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Tag: russia

  • RUSSIAN HARE

    Or, Bring back my Bunny to me!

    Раз Два Три Четыре Пять –
    Вышел Зайчик погулять.

    This animal has been visiting my cabbage garden every day for more than a month. Is it a hare or a rabbit? He is worryingly unafraid. But I am!

    Гуляет Себе Зайчик, Морковку Кушает.
    Никого не Трогает.

    Вдруг! Охотник Выбегает,
    Прямо в зайчика стреляет,

    Пиф-Паф! Ой ой ой.
    Умирает Зайчик мой.

    Убили Зайчика, Убили Мальчика!
    И что, Морковки Дома Не Было?
    В Россие? Надо Было На Украину
    За Морковкой Пойти?


    The Bunny Who Went for a Snack – innocent cabbage-lover, never saw it coming… a Stupid of the Daylight.

    Well, our boyz went for refrigerators and toilets and carpets, for pillows and mattresses, for gifts for their dear wives and kids.

    They went to Ukraine and never returned in one piece: My Bunny went over the ocean, my Bunny went over the sea, he never saw that there’s nothing there for him to see. No silverlining out there..

    CHORUS: Last night as I lay on my pillow,
    Last night as I lay on my bed;
    Last night as I lay on my pillow,
    I dreamt that my Bunny was dead.

  • 04 – Mother Russia

    RUSSIA, 1992

    In April 1992, having finished our duty in China,

    I returned home, to my dear Mother Russia. I did not have a chance to enjoy my quiet life, however, because in August, just after 3 months of fishing and hunting in Vologda lake area…

    A beautiful summer day was drawing to a close. The crimson sun was already low on the horizon. The domes of the churches glowed golden, and a cool breeze blew from the gardens.

    I was getting ready to drink my evening tea on the terrace, when suddenly a leather-clad motocycle riding courier stopped by at me house and handed me a telegram: I was being sent on another dangerous mission…

  • 03 – Russia

    RUSSIAN EMPIRE, 1914

    …And while Komrad Hu Weng slept, images of my father’s past flashed before my eyes like in a movie. Winter of 1914. A pipe factory in Russian town Samara. In two huge halls with tall windows covering the entire walls and glass ceilings, fitters and
    pattern makers work in the sixth tool shop, while in the spacious workshop, on brand new made in Great Britain machines, turners, pattern makers, and millers work hard.
    My Father was literate so he read the news to the workers. They were concerned about stories about revolutionaries who had escaped from European exile, and arrests in the city. The head of the tool shop, Staff Captain Vysotsky, pretended not to be
    interested in the mood of the workers, and only the senior foreman, Lyman, who did not like my Father, passing by the animated workers, muttered under his heavy breath:
    “Don’t forget yourselves! This isn’t France.”