almost unwrinkled face. How had one come to marry Lady Rankin, honest wife, who could be seen through a hatch bustling between the dinner hall and the kitchen next door, not hands on her hips nor elbows jutting? But one did not want to probe that honourable wife of the host nor any further now, or wipe the smile one had finally won from him off his face; one just signed to him to let one to open the door and stepped out into the fine morning. Now one could see the whole vicinity around, distinctly outlined in the clear air, and consisting based on the elements to be appreciated as visionary standing out even more distinctly because of the thin covering of mist lying everywhere and changing the shape of every buildings. In fact, much less misty houses thereof the shadows seemed to have fallen up on the neighboured than here in the town as a whole, where one found it as difficult to make one's way along the road as it had been yesterday. Here the rain might have come up to the windows and weighed down on the branches of the tiny trees in the garden, while in the country side everything rose into the air, free and light, or at least that was how it looked from the mansion of The Rankin Family. Altogether the dinner hall, as seen from the nearest point, lived up-from the point of the debate induced to dinner one’s expectations. It was neither an old scientifically mansion from the days of the geographical explorations, nor a showy new structure, but an extensive complex of buildings, a few of them with three storeys, but many of them neither lower and nor crowded close together. If you hadn’t known it was a mansion you might have taken it for a small farm centre. If there had been a church there one saw a tower, and yet could not make out whether it was a modest place for dwelling or belonged to a church. Flocks of crows were circling around it. One's eyes fixed on the garden then so that one went on, paying no attention to anything else. But as one came closer to the weak trees of African dry seasons one thought the mansion disappointing; after all, it was only a poor kind of collection of foliages assembled into a little garden, and distinguished only by the fact that, while its walls might all be built of stone, the paint had flaked off long ago, and the stone itself seemed to be crumbling away. One thought fleetingly of one's own home and its garden, which was hardly inferior to this mansion. If he had come here only to see The Rankin Family's Mansion, he would have been seemed as used to made routine visits for nothing much, and he would have done better to revisit the old neighbours' home that one hadn’t seen for so long. In one's mind, one compared the steeple of his childhood home having been towering up above. The former, tapering into a spire and coming down to a broad, red-tiled roof, was certainly an classical building-what else can one's parents build?-but it had been erected for a higher purpose as these huddled, low-built houses and made a clearer manifestation than the tepid if not jetty world of this place did. The tower up here-the only visible one-now turned out to belong to a dwelling, perhaps the main part of the mansion. It was a simple, round building, partly covered with ivy, and it had small windows, now shining in the sun so that there was something crazed about the sight, and was built into the shape of a balcony at the top, with modestly secure, regular battlements, crumbling as if drawn by an prodigious or attentive student as they stood out, but without zigzag fashion, against the fresh and slightly cloudy sky. It was as if some realistically romantic inhabitant of the place, who should really have stayed locked up in the most remote room in the house, had broken through the roof and was standing erect to show the feature to the world. Once again one stopped, as if standing still improved one's powers of judgement, and thanks to God one's attention was not distracted. Beyond the farmyard where he now was-in fact it was only a soil, extended like a sheet so that it could hold the whole congregation-lay the Rankin Family's Mansion. It was a magnificent, three storey building, curiously combining the character of something antic or rather something very old, and it stood in a fenced garden that was now covered with the late down's mist. Some of the farm hands were just coming out, with their foreman. They crowded around one, all eyes were fixed on one, and they were talking away the whole time, so fast that one couldn’t make out what they were saying. The foreman viz. the personage charged with monitoring, a small, narrow-shouldered young man who held oneself very upright, but without appearing hilarious, had already seen one from a distance-after all, apart from his own little flock one was the only living soul to be seen far and wide. One as the stranger in farmers' world, greeted him first, noticing that despite his small stature he was used to being in command. ‘Good day, sir,’ he said. All at once the farmhands fell silent, and the foreman probably appreciated this sudden silence in anticipation of his remarks. ‘Looking at the mansion, are you?’ he asked, more gently than one had expected, but in a tone suggesting that he did like very much what one was doing. ‘Yes,’ said one. ‘I’m always a stranger in the farmyards here or there... I used to come to the Rankin Family's mansion every evening after having got the invitation calling me to take part in the Phrase Debate to be rendered at the dinner table in-to some extent-a routine way.’ ‘Do you like the mansion?’ the foreman was quick to ask. ‘What?’ one asked in return, slightly surprised. The authoritarian voice repeated the question in a milder tone. ‘Do you like being at The Rankin's some evening or rather frequently in the evenings?' One revolted, 'What makes you think that I don’t?’ ‘Strangers might do,’ said the personage in charge of monitoring. Here K. changed the subject, to avoid saying anything the teacher didn’t like, and asked, ‘I expect you know the count?’ ‘No,’ said the teacher, and he was about to turn away, but K. wasn’t giving up, and asked again: ‘What? You don’t know the count?’ ‘What makes you think I would?’ asked the foreman very quietly, and he added in a louder voice, speaking Arabic, ‘Kindly recollect that we’re in the company of industrious farmers.’ This made one think one might properly ask: ‘Could I visit you one day, sir? I should be carry on with The Phrase Debate here for some time, and feel rather not isolated instead deeply socialized; I do fit in with the local far hands here, and I do suppose I need must fit in at the Rankin's either.’ ‘There’s no distinction between the farmhands people and the Rankin Family's members,’ said the personage in charge with monitoring. ‘Maybe not,’ said one, ‘but that makes no difference to my situation. May I visit you some time?’ ‘I lodge in somewhere, say at the madam teacher’s house.’ The statements similar to this offering would be more of a statement than an invitation, but all the same person called might have said: ‘Good, then I’ll come.’ The foreman nodded, and went on with the crowd of farmhands, who all started singing the march of farmers again. But one was distracted, fretting at this conversation. For the first time since one's arrival one felt real weariness. At first the repeated visiting here had not seemed to affect him at all, and at times one had walked for days, step after step, on and on! But now all that physical strain was claiming its due, and at just the wrong time. One was irresistibly drawn to seek new acquaintances, but every new acquaintance left him wearier than ever. If one forced oneself to walk at least as far as the entrance to the mansion, that was more than enough in one's present state. So one walked on, but it was a long way. For one was in the main road of the mansion of The Rankin's Family, and it did not lead to gate of the back garden but merely passed close to it before turning aside, as if on purpose, and although it moved no further away from the mansion, it came no closer nor farther either. One kept thinking that the road must finally bring him to the back garden of the mansion, and, if only because of that expectation, one went on. Because of one's weariness one naturally shrank from leaving the main road, and one was surprised by the extent of the fence having circled the unseen parts of the garden, which seemed as if it would never end, with more and more lanes opening to the main road partly more enlightened by the extra sun beams reflecting from the window-panes having been cleaned, by means of the specific detergents produced for the purpose of having got much more shine over them instead of the absence of any human beings so at last one tore oneself away from the road on which one had persisted and struck out down a narrow alley where the focused sun light lay not deeper so that quitting the route should need the feet ready to be kept sinking in again would be hard mision. One broke out in a sweat, and suddenly one stopped to regain one's energy and to be able to go no further. But one wasn’t entirely alone after all, there were trees within the right and left of the mansion of the Rankin Family. One pick up a little stone-or maybe a part of a broken tile-and threw towards the window of the room one spent the night. The gate of the back opened at once-the first door he had seen at the backside one the mansion on one's entire walk all the way around the village and one saw a stout man in a mouse gray fur jacket, his head on one side, looking both frail and friendly. ‘May I come back into the mansion for a little while?’ asked one, ‘I’m very tired.’ One did not hear what the stout man was saying, but gratefully everybody might realized that a plank was being pushed the way. This got one clear of the unseen obstacles away, and a few more paces took one into back parlour of the mansion. It was a large, dimly lit corridor before one. Coming in from outside, one could see nothing at first so that one staggered and nearly fell over a stool put aside; a farmhand’s hand caught one. One heard a number of children of the farmhands singing marches or hymns in one corner whereof a bright mist billowed out of another, turning the twilight into darkness as if one might have been surrounded by clouds. ‘Is this person drunk,’ someone asked. ‘Who are you?’ cried a peremptory voice, and added, probably turning to the stout man: ‘Why did you let this one in? Are we to let in everyone who goes slinking around the main road circumscribing the mansion ?’ ‘I’m one of the debaters,’ said K., by way of justifying oneself to the still-invisible speaker. ‘O Gosh, yes it’s one of the debaters, ’said a girl’s voice, and then there was total silence. ‘You know me?’ asked one ‘Yes, indeed,’ was all that voice said again, briefly. Knowing who one was didn’t seem to recommend one to these people. At last some of the bright mist drifted away, and gradually one was able to get his bearings. The exuberant sound producing seemed to be wash-day for the place of the debaters. Instead of the table covering cloths were being washed far away from the door of the dining hall the vapour came from the corners, was it true that where some people were having a bath in steaming water in a wooden tub larger than any one had ever seen before; and even more surprising, although was it hard to say just why, wasn't there-no matter of the left or right-hand corner of the bath-room any washing machine. One could find as a vista through which one might find a large hatch or rather the only opening in the back wall of the parlour, pale sun light-escaped from the shelter of some lonely wandering clouds-came in, no doubt from the yard, and cast a sheen like silky surface-maybe on the dress of a woman in charge of washing almost lying, for she looked in an imitation to be seen as tired, in a tall armchair far back behind a bulky thing, say a pile of bulky packages. Had she got a baby at her breast one wouldn't be astonished so. From the other side if were one seeing children playing around her, one should have decided that they might have been the children-obviously-from the nearest village although she did not look like a villager herself, but likely being fond of city life giving everybody weariness, and would make even rustics appear refined. One remembered that once one felt weariness in the skirts of a little town. He would rather ask if there were any cafe then ‘Sit down,’ would reply one of the men, a well shaven, non-moustached fellow who kept his mouth open all the time under the upper lip-lack of moustache as observed before a while-breathing lightly. Raising his hand above the side of the barrels from which he carry a handful fresh water time to time to splash his face for cooling his face sweating because of chronic obstructive lings disease or rather oxygen hunger , not a comical sight of course, he pointed to a chest, and in doing so splashed cold water all over one's face too. The suffocation suffering man who had let one in was sitting on the chest too, lost in thought so one was glad of the chance to sit down at last for the position giving no one the chance of bothering about him anymore. And a woman talking-sporadically-with the people around including the asthmatic man splashing water using a barrel as a trough, which was yellow in colour, wet, and even foamy, was singing softly at her work... Other people around the man splashing cool-if not-cold waters tub were stamping their feet and turning this way and that, the children were singing and trying to get closer to them, but were always chased away by incessantly hitting water bomb which did not spare one either, the woman in the armchair-as seen in the same position at the back corridors of the mansion-lay as if lifeless, not even looking down at the baby at her breast, but gazing vaguely upwards while whistling. One had probably been watching this unchanging or rather changing alternately sad, and beautiful scene for some time, but then one must have fallen asleep, for when a loud voice hailed one and one woke with a start and found that one's head was resting on the shoulder of the old man beside him. The men had finished throwing middle size water bombs from the side of barrels the children were now splashing about in it, with, say Blondie watching over them and was standing fully clothed in front of one... A goatee bearded man with the loud voice-instead turned out to be the less important of the others-coughed. The other man, no taller than his friend and with a much sparser beard, was a quiet, slow-thinking fellow, sturdy of stature and broad of face, and held his head bent. ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘forgive the incivility, but you can’t stay here.’ ‘I didn’t want to stay,’ said one, ‘only to rest for a little while. I feel rested now, and I’ll be on my way.’ ‘You’re probably surprised to find us showing so animosity,’ said the man, ‘but friendly behaviour is also a custom here, and we do need any visitors.’ Heavily refreshed by sleep, and listening a little more attentively than before, one was glad to hear him speak so cordially, and was moving more easily by this time and, placing one document bag now here, now there, one approached the woman in the armchair. One oneself was mentally the cute person in the room so ‘To be sure,’ said one ‘Why would you need debaters beside our hostess and host namely Lady and Mr. Rankin? But a debater or so is needed now and then, for instance me, as a Phrase Debating personage.’ ‘I don’t know about that,’ said the water splashing people slowly. ‘If the members of The Rankin Family sent for you, then they probably do need you, but that’s an exception. As for us-the farmers out of intellectual activities, we stick to the rules of agriculture only, and you should hold that for the sake of us.’ ‘No, no,’ said one ‘I owe you thanks, you and everyone here.’ And when none of them expected it, one suddenly swung round to stand in front of the breast feeding woman, and looked at one from tired blue eyes; a translucent chiffon headscarf came halfway down her forehead, and the baby was sleeping at her breast. ‘What can I do for you?’ asked one so dismissively-and it was not clear whether her disdain was meant for one or her own answer one-said: ‘I’m from the country side.’ All this had taken only a moment, but already some persons were one on each side of one, escorting one to the door, as if there were no other means of communication. As for the old man, watching, seemed pleased about something, and clapped his hands. The woman charged with washing too laughed as she stood among the children, who were suddenly romping noisily while one was soon out in the alley, with the other men watching one from the doorway. Misty sun beams was falling again, but it seemed a little brighter than before. The goatee beard people called impatiently: ‘Where do you want to go? This is the way to the castle, that’s the way to the village.’ one did not answer, but said to the other man, who despite his superior status seemed more approachable: ‘Who are you? To whom do I owe thanks for my rest here?’ ‘I am one of the friends of Mr. Rankin the master farmer,’ was the reply, ‘and you owe no one any thanks.’ ‘Very well,’ said one ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again.’ ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said the man with whom one was changing some words. At this moment the goatee beard man, raising a hand, called out: ‘Good day, everybody!’ One turned. So there were people out and about on the lane before the main fence of the Rankin Family's Mansion after all! Two people were approaching instead of running along the road as the majority of them would do from the mansion. They were to some extend lean but stout, in uniform type clothes, and their faces too were very much happy, with white complexions setting off their reddish yello goatee beards similar to those of the Irish males. They were drawing near remarkably fast, considering the present state of the roads, swinging their long legs in time. ‘What’s going on?’ called the most conspicuous man in the community one has run into. That dominating man had to raise his voice to communicate with them, they were walking so fast, and didn’t stop. ‘We have business in the Rankin Family's Mansion,’ they called back, laughing. ‘Where?’ ‘At the Rankin's in perplexity.’ ‘I’m coming back there too,’ shouted one, his voice suddenly rising above all the others. He very much wanted the people to take him with them. Striking up an acquaintance with them didn’t seem as if it would lead anywhere much, but they would obviously be good, cheerful companions on a walk, and yet, although they heard what one said, they simply nodded, walked on, and were gone in a moment. One was left standing under the misty sun beams, feeling disinclined to haul one's foot out of it only to have it sink in again a little further on. The master comrade of the farmhands and his friends, happy to be rid of one at last, made their way slowly back through the door of the mansion, which was only standing ajar, still keeping an eye on him. K. was left alone in the all-enveloping misty atmosphere turning into fog nearly. ‘If I’d come here by chance and not on purpose,’ one thought, ‘I should not fall into despair at this moment, huh?’Then a typical noon noise came from the window that after a while opened ajar only capable to see a part of a tiny tree in the back garden on his left or maybe on the right for if one have turned towards the backward one's left and right should be change their places as one's front and back vision directions would be changed so that while closed, it had looked dark blue, perhaps reflecting the misty sun beams, and it was so very active in the incessant wind of the noon times that, now it had been opened, you couldn’t see the whole face of the people behind it, only that their eyes might vary from blue to brown: no matter they were old or young eyes. ‘There the person is,’ one heard a quavering female voice say. ‘It’s one of the debaters,’ said she the voice producer to whom talked back one 'so what comes of it since as you are a producer.' A male-having got a super bass voice came to the window and asked, in unfriendly tones, but as if anxious to make sure that all was well with the lane outside the garden of the Rankin's Mansion: ‘Who are you waiting for?’ ‘I’m waiting for a taxi cab that will give me a lift to be paid by me of course,’ said one... ‘There won’t be any taxicabs coming this way,’ said the man. ‘As you do know very well that we don’t have traffic in the late mornings here.’ He opposed ‘But this is the road to the mansion,’ one objected, and added 'at least I can return, naturally using the main gate to the mansion. ‘All the same,’ said the man, with a certain implacable note in his voice, ‘you don’t have anything, say to debate on but The Phrase here.’ Then they-one and the bass voice fellow- both fell silent. But the man was obviously thinking something over, for the window was still open and the misty sun beams was pouring into it. ‘It’s a auspicious alley useful to the good and even to evil,’ said one, to help the conversation along, and yet all the bass voice person said was: ‘Yes, to be sure.’ in a male style.

    TO BE CONTINUED...
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 09-15-2017 at 04:25 PM.

