I shall die for some day we all reach our last destination. And Iíd rather be stabbed, than decease just like that in my bed. People pity the killed, pay them tribute and promise salvation... Iím not sure of the living, however, we cherish the dead. I shall fall on my face, turn to one side and then to the other, and on stolen old horses my soul will then gallop ahead. In the magical Gardens of Eden some apples Iíll gather... Itís too bad that the gardens are guarded, - they shoot in the head. When we got to the place what I saw there wasnít quite pleasant: just a wide open space, barren soil with no plants and no trees, and a huge iron gate towering over the boundless desert, and a crowd of convicts, thousands of them, - on their knees. Now the wheel-horse got very excited. I calmed him by calling him "darling", and removed all the prickles on him, and smoothed out his mane. In the mean time, a grey-haired man fumbled, humbling and grumbling, with the bolt, but, alas, his attempts were vain. And the worn out people did not even utter a sound. They just rose from their knees to sit up, they were at a loss... Den of thieves, mob of gangsters came out to welcome the crowd! All returned to it its source, and a man was up there on the cross..         I could tell who the grey-haired man really was from his tears: it was Peter, the holy apostle, while I was a stupid blockhead. There they were, the gardens, with pink frozen apples. Oh, cheers!.. Itís too bad that the gardens are guarded, - so I was shot dead. Well, we all have some wishes, but was it so much that I wanted? All I need is my friends, and my wife, - to shed tears when Iím dead. I shall gather some rose-colour apples for them - good and sorted... Itís too bad that the gardens are guarded, they shoot in the head.        
       
Then I urged on the horses, away from the horrible premises! And I rushed, - I had oats for the horses and apples for you. Whip in hand, I was driving, like mad, on the brink of the precipice. You were waiting for me to return from the Paradise, too.
© Alec Vagapov. Translation, 1998