Last good night

The Last Good Night | Book by Emily Listfield | Official Publisher Page

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This reading group guide forThe Last Good Night includes an introduction, discussion questions, ideas for enhancing your book club, and a Q&A with author Emily Listfield. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.

Introduction

Emily Listfield begins the novel quite simply: “It was the last good night, really. ” And with this cryptic start, she launches the riveting story that introduces us to Laura Barrett, a newscaster struggling with the pressures of a new high-profile job, another mark of achievement in her seemingly perfect trajectory. But her crystalline world starts to fracture when a stranger calls her “Marta.” As the story continues, Listfield connects the bright, successful Laura to the mysterious Marta, a young girl living in a destitute hotel in Florida. Tracing her own story back to Marta’s helps Laura take charge of her life and build her future on her own terms.

Questions for Discussion

1. On the second page of the novel, Laura thinks: “I wonder what else will spring out suddenly, unbidden.” What conclusions did you draw from Laura’s enigmatic statement? Where did you think the book was heading?

2. Laura recounts her husband saying, “Nature versus nurture is a joke. Babies come out with their own little agendas. It’s all genetics after all, don’t you think?” How does this line of thinking counter Laura’s? What does this mean for her fivemonth-old daughter? Where do you think the novel ends upon the nature versus nurture question?

3. On one of their first dates, David confesses to Laura: “When I went to college, they asked me the name of my hometown paper in case I did anything particularly notable. The only thing I could think to answer was the New York Times. . . . Actually, I’m jealous. No one who was born here has nearly as much energy as you infiltrators.” (9) How does the setting of New York City help define Laura as the extreme outsider, or “infiltrator”? Is it a role that she’s used to playing?

4. When describing her makeup artist, Laura says that she “is fascinated by [Penny], by all of them, the girls things came so easily to, the girls who, even when they stumble, do it with an innate confidence that I can only imitate.” Although Laura herself seems to be one of these perfect girls, she admits that it’s only on the surface, an act. What does this tell us about Laura?

5. Chapter 2 is the first time that we meet Jack, when he calls Laura by the name we eventually learn is really hers. Who do you think Jack is at first? Does he seem like an old friend or someone dangerous?

6. “It is not always so simple to tell when something is over, after all—love, for instance, or grievance, is sometimes only hiding no matter how hard you try to convince yourself that it is gone.” (32) When Laura uses this thought to explain Jack, what does it make you think about him? And what is the grievance she’s talking about?

7. When Marta and Jack first meet as teenagers, their eyes meet in the middle of a crowded cafeteria. “[T]hough he was seated in the center of a crowded table, [Jack] seemed separate from his friends.” (142) How do we understand Jack’s personality from this short example? Does the adult Jack prove to be the same or different than the young Jack?

8. When speaking of her relationship with Jack, Laura says: “There were none of the feints and parries of dating. We understood from the very beginning that the first and only thing that had ever really made sense was each other. Why should we pretend otherwise?” (161) Discuss the relationship between Jack and Marta. How does this compare with Laura’s relationship with David?

9. On page 187, when she sees “Jack being led to the police car [she] looked at them all a moment more, and then . . . ran.” Can we ever really forgive Marta for letting Jack go to jail for her and reinventing herself as Laura? Does Listfield ultimately redeem Laura?

10. “[L]ove is a difficult thing to calibrate or predict. Especially someone else’s. It is, rather, an easy thing to be mistaken about, to underestimate or overestimate. It’s rare that we ever truly discover the precise nature of another’s love. I’m not sure we would want to if we could.” (217) How does this line of thinking apply to Jack and David? Can we relate it to Astrid and Garner?

11. How does the side story of the Townsends tie in to the novel? Why do you think Listfield incorporates it in to The Last Good Night ?

12. Why is the Townsends’ home filled with “Madame Alexander dolls with rouged cheeks and enormous eyes, dressed in tutus and taffeta gowns” (247)? Do you find this a joyful image or a dark one?

13. Almost every chapter, especially once the story progresses, starts with a reference to “when it started.” What is the “it” that Listfield and Laura refer to? And when do you think “it” really started?

14. What do you make of Astrid and Garner? Do you ever sympathize with the mother? Does Laura’s understanding of her own mother change as she herself becomes a mom?

15. What do you think would have happened if Marta had appealed to the cops who arrested Jack? Do you think that she would have been blamed for the murder herself? Should she have turned herself in despite the consequences?