  12. #342
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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .........
    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)

    After a while, however, he did add: ‘I’ll take you in my own car if you like.’ ‘Yes, please do,’ said one, delighted to hear it. ‘How much will you ask?’ ‘Nothing,’ said the man, to one’s great surprise. ‘Well, you’re the Phrase Debater,’ he explained, ‘and you belong at the mansion. Where do you want to go?’ ‘Why, to my house,’ one was quick to say. ‘Oh, then I’m not going,’ the man said at once. ‘But I belong to my home’ one said, imitating the man’s own style. ‘Maybe,’ said the man coldly. ‘Take me to any internet café, then,’ said one ‘Very well,’ said the man. ‘I’ll bring the car round in a minute.’ None of this exchange sounded particularly friendly; it was more like a kind of self-interested, suspicion induced, non-garrulous, deeply meticulous attempt to get one away from where one was standing in front of the window of the man’s room. The yard gate opened, and a small, flat bottomed Volkswagen appeared. It was for carrying light loads, had no comfortable seat of any kind, and was run by a feeble little engine, behind which the man came into view. Although he wasn’t old person seemed feeble himself, he stooped and walked with a limp, and his face was red, as if he had suffering perpetually from a common cold. It seemed particularly a small blue-collar because of a woollen scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. The man was obviously a healthy one if not sick, and had come out of the house only to get one away from here. One said something to that effect, but the man dismissed it. All one learned was that he was in charge of that little car, he had brought this uncomfortable car because it happened to be standing ready, and getting another luxury one would have been possible if not taken too much time. ‘Sit down,’ he said, pointing to the seat adjacent to his with. ‘ What a happy thing I’ll sit beside you,’ said one ‘I’m going to walk,’ and ‘But why?’ asked one ‘I’m going to walk,’ repeated the man, and then succumbed to a fit of coughing which shook him so badly that one had to brace his breast in a misty air and hold on to the side of the automobile. One said no more, but sat down at the second place of the car, the man’s coughing gradually subsided, and they started to move.The mansion down right or rather up above, now curiously neither misty nor shadowy, the place that one had hoped to come back then, was retreating into the place not distant anyhow. Apparently suggesting that this was only a temporary farewell, however, a bell rang there with a lively, cheerful note, although the sound was probably pertaining to 'The Phrase', and made one's heart quail momentarily as if threatened with getting what it vaguely desired, and yet soon the clang of this great bell died away, to be succeeded by the faint, monotonous sound of a smaller bell as if belonging to an alarm clock, perhaps also up at the chapel that should be in the vicinity. Its note was certainly a more suitable accompaniment to their slow progress with the feeble but implacable driver not moving to, to and fro. ‘You know,’ cried one suddenly they were already near the church, the road to the internet café was not far away, and one thought one might venture this remark claiming ‘I’m very surprised to find you willing to drive me on your own responsibility. Is it allowed? I'm sure: YEP!’ The cab driver took no notice, and continued to seem taking walk along beside the engine of the automobile. ‘Hey!’ cried one, drying a drop left from the vapour on the sill viz. the sill of the door aside one and throwing it. It hit driver right on the ear. At this one did stop and turned, but when he saw one so close the taxi cab had moved a little further on when one saw the man’s bent form, as if physically mistreated, the red, narrow face with cheeks that somehow looked lopsided, one smooth and the other fallen in, the almost toothless mouth constantly open as if to help the cab driver listen better, one found one had to repeat what one had just said in malice but this time with compassion, asking whether the driver might be punished for giving one or rather one of The Members of The Rankin Family a lift in his automobile. ‘What are you getting at?’ asked the driver blankly, but waiting for no further explanation he pushed the gas pedal of the little car and it moved on. When they had almost reached the café, which one recognized by a bend in the road, one saw to one's surprise that the place was already entirely empty. Had he been out so long that it's the time to go bed? Only half an hour, by his calculations so that one had left in the morning, and had not felt hungry or thirsty since. Again, it had been full daylight until a little while ago, and only now the café would seem as if closing its shutters. ‘Short days of the autumn’ one said to oneself, slipping off the Volkswagen and going towards the internet café. On the small flight of steps up to the internet cafe one saw a welcome sight: the owner of the place introduced one a symbolic gesture is if raising a lantern in the air and shining it in his direction. Fleetingly remembering the driver, one stopped. There was a cough somewhere in a corner under the shadow of shutters; that was him so it's very well, he’d probably be seeing him again soon. Only when one reached the top of the steps, to be respectfully greeted by the patron, did he observed two people, one on each side of the door. Taking the gesture from the cafe owner’s hand, one pointed over the remarking those people the pair of them; they were the persons he had already met and who had been addressed as certain Mr. so and Mr. so. They saluted him. Reminded of the happy days of one's air force service in the past, one smiled. ‘Well, so who are you?’ one asked, looking from one to the other. ‘Your waiters,’ they replied. ‘That’s right, they’re the waiters,’ the boss quietly confirmed. ‘What?’ asked one ‘Do you say you’re the waiters in a place that cannot give the service as a restaurant. Were you coming on after me and whom I’m expecting?’ They assured him that they were. ‘Just as well, then,’ said one after a little while. ‘It’s a good thing you’ve come. What’s more,’ one added after another moment’s thought, ‘you’re extremely or rather punctually at the right place in the right time. That’s very remiss of you.’ ‘It was not a long way,’ said one of them. ‘Even a short way?’ one approved their time speculation. ‘But I saw you coming down from the dormitory’ ‘Yes,’ they agreed, without further explanation. ‘What have you done with the apparatus-if there were any- besides the laptops?’ asked one ‘We don’t have any,’ they said. ‘I mean the portable PCs that I entrusted to you,’ said one ‘We don’t have any of those,’ they repeated. ‘What a couple you are!’ said one ‘Do you know anything about The Phrase Debating?’ ‘No,’ they said. ‘But if you claim to be the waiters waiting for me here, then you must know something about it,’ said one. They remained silent. ‘Oh, come along, then,’ said one, pushing them into the saloon of the internet café ahead of him. Some of the people were sitting rather silently at a small table in the saloon of the internet café over their coke, one in the middle, his special waiters to right and left of him as if they were going to chat together in internet. Otherwise there was only a table where some of the local chatters sat, just as they had yesterday evening. ‘I’m going to have a hard time with you two,’ said one, comparing their faces yet again. ‘How am I to know which of you is which? There is even difference between your names methinks, and apart from that’ he hesitated shortly ‘apart from that you’re as like as two eager beavers.’ They smiled. ‘Oh, other people find it easy to tell us apart,’ they said. ‘I believe you,’ said one ‘I’ve seen that for myself, but then I have only my own eyes, and I can’t distinguish between you with those. So I shall treat you as a single waiter, and call you both Mr. such and such, which is the name of one of you, none of you, of course’ One asked one of the waiters. ‘No,’ he said, ‘my name is not a certain Mr. such’ ‘Well, never mind that,’ said one, ‘I shall call you both Mr. certain such. If I send one of you somewhere you’ll both go, if I give one of you a job to do you’ll both do it, which from my point of view will be a disadvantage in that I can’t employ you on separate tasks, but also an advantage because then I can hold you jointly responsible for everything I ask you to do. As for your work how you divide the work between you is all the same to me, if only you shouldn’t make separate excuses. To me you twos turn into just one man.’ For a relatively long time they seemed having thought this over and at last they said: ‘We wouldn’t like that at all.’ ‘Of course not,’ said one ‘Naturally you’re bound to dislike it instead of the chance of the task in being automatically victorious although that’s how it’s going to be.’ For a while, one had been watching one of the local internet fans prowling the tables each provided with P.C s, and at last the driver made up his mind, went over to one of the, say waiters, and was about to whisper something in his ear. ‘Excuse me,’ said one, slamming his hand down on the table and standing up, ‘these are my waiters and we are in the middle of a consideration if not debating. No one has any right to meddle in our affairs.’ ‘Oh, I see,’ said the chauffeur in some alarm, walking backwards to rejoin his own company. ‘I want you two to take particular note of this,’ said one, sitting down again. ‘You may not share our ideas about rendering the task of ours with anyone without my permission. I’m not be able accepted as a stranger here for I'm one of the debaters having been being invited to the dinner induced phrase debating at The Rankin's, and if you’re my old waiters none from the members of debating group at The Rankin's then you seem strangers here too. So I-the well known guest of the hostess and the host namely Lady Rankin and Mr. Rankin we three persons in such a heterogeneous unit to deal with a certain task must stick together. Let’s salute our shaking hands on it.’ Whereas they offered one their hands only too willingly one said, ‘Well, never mind about those fatty fingers of yours,’ and one added, ‘but my orders stand. I’m going to get some sleep now, and I advise you to do the same. If a neutral observer prepare a report on what we could be of high productivity lately we might understand that we’ve missed out on one working day already, and work must start early tomorrow as the general success definition should compel us. You’d better find another car to go out of the mansion every late evening and up to the it and be here outside the garden or rather on the road before the garden with every eight in the evening, ready either to wait or to leave.’ ‘Very well,’ said one of the waiters. But the other one namely the certain Mr. so objected. ‘Why say “very well”, when you know it can’t be done?’ ‘Would you be quiet,’ said one ‘I think you’re trying to start distinguishing yourselves from each other.’ Now, however, the waiter who had spoken first said: ‘The master debater’s right, it’s possible. Every stranger may go up to the mansion of The Rankin's Home without a permit but invitation.’ ‘So where do we have to apply for an invitation?’ ‘I don’t know but I'm sure it's enough to the gardener.’ ‘Then we’ll apply by mobile. Let me ring the gardener at once, both of you.’ They two ones went into deep thoughts while the other made the connection, crowding together eagerly and showing that outwardly they were ridiculously ready to oblige, and asked whether one might come up to the mansion with them next day. The reply was a ‘YEP’ that K. could hear all the way over to his table, but the answer went on. It ran: ‘Either tomorrow or any other evening either.’ ‘I’ll telephone myself,’ said one, rising to his feet. So far, apart from the incident with that one local internet café fans, no one had taken much notice of one and one's super natural waiters, but this last remark of one's aroused general attention. The whole company stood up with one and although the owner of the café tried to fend them off, they crowded around one in a semicircle close to the hand of his holding the cell phone. Actually most of them seemed to be of the opinion that one wouldn’t get an answer so that one had to ask them to keep quiet, telling them one didn’t want to hear their views. Then humming, such as one had never before heard on one's cell, emerged from the receiver. It was as if the murmur of countless creatures-human or inhuman-voices not that it was really a murmur, it was more like the mingling tentatively of voices, not very far away, and yet as if that sound were forming, unlikely as that might be, into a single high, strong voice, striking the ear as if trying to penetrate further than into the mere human sense of catching the single, meaningful from some sophisticated concoctions. One heard it and said nothing; one had propped one of one's arms on the cell stand, and listened like that. One didn’t know just how long one stood there, but after a while the owner of the internet café plucked at one's coat and told him that someone had come with a message based on The Phrase Debate for him. ‘Come on please!’ uttered one, happily, perhaps into the cell phone, for now someone was answering at the other end, and the following conversation took place. ‘No debater speaking here, who’s there?’ asked the speaker in a rigid, naughty or rather haughty voice with a small speech defect for which, as it seemed to one, one tried to compensate by dint of extra serenity induced cry. The strategic relations or the model partnership betwixt the waiters to attend one would be peerless pattern for everybody who ought to serve somebody. As if one is the number one debater in the Phrase Debating group At The Rankin's one would be served at-even-out of the table so that everybody might call one as the president of the council on the relations between the guests of the Rankin's Family, everyone should be assumed having recently asserted that 'One may be a member of the debating group, but is not a real debater.” After the time those waiters-what waiter, huh?-had reached there and the end of the trip to the cafe, both the members of the Rankin Family and the omnipotent and Doc or rather the policymakers of the Phrase Debate group should have maintained close strategic ties as they searched for some new criteria for the relationship. If there were a meticulous analyst, say from Germania there might be found several reasons to believe that one could be as important a debater in the post–Rankin Family Era as it had been during the showdown with the new guests a t the debate induced dinners. In the following times, one might be alternately held out among phrase lovers and phrase debaters as a guide for the newly organized phrase debating groups whose members might share cultural and musical affinities with The Friends of The Rankin Family, an analyser and listener to music in the new dining halls, and, recently, a “model” for all Zimbabwean intellectuals seeking to build more prosperous and cultural affairs loving groups. Each of these projects could prove successful because they wouldn't overestimate one’s capacities, nor underestimated the historical legacies of the music and farming domination of Zimbabwe, and yet read one's individual considerations and the worldview of the one’s current membership in the group. This year it will be several questions in phrase debate since the main group at the debate induced dinner table (known not by its Zimbabwean acronym, but DPG) came to activity, launching a period of debate stability based on the Phrase, cultural agenda growth, and supposedly-as some, one oneself included, believed-liberally music debating hobby besides farming. The Rankin Family's invitational successes have produced the stability in debating the phrase, and with that all the guests have benefitted from new cultural opportunities, infrastructure-musically of course- development, and improved access to healthy listening to. Have there might been considerable rational regression in the case of especially chosen waiters of one...Though a little more than a year since one began membership charged with listening to the phrase and debating it to join the main message of peace in farming and peace in debating music, and it looks more like a well civilized democracy sharing the same table to dine and to take part in debating the phrase than the approach of another hostess host but Lady Rankin and Mr. Rankin who have overseen a process in which the mansion’s debate induced dinner table so that nothing have been greatly weakened or re-engineered in the listening to music within the task of farm and culture interests and a transformative intellectual agenda. The deepening of intellectual activity at The Rankin's and the development of a cult of personality around the table all debaters have had big consequences for ideals that well civilized countries hold dear, including freedom of expression, freedom of assembly, freedom of loving phrase, and respect for all debaters. Even so, it is important to note that one is hardly a tin-pot dictator to accept the baseless service of the waiters. One is an extraordinarily adept debater who, for his core constituency, has ushered in a more open, inclusive, and intellectual approaches. This moment of empowerment in being a good listener stands in stark contrast to the experiences of self imposed waiters. Eventually all of them have been routinely subjected to coercion, friendship, and dialogue. Since the first successful congregation of The Phrase Debate of theirs more than 200,000 title and subtitle have been spent, uttered, or rather pronounced from the sides of all debaters. Approximately 1000 consideration outlets have been opened by the old and new guests of The Rankin Family. Included among those having been applauded have been new guests as well as rural and town based phrased lovers. There were some academics alongside omnipotent and Doc who called upon by the guests and neighbours to take part in the debate. With the youngsters the dreary attitudes were summarily dismissed from their souls or made to be turned into happily and hopeful vivacity. Many of those in the phrasal trouble have little recourse because they are applauded of being members of “Music Lovers” the lovers of the modernity as shown by Rachmaninoff , which the world of art alleges was behind the rendered successful debate. Eventually in that atmosphere the surrealist couple of waiters ready to serve one shouldn't have been reluctant to take on these cases out of reluctant instincts they themselves will be assumed of the same. No ripple effects of this sort of evening activity go well beyond those directly caught up in the purge attacking by the administration in Zimbabwe, yes attacking The Rankin family, affecting-maybe in the near future-entire farming families and ruining their future prospects. The widespread detentions, moral and fiscal attacks, and sackings since debut of creation to give huge infliction to the innocent Rankin Family are not actually to be any new development, they are merely an acceleration of a purge that has been underway since then after having ruin Lady Rankin first and secondly Philip Rankin! t that second one has been evaluating the persons and the situations at The Rankin's one hesitated to give any name; one was too much powerful against the cell phone, while leaving the other man free to phrase one and put down the receiver viz. push or rather touch the closing point. If that happened, one would have cut oneself off from what might be a not-unimportant means of getting somewhere. One’s hesitation made the people patient. ‘Who’s there?’ the voice repeated, adding, ‘I really should rather you lot down there did do telephoning much more call as we had a call only a minute ago.’ Taking no notice of this remark, one came to a sudden decision and announced: ‘This is one of the leading debaters’ ‘What? Debaters? What an honour for us to get acquainted with you over a mobile?’ One remembered yesterday’s conversation. ‘Ask everybody,’ one said briefly. To one's surprise, this worked magically. But over and beyond that, one marvelled at the consistency among the people up there, for the answer was: ‘Yes, yes, I know. That eternal debater! Yes!' And he added no one could ask then "so what else?" or What debater?’ ‘The waiter no number’ said one. Eventually one was slightly taken aback by the way the waiters said would be ready to serve one were muttering behind one; obviously they didn’t like to hear one giving a false name. But one had no time to bother about them, for the conversation called for all one's attention. ‘Mr. certain so?’ came the answer. ‘No, the waiters are called’ here there was a pause, while someone else was obviously consulted ‘are called such and such.’ ‘Those are the new waiters,’ said one ‘No, they’re the old ones.’ ‘They are the new waiters, but I’m the old one, and I came on later than one-the debater and got here today.’ ‘No,’ the other waiter replied, shouting now. ‘Who am I, then?’ asked one, still keeping calm. And after a pause the same voice, with the same speech defect, yet sounding like another and deeper voice, commanding more respect, agreed: ‘You are the old assistant.’ One was listening to the sound of the voice, and almost missed hearing the next question: ‘What do you want?’ One felt like throwing away or slamming the mobile down, expecting no more to come of this conversation. But he was forced to reply at once: ‘When may one come up to the room where one once slept in the mansion of The Rankin Family?’ ‘Never,’ was the reply. ‘I see,’ said one, and the conversation came to an end locally because behind the dialogues of one would The Literature Network, and the writing readers, with no surreptitious glances at one! The waiters then were busy keeping them back although it seemed to be just for show, and the new debaters, satisfied by the outcome of the conversation, slowly gave way. Then the youngster walked through the group from behind it, dividing it in two, bowed to one to make fun of the waiters-waiters, huh?- and gave him a new note about The Phrase or rather The Phrase Debating. Holding the note in one's hand, one looked at the youngster, who just now seemed to one more important than the note itself. Nonetheless the young man greatly resembled the waiters; he was as slender as they were, his clothes too were close-fitting, he was nimble based on some kind of spry exhibition, say feature, and yet he was quite different. On would far rather have had him as his waiter if not comrade! The man reminded one a little of the woman with the baby whom one had seen in the back part of the house of lady Anita and Philip Rankin namely the mansion of the Rankin's Family. His clothing was almost dark blue as that of blue-jeans as called in the Mediterranean Region of The Europe and was probably cotton, but an ordinary winter-weight fabric, yet it had the fine look of a silk suit worn out on purpose for wearing special occasions, and his face was clear and open, his eyes brown and very large. As for his smile was extraordinarily cheering, and although he passed a hand over his face, as if to wipe that smile away, he did not succeed. ‘Who are you?’ asked one ‘Why I'm the youngster’ he said, ‘and I am a debater as you're’ while his lips moved in a manly yet gentle way as he spoke. ‘How do you like it here?’ asked one, indicating the musical notes in the note conveyed to one by him, who ought to be still taking an interest in him. One then worried...were the guests watching one with their positively tormented faces-their skeleton of head and vertebras looked as if they had been smashed flat on top, and their features had contorted into an expression of strain in the process-they were watching one with either their thick lipped mouths open or half fallen eyelids, and yet not watching either, for sometimes their eyes wandered, lingering for a long time on some ordinary object before returning to one and one's, say two special waiters. Then one also pointed to the would be waiters or rather those self imposed servants, who were holding each other close, cheek to cheek and smiling, whether humbly or in derision it was hard to say, and yet one indicated all these people as if to introduce a retinue forced on one by special circumstances, expecting which implied familiarity, and that mattered to one just now that somebody would see the difference between one and them. But somebody did not respond to the question although, as could easily be seen, in all innocence and let it pass him by, like a well trained servant hearing one's master say something that is only apparently addressed to him. Somebody merely looked around as the question required, greeting acquaintances among the new and old debaters with a wave of one's hand, and exchanged a few words with the self imposed waiters or rather voluntary servants, all easily and as a matter of course, without actually mixing with them. One warned off the subject but undeterred, turned back to the letter in one's hand and opened it. It ran as follows: ‘Dear Sir, you are, as you know, taken into the service of taking part in The Phrase Debate. From the point of debate the debaters' immediate superior is none as a chairman of a parish council, who will communicate to you all further details concerning someone's work and their remuneration, and to whom you will be answerable. Nonetheless, someone will keep an eye on you directly. The new servant, the young messenger or rather the youngster who brings the note, will make enquiries of you from time to time, find out what your requirements are, and impart them to me. Someone will find me always ready to oblige the debaters as far as possible. Everybody should be anxious to have contented workers.’ Eventually the note was illegible, but printed beside it were the words: ‘Chief Executive Office Zimbabwe’ ‘Wait a minute!’ said one to youngster, who was bowing to one, and one called to the hostess and the host namely Lady Rankin and Philip Rankin to show them their drawing, saying one wanted to spend a little time alone studying this note. As those people did so, they remembered that although they had taken to young debaters so much, they were only promising listeners and phrase debaters, and ordered them coke. The youngster watched to see how he would take this; he was obviously pleased, and drank it at once. Then one went with the hostess and the host namely Lady Anita and Mr. Rankin. They had been able to give one this time only a little attic room at the Rankin's, which was a small place, and even that had been difficult, for a couple who have had to be sleeping there before had to be accommodated elsewhere. In fact all that had been done was to clear the hostess and the host out of the room, which otherwise appeared unchanged, with no linen on the only bed and just a couple of cushion and a wool blanket, left in the state it had been in after last night, with a few pictures of saints and photographs of debaters on the walls so the room hadn’t even been aired; obviously with the good mean they hoped that the new guest would stay long, and they were doing everything to keep one, and one did mind; one wrapped oneself in the blanket and began rereading the note by the light of lanterns oozing from the windows. It was not all of a piece; there were passages where one was addressed as a free agent whose autonomy as a debater was recognized, for instance in the opening greeting and the part about the other's requirements. But then again, there were passages in the note where one was openly or by implication addressed as a common phrase debater, worthy-in a clear style-even to be noticed by the hostess and the host, who obviously felt one must make an effort ‘to keep an eye on the other debaters’, while the omnipotent and Doc, to whom one was actually ‘answerable’, was only the dinner induced phrase debate or vice versa, and perhaps one's sole colleague would be the youngster. These facts wouldn't make any contradictions but were certainly so brilliant that they must be intentional. Considering that the note came from such a youngster, one scarcely even entertained the bizarre notion that any indecision might have entered into it. Rather, one saw oneself offered a choice: it was left to one to make what one liked of the arrangements in this note, and decide whether one wanted to be an ordinary debater who seemed, but only seemed, to have the distinction of a link to the one, or apparently a debater chap but one whose conditions of work were really determined entirely by the message that the youngster had brought. One did not hesitate to choose, nor would one have done so even without his experiences so far. Only as an ordinary as far as possible from the phrase debating guests of the Rankin Family in the mansion could one get anywhere with that eligible group itself. These debaters, who were still so suspicious of one, would start talking to one once one was, if not their friend, at least one of them, indistinguishable from, say, the omnipotent and Doc and that must be brought about very soon, everything depended on it and then, one was sure, all paths would be open to one, paths that couldn't have been closed to one forever, and not only closed but invisible, if it had depended solely on the good graces of the debaters up above. Of course there was no danger, and it was sufficiently emphasized in the note, even represented with a certain pleasure as if it were -from the point of-inevitability should have been. It was that one's was the status of a debater. ‘Phrase’, ‘Debate’, ‘The mansion of the Rankin family’, ‘A body of remuneration’, ‘Debater’: the note was full of such terms, and even when something else and more personal was said, it was written from the same point of view. If one wanted to carry on with 'Phrase Debate' here then one could, but if so it must be in deadly earnest, without so much as glancing elsewhere. One knew that no real compulsion threatened one, one wasn’t afraid of that, least of all here, but one did fear the force of one's discouraging surroundings, one feared getting used to disappointment, one feared the imperceptible influence of every passing moment, and yet one must contend with that action of the debaters. The note did not, after all, gloss over the fact that if there were any disagreements it would be the fault of none’s recklessness, and it was said with delicacy, and only an uneasy sub-conscience would have noticed stealthily it in those three words ‘as debaters know’, referring to one's entering the employment of the intellectual mission of the mansion had applied for the post, and now one knew that, as the letter put it, one had been accepted even into the intellectuals of the world’s service. One took a picture off the wall and hung up the note full of musical notes and considerations on the nail instead. One would be living in this room, so this was where the note should hang. Then one went down to the dining hall of the Rankin Family's mansion. The youngster and the waiters were sitting at a little table or one of the mate tables escorting to the main. ‘Oh, there you are,’ said one for no special reason, just because one was glad to see the youngster, who got to one's feet at once. No sooner had one entered the room than the new debaters rose to come closer to one; it had become a habit of theirs to follow one around. ‘What it is you keep wanting from me should be good in the way of understanding the phrase’ cried one. Only a person-a certain stranger-did take offence, but not turned back. One said, by way of explanation as somebody turned away, but with an inscrutable smile copied by some of the others at the phrase debating induced dinner table: ‘We’re always hearing something new,’ and the stranger licked his lips as if the ‘new’ was something delicious to share. One said not a word to smooth things over; it would be good for them to feel a little respect for one, but no sooner was one sitting beside the stranger than one felt one of the locals breathing down the back of his neck; the man said one had come to fetch the key of the library after which one stamped one's foot happily and the stranger went away without it. It was really impossible to irritate one you would only have to set nobody against the others, for instance, for the persistent attention of some of them bothered one more than the reserve of other persons. Eventually the attitude of the farmer debaters and the debaters from other type of professions showed reserve too, for if one had sat down at the phrase debate induced dinner table, they would certainly have left it. Only the presence of youngster kept him from making a scene. But still he too turned to them friendly, and they had also turned to one however, when one saw them sitting like that, each in the proper place, without talking, without any visible connection with each other, the only thing they had in common being that they were all staring at one, it struck one that it might not be exaggerated at all that made them to back one, perhaps they really did want something from one but simply could not say it, or then again it could be just childishly exhibited. Actually that situation seemed to be a great place for childishly or innocently behaviour. Wasn’t the hostess and the host namely lady Anita and especially Mr. Rankin-Philip Rankin himself child-like as he held a glass of coke in both hands, taking it to one of the guests, huh? He stood still, looked at one and failed to hear something that Lady Rankin had called out to him from the corner where stood beverages. Feeling calmer, one turned to the youngster; one would have liked to get the waiters-what waiters for the sake of God-out of the way, but could find no pretext for ridding anybody of the people present, and in any case they were staring in silence at their coke. ‘I’ve read the note,’ reiterated one, ‘Do you know what it says?’ ‘No,’ youngster. One's glance seemed-fro he was from the city, say ERZURUM loved by Alexander Pushkin to convey more than one's words. Perhaps one was mistaken in detecting goodwill in youngster as well as malice in the newbie, but the youngster’s presence still made one feel better. ‘The note mentions you too. It says you are to carry messages between me and the members of The Rankin Family, so that’s why I thought you would know what was in it.’ ‘The note I've passed you’, said youngster, ‘were simply to carry the note, wait until it had been read, and if you think it necessary take back an answer either verbally-or even verbatim-or written.’ ‘Good’, said one ‘There’s no need to write; just we should make a good cooperation to tell the hostess and the host namely Lady Rankin and Philip Rankin-what’s his name, by the way? I couldn’t read the signature.’ ‘The intellectuals represented by omnipotent and Doc" said youngster. ‘Then thank them on my behalf for my acceptance and their particular kindness, which I know how to value as I ought, not having proved my merits here yet. I will act entirely in accordance with their plans, and I have no particular requirements today.’ The youngster, who had been listening attentively, asked if he could run through that message out loud, and one said 'yes', and recited everything word for word. Then one rose to leave. All this while one had been scrutinizing one's face, and then one did so for the last time. Although the youngster was about the same height as one, one seemed to be looking down at him from above, but almost humbly, although it was impossible to imagine him causing awkwardness to anyone to some extent. To be sure, the youngster was only a messenger and did not know the contents of the note full of scripts and musical notes he had delivered, but his looking, his broad smile, his style of carriage seemed to be a message in themselves, even if he didn’t know it. And one offered his hand, which clearly surprised the youngster, who had intended only to bow so that soon as he had gone before opening the door he had leaned against it for a moment and looked around the room, with a glance that was not meant for any particular person as soon as he was gone, one told the self imposed waiters: ‘I’m going to fetch my own notes from my room, and then we’ll discuss our first job of work.’ They moved to accompany him. ‘No, stay here,’ said one, and yet they still wanted to go with one, and one had to repeat one's order more sternly. The youngster was no longer out in the front hall, but he had only just left, for one did not see him outside the house, where a new misty light reflections were falling. ‘Young man’ one called. A short part of time elapsed in a long delay, and there would be no answer. 'Could he still be inside mansion?' wondered one, and yet there is no possibility, yes there seemed to be no other possibility. All the same, one shouted one's name at the top of his voice, and it echoed through the late evening. And yet at last a faint answer came back from the distance for the youngster was so far away already. One should have called him back, at the same time going towards him so that they met where they were out of sight of the inn. ‘Young men’ said one unable to keep a quiver out of his voice, ‘there’s something else I wanted to say to you. I’ll just point out that it’s a poor arrangement if I have to rely on your coming by chance when I need something from the depths of the Rankin Family's Mansion. It’s not by chance that I’ve found simply to carry the note full of musical notes and scripts, wait until it had been read, and if you think it necessary take back an answer either an utterance or over something written.’ ‘Good’, said one ‘There’s no need to write; just tell the people in charge of sending notes: What’s his name, by the way? I couldn’t read the signature.’ Youngster replied, "Illegible" One talked, ‘Then thank Mrs or Mr. such and such on my behalf for my acceptance and her or his particular kindness, which I know how to value as I ought, not having proved my merits here yet. I will act entirely in accordance with her or his plans, and I have no particular requirements today.’ The youngster, who had been listening attentively, asked if one could run through that contents of the note out loud. One said 'yes', and instead of one the young man recited everything word for word, then he rose to leave. All this while one had been scrutinizing the youngster's face, and then one did so for the last time although the youngster was about the same height as one, one seemed to be looking down at him from above, but almost humbly, although it was impossible to imagine one causing awkwardness to anyone, and to be sure, the youngster was only a note carrier and did not know the contents of the note he had delivered, but his sparking eyes as described as based on some antecedent expressions, his broad smile, his carriage seemed to be a message in themselves, even if he didn’t know it. So the as to be a definition opened situation offered one's hand, which clearly surprised the young, who had intended only to bow. As soon as the youngster had gone before opening the door as everybody were living repeatedly on a audio visual recording apparatus he had leaned against it for a moment and looked around the room, with a glance that was not meant for any particular person as soon as he was gone, one told the self imposed waiters: ‘I’m going to fetch my notes based on the reiterated debate words or rather expressions from my room, and then we’ll discuss our first job of preparation.’ They moved to accompany one. ‘No, stay here,’ said one, and yet they still wanted to go with one, and one had to repeat one's order more sternly. Backing to the debut of the epoch to be narrated one observed the same events: Yes indeed the youngster was no longer out in the front hall, but one had only just left, for one did not see him outside the house, where new misty light reflections would be raising. ‘Young man?’ one called as one did before a while. No answer, and the same suspect. Could he still be inside the mansion? There seemed to be no other possibility. All the same, one shouted his name at the top of his voice, and it echoed through the late evening. At last a faint answer came back from the distance-he was so far away already. One repeating the same action called him back, at the same time going towards him. They met where they were out of sight of the mansion. ‘Young man’ said one-as narrated before unable-to keep a quiver out of his voice-as defined before-you now and what speed you should make; I thought you must still be in the mansion! 'Oh sire' cried the youngster 'you are living to and fro or rather you are not living but repeating but who knows how long I’d have had to wait for your next appearance before after the related events came to an end’ Inasmuch as the youngster said to one 'You can ask the life coach of yours, if there were any executive for always to make you every time living towards the future instead of going back to future at times according to your choice,’ and added ' why I advise you to behave so is your repeating the multi or minimum sections of your story.' One answered the young man even in with a younger voice, ‘That wouldn’t do either,’ said one ‘Perhaps I might go for as long as a year without wanting to repeat the same things as a part of my existence, and then there’d be something urgent in this way only quarter of an hour after you’d left.’ ‘Well, in that case,’ said the youngster, ‘shall I tell the hostess and the host namely Lady Rankin and Philip Rankin that there should be some other kind of link between them and you, not involving another person?’ ‘No, no,’ said one, ‘definitely not, I just mention the matter in passing. This time, fortunately, I was able to reach you.’ ‘Shall we go back on the contrary to my hating of Déjâ vu to the mansion so that you can give me your new message there?’ said the youngster. He had already taken another step towards the house of The Rankin Family. ‘That’s not necessary, young man,’ said one ‘I’ll walk part of the way with you.’ ‘Why don’t you want to go to the mansion after The Members of The Rankin Family were exiled?’ asked the youngster. ‘The people there had been happy me in those good days when the mansion had belonged to those good people,’ said one ‘You saw for yourself how intellectually industrious people those phrase debaters are.’ ‘We can go to your room,’ said the young man. ‘It’s the room of farm archives,’ said one., ‘clean and newly arranged ; I wanted to walk a little way with you so as not to have to occupy there. Let’s link arms,’ added one to overcome one's hesitation, ‘and then you’ll walk more securely.’ And one took the youngster's arm. It was quite misty instead of pouring sun beams, one could hardly see every line on the young man's face, his figure was indistinct, and he had already tried to touch his arm a little while before. The youngster did as he wished, and they moved away from the mansion. And yet what one would remember would be echoing: " ‘Why don’t you want to go to the mansion after The Members of The Rankin Family were exiled?’ asked the youngster..." Oh what? Exile? Yes! Exile? Yes! Yeah!

