суббота, 10 ноября 2018 г.

МЕЖДУ НАМИ ТЁТЯМИ


МЕЖДУ НАМИ ТЁТЯМИ
Ури Мазлтов

Скажи ка, тётя                                                                                                                                                           Ведь недаром                                                                                                                                                                                  Москва, в которой тётя Сара                                                                                                                                                На выезд подала                                                                                                                                     Имела схватки родовые                                                                                                                                                         Да говорят еще какие!                                                                                                                                                                          Не даром помнит их Россия,                                                                                                                                              Что нас породила̀.

Мы долго молча подавали.                                                                                                                                     Досадно было: вызов ждали,                                                                                                                                               Ворчали старики:                                                                                                                                  Того гляди закроют Вену                                                                                                                                                И “память” выйдет на арену.                                                                                                                                                Нас те, кому мир по колено,                                                                                                                                                 Сошлют в Сибирь таки.

Как только Сара засветилась,                                                                                                                                                Всё шумно вдруг зашевелилось,                                                                                                                                          И строй, и Гипрострой.                                                                                                                       Повсюду стали слышны речи:                                                                                                                                               “Жыды позор Замоскворечья”,                                                                                                                                                           Что означает в просторечье:                                                                                                                                                         Уволься, моромой.

Прошли два года в перепиське.                                                                                                                                           На чемоданах жили. С миски                                                                                                                                                Мы ели русские сосиски                                                                                                                                                           Шепча друг другу: “ВОС?”                                                                                                       Но тих был наш бивак еврейский:                                                                                                                                          Броха̀ крепилась по-одески,                                                                                                                                                                          Лев зуб точил, Марк жёг повестки,                                                                                                                                                    Кусая длинный нос.




“Лихая нам досталась доля –                                                                                                                                  Всплакнула Тётя Сара с горя –                                                                                                                                                             Умрём ведь под Москвой,                                                                                                 Где наших бабушек могилы –                                                                                                                                                        А до могил неплохо жили!                                                                                                                                             Лишь мы имеем в тохес вилы                                                                                                                                              И в нахес гиморрой.”

Хоть не входило в наши планы                                                                                                                                             Сидеть, живя на чемодане,                                                                                                                                                  Лет больше десяти,                                                                                          Но оказалось, что с успехом                                                                                                                                                  В отказе можно человеком                                                                                                                                                   ни с чем остаться, но при этом                                                                                                                                             Как Розочка, цвести.

Работы нет, зато есть время.                                                                                                                                                Кто не чесать умеет темя,                                                                                                                                                       А думать им – уж ты поверь мне -                                                                                                                                                           Тот не последний поц.
Сэм ёбом стал. Марк вышибала.                                                                                                                                         А тётя Сара загуляла                                                                                                                                                                С Абрам Абрамычем амбалом,                                                                                                                                               Агиц ей в шмаровоз.

Открылась истина: не маясь                                                                                                                                                      В Совке, к совку не прикасаясь                                                                                                                                               Жить  можно лучше, чем стараясь                                                                                                                                      чего-то в им копать.
Чем в мертвечине трепыхаться,                                                                                                                                          Уж лучше даже не пытаться.                                                                                                                                                  Не морщить лоб, а улыбаться                                                                                                                                                     И ничего не ждать.
                                         






Шли годы. Бурь порыв мятежный                                                                                                                         Унес Гэбухи образ нежный                                                                                                                                                   Родилась дочь, а сын прилежный                                                                                                                                      Вдруг вырос из штанов.                                                                                                                 И привалил еврейский нахес:                                                                                                                                                           Не мёд, не цимес, не арахис,                                                                                                                                                                           Нас наконец послала на хес                                                                                                                                                  Мать-Родина слонов.

Уверен в главном я: не недаром                                                                                                                                                       Страна, а с ней и тётя Сара                                                                                                                                                    Три раза за отказ                                                                                                                               Имела родовые схватки                                                                                                                                                         От бешенства России матки.                                                                                                                                                 С России-Матки взятки гладки.                                                                                                                                               И с Родины.                                                                                                                                                                                И с нас.

1975-1989 годы

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Красильщиков Аркадий - сын Льва. Родился в Ленинграде. 18 декабря 1945 г. За годы трудовой деятельности перевел на стружку центнеры железа,километры кинопленки, тонну бумаги, иссушил море чернил, убил четыре компьютера и продолжает заниматься этой разрушительной деятельностью.
Плюсы: построил три дома (один в Израиле), родил двоих детей, посадил целую рощу, собрал 597 кг.грибов и увидел четырех внучек..