16. On her website, www.EmilyListfield.com, the author writes: “I’ve always been fascinated by the question of how well you can ever know another human being.” Talk about how The Last Good Night itself explores that question. Is it just Laura whom we discover new things about, or do other characters surprise us as well?

17. What do you think will happen between David and Laura after the end of the novel? Will they stay together?

Enhance Your Book Club

1. Call your local news station to find out whether they provide guided tours of the studio. How does seeing a real studio flesh out the scenes at Laura’s workplace and with her cohost Quinn?

2. Take a photo of a celebrity from People magazine and try to reimagine them as they might have looked in a past life, as Jack did with Laura’s photo. Compare your own against another one done by another member of your book club—do your “past” photos look similar?

3. Laura’s agent, Jerry, tells her when the Marta story is published that he has already gotten three book offers (324). Think about if you were publishing your own memoir—what would you say about your own life? Would you be comfortable publishing it for all to read?

4. If you could reinvent yourself, pick up from your current life, and move to a new city to start a new career, where would you go and what would you do? What would be the most difficult things to leave behind? What would you be glad to start over again?

A Conversation with Emily Listfield

You wrote this book earlier in your career as an author; it was published almost twelve years ago and now is being reissued in 2009. How has the experience of writing changed for you over the years? Do you remember doing anything differently when you wrote this book than you do nowadays?

In some ways writing never changes. There is always the struggle to get inside your characters’ hearts and find the best way to convey their lives and actions. I am more patient with the process now than I was earlier in my career, though, perhaps because I have gone through the bouts of self-doubt as well as the pleasure of seeing a completed book more times. I think, too, that as with anything, you continue to learn the craft the more you practice it. On a personal note, when I wrote The Last Good Night, I had a very young child. My daughter is fifteen now and she most certainly does not sit on my lap anymore while I type!

You thank both the news media world and police department in your acknowledgments; did this book require a lot of research?

One of the things I like best about writing novels is that it gives you an excuse to enter into other people’s worlds, to ask questions and observe places you might not otherwise have access to. When I began writing The Last Good Night, I called up a local television anchor, Dana Tyler, and she very graciously allowed me to follow her around for a few days as she prepared and then went on air to deliver the evening news. It was fascinating to go behind the scenes, from the makeup room to the set. It really is the only way to truly reflect the pacing and color of a world you are not familiar with. I have also found the police department very generous in their help. They get a kick out of describing what they go through and helping to get the details right.

Do you imagine that after the last page of the novel, Laura goes back to using her real name, Marta?

The goal for all of us is the integration of our various selves, who we once were and who we have become. Laura, because she spent so long denying to herself and others that Marta even existed, is an extreme case of this. You can never truly erase your earlier identity or your actions, though—they are a part of your psyche. That said, it is valid to choose how to blend the past with the present self you have created, which has a truth of its own. Laura can no more go back to being Marta than she can deny that Marta existed.

A lot of your books deal with domestic suspense.What do you think attracts you to this genre?

Questions of character, identity, love, and doubt all play out in our most intimate relationships. How we treat each other, whether we tell the truth or hide parts of ourselves, how we parent and pair up are the fabric of our lives. The ramifications of our decisions can reverberate through generations. These themes are universal and reflect our deepest desires, hopes, and fears. Though the canvas might seem small, the issues are enormous and, to me, endlessly compelling.

How has the world of television changed since you wrote this book?

In a relatively short amount of time, the world of television news has changed immensely. The twenty-four-hour news cycle has spread to numerous channels, and the Internet has made split-second reporting the norm. This has created a vast need for fresh news at an unbelievable pace. There are more ways to get information and more people to get it from. Though this has brought more news anchors to the forefront, a star system still exists—and Katie Couric is still the only woman to anchor a network evening news program. When she took over, the scrutiny of her was far greater than it would have been for a man. The press reported not only on her skills but her personal life, her wardrobe, makeup choices, and temperament. Clearly, as far as we have come, there is still a way to go for women in the news.

Almost all of your novels are set in New York City. What is the role of the city in your works?

I remain fascinated by New York. It is a place that lures people with the promise that they can find themselves, or lose themselves, both of which offer ripe areas of investigation for a novelist. Having grown up here, I see pieces of my past self on so many corners. At the same time, I am in awe of all those who dare to come here to reinvent themselves. New York is a character unto itself, a galvanizing force. Its challenges and promises highlight the desires and insecurities of all who live here. There are so many concentric circles of groups in the city, so many different ways to exist. It is rare to be a stranger in the place you know best, to be at once an insider and an outsider, but New York makes that possible.