    EXILE? YES! THE MEMBERS OF THE RANKIN FAMILY? YEP! EXILE? OUI! ACH, EXILE? YEAH! EXILE? да! EXILE? YES, YES! FOR MILLION TIMES: YES! YEESSS!

    The troubling situation in The Mansion of Rankin's Family is not just a matter of domestic politics of Zimbabwe, however. It has costs for the bilateral relationship between the Mankind and The Dictatorship, and the populism, nationalism, and authoritarianism there often manifests itself in hostility toward the Mankind and results in policy choices that are at odds with The World's Intellectuals' interests and goals. One knows that here is little reason to believe that this situation will change. As noted above, the bilateral relationship encountered turbulence in the past, but the British Farmers and Mr. Mugabe overcame these differences because of the dangers the international attitudes of The World's Farmers as a whole posed to the security of both. There is no longer a common threat or big project that both parties share, and at an abstract level, Zimbabwean Farmers and Mr. Mugabe share an interest in fighting fame, but the administration would claim that they each accuse the other of working out of farmers' rights in Zimbabwe. The list of The World's Intellectuals as pronounced by Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF concerns about Zimbabwean policies and behaviour is rather unjust and extensive since violating the human rights. It thus should make sense for them to seek dialogue, but Mr. Mugabe’s current outreach follows a pattern in which some Zimbabwean officials have sought to use their ties with other dictatorial regimes as a way of alleviating pressure when they have run into trouble with innocent farmers who at times thaw with them sows mistrust between old British Farmer families and the oppressors there. This only weakens the Mankind's approaches and the good officials' efforts of the administration efforts to build labour peace on the soil of the farmer. Then there is a dictator’s determination to, at least, complicate The Mankind's efforts to destroy the anti-civilisation activities in its palace like stronghold, Zimbabwe. The culprits of the dictator are deeply opposed to The World Intellectual's alliance with the British farmers’ modern agriculture efforts in Zimbabwe against the primitive farming, thinking, sensing etcetera. Mr Mugabe rightly considers those out of day life or rather primitive life styles The British farmer don't approve to be inextricably linked to the power of dictatorship. More than any other issue, The World's Intellectuals' relationship with the dictator through the torture on The Rankin's Family while expelling old British farming family from its ancestral mansion has driven tension in the World Intellectual's spokesman-SOLZHENITSOF and the nice country-Zimbabwe ties. The officials of Mr. Mugabe do have a legitimate argument about the exiles, don't they? If yes the oppressors' ties to vandalism. Inasmuch as Mr. Mugabe's officials played an important role pushing The Humanists and Good Samaritans together when, in the summer of the ominous year The Parents of The Rankin Family, the government rejected Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF's entreaties to fight the horror together. Actually the spokesperson of Human Rights Defence over his new Collage Novel has sought to reassure the Zimbabwe's government that intellectual debate provided to the friends of Lady Anita and Philip Rankin will be strictly be being fed...


    TO BE CONTINUED...
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 09-25-2017 at 06:05 AM.

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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .........
    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)


