You are not good, you are poor, you are not good, my child, my son, my firstborn, my hope, my dear, you are not good, there is no revenge in you. Your grandfather and my brother Ishkhan had a beautiful blood-colored horse, so beautiful that they were not taken to the army. He was breathing, his lungs were rattling, fire was flying from his nostrils - he was throbbing with evil in his beautiful place. The dog that your grandfather kept should be like that, his child and the vegetable and the snake on the wall should be like that. You are not good. I ask someone who knows, he praises and laughs - as if you are good, you have a conscience, and that laughter becomes a knife to my heart, my child, my child. My grandfather Ishkhan didn't say clever things, nor did he have time to think, he was a man of action, the ground was burning under his feet - but once he said half-mouthedly over my shoulder, like throwing bread money, and I say: one should not be so sweet that they swallow, one should not be so bitter that they spit. They swallowed you and they praise you, my child, they swallow you. You say conscience, but do you know when conscience is beautiful - when it is in a beast? Yours is not conscience, it is poverty. All the monasteries were very grateful to Ishkhan for you know what - he could harm everyone. Could it be? His danger was playing and splashing like a seaman, from Vanker to Borchalu and from Borchalv to Kazakh, and every minute it would become lightning and cut the head of the poor girl you want. His kindness to everyone was that he didn't cheat, otherwise he didn't do any other kindness to anyone. Your grandfather and my boss Avetik did a favor to everyone. For another, a bee, a vaccine, an ax blade, for another, a flood, instead of a married brother, an army, for his brother's imprisoned son, he was begging the governor - he was the goodness of God to this whole village, and do you know what his Gikor younger brothers said? "How is it that he went blind for Sargs, for me his hand and foot are tied like that, he doesn't make a sel" (For the right to cut an oak, the forester wanted to buy an ox from Gikor). This is the correct answer to your grandfather and my boss Avetik, don't think that his behavior has a different answer. Who was saying thank you to his horse - no one? They unloaded a load and squeezed the colander in their hands - the load was theirs, the sweaty one was the owner's - go. Conscience, conscience on conscience, conscience on conscience, conscience on the inside, conscience on the outside - is it a conscience or a puppet, my child, my child, my care, my torment, my anxiety, my suffering, my burden. You see a girl, you stop and look and your eyes fill up, you see a boy, you stare with your mouth open, you cry for a sick lamb, you cry for a beautiful calf - is there a man's heart in your stomach or a saz in your hand? Your grandfather Avetik's sleepy, slow, good, and what do I know? How could that little blood, which was not kind or cowardly, cut off the fierce flowing blood that the Prince gave in you like ours, the incessant, deceitful, sly, brave, sleepless, vengeful, loud-fun-bandit rat blood in you? How did that get separated from Avetik's sleeping blood? Or is it so nice to put your knees against the hearth, sleep smiling and hope and believe that the world is good? The bull is a bush - the gel is a bull. Are you a donkey or a bush, are you a donkey or a donkey, which one are you? Either - or. No! you wait for your heaven, so that the bells of the monastery will ring in the evening, the spring of the monastery will sing in the evening, they will carry you through the weary evening, they will take your burden in the evening of Christ, and the thanksgiving will swell in the bees, drown - "thank you, horse, from Borchalv, eh! Bring a winter's bread for my child, we owe you, horse."
Man and beast are separated by memory. Memory is placed between animal and human. You are in memory, so you are on fire, you are human, you have bills, you are restless - you are not in memory, the cow is grazing in the open field without memories, and the calf was slaughtered yesterday...
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