What are you working on now?

I am currently hard at work on a new novel that explores what happens when politics and long-held family secrets collide. The cost public figures and their families pay for keeping secrets or conversely, for revealing them, is fascinating to me in this age when so little is kept private.

That Good Night (2017) - IMDb

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• 20172017
• 1h 32m

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6. 6/10

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Ralph, a once-famous screenwriter, is in his seventies and terminally ill. He has two final missions: to be reconciled to his son, Michael, and, secretly, to ensure he is not a burden to his... Read allRalph, a once-famous screenwriter, is in his seventies and terminally ill. He has two final missions: to be reconciled to his son, Michael, and, secretly, to ensure he is not a burden to his wife, Anna, as he goes "into that good night".Ralph, a once-famous screenwriter, is in his seventies and terminally ill. He has two final missions: to be reconciled to his son, Michael, and, secretly, to ensure he is not a burden to his wife, Anna, as he goes "into that good night".

IMDb RATING

6.6/10

647

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• • Eric Styles
• • N. J. Crisp(based on the play)
  • Charles Savage(screenplay)
• Stars
  • John Hurt
  • Sofia Helin
  • Max Brown

• • Eric Styles
• • N.J. Crisp(based on the play)
  • Charles Savage(screenplay)
• Stars
  • John Hurt
  • Sofia Helin
  • Max Brown

• 10User reviews
• 22Critic reviews

• Awards
  • 3 nominations

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John Hurt

Sofia Helin

Max Brown

• Michael

Erin Richards

• Cassie

Charles Dance

• The Visitor

Tiago Aldeia

• Mr. Suarez - The Hatter

Sonita Henry

• Dr. Ana Blasco

Noah Jupe

• Ronaldo

Eloise Juryeff

• Dr. Dominique Pasquale
• (as Eloise Oliver)

Katrin Kaasa

• Maternity Ward Nurse

Salvador Nery

• Dr. Gonzalez

Juana Pereira da Silva

• Car Hire Rep
• (as Juana Pereira)

Joana Santos

Marina Silva

• Stewardess at Airport

Amber Townsend

• Sophisticated client

Georgina White

• Betje Dewit

• • Eric Styles
• • N. J. Crisp(based on the play)
  • Charles Savage(screenplay)
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6/

10

An average night

Take away the mystique of this being John Hurt's last film and you're not left with anything substantial.

I'm not familiar with the age of the original play but the premise and themes explored such as mortality, parenthood, redemption excetera have become well used in recent years. Even decades.

Despite these heavy subject matters, it all feels rather thin on the ground. John Hurt and Charles Dance are both giants but they've been far better in many other films. Ironically they both appeared in the Alien series but not together. The short scenes they do share together however, are enjoyable.

For a more solid film on these subjects see Wrestling Ernest Hemingway, which is much better written, more subtle, better dialogue and more moving with powerhouse performances by Richard Harris and Robert Duvall. That was made 25 years before this, which is part of the issue. That Good Night feels thematically dated. At least in execution.

I really wanted to like this film far more than I did and despite it's lush photography, setting and music, it all felt a little cliche sadly. The last minute is quite moving but it's not enough to rescue the whole.

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• anthonyjlangford
• May 30, 2019

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  • November 3, 2020 (United States)
• • United Kingdom
  • Portugal
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• • English
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  • O Güzel Gece
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  • Algarve, Portugal
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• 1 hour 32 minutes

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60 years since the birth of Viktor Tsoi

Text: Year of Literature. RF

Since On June 16, , a restored version of the legendary "Assa" by Sergei Solovyov came to cinemas: the picture shot on film was restored frame by frame by the masters of the Mosfilm laboratory and recreated in the format 4K, in the colors and sound that the director intended. Recall that the premiere of the original film took place in 1988, and Viktor Tsoi played the main role in it - it was on his anniversary that they timed the re-roll.

Today, June 21, - if not for his tragic death in August 1992 - he would have turned 60 years old. His songs are still listened to and listened to; we will undertake to remind you of one of the most pacifying songs of Tsoi. And at the same time we suggest reading a fragment of the book "Save Tsoi" by Alexander Dolgov.

Good night

• House roofs tremble under the weight of days0018
• But the night is stronger, its power is great.
• 
  
• For those who go to bed -
• Sleep well.
• Good night.
• 
  
• I was waiting for this time, and now this time has come,
• Those who were silent have ceased to be silent.
• Those who have nothing to look forward to, saddle up.
• 
  
• For those who go to bed -
• Sleep well.
• Good night.
• 
  
• Neighbors come, they hear the sound of hooves,
• It interferes with sleep, disturbs their sleep.
• Those who have nothing to look forward to, set off.
• Those who are saved, those who are saved.
• 
  
• For those who go to bed -
• Sleep well.
• Good night.

