Siberia

I fell asleep. I woke up. Had a coffee. I didn’t leave the room.
Paris all about me.
I open the curtains. Look through the window. It’s cloudy out. Raining.
The penguins in the corner are mutely weeping. They ask me:
- Were you ever in Siberia?
- No, I tell them. No, but I do love snow.
I draw the curtains again. Switch on the light. I write a letter. The penguins stare at me, unblinking. I don’t like it, but do nothing. Actually, I try to cheer them up every time I finish a letter:
- My dear penguins, don’t be so miserable. We’re in Paris!
I spread some paté on the bread. Eat. I turn up the radio, turn out the light. In the twilight I hear the rain again, and the penguins breathing. I say nothing. A pleasant female voice from the radio gives a coy warning: “J’ai compris tous les mots, j’ai bien compris, merci.”

Sibir

Sibir

Zaspao sam. Probudio se. Popio kavu. Iz sobe nisam izlazio.
Oko mene je Pariz.
Razmičem zavjese. Gledam kroz prozor. Vani je oblačno. Pada
kiša. Pingvini u kutu sobe nijemo plaču. Pitaju:
- Jesi li ti ikad bio u Sibiru?
- Nisam, odgovaram. Nisam, ali jako volim snijeg.
Ponovno navlačim zavjese. Palim svjetlo. Pišem pisma. Pingvini
me netremice gledaju. To me smeta, ali ne reagiram. Dapače,
nakon svakog dovršenog pisma, pokušavam ih ohrabriti:
- Prijatelji pingvini, ne tugujte! Mi smo u Parizu!
Mažem paštetu na kruh. Jedem. Pojačavam radio. Gasim
svjetlo. U polumraku opet čujem kišu i disanje pingvina. Šutim.
Ugodan ženski glas s radija mazno upozorava: "J\'ai compris tous
les mots, j\'ai bien compris, merci."