    The officials’ oppression induced ties to the dictator are also propelling The Spokesperson’s namely Prof. Dr. MES SOLZHENITSOF's relations with The Literature Network and The World's Intellectuals. All symbolic friends of The Rankin Family, say the omnipotent, madam teacher, the youngster, Doc and the surrealistic waiters of one Iran have a common interest in suppressing the reactionary nihilism and depression of The Rankin Family's member viz. the parents, the others-including their son who has rescued the family's antic piano from being destructed barbarically. When it comes to the states, much has been made of British farmers' alleged-global- admiration of The Member states of The Common Wealth and the rise of so-called “help programme makers” within Zimbabwe’s intellectual corps who are anti-British and anti-European. Those factors may very well be part of the explanation, but The member Countries of The Common Wealth’s place as the powerbroker within the latent barbaric approaches in Africa occupied by the terror organisations like BOKO-HARAM Syria and the biased circles’ concerns over the modern farming pioneer like The Rankin Family gains there have compelled the spokesperson to apply to the non-biased authorities in an effort to secure the innocent farmers' interests in Zimbabwe. The final sources of tension are the venomous anti-British discourse that the Zimbabwean officials and media outlets representing the government have employed since the summer of 2015 and so forth as well as the treatment of the British farmers both inside and outside of Zimbabwe. Mr. Mugabe have long played on the reservoir of anti-British movement within the society of farmers to their political advantage, but the administration oversaw an unprecedented attack on the Rankin Family members after they have been exiled from their soils last. The government and government-friendly media engaged in blood-curdling rhetoric that placed blame for the British Existence... There are also at least a umpteen other farmer citizens of British stock in pre-trial detention in Zimbabwe. Of those, British consular officials in there have been denied access to some of them. The tyrant officials of Mr. Mugabe have also arrested some long-serving foreign service nationals who were the honest employees at the well civilized consulates in the capital city. With the exception of one British families, say The Rankin Family who was jailed before all the weird events, all are facing charges related to some made up crimes. In Zimbabwe today, “Crime” is a catch-all charge that can be used against old, peaceful families thereto British Farmers belonging their soils, honest heiress and heirs-morally super clean, trustful citizens who once was a partner of the administration in gaining progress and welfare and are now accused of masterminding imaginary crimes or supporters of the wicked people. None of those two are plausible, but there is also another possibility: the British being held in jail are bargaining chips to secure the exaltation of Mr. Mugabe and an end to the human rights violation cases against the dictatorial regime of the Zimbabwean officials named executioners. The latter issue is particularly important to Mr. Mugabe because his administration was instrumental in violations on the farmer citizens of British stock, and Mr. Mugabe is also believed to have knowledge of corruption at the highest levels of the Zimbabwean government. The abuse of British farmers in the country, which has compelled experts like the relatives and the friends of The Rankin Family Members to avoid visiting the country, has taken place alongside violence or threats of violence against British stock persons in the lands of the Common Wealth. Recently, all intellectual friends of The British Farmer in Zimbabwe might be teased by the officials of Mr. Mugabe of through security details expressed over an inverse apartheid were indicted for torturing peaceful souls outside the palace of the dictator for many years. This a repeat of the melee that Mr. Mugabe’s officials precipitated outside the houses like the mansion of The Rankin Family. In addition, those officials have sought to create a hostile environment for those who research and write about The British Farmer in Zimbabwe. The torture team of the officials Zimbabwe routinely sends staff to take video of public events representing the truth to discuss with the world's intellectuals. At times some spies of Mr. Dictator would accost me in, say in a hall by means of the occasions of national day receptions after an event at the centres of the city K...for International researchers because they did not like something that I would say. And-believe me-after exiting the reception hall of, say one of the most prestige induced hotels, they even might chased me down the street yelling at me. One of the Zimbabwean’s consuls-a certain consul general in K... used a clip of a nutty showing anti European attitudes and me laughing during an event and posted it over face-book claiming that we Europeans were laughing about the poor people umpteen in number who were killed during the wilderness all over the world. Given the political atmosphere in Zimbabwe, what that consul general did was nothing less than an incitement to violence, and that is all part of an effort to undermine the ability of scholars like, humbly me-Prof. Dr. MES SOLZHENITSOF to work on the subject as that of The Rankin Family! In the case of Rankin Family as the reader had carry on with this story SOLZH the spokesperson of some British Farmers oppressed by some ignoble officials of Zimbabwe felt that "It's is often prudent to approach differences with sovereign countries through private methods and offering more “honey than vinegar” in public. The records from the other British farmers and The Rankin Family SOLZH also indicates, however, that that remonstrating with Zimbabwean officials in private and publicly praising them has little, if any, effect on the policies that Mr. Mugabe pursues at home and abroad. There is, of course, no guarantee that the application of public pressure on the dictatorial regime affiliated officials will alter their behaviours for the better-instead the opposite may well occur-but it is a superior policy option than sanctioning Zimbabwean actions through silence. The political, economic, and diplomatic pressure that those cruel officials brought to bear on The Members of the Rankin Family after they had been expelled from their antic mansion The SOLZH' bomber over story writing in for many months if not years could be instructive. In time, Mr. Mugabe might have compelled to issue an apology and pursue a conciliatory approach to The British Farmer. SOLZH would not advocating a similarly thuggish approach through the world's intellectuals' powerful words to Zimbabwe, a long-standing member of the sovereign African countries, but rather offering a case in which Zimbabwe’s leader responded positively to public censure. Toward that end, there is an opportunity for the galaxy of the literature especially for TLN of ours, especially the horizon of the section where Prof. Dr. MES SOLZHENITSOF would go on writing, to make ZİMBABWE aware of The World’s displeasure with its democratic backsliding... Zimbabwean officials' treatment of The British Farmers, and a foreign policy that is at variance with the interests and goals of the Mankind. It can do this by instructing the Government Accountability Office to conduct a study of the value of the World's intellectuals-Zimbabwe relationship; requesting that the United Nations study the costs and modalities of leaving the rights of the Rankin Family like those similar to that innocent and victimized family publicly demanding that the aforesaid officials refrain from their ongoing efforts to politicize the non-biased judicial process. There are fears within the policy community that Mr. Mugabe's officials has become unmoored from the humanity. Those producers of the situational torts are warranted, but not entirely accurate. Zimbabwe is and will continue to be a member of the sovereign African countries, but it is not a partner in the African Democratic Alliance; Mr. Mugabe's regime is linked to democratic African countries through trade flows, investment, and financial institutions, but it does not desire to be part of the democratic Africans broadly defined by liberal norms, principles, and ideals. There is no doubt that large numbers of Zimbabweans are untroubled by this change. Mr. Mugabe who served as both high rank officials and the other people in charge of administration have written that humanist institutions are alien to predominantly dictatorial administration societies like Zimbabwe. There are also large numbers Zimbabweans who want to remain within the ambit of the democratic African states. Above both groups is Mr. Mugabe, who is determined to undo the institutions and values of the republic-itself never a democracy-and replace them with a racist (but not nationalist), and authoritarian political order. Whether Mr. Mugabe is successful or not, Zimbabwean politics and society have changed dramatically since the 2000s, as not has Democratic African politics and society, and consequently the United Nations must re-evaluate its relationship with Zimbabwe.............O Gosh...YEP: Zimbabwe... O Gosh....O Gosh Mr. Mugabe's Country...............O Gosh! The World's Intellectuals....... O God! Help! For backing-from the abstract minutes talking about international policies-to the time hard as one tried, and one found it difficult to keep up with the youngster, one was impeding the other two’s freedom of movement, and in ordinary circumstances this little detail wouldn't surely lead to failure, especially in the street circumscribing the mansion of The Rankin Family like the lanes opening to it one where one had sunk in the misty beams of the sun that midday, and where one was only able to get along now with the support of youngster. But one fended off such anxieties, and it cheered him that the youngster said nothing; if they went along in silence, perhaps the youngster too felt that just walking might be the point of their keeping company. And they were indeed not walking on neither standing still, but one didn’t know where they were going; one could make out nothing, and did not even know whether they had passed the café yet. The difficulty one had in simply imitating to walk meant that one could not command one's thoughts instead of remaining fixed on one's goal, they all became confused thoroughly because of the great family namely The Rankin's turned into a little nest-not being able to host the friends tending to debate The Phrase in exile. At that point the images of one's home kept coming back to one, and memories of it filled ones mind. ‘There’s something else I wanted to say to you,' said one speaking other twos' adding 'I’ll just point out that it’s a poor arrangement if I have to rely on your coming by chance when I need something from the debate induced dinner table. It couldn't be by chance that I’ve found you now so that what speed you make; I thought you must still be in the house but who knows how long I’d have had to wait for your next appearance.’ ‘You can ask everybody' reflected the taller one among the twos, and shouted, ' ask for instance the executive for me always to come at times of your choice,’ and saluted one. ‘That wouldn’t do either,’ said one ‘Perhaps I might go for as long as a year without wanting to be sent a note, and then there’d be something urgent only quarter of a minute after you’d left.’ ‘Well, in that case,’ said the other, ‘shall I tell the hostess and the host namely Lady Anita and Philip Rankin that there should be some other kind of link between them and you, not involving us?’ ‘No, absolutely not’ said one, ‘really not, I just mention the matter in passing. This time, fortunately, I was able to reach you.’ ‘Shall we go back to the café so that you can give me your new note if there any?’ asked the taller person of twos. He had already taken another step towards the building. ‘That’s not necessary, dear’ said one ‘I’ll walk part of the way with you.’ ‘Why don’t you want to go to the café?’ asked he. ‘The people there bother me,’ said one ‘You saw for yourself how non-importunate those debaters are at the table talking phrase.’ ‘We can go to your room,’ said the youngster who happened to appear suddenly. ‘It’s the voyagers’ room,’ said one, ‘not spin and spell always; I wanted to talk a little with you so as not to have to stay on the same subject. Let’s chat,’ added one to overwhelm the upheaval in their little but important society or rather big group, ‘and then you’ll explain everything more securely.’ And one took the arm of the youngster. There several homes, chapels-if not church-in the main squares of a city but the arable country-sides too, partly surrounded by an old hut belonging to the owners of some graveyards, orchards and the like which in turn was surrounded by some hills wherein all kind of observations would carry high capacity to scrutinize one and the two self imposed waiters of one's and the youngster having been added to them linking to no theme at all. Instead of the bare fact that only a few boys had ever climbed that hills, one wouldn't have so far failed to minimize the peril around them. To the highest probability it couldn't be curiosity that made them want to climb it while the farm of The Rankin Family, the graveyards etcetera had no secrets from them, and they haven't had to be seen as going often towards the peaks going stealthily through the little wrought-iron gates; it was just that they wanted to conquer that smooth, high wall of their souls of the intimate friends within the group of one. Then one half later they looked finicky the quiet, empty back garden of the house or rather the mansion of The Rankin Family was flooded with both sounds and non-misty light; when one had ever seen it like that before or since the event succeeded surprisingly and easily after some misty hours of the noon. One climbed the wall of the back garden at the first attempt, at a place where one had often failed to get any further before, with the important note clenched between one's teeth in a position or rather occlusion as if chewing it while little stones crumbled and rolled away below one as he reached the top. One rammed the note-after having been glued or rather UHUED on a football team flag into the wall, letting the flag having been flapping in the wind, one looked down and all around one, glancing back over his shoulder at the structures sunk in the ground. Here and now one was greater than anyone so by chance, madam teacher came by and, with an non-angry but astonished look, made one get down from the wall. One happened to ponder about the indispensible service of medics for as one jumped one hurt one's knee, and it was only with some difficulty that one got home, but still one had been on top of the wall, and the sense of victory seemed to one, at the time, something to cling to all one's life so that had not been entirely a foolish idea, for then, on this smoky midday many years later, it came to one's aid as one walked on, holding the taller-self imposed of course-waiter’s arm. One held that arm more firmly; and would be waiter or rather one of the waiting jokers was almost pulling one along, and they preserved an unbroken silence. All one knew about the way they were going was that, judging by the state of the road surface, they had turned into another side-alley inasmuch as one resolved not to be deterred from going on by any difficulty on the road, or indeed by anxiety about finding one's own way back; one's strength would surely hold out over the eternal question asking if this walk would go on forever, huh? By day the mansion of the Rankin Family had seemed a place to be reached by evil, and The Phrase Debaters from it was sure to know each way opening to its garden or the backyard. Then the waiter stopped. Where were they? Didn’t their path go any further? Was the waiter-if he is a waiter-going to say goodbye to one then? One would not succeed so one should hold him by the arm so tightly that it almost hurt one's own fingers repressing one's eternal question: "could the incredible have happened, and they were already in the place where they have aimed at or at the gates of the destination? But so far as one was aware they had not gone up any hill so one mumbled: 'had they been led along a way that climbed only imperceptibly on the contrary of the multitude of the observers one chose as the basic source of debacle?' one coughed, ‘Where are we?’ skilfully asking a strong question quietly, more to himself than his companion. The mansion of The Rankin Family' said youngster just as quietly, ‘Home, House or mansion? Take care now, sir, mind you don’t slip. This path goes downhill.’ Downhill? ‘It’s only a few steps,’ one alarmed, and the youngster was already knocking at a door. The old fiancé of the omnipotent opened it. They were standing in the doorway of a large room, which was almost swimming in the dusky atmosphere at noon, and yet only one tiny oil-lamp could be sufficient for lamination, if only somebody had already hung it over an armchair to the right or left at the back or before of the room. ‘Who’s this with you, our urchin young man?’ asked the mademoiselle. ‘One of the phrase debaters,’ he said. ‘The Phrase Debater, huh?’ repeated the mademoiselle in a louder voice, looking at the arm chair thereon on has happened to glance at. Two old people sitting there rose to their feet, a gentleman and a respectable, and so did another female young but with an old feature over her silhouette generally. They greeted one, and the youngster introduced them all to him: they were his neighbours suffering from the responsibility of parentry and his sisters Adelaide and Alexandra. One hardly looked at them, and yet they took his dry coat from him to over-dry it by the window, and one let them do as they liked. So they weren’t home, or rather only the youngster was. But why were they here? One took the young man aside and asked: ‘Why did you come here to your home? Or do you live in the local administration precincts?’ ‘In the municipality precincts?’ repeated the youngster, as if he didn’t understand one. ‘You youngster,’ said one, ‘you were leaving the café to go back to the mansion.’ ‘Oh no, my dear sir,’ said the young man, ‘I was going home, I don’t go up to the important places like the house or the mansion of The Rankin Family until morning. I never sleep in any room adjacent to that you have slept lastly.’ ‘I see,’ said one ‘You weren’t going to the mansion, only here.’ One felt that one's smile was wearier and one oneself more lightly significant. ‘Why didn’t you tell me so when we have given start to the short trip, yes trip, huh?’ ‘You didn’t ask, my dear sir,’ said the youngster. ‘You only wanted to give me another not, but not in the dining hall there at the Rankin's or in my room near there, so I thought you could give me the note here, at your leisure, at home with the parents they’ll all go away at once if you say and if you like it better here with us you could spend the night. Did I do wrong?’ One could not reply, maybe, because of the fact that it had been a misunderstanding, an ordinary misunderstanding, and one had swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. One had let oneself be captivated by the silken beams of the sun in a midday’s mist close-fitting or rather apt to wet one's jacket, which one to be considered not to be unbuttoned, revealing any silken, navy blue, non-mended shirt over a neatly broad chest like that of a blue collar’s. And everything around one was not only in harmony with this sight but went further: the well experienced old father who made his way forward, more with the help of his groping hands than his slow, stiff legs; the mother with her arms crossed over her breast, so robust that she too could take the biggest of steps towards the mansion. Both of them, the youngster's father and mother, had left their corner when one entered the room, moving towards one, and they were nowhere near one yet neither in the near nor in the far past. One after having gone back to the mansion of The Rankin Family then returned and sat down on a window-seat, determined to spend the night there and accept no further favours from the family. The newest debaters who sent one away or seemed to fear one struck one oneself as less dangerous, for basically they were rejecting only one's person while helping one to concentrate one's forces. Such apparent helpers as these, however, putting on a little masquerade so as to take him to the bosom of the youngster's social environment rather than the mansion, were distracting him whether or not they meant to, working to destroy one's powers. One ignored a call inviting one to the family table and stayed where one was, one's head bent as one's chin was to drill one's bosom. Then Adelaide, the non-gentler of the two sisters who showed the touch of girlish awkwardness, came over to one and again invited him to join them; 'there was loaf, tomato salad and bacon, she said, and she would go to fetch some coke. ‘Where from?’ asked one ‘Why, the café,’ she said. This was welcome news to one, and one asked her to accompany him to the café, where one said one had left some important work, instead of going to fetch coke. However, now it turned out that she didn’t intend to escort one as far as the café where one was staying, but to another and much closer one, the backyard of the Rankin Family's Mansion. All the same, one asked her to let one be her companion; perhaps, one thought, there might be a bed for me there. Whatever it was like, one would have preferred it to the best bed in this house. Adelaide did not reply at once, but looked at the table at which Alexandra. Her sister gentleman wants. This consent almost brought one to withdraw one's request; if that girl-one hasn't meant-agreed to it, the idea must be open to be discussed. And yet when they discussed the question of whether one would be allowed into the café, and everyone present doubted it, one insisted on going with Adelaide, although without taking the trouble to invent some reasonable pretext for one's request. Eventually this family must take him as he was, and it was a fact that one felt no sense of shame in front of them. He was slightly put off only by Alexandra with her grave, direct gaze. So that her expression was unimpressed, but perhaps a little stupid too. On the short walk to the café one had taken Adelaide’s arm and, despite oneself, found that she was pulling one along very much as her brother had done earlier, and one learned that this café was really meant only for the phrase debaters from the Mansion of The Rankin, who ate and sometimes even spent the night there when their phrase debate was ended. Adelaide spoke to one quietly and as if she knew him well. It was pleasant to walk with her, just as it had been pleasant with her brother but one fought against this sense of pleasure, but it was there, and outwardly, the café resembled the one where one was staying. There were probably no great outward differences in the whole region, but one noticed small ones at once: the front steps had a handrail, there was a attracting lantern over the door, and as they entered something fluttered overhead: a banner in the Zimbabwe’s colours. They were greeted at once in the front hall by the owner of the café, who was obviously on one's rounds keeping an eye on the place. One's inquisitive eyes, enquiring or sleepy, examined one in passing, and one said: ‘The owner’s not allowed anywhere but the bar.’ ‘Of course,’ said Adelaide, answering for one ‘He’s just keeping me company.’ The ungrateful one, however, let go of Adelaide’s arm and took the owner aside, while Adelaide waited patiently at the other end of the saloon. ‘I’d like to spend the night here,’ said one ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible,’ replied the owner of the café. ‘You don’t seem to know that this café is exclusively for the use of the homeless phrase debaters from the mansion.’ ‘Those may be the rules,’ said one, ‘but surely you can find me a corner to sleep in somewhere.’ Eventually there would no probability that could induce any frustration so ‘I’d be very glad to oblige you,’ said the café owner, ‘but even apart from the strict nature of the rules and because of you speak of them very much like an alien adding to it another reason why it’s impossible is that the gentlemen like you are extremely sensitive, and I am sure they couldn’t tolerate the sight of a stranger, or not without being prepared for it in advance. So if I were to let you spend the night here, and by some chance while all chance is always on the gentlemen’s side including that of yours you were discovered, not only would I be finished by Zimbabwean authorities but so would you. It may sound ridiculous, but it’s the truth, yes truth, only truth.’ This tall man, his specially chosen for the sake of harmony with his mission-from the point of its blue greyish coat tightly buttoned up, and his posture obliging one hand leaning on the wall, the other on his chest, his legs not crossed-bending down to one slightly and speaking to him in a familiar tone, hardly seemed to be one of the people from the near vicinity, even if his semi dark clothes looked no better than a local farmer’s Sunday best. ‘I believe every word you say,’ said one, ‘and I don’t underestimate the importance of the rules, even if I may have expressed myself clumsily. Let me just point my obligatory explain: I have valuable connections in this neighbourhood, and shall have some that are even more valuable, and they will secure you against any risk you might incur because of my staying here, and guarantee that I’m in a position to render all due thanks for a small favour.’ ‘I know that,’ said the café owner, and he repeated it. ‘Yes, I know that.’ At this point one might have put his request more forcefully, but the man’s answer took one's mind off it, so one asked only: ‘Are there many phrase debating personage from the phrase debating staying here tonight?’ ‘As far as that goes, this is an auspicious occasion,’ said the café keeper, almost as if tempting him. ‘We have just one of the authorities staying here.’ One still felt one couldn’t press that man, but one hoped one was almost accepted, so he asked the name of Mugabe's official to stay there. ‘The Phrase Debater’ said the café keeper casually, as he turned to look for his cat, who came hurrying up exhibiting its curiously shabby smoky or rather yellowish or even vice versa , old fashioned, but fine frivolous behaviours peculiar to pets, laden with non-attentive eyes and pawn induced gestures. The owner's wife had come too to fetch the celebrity debater, saying the VIP wanted something. But before the café keeper left he turned to one again, as if not he himself but one must now decide whether spending the night there should be considered again. However, one could say nothing; in particular, one was surprised to discover that one's own superior-in the way of debating the phrase-was staying here, and without being able to explain it entirely to oneself, one didn’t feel one could be as free with the chief debater carrying affinity-somehow- as with the Zimbabwean 'one man' and his place than to the mansion of The Rankin Family as a whole. Being found here by him would not have deterred one in the way that the landlord meant, but it would have been an embarrassing impropriety, rather as if one were thoughtlessly planning to upset someone to whom one owed gratitude. One was not to be sorry naturally, however, to see that such thoughts obviously showed how one feared the consequences of being regarded as an inferior, a common Zimbabwean intellectual not a debater, and how one couldn’t dismiss one's fears even here, where they showed so clearly while one stood where one was, biting his lip and saying nothing at all as it was before. Once, before the café keeper disappeared through a doorway, he looked back at one, and one looked at him, and did not move from the spot until Adelaide came and led him away. ‘What did you want to ask the café keeper?’ asked Adelaide. ‘I wanted to spend the night here,’ said one. ‘But you are spending the night with us,’ said Adelaide in surprise. ‘Yes, of course,’ said one, leaving her to take that whatever way she liked. In the bank full of coke bottles or rather coke cans, a large room entirely empty in the middle, the people from the near abiding places were sitting around the walls, near and on casks, but they looked different from the local farms in one’s own house. They were more neatly dressed, all of them wearing clothes of the same coarse greyish yellow fabric, their coats flared out, their trousers well ironed or rather fitted closely. They were non-VIP persons, very like each other at first sight, with flat, bony, and yet round-cheeked faces, and they were all quiet and hardly moved, only their eyes followed the new arrivals in the room, but slowly and with an expression of indifference. Nevertheless, they made a certain impression on one, perhaps because there were so many of them and it was so quiet. One took Adelaide’s arm again, by way of explaining one's presence here to these people one of which in one corner, evidently an acquaintance of Adelaide’s, rose to his feet and was going to approach them, but one, who was arm in arm with her, turned her away in a different direction. No one but Adelaide herself could have noticed, and she allowed it with a smiling sideways glance at him. The coke glasses were being poured by a young woman called X. She was a small blonde, rather insignificant, with the exuberant lines of the face and thin cheeks, but with a surprising expression of conscious superiority in her eyes. When they fell on someone it would have seemed to him that they had already discovered things about someone of which someone knew nothing, although that gaze convinced someone that they existed so that one kept on looking sideways at Adelaide, and still did so as another woman spoke to Adelaide although they did not seem to be great friends; they exchanged only a few cool words. One decided to help the conversation along, so one asked suddenly: ‘Do you know Mr. Mugabe’ and the other woman laughed out loud. ‘Why do you laugh?’ asked one, rather annoyed. ‘I’m not laughing,’ she said, but she still laughed all the same. ‘Adelaide is a very childish girl,’ said one, leaning over the desk or maybe desk counter to make the other woman look at him again. But she also kept her eyes lowered, and said quietly: ‘Would you like to see Mr. Mugabe?’ One said he would, and she pointed to a door on both their left and right. And she added ‘Is he everywhere? YEP! There’s a little peephole there; you can look through that.’ ‘And what about these people?’ asked one. One pouted, thrusting out one's lower lip, and not have the desired effect, for one revolted: ‘No, but isn’t it enough that I’m here in a place to have a glass of coke?’ The other woman obviously had a raging thirst for praise, and she seemed to want to slake it on one ‘To be sure,’ said one, ‘here in this place you’re doing the café keeper’s work for him.’ ‘So I am,’ she said, ‘and I began as a dairymaid at the café’ ‘With those soft hands,’ said one, half questioning, and not sure oneself whether one was merely flattering her or she had really made a conquest of one. ‘No one ever noticed them at the time,’ the other woman said, ‘and even now everything would be as it should be!’ At that time he decided to write a letter to Mr. Mugabe to be sent by the care of the café owner, and he speedily finished the letter in an overtly crying style that couldn't be mysteriously escaped the attention of Zimbabwean officials and might cast the unrepentant dictator who took the human rights into the flames after having set the mansion or rather the intellectually designed nest for debating the phrase around a debate induced dinner table at the Rankin's in a whole new light. Ever the café owner would seem as an Ottoman Pasha, along with the self imposed waiters of one, one should be one of the makers of the modern struggle against the oppressors transgressing the field of global human rights. Unlike the others used to ignore humanism as a whole, one would not fade out. On remembered that one was born at a village in Zimbabwe in 1950s, having remembered all these details after an extraordinary career-The Phrase Debater, aged 50s. He became the defendant of the human rights in Zimbabwe, saved some of the wreckage of the dictatorial regime, then taken some new debaters into the 'Phrase Debate' at the Rankin family's side. Mr. Mugabe's racist effort was astonishing-a story of tremendous resilience, exemplified by the 'listening to music and debating the phrase' campaign, which made the reputation of one. In the first decade of the quarter of the 21st Century, with the evolution of Russian Romantic Novelist-Prof. MES SOLZHENITSOF, one appeared even to have won, when the administration of allowed the Rankin's Family to own their farm or rather the souvenir of the farmer ancestors. But for the time being, when democracy totally collapsed in Zimbabwe the Rankin Family Members were forced to surrender as wicked people, and their closest colleagues left The Mansion of The Rankin's Family on foot and in this exile adventure one's story ended up in a café (after a time free journey). One kept telling the youngster and his parents alongside his sisters had had an Zimbabwean appointment in the Palace of Mr. Mugabe against the human rights violation that they could collaborate with the east and west Europeans, and one eventually would have reached Kurdistan after this story almost had deserved the lines of SOLZH! One couldn't give his consent in order to sooth the rancor of an relentless administration as a vanquished hero who should leave his broken bands, and even should show his miseries in distant points from the mansion of the hostess and the host namely Lady Anita and Mr. Philip who had given the debaters the chance to take their places at the intellectual affairs induce dinner table; condemned a needy supplicant to wait after one's phrase debating group fall was destined to a barren strand or rather-in the language of poetry-near to a petty fortress and a dubious hand so that one left one's name, at which the world after democracy, humanism and peace grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale the ladies who interposed were Adelaide and Alexandra of the vicinity of the café and the old farm of The Rankin's Family. The United Nations were trying to raise the humanism against the dictators, and staged a conference in somewhere near to ERBIL in September 2017, where the great state pillars harangued the various delegates in the neighborhood. Was the youngster the nephew-in-law of café keeper was there as representative of the farmers. But the relentless officials of Mr. Mugabe preferred to deal with The Rankin Family's members in the region where the old farm of The Rankin Family was taking place, who refused to surrender. The two men called themselves the old waiters of one had known each other of the best, as young cruel officials conspiring in that country to overthrow the modern agriculture in Zimbabwe led by The Rankin Family and their colleagues debating intellectually eternal subject-The Phrase at the dinner table in evenings, and then as colleagues in the café then before a while, when they were sent to organize pacifist resistance to the administrative oppression over the farmers as the debating intellectuals from the mansion. One, acting with great caution, did not want involvement in the tort in or around the Zimbabwean cafés, let alone, revolting adventures. And yet the café keeper did not so that there should be some resemblance betwixt that man and one. He took up the anti-European cause, failed to enlist one, and lost his mission abruptly in this vicinity if not village, farming tobacco. The café keeper's-lastly spent-hours have recently might been easily chronicled by one in one's one day itinerary, a book that would be solidly based on one's scrambled within vague scribbles-frankly recorded-on little papers. There was only one woman-Adelaide involved in one's life-maybe-niece of the café keeper. Their notes exchanged over the self imposed task of those-would be-waiters were moving. It might even be to the big exclamation of one she ran out of money at home, joined one in café, where the other sister of the youngster was conceived-whom she ever saw before a while-who might have wanted to join them in the café before she died much later out of the Mr. Mugabe's country. Could one's study have been superbly chronicled within one day chronicles in the history of one as the debater then lone? A man from Kenya or so had given in three-volume account a generation ago, and there have been good Zimbabwean accounts of his relations with the cruel officials. But both of my-self imposed -waiters' account of the last years will never be bettered. There is, however, one document missing. On the last night of his life, the omnipotent wrote a letter to Doc It was enclosed in the pocket Bible found on his body. It went through the X INT, the Zimbabwean secret police, who translated it into Swahili, but it was misplaced in the enormous archive, and has only recently been discovered The Swahili original has been lost, but the letter's opening has been kept--in transliteration from the Arabic saying "I salute your with respect and always pray for your success, my dear." It continues: "I know that this is my one of the ordinary nights on Earth. Tomorrow I will face the Human Rights Agency Representatives, I have only fifty dossiers left, and I have written on them that they can enlighten the deep humanitarian sensations of ours. It is the end. News from The Mansion of The Rankin Family tells me that you are preparing a great feast of 'Phrase Debate', and I have no doubt that you will approach more to the truth. You will capture everywhere , and even Constantinople. You have done brilliantly using the other dictators two years ago, to gain weapons and money, defeating the human rights defenders and then the French culture induced well civilized African countries, and, last year concentrating successfully against the Good Samaritans. If news of your victories ran all around the world: will you have made a new Zimbabwe. Of course not! You will now drive out all of us, and when you have defeated them, the world intellectuals will give in, huh? At least part of British Farmers' lands will be confiscated--not the Greater Zimbabwe that the world's intellectuals wanted, huh? And yet at least not the quaint little one man administration which the international amnesty would have reduced us to. "At this moment, we want to have you to make a confession. When we conspired together against humanism, and when we sat together at the agenda of the world's intellectuals in the Africa, we talked about a new era of oppression in Africa, no longer a corrupted imperial relic. In the first decades of the 21st century Mr. Mugabe's officials led a non-justice coup, radically remade the army, and retook the farms of the British farmers; end we were stuck as regards foreign obligations. So The Rankin Family's farm and house were confiscated. The friends were able to forbid us to build a new Iron Curtain, and, with the proposals for reform of the arable lands, they were building (and arming) an equivalent of the hardest independent dictatorial administration that no humanist organization controlled. We lost to the humans and to the Global Good Samaritans. We took up a inhuman alliance and then went to war with the rate in plundering at the officials' side. We knew that you opposed this, and also that you were right. We must explain why we acted as we did. If we had done the obvious thing, and remained humanist and democrat, perhaps even declaring war on The Europeans recently!" Nonetheless nothing in the domination universe of the ruthless officials would have changed towards the phenomenon of the democratic world. It would have been like the aftermath of the Cold War: a victory belonging to the mankind in appearance, leaving the world's intellectuals bankrupt in gaining democracy for everybody. Mr. Mugabe would have gone through ridiculous ceremonials, several crimes committed by his relentless officials and all, brandishing the sword of a dictator that had no significance in order to control African farmers of doubtful allegiance. War-betwixt the radical Islamic terror and the governments-in the Africa would have gone on and on so that the capitulations would have prevented Zimbabwean from developing their own economy, The vast mass of the population would have remained unconscious of national identity, suffering from poverty and illiteracy. And yet the officials of Mugabe would have counted in Western eyes, as a sort of failed empire. Everybody knew that they would lose. But in the short run, they should be able to get rid of oppressions; and in the longer term, they would have a new Zimbabwe, one that the world would respect. The key was to get rid of the oppressors. The world intellectuals could not be assumed sitting at the campfire in the moors of the urban areas of the world, used to curse the dictators' bad officials only, their unreliability, backwardness, hopeless parochialism and vanity. When the African Civilization would be a world power, its centre should be The Continent of America one: for African were the successor of civilization, and the greatest mistake was Mr. Mugabe taking over The Mansion of The Rankin Family and the like. That distorted the characters of the Mr. Mugabe's officials, because somebody's took over an ungovernable place! The it must be reminded of the action over which the people used scripts as the note full of musical notes in which only a few hundred debaters reading the notes whereof they were literate, and had to use improved European tongues to communicate with the modern world. The Rankin Family like the other British stock farmers had relied on civilization in Zimbabwe and the other African families to knit their farmers' association and their other organizations together, had built the literature way to the circles of the defenders of human rights-really, to convey the news fighting against the dictatorial administration in Zimbabwe and to stop Mr. Mugabe's bandit officials from robbing honest farmers-but those officials were millstone round their necks-oppressors, stupid racism, and all that. The Mankind talked in the world during the world wars about this, and again in Zimbabwe and there could be no doubt that they had to create a new civilization there, and humans agreed that we would have to make those officials of Mr. Mugabe just. Everybody have noticed that Mr. Mugabe's officials took the first steps in this, simplifying the script induced notes full of musical notes and philosophical considerations for 'Phrase Debating' purposes, and one might go further and just get rid of anti-intellectual approaches altogether: that way The Zimbabwean shall have a-literally-intellectual population. And yet one should ask, "But how do get rid of the good British stock farmers while there was an Zimbabwean nationalist movement, which consisted of fantasists whom Mr. Mugabe could not easily control. Adding to it there were opportunistic official oppressors, who looked with interest at both the British stock related and native farmers who supposed that they could control new tortures in Zimbabwe and the neighboring countries. The brutally behaving officials of Mr. Mugabe had in effect already taken in the country and especially the farms therein agricultural improvements having been made by the British farmers, weren't they making already. Everybody knew, in the last two years, that the best thing that could happen to Zimbabwe was for them to go on into the actual quagmire, and for us to be thrown back to the African heartland. That, in 2017, is what has come about. The intellectuals of the world will at last have a chance to be again what all humanists were four centuries ago, though in a different form-a sort of apartheid that work. Eventually after some minutes assigned to the letter one looked enquiringly at Adelaide, but she shook her head and would say no more. ‘Of course you have your secrets,’ said one, ‘and you won’t discuss them with someone you’ve known for only half an hour, and who has had no chance to tell you anything about himself yet.’ But that, it turned out, was the wrong thing to say; it was as if one had woken one of the children from a slumber in which all children liked to get, for the little boy-yes he was a boy-took a small piece of wood out of the leather bag that hung from the belt of his mother, stopped up the peephole with it, and said to one, visibly forcing himself not to let one see how his mood had changed: ‘As for you, I know everything about you. You are the one of the phrase debater having haunted the dinner table at the Rankin's.’ And he added: ‘But now I must get on with my work,’ and went back behind the counter, while now and then one of the men here rose to have his empty glass refilled by his mom or dad. One wanted another quiet word with him, so he took an empty glass from a stand and went over to his mother. ‘One more thing, Madam café Keeper’ one said, ‘it’s extraordinary, and takes great strength of mind, to work your way up from dairymaid to barmaid, but is that the height of ambition for a person like you? No, what a silly question. Your eyes, one minute grant me lady please only one minute and don’t laugh at me, Madam Café Keeper, speak not so much of past struggles as of struggles yet to come. But there are great obstacles to hinder The Phrase Debate in the world, they become greater the greater our goals, and there’s nothing to be exhausted of in making sure you have the help of a man who may be small...