An excerpt from Alexander Dolgov's book “Save Tsoi. A novel where fiction and reality are intertwined”

Bombora Publishing House, 2020

...The grandstands roared so loudly that we could hear in the hallway, along which we were hopping to be in time for the concert. The audience frantically demanded those for whom they bought tickets. We, fortunately, jumped out to the podium before the musicians of "Kino" appeared on the stage. At the racetracks in the arena, a gloomy cloud of militia, dressed in gray uniforms, spread to the left and right - the law enforcement officers surrounded the stands in a triple ring and were determined in terms of maintaining public order. The public, or rather, its hooligan part, obviously having fun with nothing to do, threw anything at them: copper coins, candy wrappers, crumpled cigarette packs, various garbage, and even set fire to paper airplanes, not to mention sparklers - crown the trick of the most reckless spectators of that time. The stage stood on the field right in front of the stands, rather unsightly, albeit high, built, apparently, from improvised materials, without a backdrop, without the standard aluminum trusses familiar to the modern eye, with practically no lighting equipment and even without any roof - and what if it suddenly rains? .. Sound columns were piled up in a shapeless mountain to the right and left of the stage, like giant woodpile, there were no screens at all - even the simplest ones, not to mention modern LED ones ... For me, as a sophisticated viewer, for a year of cooperation with the magazine, spoiled by editorial different rock concerts, of course, it was funny to look at how this action was arranged. But then they came out ... and, you know, I instantly forgot about all the organizational flaws.

The horn that arose at their appearance was such that I immediately became deaf in both ears and, like everyone else, fascinatedly fixed my eyes on the stage. The rock musicians looked heroic: on the proscenium, three, dressed in black, held white guitars, in the center - Tsoi, on the right hand - Kasparyan, on the left - Tikhomirov, behind them behind a stubby drum kit Gustav Guryanov, standing in full growth; at all concerts he drummed standing up. At first he went out in his stupid straw hat, but because of the strong wind, he soon threw it far away. The concert, as you know, went on without any compere, the songs were performed non-stop, practically without pauses - one after another. Only once Victor complained into the microphone that the wind was strong, driving the sound away from the stands, that's all ...

Well, the concert itself ... The Kino group began their performance with the now textbook song "A Star Called the Sun", but at that time a relatively new one, composed by Tsoi, as every "cinema" fan knows today, two years before - in Alma-Ata on the set of the film "The Needle" in the apartment of Rashid Nugmanov. And then it was like a frost went down my skin ... I myself was surprised at such a reaction, because I knew the song by heart, I heard it a thousand times - and such a strong impression! And this despite the fact that the audibility was unimportant due to the incessant strong wind, and the stands helped - they arranged such friendly choral singing. To be honest, I've never heard anything like it before. The young guys, the young fans of Kino, who were sitting behind me, tried especially hard. So my ears were completely blocked, as if I was flying in a supersonic plane, rapidly gaining altitude ... Looking ahead, I will say that the concert was short - a little less than an hour, just like "some" The Beatles at Shea Stadium in New York , however, the Beatles played there at 1965 is even less - only 37 minutes, but the audience, as in Riga, was satisfied. That's what I understand - SHOW! We remembered later, and quite rightly: not a single old song was performed at the concert, all were only new or relatively new, and I can say unequivocally that they sounded - albeit in a choral version (so what?) - all of my best Favorite songs. The melancholy "Pack of Cigarettes" with a piercingly poignant guitar solo by Yuri Kasparyan, played for some reason deliberately slowly, in any case, noticeably slower than the studio version, and therefore became even sadder; encrypted “Boshetunmay”, during the performance of which the “filmmakers” danced very rhythmically and fieryly with guitars at the ready, so that, unable to resist, I myself started dancing along with the audience around me . .. Already to the eyeballs, anticipating the finale of the concert, apparently afraid not to hear, the audience insistently began to demand the popular "Change!", chanting its name, and the musicians did not disappoint the fans - they performed assertively, in one breath. It all ended with a choral performance of the heroic song "Blood Type". By that time, I completely lost my voice, I think, like many in the stands, if not all, but plugs of sounds hung in my ears ...

