Сказка о Гемайнде
А вот сказочка, которую сорока принесла на хвосте.
В одном царстве-тридесятом государстве, на речке Срачке, в стольном граде жила-была Гемайнда халдейская. И была у той Гемайнды не только школа, но и гимназия. Обе, кстати, частные, за обучение в коих платилися деньги немалые. Ну, не так чтоб учили там чему-либо полезному. Стороны той государь жил ( Read more... )
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Tale of Gemeinda
Lo! A tale the magpie brought here, carried on its pointed tail feathers.
In a kingdom far and distant, by a river rude and rancid, in the royal city dwelt there Gemeinda of the Chaldeans. And in her charge, not merely one school but a gymnasium there also stood - both private halls of learning, for which were silvered riches ample. Though, in truth, they taught but little, matters useful scantly featured. And the king of that domain lived without a crown upon him, filling up his lands and holdings with fierce hordes of savage strangers - fierce in face and dark in spirit.
Thus, the Chaldean’s blessed children weren’t taught much in those fine halls, rather hidden from barbarians. At the helm of this fine schoolhouse stood one Ekstadt, a fiddler and an idler - known for verse in Yiddish muttered, known for loves most ill-esteemed. How it was that he, dear reader, came to be the sage and leader of the Chaldean’s school of learning, that’s a tale left darkly silent.
Yet in Gemeinda’s school of wonders, more marvels ( ... )
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This, the tale’s beginning only; now the true tale blooms and branches.
When that anniversary came of that battle grim and gory, it was then in fair Gemeinda that a solemn feast was planned. Diak, the clerk, with voice austere, told of plans before the gathering. Then, young maiden rose to counter - let us call her Adolphina - and with bold stance spoke, declaring that the tribes of Chaldeans sin against the holy spirits - they whose names were clear and mighty: Diversity, Social Justice, and, above all, Ecology.
Chaldean youths, they grumbled softly, though one voice rang louder than the others, monkish lad who here we’ll call Zyama. For his cry against Adolphina, her heart darkened, wrathful brewing. A friend of basurman brigands, she sought four youths to plot a thumping; thus they leapt upon poor Zyama outside the hall in sight of all, bruising him with mighty blows but sparing life. And none rose to Zyama’s aid.
Healed in time, good Zyama, stumbling, buried deep his grievous beating, keeping silent as the custom. Yet when Zyama ( ... )
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