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Письма мёртвого человека

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EndMy dear boy,
I am working, can you imagine that?
And what's even more surprising,
I'm working for common good.
I've counted off another day.
7200 minutes in the old scale
It's not as pointless as one might think
for the twilight is monotonous
and even God when He created the world
needed to have some notion of time.
He created day and night
which imply the diversity.
I propose a different unit of time:
One twilight
because there is no more
diversity in this world.
Your mom and I
are staying in the shelter
beneath the museum
together with its staff.
We will wait for you here
and then we'll go to the
central bunker together.
The side street entrance is free
but we'll need to climb up the wall.
Good morning.
What time is it now?
I don't know.
- Did you turn on the ventilation?
- She is suffocating.
Then put on a bandage.
Yes. Thank you.
I'll turn it off.
Dear Eric,
Before all of us - you, mother and I -
become grains of the universe,
for each of us is mortal,
we'll have a lot of happy hours and days,
even if we use my notion of time.
Mom is much better today.
We haven't talked that much in a long time.
LETTERS FROM A DEAD MAN
- Have you had the inspection yet?
- They are here right now. I am nervous.
Holy God, save and protect me.
Take off your clothes and come inside.
I have to go.
- Who's in charge?
- Me.
Come here.
- How many people are here?
- Twelve.
- Is everyone in here?
- Yes, everyone.
- This is our guest.
- No-no, I have a permit.
- Whose children are these?
- They are what is left of the orphanage.
There was an orphanage here, 40 children.
Almost all of them are dead now.
- So they do not have parents?
- No parents.
- They never talk.
I think they are in shock.
I see. Stuporous state.
- They understand everything.
Almost everything. But they don't talk.
- You... Yes, you. Go behind the screen.
- Maybe it's better to start with children...
- No.
...as they should go to sleep soon. Why?
Because!
What is your name?
Look here.
Do you hear me?
I see.
Children don't count.
Turn around.
Move your hands up.
Move them down.
Turn around.
Put on your clothes.
- Should I call the old man?
- No need.
- Listen, doctor, these children...
- Step aside, you are in the way.
- Do you want...
to leave the children here?
- I don't want anything,
I'm just following the instructions
which say the children should be
healthy and with parents
But that's not possible.
You understand what happens if you
leave them here, don't you?
- It's outside my competence.
Everybody should mind their own business.
- You're a doctor!
That is your business!
- They will die anyway.
They're ill.
We can't support the lives of the healthy,
and you want to save the ill!
Even if I issued a permit for them,
they would be anyway
stopped at the check point. Children
without parents and in catalepsy!
I would be shot for issuing a false permit!
We have martial law!
That's final! They will be taken care of
by the special service.
- And who will take care of you?
- What's the problem?
- You will leave them here and
hide yourself in the bunker
But they will come to you anyway,
they will come to you dead,
and they will sit before you just like now.
How will you look in their dead eyes?
How will you live after that?
Which special service will help you then?
- How old are you?
- What difference does it make?
- Great difference. For you.
Because we don't need old men either.
So you better go find your
birth certificate and shut up.
You're interfering with my work.
Everything you want to say,
I've already heard.
Ten, twenty, a hundred times!
Come here!
You should go the day after tomorrow.
Take nothing unnecessary with you.
Clothes, blanket and food, if any.
That is all.
- I won't go anywhere without children!
You can't...!
- Don't go then.
That's your choice.
By the time of the disaster
every field of human activity
had been in a state of
Письма мёртвого человека

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