The group did not come out for an encore, although everyone was yelling, whistling, clapping and stamping their feet so that they almost broke through the stands. Broken palms hurt the next day.

************

... Without wasting time, we caught a taxi at the station, which, by the way, also turned out to be assigned to the coveted car company - it had a corresponding piece of paper on the windshield on the inside . We, of course, did not hint that we had been there, and went straight to Plienciems. It didn't take long, fifteen minutes. According to the inscription on the mailbox, they found the right house and settled in the nearby bushes. Fortunately, there were no yard dogs nearby, otherwise we would not have been well - the dogs would have easily scented us and raised a commotion in the village. By all appearances, the owners of the nearest houses valued their quiet, secluded life. Yes, an important detail: two cars were parked at the house, the dark one was Tsoi's car, and the light one was Kasparyan's. I knew this for sure, Dolgov told me about it.

While working on his "Black Square", he interviewed friends and acquaintances of Viktor Tsoi, trying to restore the smallest details of the last days of his life. So, one of them was Yuri Kasparyan, who, as you know, left Plienciems on the evening before the death of Tsoi, having completed work on the next album of the Kino group - they were recording a draft version.

The sun was hot with might and main - the day turned out to be surprisingly hot, we can say that summer has returned. I threw off my pea coat a long time ago, as did Schultz; we sat on them to make it more comfortable, because of the heat and fatigue I was pulled into a dream ... The last time, if I’m not mistaken, I was able to poke around a little in Pskov before crossing the border, and even then - the dream was short, nervous, and now I completely lost count of how much I am awake, jumping from one time to another ...

No matter how he puffed up, he still continued to nod off, periodically passing out and shaking again. But Schultz did a good job - vigilantly kept watch, now and then shoving me in the side: “Who else is this?” - if they suddenly left the house or, conversely, entered.

And I reported to him: “This is Kasparyan, the guitarist of Kino”.

– Is the entire group gathered here?

– No, what are you. Kasparyan came alone specifically to record the disc of the next album with Tsoi.

And he added to himself: “Cherny”, as Viktor Tsoi's fans tacitly dubbed him after the release, but the rock creators themselves, who sculpted the album, did not even know about this tragic name. And God forbid that this work for the Kino group would not become the last in their discography, and the album itself would eventually be released under a different name - encouraging, optimistic, encouraging ...

Well, at least "Summer will end" - by name album opening song. And what? Great thing, very emotional, quite worthy of giving a name to the whole album

Later, Schultz and I watched how Kasparyan prepared to leave, dragging instruments, a port studio, an amplifier with speakers from the one-story shed adjacent to the house, where a temporary studio was equipped, into the belly of the open trunk of a car ready to leave for Leningrad. We were aware that a momentous moment was taking place before our very eyes… Well, that's all: what is needed, loaded, friends exchanged their last phrases, hugged each other tightly for the last time. Is it the last time too? Well, no, we'll see about that ... The outcome of history is not yet a foregone conclusion, fortune is in our hands, we are able to turn the wheel of time back, and we can do it.

The car has driven off. Victor returned to the house. It was possible to loosen my attention...

My vague thoughts in half-asleep were interrupted by another poke between the ribs - Schultz was wondering what kind of elderly gray-haired woman came out of the house to pick greens in the garden.

- Probably the mistress of the house - Birote Luge, an employee of the local fishing factory.

Later, when the mistress returned to the house, two boys jumped out onto the lawn, probably about five and ten years old. Same question.

- I think these are the children of Victor and Natasha. The younger one is Sasha, Viktor's five-year-old son.

Victor didn't appear near the house any more - maybe the fishing tackle was getting along, because he was going to go fishing early in the morning. That evening, as Birote Luge later recalled, her summer residents in the capital sat up late in the living room, talking, although Victor had to get up at five in the morning. Finally, all the lights in the house went out. We waited another hour so that another break-in did not happen, and then, like inveterate thieves, having jumped over a low fence, silently tiptoed up to the Moskvich parked near the house. Schultz was trying to load a pack of sugar straight into the gas tank, and had already unscrewed the cap, but I didn’t let him: there’s no need to ruin a good man’s car, it will still come in handy for him – that’s what we are here for! In general, they limited themselves to simply piercing the tire with an awl from Schultz's storerooms, which he fished out of his immense backpack. Then another.

I stood and listened with a guilty rapture as compressed air was blown out of the tires with a hiss. The car sank right before our eyes on one side. We just as quietly as we came, got away.

