Раз-два-три, ветер изменится - Глава 7 отрывок 1 - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

I will follow him anywhere.

Let him just hold my hand tighter and press his finger on the plexus of veins near my hand, and I will be obedient, very obedient. I will step step by step, I will breathe in his breath, I will follow the intonation of his voice, I will be helpful, polite and gentle, I will love opera and ballet, I will learn to appreciate classical German literature, just let him not let me go, let he doesn't leave me alone.

It's stuffy in the car; I cling to his hand, pressing it to my thigh, because I’m afraid of losing consciousness. His palm is hot and dry, and I hold on to it tightly, looking at the patch of landscape outside the car window: the tree branches are too similar to faces - you need to be extremely careful, watch every shadow. I trace Hannibal's knuckles and cover his hand with my hand, clasping it inside my fist.

We will go to his home, to his big, warm house, where a bunch of homeless people live, whom Dr. Lecter helps; Dr. Lecter will help me too. He will wrap me in a blanket, a cocoon where I can hide, and he will rock me in his arms until I fall asleep, and then he will sit at my feet all night, listening to my uneven breathing.

I will wake up in the middle of the night - the curtains are drawn, not a rustle, not a creak - and Hannibal will be looking at me. I will stretch out my hand to him - and he will understand everything; he will hug me, he will lie next to me, he will protect me for six long hours until dawn, and I will look into his dark eyes and remember the text of some prayer. Even one text, even one paragraph - people have honed the skill of asking for thousands of years, I will need to join it - I will try for a long time to give something out with my dry mouth, but a song about how important it is to know English will sound obsessively in my head. He will put his palm on my forehead, say: “You need to rest,” and in response I will close my eyes and quietly and quietly begin to whisper inaudibly, “Lord-Lord-Lord.”

Lord, if you exist... Not like that. Lord, if I suffer enough, if I do it correctly and skillfully, let’s give each other a break, I’m not your son, you understand?.. I don’t like crosses, I don’t like loincloths. Lord, let Hannibal help me, be a good god at least for this night, and I will invite you to Sunday lunch: no wine, no bread; It's just you, me and Breakfast at Tiffany's, for God's sake.