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I smiled picturing
his concerned face as he shoved
the charges under his belt.
Some time later,
he brought me a loaded revolver
with all seven bullets.
I looked at the black bag
and wondered
how he can trust me
so unreservedly?
After he brought a fifth gun,
loaded too,
I realized that it wasn't love.
I didn't admit it
like other girls would,
in a frustrated voice and with
"l-know-the-truth-of-life" look.
I felt like I was
in a vast unsown field
whose sight invited the thought:
"There's no love here.
Worse still, there's nothing here."
Then there was the story
with Tommy guns.
I got scared for my family.
They always need things
I keep in my wardrobe.
So I decided to hide the Tommy guns
in my aunt's room.
I put them under her bed.
But then I thought
that her bed has a loose wire net
which sags,
and the metal may touch the guns.
I pictured my aunt tossing in bed
and brushing against a trigger...
And I rushed to her room at night
to remove them.
At first she was shocked,
but then I thought she warmed
to the idea.
But I read in her eyes
that she'd give me away
if questions were asked
about the guns.
Something in her eyes told me
she would.
Still I left the guns
in her wardrobe.
I bought her plenty
of frozen chickens,
eggs, bananas and sunflower seeds
which she liked very much.
I spent long hours with her in our
kitchen, having numerous cups of tea.
I brought her mail and papers,
I gave her keys to my drawers.
I let her rip
my golden dress apart.
I showed her my boyfriends'
love letters
and all letters
I occasionally received.
She entered my life.
She'd come to me early in the morning
and say: "Time to get up!"
She was really happy then.
And when my sweetheart showed up
and said those ugly words,
I gave his Tommy guns back to him.
So the guns are a separate theme.
And you say,
"Horses, horses..."
Mom, do you know who wins a race -
the jockey or the horse?
My husband was a jockey.
Why do you two say this to me?
It's interesting.
The willpower of a draught horse
is broken.
Ask your grandmother.
What has grandmother to do with it?
What would she say
if she had such a daughter?
A racing horse
should have a willpower
and voluntarily join it
with the rider's.
Get out of here!
In a second.
My cousin was a jockey, too.
You'll say in the next breath
that you were a jockey.
A racing horse
should have a willpower
and voluntarily join it with...
Why are you saying this to me?
Because it should have a willpower.
All daughters want to work
with dogs in the circus.
No violence or coercion,
complete independence.
Why do you say this?
What are you driving at?
No violence, but it does
what the jockey tells it to do.
The horse must learn it
right from the start.
You know that I never use
a stick or a whip.
What is she trying to say?
Do I beat you?
Do I, my pet?
Do you know what it means
if a horse, or a colt,
has a prominent forehead?
It means it has a gentle
and kind disposition.
It's brave and affectionate.
Oh, rubbish!
All jockeys are crooks.
My poor girl.
They fix everything.
Once Zyablik, a jockey,
agreed to hold his horse back,
but he got carried away and won.
They beat him up. He made the same
deal another time and won again.
He was beaten.
He made a third deal,
got carried away - and won.
They cut off his ear.
And you say "not interesting".
One can live without an ear.
He has to do with just one ear now.
That is why we see
both fire and meekness
in the eyes of a thoroughbred.
Even if the mother works the air,
her daughter must help her.
Hold on, Dick!
You see, mother...
...Let alone dogs...
...Satanic pride and good nature
at once, can you understand it?
Satanic pride and good nature
at once!
Off, off, Dick!
This is profanation. Hold it!
Do you want to trouble my soul?
To belittle my efforts?
This is our family turn.
Tell her, mother!
Tell her, for God's sake!
Dogs are prose,
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