The moon has risen. The stars lit up in the sky. Now you could relax. In the moonlight, the result of our modest efforts was clearly visible - the car was noticeably crooked. All. It is done. It's that simple.

I couldn't even believe it. Now what? I looked at the dial: the clock showed midnight. New days have begun.

(…)

An unimaginable leapfrog was going on in my head, I was thrown from one extreme to another: I already regretted that I had not immediately rushed to Zelteni to make noise, sound the alarm ... Of course, of course, I had to come here with Natasha Razlogova, and only with her! And now it's too late... But what to do now? It's too late to go anywhere. Soon, very soon, he will appear here ... A jackhammer was pounding in my brain, preventing me from concentrating, calming down, collecting my thoughts - what can you think of? In the last minutes I lost my last self-control, and, unable to cope with fear, with the horror that choked my heart, I rushed to where Victor was supposed to jump out in a dark blue Moskvich with the now known license plate “I 68- 32 MN". I rushed forward from the bridge, towards the car, which should appear on the highway any minute. A crazy thought flickered feverishly - to find a glass bottle in a ditch, break it on the road in order to puncture the tires of the Moskvich ... I have already run a hundred meters, and there is nothing suitable. Two hundred - nothing again ... I continued to run, looking for what I needed with my eyes, but the ditch was absolutely clean. How all the same, everything is licked by these Baltic clean-cuts! And at that very moment I heard the distant sound of an approaching car, at first like the buzzing of a bumblebee. With every second, the sound grew and soon howled like the engine of a racing car - the Moskvich was rushing right at me. Without thinking of anything better, and without any hesitation, I walked out into the middle of the road, spreading my arms wide, deciding in a completely reckless way to stop the car. The dark blue Moskvich looked like a black car from a distance. I did not have time to see the one who was driving the car, as if the car itself was moving towards me, without any control! The speed was incredible, just fantastic, only sports cars are driven like that, and it made my eyes ripple, and my nerves gave out . .. In fear, I closed my eyes, continuing to stand with my arms wide open, and froze in place as if rooted to the spot. Just at that time, due to the turn towards the Moskvich (as it was destined to happen), a huge carcass of the Ikarus-250 crawled onto the road. Of course, I myself did not see this, because I was standing with my back, Schultz told me about this later ...

One thing was clear: the deck of cards had been laid out by the devil's hand. There was no doubt, he definitely had a hand here! "Moskvich", without slowing down, sharply took to the left of me, hysterically squealed and howled heart-rendingly howling brakes and tires, the car rushed along the roadside, raising clouds of road dust behind it ... I still did not see the driver, but he seemed to be me I saw it very well - it was painfully my hat was remarkable, in a word, two from the casket - how can I not admit it?

The car rushed by in a whirlwind, almost touching me, it must have rushed in some millimeters from the fingers of my left hand, it felt like the middle finger struck the hot body of the car, it was definitely burned, but from strong powerful air

the flow created by the entire mass of the car, which rushed at an incredible speed, hit the face with a hot air wave; I took a step back, the baseball cap jerked off my head and carried into the ditch, while ruffling my hair. A few moments later there was an infernal roar, as if the world had split in half, and with this terrible sound, from which everything inside me collapsed at once, the last hope for saving the “last hero” died. The ensuing silence was deafening, however, my ears continued to ring ...

Slowly, as if in rapid motion of a catastrophe movie, I turn around and see with horror (and my ears are still ringing from a terrible blow) a Moskvich mangled into a cake, standing on a bridge across the road ... a bus that has driven its front wheels into a river ... a dark silhouette of the driver frozen at the wheel from the shock that paralyzed him…

************

… In my thoughts I again and again returned to the midday heat of the Riga seaside… that same ill-fated August 15, 1990 — this tragic The date never gave me peace of mind, not to mention the fact that all my misfortunes were closely connected with the ill-fated point on the map of Latvia. I, a stupid kid, madly wanted everyone to feel good all at once - to me, and Schultz, and my parents, and Tsoi, and even, if I’m swaying quite globally, to the whole Soviet

Union. What is there to trifle - all at once! Then I innocently puzzled over what I could do about it. The naivety of youth!

Yes, there can be no limit to fantasies. Now it is funny and sad to think about it... Everything is in the past...