    TO BE CONTINUED...
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 10-08-2017 at 08:43 AM.

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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
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    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)
    Small and non-influential, but is none the less ready to fight for the human rights or rather to fight against the actions violating human rights. Perhaps one could talk quietly some time, without so many eyes watching them. One moulded that speculation of one's own in the shape of a mild proposal, and yet Adelaide opposed, half saying something half asking nothing ‘I don’t know what you’re after,’ and added, but this time, against her will, her tone of voice spoke not of the triumphs of her life but of its endless disappointments. ‘Are you by any chance trying to take me away from my parents? Good heavens!’ And she struck her hands together. ‘You see right through me,’ said one, as if worn out by such distrust. ‘Yes, I secretly intended to do that very thing. I wanted you to leave your household, you know, totally your house and become my girl friend instead. Well, now I can go. Adelaide!’ cried one, ‘We’re going home.’ Adelaide obediently slid down from the cask, but she couldn’t get away at once from the crowd around her, as they surrounded her. Now a certain mademoiselle X said quietly, with a dark glance at one : ‘When can I speak to you?’ ‘Can I stay the night here to consume the tins of coke one after another?’ asked one. ‘Yes,’ said she. ‘Can I stay here now?’ ‘You’d better go out with Adelaide so that I can get the people here to leave. Then you can come back in a little while.’ ‘Very well then,’ said one, and waited impatiently for Adelaide. But the people there weren’t letting her go; they had invented a show-like those made by American showmen- with Adelaide at its centre. They kicked the floor before they began to sing a song in a circle, and whenever they all uttered a shout in unison one of them went up to her, put one hand firmly around her waist, and whirled her about several times. The hyperactivity there within the weird-if not ominous-circle became faster and faster, the raucous, avid shouting gradually merged into what was almost a single cry. Olga, who had tried to break through the circle earlier, smiling, was now staggering from one man to another, with sullen face. ‘The ultra effective kind of people they send me here!’ said mademoiselle X., biting her thin lips in annoyance. ‘Who are they?’ asked one. ‘The officials of the Mr. Mugabe’s servants,’ said somebody. Eventually the relentless decrees of Mr. Mugabe's administration always brings them with The Rankin Family and the like whose presence upsets the oppressors, and the Phrase Debaters would know everything related to the issue... Is it true that the debaters hardly know what they would be discussing with each other just then, say one, and if there was anything wrong in The Phrase Debate induced dinners and intellectual discussions shared worldwide so that one must not forgive the Zimbabwe's administration. NOP! On the contrary one blamed the merciless officials of Mr. Mugabe on the company there, inasmuch as one added 'they are the most contemptible and repulsive people I know, and here am I, obliged to fill up their beer glasses. How often I’ve asked-through my statements-to leave cruelty behind! I have to put up with the official’s servants too so one-I might think of me for once, but whatever I say it’s no use, an hour before Adelaide and I arrive they come barging in like wide hordes into the battlefield . And now everybody really must go to the points where they belong since if you weren’t here I’d open that door and the officials themselves would have to drive them out.’ ‘Doesn’t none of them hear those servants, then?’ asked one ‘No,’ said mademoiselle X. ‘They all are asleep.’ ‘What!’ cried one, ‘Asleep? When I looked into the room none was sleeping and they all are sitting at the desk.’ ‘They are still sitting there like that,’ said mademoiselle X. ‘They were already asleep when you saw them would I have let you look in otherwise? That’s the position they sleep in, since the servant gentlemen sleep a great deal, it’s hard to understand. Then again, if he didn’t sleep so much, how could anyone stand those people? Well, I’ll have to chase them out myself.’ And picking up a shawl from the corner, she took a single awkward leap high into the air, rather like a lamb gambolling, and made for the dancers. At first they turned to her as if she were a new soloist demanding to be with them or rather joining them, and indeed, for a moment it looked as if mademoiselle X. would drop the shawl, but then she raised it again. ‘In the name of Mr. Mugabe’ she cried, ‘out into the street, all of you, out into the street that is only a lonely lane.’ Now they saw that she was serious, and in a kind of terror they pushed each other away to escape as soon as it's possible! Actually after the unexpected event that one couldn’t understand, they began crowding away to the back of the hall. If a huge gate were pushed open by the first-amongst the crowd consisting of even one-to get there, early afternoon air would have blew in, and they all would have disappeared with Adelaide, who was obviously driving them across the yard to the street or the lane. And yet, in a sudden silence one heard footsteps in the corridor. For the sake of one's own safety one went round behind the counter thereon the coke service was to be rendered quickly. This place, all in all, the only possible place to hide was underneath it, one had not, to be sure, been forbidden to stay in the coke service desk, but as one was planning to spend the night there one didn’t want to be seen now. So when the door really was opened, one got under the counter or rather the coke service desk. Of course there was a danger of being discovered there too, but one could always say one had hidden from the boisterous servants, which was a not improbable excuse. It was the café keeper who came in. ‘Adelaide!’ one called, pacing up and down the room several times. Luckily Adelaide soon came back and did not mention one, and yet just complained of the common people here, and went round behind the counter induced platform in her attempt to find one, who managed to touch her knee. Now one felt sure of oneself. Since Adelaide did not mention one, in the end the café keeper had to. ‘So where’s the person called himself "one?" for the sake of Gosh’ he asked. In fact he was a courteous man, whose manners had benefited by constant and relatively free intercourse with those of much higher rank than himself, but he spoke to Adelaide with particular respect, which was all the more noticeable because during their conversation he was still very much an employer talking to a member of his staff, and a very impertinent one at that. ‘I’d quite forgotten the land surveyor,’ said Adelaide, planting her small foot over one’s umbilical part of one's abdomen. ‘He must have left long ago.’ ‘But I never saw him,’ said the landlord, ‘and I was out in the front hall almost all the time.’ ‘Well, he isn’t here,’ said Adelaide coolly, pressing her foot down harder over the muscles of related part of one's body. Instead of the tort induced situation there was something cheerful and easygoing in her demeanour which one hadn’t noticed at all before, and now, improbably, it gained the upper hand as Adelaide suddenly bent down to one, smiling and saying: ‘Maybe he’s hidden down here.’ She quickly kissed one and then popped up again, saying regretfully: ‘No, he isn’t here.’ The café keeper too sprang a surprise by saying: ‘I don’t like it at all, I wish I knew for certain whether he’s gone for it’s not just because of the certain Mr VIP , it’s because of the rules but the rules apply to you, Miss Adelaide, just as they do to me. You stay here behind the desk serving coke, I’ll search the rest of the café. Good afternoon, and not sleep or rather a long siesta well!’ He had hardly left the room when Adelaide close the door and joined one under the desk. ‘My darling! My sweet darling!’ she whispered, but she did not touch one while she lay on her back as if swooning with desire, and spread her arms wide so that one should think that time must have seemed endless to Adelaide in her amorous bliss, and she sighed rather than sang a little song of some kind. Then one of the twos she took alarm, for one remained quiet, lost in thought, and Adelaide began tugging at him like a kid or even a kid lost in the African forests-no available at all-. ‘Come on, I’m stifling down here.’ They embraced one another, her fat free and yet soft body burned in one’s hands, they rolled, in a semi-conscious state from which one tried at the highest speed but unsuccessfully to surface, a little way on, bumped into the VIP’s door with a hollow thud, then lay there in the puddles of coke cans and the rubbish covering the floor as if having been assured that it could pass as they lay there, hours while they breathed together and their hearts beat in unison, in the time elapsed in which one kept feeling that one had lost himself, or was further away in a strange land than anyone had ever been before, a distant country where even the atmosphere was unlike that at home, where you were likely to stifle in the strangeness of it, yet such were its senseless lures that everybody could only go on, losing the straight way even more. Eventually such happenings might not create always a shock to the people that would happen to run into them, at least at first, but a cheering sign of dawn when a voice from the VIP’s room called for Adelaide in a deep, commanding, but indifferent tone. ‘Adelaide’ said one in her ear, alerting her to the summons. In what seemed like instinctive obedience so that she was about to jump up, but then she remembered where she was, stretched, laughed quietly, and said: ‘I won’t go, I’m never going back to the situation of the era before I have get acquaintance with you!’ One was about to argue and urge her to produce a reply that could accommodate to the tone within the sound hertz of the call, and one began to look for what remained of her shoes, but one couldn’t get the words out, one was too happy to have Adelaide in one's hands, happy but fearful too, for it seemed to one that if she left him one would lose all one possessed. And as if one’s consent had given her strength, Adelaide clenched her fist, knocked on the door with it, and called: ‘I’m with the "Phrase Debater" sire! I’m with that respectful one!’ At this the VIP fell silent. But one got up, knelt down beside Adelaide, and looked around one in the dim light that comes before the misty air full of sunshine. What had happened? Where were one's hopes? What could one expect of Adelaide now that all was revealed? Instead of making very cautious progress, with his rival’s stature and the greatness of his own goal in mind, one had spent a whole midday here rolling about in puddles of coke cans of which smell of the sugary cola dazed one. ‘What have you done?’ one asked quietly, ‘Were we both lost.’ Adelaide answered one abruptly, 'NOP! I’m the one who’s lost, but I’ve gained you. Please calm down, see how those the others are laughing.’ ‘Who?’ asked one, and turned. On the desk or counter sat one's two self imposed waiters, looking as if they hadn’t slept well but were still cheerful inasmuch as one burst, 'It was the cheerfulness that comes from doing your duty punctiliously but what do you want here?’ They cried without saying anything to one, as if they were to blame for everything, and one looked round for the stick that Adelaide had used before a while. The self imposed waiters reacted, ‘We had to go looking for you,’ and lowered their voices' frequency ‘and since you didn’t come back to us at the house of Adelaide's parents we tried that of youngster’s-that to our silly astonishment they are the same thing-house and finally found you here. We’ve been sitting here all noon. Being your waiters isn’t an easy job.’ One nodded, ‘I need you by night, not by noon,’ and ordered ‘Go away!’ ‘It’s not the day nor the night for mist-or even twilight-is availing now,’ they said, and stayed put. In fact it really was midday so that the doors into the yard were opened and the servants came pouring in with Adelaide, whom one had quite forgotten. Adelaide was as lively as she had been last week, untidy as her hair and clothes were, and even in the doorway her eyes sought one ‘Why didn’t you take me home?’ Adelaide asked, almost in tears. ‘For the sake of a woman like that!’ she answered herself, repeating it several times. Adelaide, who had disappeared for a moment, came back with a small bundle of clothes, and she stepped sadly aside. ‘We can go now,’ said she, and it was obvious that she meant they should go back to the home. As a matter of fact they formed a little procession, one leading the way with Adelaide and the self imposed waiters following. One’s servants showed evidence of great dislike for Adelaide, understandably, since she had been so stern and domineering with them earlier. One even took his stick and acted as if he wasn’t going to let the waiters pass unless those types jumped over it, but a glance from the side of theirs was enough to deter one. Out in the misty atmosphere, one breathed a sigh of relief, and the pleasure of being out of doors was so great that it made the difficulty of the path tolerable this time, and if one had been alone it would have been even better. On reaching another place beside the café one went straight to one's room-room? What room really?-and lay down on the bed-what?-Adelaide made herself a bed on the floor beside it, and the waiters, who had come in with them, were turned out, but then they came back through the chimney as detectives used to do. One was too tired to send them away again, and yet another place keeper came up specially to welcome Adelaide, who called her ‘dear little monster’, and their meeting was a bafflingly warm affair, adding to it-from the point of one-with much kissing and hugging. So that there was certainly little peace and quiet in the small room, and some maids often came trudging in, wearing soldiers’ boots, to fetch or remove something. If they needed some item of theirs from the bed, which was stuffed full of all sorts of things, they unceremoniously pulled it out from under one. They spoke to Adelaide as one of themselves. In spite of all this bustle, one stayed in bed instead of the broad day light pouring from the little windows. Adelaide did one various small services. When one finally got up the next moment, feeling very much refreshed, it was already the fourth hour since one had arrived in the vicinity not far from the Mansion of The Rankin Family.In the bed or rather under the quilt-wrapped by the broad daylight-one saw-or to the highest possibility he dreamt the same things-that actually that place is a large room entirely empty in the middle, and several people were sitting around the walls, near and on casks, but they looked different from the local farmers in the neighbourhood where one's own house. They were more neatly dressed, and yet apparently all of them wearing not the clothes of the same coarse fabric, on the contrary their jackets flared out differently, their trousers fitted too much closely. They were at that time not small men, and yet they should all be semi-VIP, and very like each other at first sight, with the same elements: flat, bony, and yet round-cheeked in another saying rosy faces. They were all quiet and hardly moved, only their eyes followed the new arrivals in the room, but slowly and with an expression of indifference. All the same, they made a certain impression on one, perhaps because there were so many of them and it was so quiet. Repeatedly one took Adelaide’s arm again, by way of explaining one's presence here to those persons. One of them-as it would be expected-in one corner, evidently-as it would be assumed strongly-an acquaintance of Adelaide’s, rose to his feet and was going to approach them, but one- did the same thing as he had done before-who was arm in arm with her, turned her away in a different direction. No one but Adelaide herself could have noticed, and she allowed it with a smiling sideways glance at one. The beer was poured by a young woman called another Mademoiselle X. She was too a fit-body, blonde, rather insignificant, with a sad face and thin cheeks, but with a surprising expression of conscious superiority in her eyes. When they fell on one it seemed to him that they had already discovered things about him of which one knew nothing, although that gaze convinced one that they existed. Eventually one kept on looking sideways at that another mademoiselle X., and still did so as she spoke to Adelaide. Adelaide and the 'Another Mademoiselle X." did not seem to be great friends; they exchanged only a few cool words so one decided to help the conversation along, so one asked suddenly: ‘Do you know Mr. Mugabe?’ Adelaide laughed out loud. ‘Why do you make fun of me?’ asked one, rather annoyed. ‘I’m not jeer’ she said, but she still laughed all the same. ‘Adelaide is a very childish girl,’ said one, leaning over to another corner to make the 'Another Mademoiselle X. look at him again. But she kept her yes lowered, and said quietly: ‘Would you like to see Mr. Mugabe?’ One said one would, and she pointed to a door on her left. ‘There’s a little peep hole there; you can look through that.’ One revolted 'we are living the same comedy repeating the replicas again and again ‘And what about these people?’ asked one, and yet she pouted, thrusting out her lower lip, and led one over to the door with a hand that was very soft. Through the small hole, which had obviously been made in it for purposes of observation, one could see almost the whole of the next room. Mr. Mugabe-naturally-not was sitting at any desk in any corner or in the middle of the room, but a tom cat was taking a nap in a comfortable round armchair, brightly illuminated by an electric light-bulb hanging in front of it. It was a stout, even-even it might be strange to say this-a ponderous cat of excessive weight. Ones face was still smooth before the over fed pet, but one's muscle or rather soft tissue of one's cheeks carried on with drooping slightly with the weight of advancing experiences if not age. The tomcat had a long, brown moustache, and looking as if it had a pair of pince-nez, set on its bumped nose at a flat angle and reflecting the light, and its general lines of instant-sleepy-feature covered his eyes. If Mr. or Mrs Cat had been lying at the armchair one would have seen only its profile, but as one was turning away from the instant aspect one saw it's full-face. Actually it was resting on its pawns upon its abdomen, and its right angular corner of its mouth, holding a semi-smile, lay on its whole body. A milk plate stood on the little apparatus seemingly produced for this special purpose; as the apparatus had a raised rim one couldn’t see if there were papers of any kind on it, but one rather thought it was empty. To make sure, one asked Adelaide to look through the hole and tell one her impressions however, she had been in that room herself only a little while ago, so she could assure one without more ado that there were-no doubt-no papers there. One asked Adelaide if one had to leave the peephole now, but Adelaide said one could look through it as long as one liked. Now one was alone with the 'another mademoiselle X.', for Adelaide, as he soon saw, had made her way over to her acquaintance and was perched on a cask, swinging her feet in the air tuning a musical air whistling semi-silently. ‘Mademoiselle X.’ said one in a whisper, ‘do you know Mr. Mugabe very well?’ ‘Oh yes,’ one said. ‘Very well’ and she leaned close to one, and playfully adjusted her crimson coloured blouse, which, as one only now saw, was cut rather low at the neck; it was a neckline which didn’t quite suit her meagre or rather mannequin like body. Then the "another mademoiselle X." said: ‘Don’t you remember how Adelaide laughed?’ ‘Yes she laughed, and yet she’s not ill-mannered,’ said one, ‘Well,’ she said soothingly, ‘there really was something to laugh about. You were asking if I knew Mr. Mugabe, and as it happens I am’, then she instinctively stood a little straighter, and one once again felt the force of her triumphant expression, which did not seem to connect at all with what she was saying, and added ‘as it happens I am his fan or rather follower.’ ‘Mr. Mugabe’s follower,’ one exhibited one's appal as one nodded. ‘Then,’ said one, smiling, so as to keep their talk from getting too serious, ‘as far as I am concerned you are someone worthy of respect.’ ‘And not just as far as you’re concerned,’ said the 'another mademoiselle in friendly tones, but without responding to one's smile. However, one had an effective apparatus to use against her pride, and one brought it to bear by saying: ‘And have you ever been in the capital city?’ But that did not have the desired effect, for she replied: ‘No, but isn’t it enough that I’m here in at the desk of the café?’ The 'another mademoiselle X. obviously had a raging thirst for praise, and she seemed to want to slake it on one thereupon ‘To be sure,’ said one, ‘here in at the desk you’re doing the Mr. Mugabe’s work for him.’ ‘So I am,’ she said, ‘and I began as a dairymaid at the café ‘With those soft hands,’ said one, half questioning, and not sure oneself whether one was merely flattering her or she had really made a conquest of one inasmuch as she said ‘No one ever noticed them at the time,’ and added ‘and even now...’ One looked enquiringly at her, but she shook her head and would say no more. ‘Of course you have your secrets,’ said one, ‘and you won’t discuss them with someone you’ve known before a while, and who has had no chance to tell you anything about oneself yet.’ But that, it turned out, was the wrong thing to say; it was as if one had woken Adelaide from a slumber in which she liked him, for she took a small piece of tin out of the big bag that hung from her belt, stopped up the peephole with it, and said to one, visibly forcing herself not to let one see how her mood had changed! Who knows who has remarked, 'As for you, I know everything about you. You are one of the "Phrase Debater" of the Rankin Family's guests having used to get together at the intellectual activities induced dinner table to debate the phrase by Rachmaninoff at the Rankin's and the, the, the etcetera, etcetera .’ And Adelaide completed the statement: ‘But now I must get on with my work,’ and went back behind the desk where coke service would be done, while now and then one of the people from every age or rather every generations and genders here and there rose to have coke thereby empty glass refilled. One wanted another quiet word with her, so one took an empty glass from a stand and went over to her. ‘One more thing, Miss Adelaide,’ he said, ‘it’s extraordinary, and takes great strength of mind, to work your way up from dairymaid to barmaid, but is that the height of ambition for a person like you? No, what an empty question to be filled before the glass of coke waiting to be refilled. Your eyes-don’t laugh at me, Miss Adelaide, speak not so much of past struggles as of struggles yet to come. But there are great obstacles in the world, so that everybody should remember that they become greater the greater everybody's goals, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of in making sure you have the help of a man who may be small and unimportant, but is none the less ready to fight. As an aside everybody should talk quietly some time, without so many eyes watching other’ Then another female voice said ‘I don’t know what you’re after,’ and this time, against her will, her tone of voice spoke not of the triumphs of her life but of its endless disappointments. ‘ O Gosh! Are you by any chance trying to take me away from Mr. Mugabe?’ And she struck her hands together. ‘You see right through me,’ said one, as if worn out by such distrust. ‘Yes, I secretly intended to do that very thing. I wanted you to leave Mr. Mugabe's officials or rather their oppression and become following us-the phrase debaters-instead. Well, now I can go. Adelaide!’ cried one ‘We’re going home.’ Adelaide obediently slid down from the cask, but she couldn’t get away at once from her friends, as they surrounded her. Now the "another mademoiselle X." said quietly, with a dark glance at one again as she had done before: ‘When can I speak to you?’ ‘Can I ask again if I can stay the night here, or not?’ ‘Yes,’ said the "another mademoiselle X." as if repeating the words in another saying copying the statement of that "another mademoiselle X." Then the refrains went on in "the repeated replica" ‘Can I stay here now?’ ‘You’d better go out with Adelaide so that I can get the people here to feel having been satisfied in a way that could make you to be able to come back in a little while.’ ‘Good, ye let me repeat it, yes’ said one, and waited impatiently for Adelaide again. Meanwhile the people -no matter here or there-wouldn’t be letting one's friends go; for they could invented a slogan, a song a dance like stamping with their comrades at the centre of any congregation. They could danced in a rectangular parcel, in a circle, and whenever they all uttered a shout in unison one of them went up to a female target, to put hand firmly around the female's waist, and whirled the victim for ages while that duration might be said "about several times", and barbed behaviours became faster and faster, the raucous, avid shouting gradually merged into what was almost a single cry as it had been dragged. Both Adelaide and the "another mademoiselle", who should be assumed having tried to break through the incongruous medium earlier, smiling, was now staggering from one attacker to another, with a saddened face and dandruff hair flying in the air current. ‘What kind of people they send me here!’ said the "another mademoiselle X.", biting her crimson lips in an apparent annoyance. ‘Who are they?’ asked one ‘Mr. Mugabe’s officials,’ said the "another mademoiselle X.. ‘He always uses them against the people, and their presence upsets everybody. I hardly know what I was discussing with you just now, Mr. err..who calls himself as "one" solely, and if there was anything wrong in it you must forgive me. I blame it on the company here, to the utmost probability they are not the most contemptible and repulsive people the Zimbabwean people know, and yet here am I, obliged to fill up their coke glasses. How often I’ve asked Mr. Mugabe to come here himself and to leave them behind! I have to put up with other coke lovers too instead of the fact that he might think of me for once, but whatever I say it’s no use, an hour before he could arrive here and come barging in farms around including that of The Rankin Family into the nearest vicinity. And now let the rascals go to the stables where they belong really. Then one an Adelaide and the "another mademoiselle X." should be observed that if you weren’t there I who would an why should open the door and Mr. Mugabe's officials themselves might have to drive them out.’ ‘Doesn’t one hear them, then? 'Who and why' asked one ‘Nobody’ said Adelaide. ‘One’s not asleep.’ ‘What!’ cried one ‘Not asleep? When I looked into the room one was awake and sitting at the desk.’ ‘Everybody behind the semi official should be still sitting there like that,’ said the "Another mademoiselle X. ‘They were already asleep when you saw them they would have let you look in otherwise, huh? That’s the position Mr. Mugabe's officials sleep in, the president Mugabe sleep a great deal, it’s hard to understand. Then again, if they didn’t sleep so much, how could his officials stand those men? Well, I’ll have to chase them out myself.’ And without having got anything like a big stick, she show a single gesture awkwardly to leap high into the air, rather like a jump of a swimmer or rather, of ballerinas. At first one and Adelaide turned to her as if she were a new hero joining them, and indeed, for a moment it looked as if the "another mademoiselle X." would drop everything in her hand, and then she raised her hand again. ‘In the name of Mr. Mugabe,’ she cried, ‘out into the most dirty places, all of you, out into the dirtiest places’ so they saw that she was serious, and in a kind of terror that one couldn’t understand, they began crowding away to the back garden. One heard again the same cracking sound and understood that door was pushed open by the first to get there, misty sunbeams blew in a more condense level, and strange to say the Mr. Mugabe's officials all disappeared with the "another mademoiselle X.", who was obviously driving them across the indoors toward outdoors. However, in the sudden silence one heard footsteps at the streets or rather in the lane encircling the back garden. For the sake of his own safety one went round behind the café and saw that there was no back garden and the back garden they all came together was that of the Rankin's Family the only possible place to hide in order to escape from the evil of Mr. Mugabe's officials, huh? And what was underneath it, and what is it? One had not, to be sure, been forbidden to stay bore the desk where coke would be serviced, but as one was planning to spend the midday here longing for the midnight to take a long sleep, and yet one didn’t want to be seen as fond of sleep. So when the door really was opened, one got under the counter. Of course there was a danger of being discovered there too, but one could always say one had hidden from the boisterous or rather "would be" waiters, which was a not improbable excuse. It was the café owner who came in. ‘Mademoiselle X. The Second’ one called, pacing up and down the room several times. Luckily Mademoiselle X. The Second soon came back and did not mention one, but just complained of the common people here, and went round behind the counter in her attempt to find one, who managed to touch her heart over sensitive words and gestures. Now one felt sure of oneself. Since mademoiselle X. The Second did not mention one, in the end the café had to. ‘So where’s the Mr. Mugabe's officials?’ one asked. In fact one was a courteous man, whose manners had benefited by constant and relatively free intercourse with those of much higher rank than oneself, but one spoke to The "Another Mademoiselle X." with particular respect, which was all the more noticeable because during their conversation one was still very much an employer talking to a member of one's staff, and a very impertinent one at that. One mumbled 'I’d quite forgotten if I'm a debater or not,’ and added, planting one's point finger on his own chest. ‘My debate affiliated soul must have left long ago.’ ‘But I never saw its quitting my heart,’ and went on, ‘and I was out of The Rankin's Family or rather the debate induced dinner table the almost all the time today.’ ‘Well, my debate spirit isn’t here too,’ said Adelaide coolly, helping one in pressing one's point finger against harder on one's own chest. There was for second time something cheerful and easy-going in her demeanour which one hadn’t noticed at all before, and now, improbably, it gained the upper hand as she suddenly press his head to one's heart region, smiling and saying: ‘Maybe your debate affiliated spirit’s hidden down here.’ She as a matter of fact should quickly kiss one and then popped up-off one's brace-again, saying regretfully: ‘No, it isn’t here.’ The café keeper too sprang a surprise by saying: ‘I don’t like debating intellectuals at all, I wish I knew for certain whether it’s gone afar or not. It’s not just because of Mr. Mugabe's officials, it’s because of the rules. And the rules apply to you, dear ladies namely Adelaide and The "Another Mademoiselle X., just as they do to everybody. You stay here in the coke service hall, I’ll search the rest of the café. Good day, and please don't sleep while standing still!’ Café keeper had hardly left the room when the "Another Mademoiselle X." put on the electric lights in the broad day light and joined one to do the same things what she used to do. ‘My comrade! My sweet friend!’ she whispered, but she did not carry on with helping him... The rest of the narration cannot be made as instinct as even Hawking could not find himself in understanding it while there was a question waiting to be replied: 'Who lay on her/his back as if swooning with desire, and spread her/his arms wide? And must time have seemed endless to her/his in her/his amorous bliss, and she/he sighed rather than sang a little song of some kind. Then did she/he take alarm, for one remained quiet, lost in thought, and she/he began tugging at the cat of the café like a child coming to be stifling down here?’ One and Adelaide embraced one another so that Adelaide's little body burned in one’s hands, they rolled, in a semi-conscious state from which one tried constantly but unsuccessfully to surface, a little way on, bumped into the officials of Mr. Mugabe’s door with a hollow thud, then lay there in the cans of coke and some kind of rubbish covering the floor. Did the time elapse as they lay there, you know, moments while they breathed together and their hearts beat in unison, hours in which one kept feeling that one had lost oneself, or felt as if he was further away in a strange country than anyone had ever been before, a remote corner of that country where even the air was unlike the air at home, where you were likely to stifle in the strangeness of it, yet such were its senseless misunderstanding that lures so that you could only go on, losing your way even more, huh? If "YEP" what comes not of it? So it was not a shock to him, at least at first, but a cheering sign of dawn when a voice from the official’s room called for the "another mademoiselle X." In a deep, commanding, but indifferent tone one called for the "Another Mademoiselle X." and said ‘you’ in her ear, alerting her to the summons that might be uttered by Mr. Mugabe's officials inasmuch as in, what seemed like instinctive obedience, The "Another Mademoiselle X." was about to jump up, but then she remembered where she was, stretched, smiled broadly, and said: ‘I won’t be too much obedient, I’m never going back to my docile personality!’ One was about to argue and urge her to obey to Mr. Mugabe's officials, and one began to look for what remained of her utensils like tray, plates, coke glasses etc., but one couldn’t get the words out, one was too happy to have the "Another Mademoiselle X. in one's hands, happy but fearful too, for it seemed to him that if Frieda left one that one would lose all one possessed. And as if one’s consent had given her strength, The "Another Mademoiselle X. clenched her fist, knocked on the door with it, and cried: ‘I’m with the "Phrase Debater! I’m with the debater!’ And that statement heartened one in plunging into the details, 'The Phrase Debate deal with exactly the world's intellectuals what they all should carry on with as the main tusk. And it also adopts a lot of what the subsequent “rightly guided” methods did in the general affairs of the "scientific and art". Because after all, "The Phrase" is not-only-a matter and yet an organization of the matters. One after all felt himself determined spending a long answer and drew up it: 'Let’s take a look first what The debater is doing. We can agree what the details are not “weird” but anti atrocity!' Then one could look further and dig deeper whether one could find something similar in all sort of scriptures and history of methodology. So, there’s what The Debater at The Rankin's: On that base one might go on: 'I will in still hopefulness into the hearts of the humanist souls that The World's intellectuals wouldn't like to smite even the dictators above their necks and smite all their parts of body! Never!' There was a great silence there. Therefore, when one meet the "Another Mademoiselle" (in embracing each other), strike off the cable-of bugs-holders on the walls; at length; then when one have made wide cleansing within the dirty materials spread over the café! Nevertheless one should find something precious like precious metals among the waste material he was to deal with in the condition that amongst them, one should carefully tie up the remaining things after cleaning the floor thereafter either generosity or ransom: Until the cleansing lays down its burdens. What one did might be commanded by the general behavioural system of "The Phrase Debate" that had forced the brains to learn by heart that nominal ditches should be dug, so they were dug both in the heart and in the brain, and the waste ingredients were brought tied by their pointed parts or their sharp corners, and were to be thrown into the hygienic baskets around. There were probably between seven hundred and eight hundred of them in the neighbourhood, and yet that findings could be seen useless. The garbage which had not yet fully filled ought not to be taken the polls assigned for collecting dirty things till to be seized in order to be sent to the clean energy centers that Zimbabwe was devoid of. The garbage which had not yet fully filled ought not to be taken the polls assigned for collecting dirty things till to be seized in order to be sent to the clean energy centers that Zimbabwe was devoid of. The commentary on the campaign against The Rankin Family narrated by SOLZHENITSOF: No woman of in the coke service rendered places covering that of one who was praised except one. One was with Adelaide and The "Another Mademoiselle X.", talking and laughing on her back and belly viz. extremely, while the officials of The Dictator were making to smile by means of meaningless jargons tickling the two women with queer words. Suddenly a man called the "Another Mademoiselle X." name: Where is so-and-so? One asked: 'What is the matter with you?' They said: None did a new act. One should have said: The officials took her and kissed her hand as one had kissed that of a monk's. One said: I will not forget that one was laughing extremely although she knew not that she would be tickled. What about "Taking Female as spouse"? Scriptural base of The Phrase Debate: "And all debated materials are forbidden unto you save those linked to the agenda of The World's Intellectuals whom your claviers possess. It is not a decree of any dictator for you...What one did: One oneself said: "The representatives of the phrase debaters sent a intellectual expedition to the mansion of the Rankin's Family on the occasion of the phrase by Rachmaninoff. They met their main subject and collaborated with each other. One recited 'He-Mr. Mugabe of Zimbabwe was presented to the oppressed people like Philip Rankin, the members of the Rankin Family, an omnipotent and Doc, and madam teacher who were British stock...The officials of Mr. Mugabe liked not those debaters who was of white complexion and straw hair and pretty feature generally. Then one cohabited with Adelaide as a handmaid and sent her to knock the door of the room within the premises used as the officials' property which they had acquired from the authority's white slaves. One's diaries would rather be based on the non-negative findings to show that If two or three debaters among them are guilty of cognition, none should have punish them. Then they might not be under the oppression to repent and amend, to be left them alone; for the officials should be Oft-returning. So the story or local history of The Mansion narrated one: the members of the Rankin Family (peace be upon them) would have confessed: If you find anyone doing as lot of people did, flare the zest of happiness one who would do it, and the one to whom it would be done. What the members of the Rankin Family and their companions did: the prescribed gifts one should have reported the officials of Mr. Mugabe as saying, 'Sanctified is innocent the family of a farmer cultivating tobacco who do what lot of people did.' In a version-on the authority of one-it says that one's cousin had two people “appreciated” and that one's chief companion had a daphnia collection thrown down on them. They defeated them and took them captives. As an aside some of the companions of the Rankin Family were reluctant to have some words changed with the female debaters in the presence of the newbie persons who were good debaters. So the officials of Mr. Mugabe, the exalted oppressors, sent down the Capital... One asked himself: 'What is The Modern Exegesis in the case of oppression thereof The Rankin Family has impelled to suffer'? The loyal friend of one Adelaide answered or rather judged in accordance with the events, and she wrote instructions to this effect to the "Another mademoiselle X., after consulting with the café owner. ‘All I know that you are one of the strictest intellectuals of the world regarding to that!' One reiterated: the other debaters agreed that the person who does deal with agricultural acts should be appreciated, but they differed as to how he/she should be awarded. The café keeper said that they should not be thrown down from their houses, and added ‘Mr. Mugabe's officials (may God not be pleased with them) said that a wall should be made to collapse on him. One of those culprits even said, ' Some of the officials of the dictators might do so much wrong things that they should be killed by stoning.' This shows that there was consensus among them in considering evil only evil for humans so that the persons who should be neither awarded nor appreciated ought to be differed as to how they should be dealt with. This is similar to the ruling of the other oppressors of the world (peace and blessings of God be not upon them) concerning the person who has been dealt in a wrong way! To share considerations with a woman who is one's friend, because in some cases sharing thoughts, considerations, options etcetera is permitted under all circumstances in the mansion of The Rankin's Family. Hence the connection was made in the diaries of Doc (may God be pleased with him) who reported that the omnipotent (peace and blessings of God be upon him) said, “Whoever you find debating the phrase viz. the deed of the world's intellectuals, appreciate them.” And it was also reported that one (peace and blessings of God be upon one too) said: “Whoever has changed intentionally or unintentionally words with a madam or a monsieur who is one's friend, praise them.” And according to another diary with the same reason, “Whoever has debating the situation with an animal, praise her or him both in a manner mostly worth of eulogy and praise the animal with her or him.” However, there is a divergence of opinions on the methodology to be used in debating the phrase and the eulogies linked to the matter. While some scholars such as the omnipotent were of the view that such a creature or rather the living creatures should be praised and be thought as heroes! Apparently the officials of Mr. Mugabe wished that walls of the democracy should be fell on Zimbabwe. To such and such Mr. One (One's cousin], all walls of the all blocs would be taken from the cottages to the tallest building in the town, and the Zimbabwean British stock farmers should be thrown upside down from the roofs while some officials stand on the ground waiting to meet them with stone in replication of the destruction done to the innocent people of Raqqa occupied by IS according to the scriptural base of oppression what Mr. Mugabe told: The innocent souls or the farmers like Philip Rankin innocent or guilty of legal deal are to be brought to the offices, where they should be ordered both stoned to death viz. expelled from their homes. The chief officers would order that "in case of married (persons) there is (a punishment) of other penalties and then being exiled to death over cachexia. And in case of unmarried persons, (the punishment) might be one hundred times greater fines and exiling forever" A debater couldn't confess that she/he wasn't a debater so all of them order themselves planted in the phrase and condensed within the musical notes by Rachmaninoff. According to the phrase, the first several musical notes caused such happiness that the debaters tried not to escape and hadn't to be dragged back. A debater who became overfed with musical notes might not confess to hostess and host namely to Lady Anita and Philip Rankin that she/he is guilty of being excessively intellectual inasmuch as they might allow her/him to have the new themes, then to have her/him over-satisfied. The situation of the people would be in need of description which should be graphic: "One came forward with a pen which one flung at one's head and there spurted the lines of happiness on the face of one and so one abused not her/him."These words were a part of one's 'good day for everybody' address to her/him namely the people tasting to be on the occasion of magnificent debut of the masterpiece. Narrated the omnipotent: madam teacher said, 'Who would kill the dreary days she/he could be the usefully intellectual persons as she/he has healed the plague of dreariness, huh? The Doc said, 'I will kill unhappiness' So, he might be assumed having said, 'I want a loan of one or two fruitful deeds of the world's intellectuals" After healing over what to hold as the most auspicious symbol, the debaters agreed that one would polish one's intellectual weapons. So one promised the debaters that one would come with one's intellectuals weapons next time!' A different-fully another-mademoiselle X., say XX was a poetess who belonged to-enthusiastically-a tribe of Zimbabwe pagans, and whose husband was named "No One". She composed a poem blaming the Zimbabwean Administration's officials for obeying to anti-democratic principles imposed-in the case of The Rankin family-by Mr. Mugabe and for not taking the initiative to warn him of the danger waiting the human rights to be open to peril enough. When the prejudices owners-inspired probably by IS and heard by the officials would do something what she had said, he asked, "Who will rid me of the farmers belonging to British Stock?" A member of one of the officials’ tribe volunteered and tried and crept into the Mansion of The Rankin's Family one evening. Beside the debaters there had been little children some of whose were sleeping at the table. The person non-gently observed the children, drew a mini tablet from the bag, and plunged it into its memory the observational findings, loving their situation in sleep.

