I started up the engine and I lingered.
Where should I go? The night was fine, I figured.
The bonnet trembled like a nervous hound.
I shivered. Night lit up the houses around.
The Balzac age, I felt its burning pain,
Chilled to the bone, I couldn’t hold my own.
The age of balsam wine mixed with champaign!..
So I looked up, and wound the window down.
They were young, two pretty-pretty fellows,
wearing fur coats, looking slightly careless.
“You’re free, Miss, aren’t you ? Care for delight?
Five hundred now. One thousand for the night”.
I flared up. They took me for a prostitute.
My heart was jumping. What an attitude!
They want you, you’re young, you’re a whore!
Indignant, I said “Yes”, instead of “No”.
The other one, so “sweet and pure”,
swaying his hips, looking aside,
said: “Have you got a friend, as rich as you are?
I, too, will take it. A thousand for the night”.
The brutes! I thought I’d better vanish!
I stepped upon the gas and left the site.
My heart, however, jumped for joy and anguish!
“Five hundred now. One thousand for the night”.
© Copyright Alec Vagapov’s translation
***
Andrei Voznesensky (Voznesenski, Voznesenskii, Voznesenskï, Wosnesenski, Woznesenski)
Andrei Voznesensky, Voznesenskii (1933-2010) was a Soviet and Russian poet, writer, playwright and songwriter. Voznesensky is known for his experimental forms and language, and his works often touch on philosophical and social themes. He also wrote songs for musicians and performed them himself. He was a laureate of the USSR State Prize (1978).