The youthful dreams were replaced by remorse and regret that weighed on me for many decades after the tragic outcome of the failed enterprise and the incompleteness of the work begun... I did not hold on to my current life, why do I need it? Believe me, I’m not cunning, I’m not showing off ... (...) I didn’t feel sorry for myself, the current wretched ruin ... I felt sorry for myself as an eighteen-year-old, naive guy who once stood on the verge of adulthood and made a rash decision to get involved in games with time. Trustingly and recklessly, he rushed into the unknown to try to save his dead parents, to save his idol, imagining himself capable of the incredible, contrary to common sense: after all, it is impossible to save the dead already, simply impossible . .. IMPOSSIBLE? Who said it's impossible?..

Again and again thoughts focused on one thing: how to change what happened. Away, away from doubts - think, think, - I urged myself on, realizing that there was very little time left, there must be a way ... How can I make HE, or rather I, that beardless young man, live a catastrophically failed life differently? I didn’t become disabled… I didn’t lose my wife and son… I married my first child… I waited for my grandchildren… and lived a long and happy life with full breasts… that’s what tormented me, didn’t give me rest, forced me to look for a solution day and night, wasting my elusive strength.

And I found it. Way. The only true one. True. I ask the reader to believe in the future, because this is the pure truth, and not the delirium of a crazy old man. How I want to convince you of the reality of what happened to me! Diligent studies were not in vain: not soon, with long exercises, repeating them again and again with perseverance, passion and rapture,

I finally learned to control the spirit, sending it where it was needed, proudly realizing that I had become a real ace of chronoportation . ..

Having tuned in to the right wave, my spirit learned to freely leave the feeble body buried alive in the Gremikhan prison and move through the thickness of time and space... At first I didn't believe in what was happening, then I began to perceive what was happening habitually and even mundanely. Km 35 of the Sloka-Tulsa I explored the length and breadth… I must have watched my sacred place a thousand times from above, soaring like a bird in the sky, watching two young men in baseball caps and with backpacks on their backs bustling about, trying in vain to turn back time.

My immortal spirit hovered over what was happening, unable to unite with my young body, and yet that was my main, so far insoluble task. I don't know how many times - maybe a thousand, maybe two - I tried to get inside my body, but in vain ...

I firmly believed that this was possible, only the time had not yet come. I guessed when the longed-for merger could happen - yes, yes - precisely with my last breath. And nothing else. Well, I have emphasized more than once that nothing kept me in this world, and I was waiting for the finale, as deliverance. My end was near... knowing this, I was in a joyful mood, even victorious. The end, the end, of all my torments, but the end will also be the beginning ... The eighteen-year-old boy will have a second chance to live his life differently ... and this chance could not be missed in any case ... I did not miss it, like a hunter before a predatory beast with cartridge in the barrel of a gun ... waited, patiently, intently waited for the moment X.

And then he came. I was reclining exhausted in a wheelchair with the back tilted back ... I didn’t have the strength to raise my arm, move my head, even squint my eyes to look out the barred window - day or night. Was it important? Fortunately, my head worked normally, as always clear, heavy eyelids were about to close forever, everything was the same in the cell: Eliseika was chirping nearby, reading Chekhov’s story “The Disease”, simultaneously measuring my parameters - pressure, pulse . .. Yes, I without his measurements, he felt that the pulse was weak, the pressure was rapidly approaching zero. There was mist in my eyes… perspiration appeared on my forehead… on the contrary, my hands gave off a chilling cold… the last tear slowly rolled down my cheek, tickling wrinkled skin… my breath began to break… there was not enough air… but the thought worked clearly… I understood… my hour has come… it’s time… it’s time on the last journey ... “It's time, my friend, it's time! my heart asks for peace…” – out of nowhere, Pushkin’s lines appeared in the fading brain. At the moment when I felt that I had seconds left ... the last seconds of my life ... with an incredible effort of will, I was again transported to the place where many, many years ago I hopelessly tried to save a person ... I again saw an unfortunate turn ... a farm ... a grove ... a bridge over a river and ... an old pickup truck driving towards it, in which Schultz and I were, following from the village of Plienciems to the place of the inevitable accident . ..

Now everything happened unimaginably fast, in a fraction of a second… hovering over the car, I imagined myself being inside the cabin, imagined and… INCREDIBLE! — instantly swooped down like a tailed fiery comet, slipped through the roof of a pickup truck without much difficulty and so naturally so organically merged into his young body that he instantly felt how flexible and resilient it was… - Happened!!! The pickup pulled up just behind the bridge. First of all, I pushed Schultz, pale as death, out of the car without explaining anything to him. He fell out of the passenger compartment and crawled a little alive on all fours into a ditch, on the way there he immediately turned up, and I calmly asked the driver to take me to the next turn ... Only a kilometer or so, and after half a minute I was already standing there.