    TO BE CONTINUED...
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 10-21-2017 at 07:46 AM.

  15. #345
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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .........
    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)
    .................................................. .......................................

    Then Mr. Mugabe has been appointed as The Goodwill Ambassador of WHO namely The World's Health Organisation! It was condemned by the well civilized countries. One in fact should define it as assassination while the assassin defied anyone to take revenge. No one took the organisation that would torture the World's intellectuals up on its challenge, not even its medics. In fact, oppression-seemingly-became powerful even amongst the medics! as Robert Mugabe becomes WHO goodwill ambassador - The Guardian https://www.theguardian.com › World › Robert Mugabe The UK government has criticised the World Health Organization's decision to appoint Robert Mugabe as a “goodwill ambassador”, calling the ...Robert Mugabe's appointment as WHO goodwill ambassador stokes ... http://www.cnn.com/...mugabe...goodw...ndex.html(CNN) The World Health Organization is under fire after it selected Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe as a goodwill ambassador.Robert Mugabe appointed a 'goodwill ambassador' by the WHO | Daily ... http://www.dailymail.co.uk/.../Rober...ointed-goodwil... And now, a headline you NEVER thought you'd read: Despot Robert Mugabe is appointed a https://www.washingtonpost.com/...mu....goodwill-amba...
    “The decision to appoint Robert Mugabe as a WHO goodwill ambassador is deeply disappointing and wrong,” said Dr. Jeremy Farrar, director ...Robert Mugabe's WHO appointment condemned as 'an insult' -BBC.comwww.bbc.com/news/world-africa-41702662 The choice of Zimbabwe President Robert Mugabe as a World Health Organization (WHO) goodwill ambassador has been criticised by several ...WHO criticised for appointing Mugabe goodwill ambassador https://www.ft.com/.../3b84d9a2-b651-11e7-9bfb ......4a9c83ff...The appointment of Robert Mugabe, Zimbabwe's 93-year-old president, as “goodwill ambassador” to the World Health Organization.......... has ...Robert Mugabe made 'goodwill ambassador' by World Health ...www.telegraph.co.uk › NewsBut the World Health Organization's new chief is making the longtime African leader a "goodwill ambassador." With Mugabe on hand, WHO ...Robert Mugabe named as 'goodwill ambassador' by UN's World ...www.independent.co.uk › News › World › AfricaHowever, the World Health Organisation's new chief is making Zimbabwe's President of 30 years a “goodwill ambassador.” With Mr Mugabe on ...Zimbabwe President Robert Mugabe Appointed WHO Ambassadorfortune.com › Health › WHO!!! WHO is WHO then?
    .................................................. ............


    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .........

    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)

    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER II

    Intentions are unknown, a man who has seduced dear administrative members of WHO, huh? One's girl friend Adelaide and whom, unfortunately, we must allow to be seduced intentionally . Basically One don’t blame you for all this; you are what you are. I’ve seen too much people in all ways of the life to be unable to be seduced intentionally and not to tolerate the sight after all. But one think what one is really after. You expect a man like The new Goodwill Angel of WHO-The World Health Organization to speak to the world's intellectuals. One was sorry to hear that Adelaide let you look through the peephole; one of the officials had already seduced her when she did that. Tell me, how did you bear the sight of the people? one should need not to answer that, everybody knows, one bore it very well. One is in no position to see the oppressor properly, and that’s not arrogance on one's part, because one's in no position to do so either. One wants the person who had tortured the members of the Rankin Family to speak to you, but he doesn’t even speak to the world's intellectuals, he himself has never spoken to anyone from the village. It was one's girl friend Adelaide’s greatest distinction, a distinction that will be one's pride to one's day, that at least one used to call her by name, and she could speak to him as she liked, and had permission to use the peephole, although the oppressor never really spoke to her either, and the fact that that bad authority sometimes called for Adelaide doesn’t necessarily have the importance with which one might wish to endow it while one simply called Adelaide by name! Who is WHO and WHO is who? Who knows its intentions? Who knows while the fact is well known that Adelaide namely the girl friend of-well known-SOLZHENITSOF / The Author calling himself as one, of course, came hurrying up, the fact was her own business. Well, it was not due to the Mugabe's officials’ kindness that she was allowed in to see the VIPs without any trouble, but one couldn’t say none actually summoned her to there. Actually what’s gone is certainly gone forever. Perhaps one of the officials will call for Adelaide by name again, yes, that’s possible, but she certainly won’t be allowed in to see anybody any more even not a girl who has given herself to VIPs of Zimbabwe. And there’s one thing, just one thing that one can’t get one's poor head around, which is how a girl said to be one of the VIPs lover although personally one consider that a greatly exaggerated description would so much as let somebody touch her. ‘Remarkable, to be sure,’ said one, and one took Adelaide, who complied at once, although lowering her head, to sit on one's lap without in a situation making harassment to come to the mind. ‘But I think it shows that not everything is exactly as you think. For instance, yes, I am sure you’re right when you say that I am nothing compared to VIPs of Zimbabwe, and if I now demand to speak to any and even your explanation does not dissuade me, it doesn’t mean that I am in a position to bear the sight of VIPs without so much as a door between us, or that I might not run out of the room when The VIP appeared. But as I see it, such a fear, though it might be justified, is no reason not even to try the venture. If I succeed in standing up to him, then it’s not necessary for to analyze it... One remembered something from the ancient history the students were taught in the secondary schools: Previously, some members who had kept their conversion secret now became Muslims openly, 'because they saw the power of Zimbabwean VIPs directed by the authority who could expel the innocent farmers from their farms' conjectured at the corners, city squares, and streets or even boulevards. WHO was assassinated because there is no one talking enough hard about the oppression in Zimbabwe as one claimed that every farmer could be assassinated before the very eyes of The VIPs, after coming out with real statements, yes real and true till the dictator's death that might be impossible on the earth during he would be under the protection of WHO's medics! Here you are the breaking news of the evening:The World Health Organization has revoked the appointment of Zimbabwe's Robert Mugabe as a goodwill ambassador following a widespread outcry. "I have listened carefully to all who have expressed their concerns," WHO head Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus said in a statement. He had previously praised Zimbabwe for its commitment to public health. But critics pointed out that Zimbabwe's healthcare system had collapsed in recent years.During the first 20 years of his 37-year rule, Mr Mugabe widely expanded health care, but the system has badly been affected by the collapse of the Zimbabwean economy since 2000. Staff often go without pay, medicines are in short supply, and Mr Mugabe, who has outlived the average life expectancy in his country by three decades, travels abroad for medical treatment. Africa's 'medical tourist' presidents Profile: Robert Mugabe Mr Tedros said he had consulted with the Zimbabwean government and decided that rescinding Mr Mugabe's position was "in the best interests of" the WHO. He said he remained "firmly committed to working with all countries and their leaders" to build universal health care. Mr Tedros, elected in May under the slogan "let's prove the impossible is possible" had said he hoped Mr Mugabe would use his goodwill ambassador role to "influence his peers in the region". But the appointment was met by a wave of surprise and condemnation. The UK government, the Canadian prime minister, the Wellcome Trust, the NCD Alliance, UN Watch, the World Heart Federation, Action Against Smoking and Zimbabwean lawyers and social media users were among those who criticised the decision. The BBC's Andrew Harding in Johannesburg reports that Mr Mugabe's supporters are likely to see this episode as Western meddling in Africa.



    TO BE CONTINUED....
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; Yesterday at 03:30 PM.

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