1.September.99

This is second time when I'm trying to write on this topic. First attempt ended in the basket. And Today I feel real danger that I will stop writing at all. I have come to realization that pattern in your imagination when you read my lines differs from what O intended to convey. We live on stereotypes.

I liked that example with double-picture - when you look at it with on side you see one face and when with another - other.

I wanted to write about medical girls. And I absolutely sure that you will wrong them and you will wrong me imagining some kind of ambulance serial in your head. - I would be very glad if you thought about them as about absolutely different to ambulance serial personages.

Now I'm coming to conclusion that I should be movie producer but no writer. I would be able really show them without any fracture of their images.

I would make movie about clinic and I would invited to star Sheryl Crow and Nastasya Kinski, when she was young and had no deal with Hollywood. They absolutely unlike those girls about which I want to tell but at least they are not associated in your mind with eternal hustling and making clever mug and rising brows and mumbling "We are loosing him".

No I saw ultimately different from it girls. Whole atmosphere was atmosphere of indolence idling and calm. Some of them I saw in polyclinic and some - in real clinic. They were very beautiful. I think it was so after dissecting. Every medical girl dissects thousands of frogs in her life. And she does it not because she is callous but otherwise - because she has a very kind heart.

I would call it brave kindness and iron tenderness. The difference is I'm sure the girls I saw dissected frogs as tenderly as men's flesh and hustling people in ambulance serial dissects men like a frogs. I know they don't deserve so much attention but I'm afraid you would think about them in those moments when you should think quite about different persons.

You know real girl have self-reliance but after what they have got it? If they are extremely pretty and proud of it we like them but we lightheartedly laugh at rising of their noses. We know it is the time which they proud about and this time will make from them fat grouchy monsters in next years leaving no trace in facial features or in their shapes about their youngish amenities.

Of course there are scientific type of girls. But ... Jerome said there is only one think which makes us, men, to think equal or even superior above to girls, - and this is our intellect. Any girl can have a-billy-o of intellect but she will give us only one more reason to smile at her and to show our condolence.

And there are girls who are virtue personified. I think, girls are strong by nature. They even stringer than men. I wonder when future human being is preparing to meet daylight, God asks him: "Are you strong enough to be a woman?" And if soon-to-be-baby says No, it becomes a man.

So you see these medical girls are cool because they are tender, they are kind and they are brave. If they are beautiful by appearance they are succeed any ordinary beauty and any kind of Star beauty by many degrees and there is no much difference - are they surgeons taking part in operations, are they ordinary doctors or just simple nurses, - all of them making never ending battle with Time and its unhumanly callous laws.

When I see pretty girl I want to ask her: "Hey, dolly, what do you know about life? What do you know about human destitute and misery? What do you know about time?"

These days I see many extremely luxurious cars with men and girls inside them and only such philosophers as me and medical girls can judge about them rightly. I always say to myself: "You seems to be the biggest chunk on the Earth, but any cat has nine lives and you have only one, poor beggar."

Many girls unable to think in such way, they spoilt from their birth, and they never read Sherlock Holmes.

But enough about avatars, lets talk about their white flesh. One them I saw in polyclinic. She had luxurious brown hair and she wore only white smock and nothing under it, but of course nor her hair, nor her dress, nor even her healthy but not in any way fattish forms where the main thing, - she was just wonderful, - she fluttered from room to room without any haste but with air of an etherial fairy, (her hair were loose, and smock seemed was kept only by few unreliable buttons).

To make this story shorter, can you imagine half-naked and a bit more fed-up Sheryl Crow with an air of kind condolence to whole human race. And mind you she hadn't nothing of cheap ingratiating, she would give you your truly diagnosis or would rather dissect you like a frog if it was to your use.

Another girl I saw in real clinic. She was with red hair. It was the quitest clinic I ever saw and one of the best. The building was disposed in the timid region without buzzing thoroughfare. Whole atmosphere was archaic and calming-nerves. There I saw a girl. She gave me impression of a lonely one. Happy peach in skirt doesn't make my heart so leap in my breast as those beautifully lonely creatures.

So I saw her on the street and then I passed away and have got to see her in next twenty minutes in quite different settings. I had in those times an idea that something wrong with my heart, (now this idea begins to come to me again). So I chose the best clinic in Moscow and strolled into it. I had luck I have got young man doctor. He was probably thirty-something, bright and good-humored and friendly, as it seemed personally to me.

I said to him:

- "You know doc. I'm heaving irons and it hurt me sometimes."

- "So drop it and you will feel Ok."

Oh, that sober-minded folk, they always are truing to find the easiest way. But at last he said:

"Ok, we will get your cardiogram."

We went out of his room and walked in the lobby. It seemed to me the most deserted place in whole Moscow. No people, no rumor, no hustling,- nothing, - only quite and dignity.

We entered big room. In the middle of it were a table with old woman and couch with that red-haired girl, whom I have seen on the street. Whole room gave me the impression of incongruousity - one table and one coach in big spacious and hollow room.

My doc said to the girl.

- "Look after this chap."

- "What's up with him?" asked the girl.

- "Just look at his triceps."

He moved me in side-view and took me under arm. He showed my muscles to her as probably she did it on mannequin when they studied together course of general physiology.

Girl approvingly glanced at my parts and expressed the idea that of course in such case my heart should be checked immediately.

I laid half-naked on the couch. She began to bring to me rubber suckers with wires. She was not bony. She was good. You know I don't like playboy models - and she wasn't the one of them, she was far better, she was far slimy and far delicate but she wasn't bony. She had loose red hair, which descended right upon my face when she bowed over me. In fact, in that moment I saw nothing except her. She closed to me by her hair, by her feminine pretty and tender face, by her body, which was constrained only flimsy white doctor's smock and which was buttoned only by few unreliable buttons, whole world. Some moments I was unable to see anything else and to think about anybody else. I knew by mind that there were old woman and young man doctor, but they were far far away. This room, spacious enough, seemed to me to become infinitely roomy. They were in no scope of my cozy world, which focused in the marquee of shock of her voluptuous long thick hairs.

And her heat. I can't say that it was very hot because of the weather and when I took off my shirt I felt slight cold on the spine. But when she bound over me I felt not stuffy heat but tender fragrant warm, radiating from her young and healthy body.

It was the end.

Old woman looking at my cardiogram said I was Ok, but I knew that I had hypertrophy of right heart-stomach. Nevertheless I felt gratitude towards this young-man-doctor and envied to him by black envy. I presented to him the most precious thing I had in those times, - namely - computer game: "The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes".

And the girl? ... I tried to argue with myself that I like more fragile girls, I prefer more youngish girls and I don't like carrotish-haired young women, - but it was no use, because it was all a lie.

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