I looked at my watch, it was working properly, the second hand tirelessly ran forward in a circle, pushing the time... less than ten minutes remained before the disaster with Tsoyevsky's Moskvich. .. not a second of delay, not a second... threw off my backpack, opened it and started looking for something that this time it should save Me and Him, and I couldn’t find it in any way ... I was sweating like a mouse ... sweat rolled in hail from under the baseball cap, flooding my eyes ... I tore it off my head and threw it away into the bushes ... it betrayed me with giblets - Viktor easily recognizes me in it… looked at his watch again — six minutes… always like this, in a hurry you can’t find the right thing… where, where is it… that damn MASK? .. was, she was here ... yes she was! reached into the backpack again… empty… looked at the dial… five minutes… where is it, damn it?.. it should be… it should… or maybe in the inside pocket? this mask.

The expected car was due to arrive any minute. I hurriedly put on the mask of the famous Hollywood star, whose films the entire Kino group watched in full force, and quite reliably depicted one of the crown fighting stances of the American action movie hero, as if ready to kick the offenders . .. Immediately - as if from nowhere - the silence was broken the roar of a running engine…

And following the sound, a Moskvich jumped out from behind the turn, slowing down a little on the turn… Will it stop or not? - only one thought pierced the brain ... I was afraid in vain! - stopped, like a cute one ... it couldn’t be otherwise - how could He drive past his idol - BRUCE LEE ?!

“Sit down, Mr. Lee,” Victor said affably, but with unconcealed amazement, opening the door, “where are you going?”

He was dressed in a dark-colored sports suit, slightly unshaven, his hair, as usual, was disheveled, and there was not a hint of melancholy or despondency on his face. On the front seat lay a working cassette recorder, from the speakers of which came the restless rhythm of the beginning, the sounds of the recently recorded song “Summer Will End” from the new Kino album.

“Plienciems,” I managed in a hollow voice.

- Wow - on the way! Choi was surprised. - Where is it?

“I need a fish factory,” I lied without batting an eyelid.

- Ah, I know, I know this place, this factory, sit down, Mr. Lee. What's new in Hollywood? - Tsoi asked fervently, putting the cassette player into the back seat.

When I sat down next to Tsoi, my heart almost jumped out of my chest - wow! Happened! But it was still too early to rejoice, I took a deep breath and froze...

Probably less than twenty seconds passed before we were only a hundred meters from the bridge over the river Teitupe. Somewhere down in the ditch, Schultz continued to fuss, trying to come to his senses. Just at that time, the carcass of a regular bus swept past us like a massive shadow, leaving behind a trail of viscous, caustic black smoke. I breathed a sigh of relief.

— What is the fate of Jurmala, Mr. Lee? Viktor asked again.

I didn't answer, pulled the mask off my face with a jerk and turned my head in his direction... Viktor, barely looking at me, went into a nervous cough.

— So that's how — Two from the casket! he yelled angrily and braked sharply, so hard that I cracked my head on the windshield, I was not wearing my seatbelt. - Well, get out of the car!

I didn't have to repeat myself twice... I rolled out into the soft grass like a bun, rubbing my bruised forehead. "Moskvich", releasing a bluish smoke of exhaust gases, pulled off and soon disappeared from sight, hiding around the corner. "Happened!" - for the third time on this happy morning, I thought, and loudly yelled a victory cry to all the surroundings with all the power of my lungs and jumped from the joy bursting me - I jumped right up to the very heavens!

And immediately felt the long-forgotten feelings of elasticity and strength of a young body, flexible, not constrained by half a century of illness... And it was so great!

LAST QUIET (poslednyaya spokoynaya) in Russian Translation

is coming the last calm trading week before leaving the holiday of major players.

The will be a last quiet trade week before large players' returning back from vacation.

The last calm in terms of events, the week has passed.

The last quiet week, from the point of view of events, is passed.

The Teacher spent his last calm day on earth in conversation with a young man who yearned to know the truth, and in communion with his Paradise Father.

The Master spent this last day of quiet on earth visiting with this truth-hungry youth and talking with his Paradise Father.

After the last ministerial meeting, the situation remained calm throughout the country.

Calm music is playing.

Soothing music playing.

She is so calm .

She is so calm .

Calm instrumental music.

Relaxed instrumental music.

You are so calm .

You are so at peace .

The situation relative to is calm .

The situation is relatively quiet .

Calm and polite.

Is kind and courteous.

She is very calm .

She's very quiet .

Still water .

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