Moving along with the translation! Перевод продвигается!
Дорогие наши поддержатели:
Предлагаем вашему вниманию еще один переведенный отрывок из романа, Гл.3. В настоящее время Александр готовит официальное предложение (проспект) о публикации книги для двух издателей. Мы будем и дальше информировать вас о прогрессе в публикации "Аэропорта" на английском, а вы, пожалуйста, не забывайте напоминать своим друзьям и коллегам, что проект активен и что у них все еще есть возможность поучаствовать. И если вы находитесь недалеко от Хьюстона, у вас есть возможность посетить презентацию книги и встретиться с автором 10 марта в 18:15 ч. в Центре Midtown Arts & Theater. Как всегда, спасибо огромное за вашу поддержку!
Our dearest backers:
Below is another translated excerpt from Ch.3. Currently, Alexander is working on an official proposal (book prospect) to submit to a couple of publishers. We will continue updating you about the progress in publishing AIRPORT in English and hope that you will not get tired of reminding your friends and colleagues that the project is live and that they still have an opportunity to contribute. Also, if you are in the vicinity of Houston, TX, there's an opportunity for you to attend the book presentation and meet the author at the Midtown Arts and Theater Center Houston on March 10, at 6:15 pm. As always, thank you very much for your support!
Команда BNRW team.
CHAPTER III: ANDREI-BOXER
...In childhood, Alexei often suffered from a recurrent nightmare, repeating itself every time down to the smallest detail. It seemed that he was running across a swamp, squirming with poisonous snakes. There were so many of them that the surface of the swamp consisted of snakes, so that he was really running across their heads and their tails. At the same time, Alexei was aware that, if he were to hesitate for even a second, to slow down his pace — the snakes would bite him, wind themselves around his legs and pull him down. The dream always ended the same way: he'd wake in a cold sweat, having never reached dry land, and would blindly stumble across the dim room in search of his warm mother.
Suddenly he understood, deciphering with absolute clarity what the dream had warned him against when he was a little boy. Now, sweat was pouring off Alexei not from terror, but out of strain. Despite his excellent physical training, his heart was thumping rhythmically in his throat, on the tip of his tongue, in his ears.
He was afraid that they would not be able to deliver Andrei alive and that he himself would now finally get shot, and would not have time to transmit the damned photos.
It is impossible to prepare yourself for this, if you yourself have never been shot at, until the reality of it all hits you – they are firing at you specifically, and not just a single bullet, or two, but with a whole burst of automatic fire.
If you’re lucky, and sitting now in a comfy and inexpensive, or not so comfortable but expensive, restaurant, and cannot recall anything of the sort in your own life, then you will never understand what it is that Alexei was experiencing. Or what soldiers go through when, refusing to abandon their comrade, they carry him under a hail of bullets, dying themselves in the process, on the run….
And once again – about dreams. Alexei had a persistent sensation that they weren’t running, but moving in slow motion, as though in a dream. When you not only hear the whistling of the bullets, but also see their beautiful slow-motion flight in your peripheral vision, as though you’re watching the vapor trails of a supersonic fighter jet high up in the sky...
At the moment of extreme danger, when fate is balanced on a high wire and it is still undetermined, whether you will live or die, senses grow acute to such a degree that the seconds of existence are expanded, as though each one of them were your last. As though nothing else exists, except the mesmerizing flight of a lead bullet past your temple....
When they finally managed, in a last ditch effort, to dive into one of the broken windows of the new terminal and land, coughing, cursing and gasping for breath, on the filthy floor strewn with broken glass, chunks of concrete and rebar, shell casings of various caliber and various other junk, Andrei was dead...