Es gribētu atcerēties ļoti daudzus dzirdētus dialogus. Viņi mēdz būt tik izteiksmīgi, absurdi un uzjautrinoši, ka man liekas, precīza to paturēšana prātā nāktu man par labu, taču ir grūti paturēt prātā precīzi. Un neprecīzi ne vienmēr ir pietiekami forši un vispār kaut kam der. Aptuvenas atmiņu nojausmas un iekonservētas sajūtas noder privātai kolekcijai, bet ar viņām nevar dalīties, un uz tāda rakstura dialogu atmiņām nevar īsti paļauties, ja iesaistīti nepazīstamie.
Šodien man autobusā pretī sēdēja tēvs ar mazu dēlu. Viņš bija saprātīgā vecumā, 4, 5 vai varbūt 6 gadus vecs, ar smalkiem vaibstiem un sīciņu balsi. Aizkustinošās filmās viņš droši vien tiktu novietots zēnu kora pirmajās rindās, lai skatītājiem uzskatāmi būtu redzams mazais eņģels, kas nolaidies uz Zemes. Visu, ko puika teica, viņš nopīkstēja. Viņa tētim bija inteliģents izskats, starp abiem bija mierīga savstarpēja patika, un viņiem virsū spīdēja silti zeltaina gaisma - autobusa dzeltenais apgaismojums un lielā un mazā vīrieša gaiši haki jakas. Viņi lietoja maz vārdu, tāpēc es visu atceros. Viss, ko teica tētis, bija mierīgi ieinteresētā balsī, kas izklaidīgi apzinās sarunu biedra repliku komiskās un nopietnības iezīmes. Zēns runāja lietišķi pīkstīgā balstiņā, kas uz sarunas beigu auga sajūsmā.
Tētis: "Ko tu šodien ēdi?
Zēns: "Gaļu."
Tētis: "Balto vai kādu (..)? [es nedzirdēju frāzes beigas]
Zēns: "Es nezinu. Tādu plakanu."
Tētis: "Karbonādi?"
Zēns: "Nē. Viņa bija mīksta. Brūna un iekšā pelēka."
Tētis pasmaida.
Zēns: "Ko tu šodien ēdi?'
Tētis: "Es ēdu ceptu vistu, griķus un..."
Zēns: "Eūū, mēs abi šodien ēdām gaļu!"
Tētis: "Jā! Un vēl tādu ķīseli ar biezpiena sacepumu."
^^^^^
I wish I remembered lots of overheard and simply heard dialogues. They sometimes happen to come out extremely impressive, absurd or amusing which makes me think my well-being might prosper by keeping them in mind, although it's tricky to remember them precisely. Inaccurately isn't always enough, I'm not sure if it even counts at all. Approximate memories and feeling preserves can be handy for private collections, for all that they can't be shared. Neither is this sort of memory reliable when strangers are involved.
Today on the bus a dad and his little son were witting across me. He was at a reasonable age, 4, 5 or maybe 6 years old, with fine features and a tiny voice. In heart-melting movies he would be most probably placed in the front rows of a boys' choir for the spectators to clearly observe the little angel who's come to the Earth. Everything he said, he cheeped. His dad had got intelligent looks, there was a quiet mutual liking between them, and warm golden light was shining over them - the yellow lights of the bus and the light khaki parkas of the two different sized men. They didn't use many words, so I'm able to remember it all. Everything the dad said, was said in a quietly interested voice, which in an absent manner was aware of his companion's replies comic and serious qualities. The boy spoke in a matter-of-fact cheeping voice, which grew into exaltation towards the end of the conversation.
Dad: What did you eat today?
Boy: Meat.
Dad: White meat or some (..)? [I didn't catch the end of the phrase]
Boy: I don't know. Something flat.
Dad: A schitzel?
Boy: No. It was soft. Brown, and grey inside.
Dad smiles.
Boy: What did you ate today?
Dad: I ate fried chicken, buckwheat and...
Boy: Ahh, we both ate meat today!
Dad: Yes! And some jelly with cottage cheese pudding.
