Написал. Ушло примерно два года. Сейчас делаю последние правки и, одновременно, занимаюсь поисками литературного агента для возможной публикации.
Книжка получилась на примерно 60К слов - основное повествование ведется от лица американского профессора, оказавшегося сперва в Москве, а потом - в аэропорту обратно в США. Детали путешествия он вначале не помнит, но они постепенно восстанавливаются.
По жанру - смесь приключенческой повести, элементов истории, т.н. "шпионского романа," размышлений на тему экзистенциализма (с небольшими вкраплениями мистицизма), а также историй из советского (и пре-советского) прошлого, почерпнутых, в том числе, и из собственного опыта, плюс рассказов родственников.
Ниже - привожу страничный отрывок из середины:
* * *
- Do you know why your name is ‘James’? – Peter asks casually.
- Well…no, I guess I don’t.
- It is quite simple: You are named after the person who saved your mother. His name was Gordon Morris. He was British Army’s second lieutenant of infantry in 1945 – and he had a bitter misfortune of meeting the war’s end at what had become an everlasting monument to the Empire Officers’ ignominy…or so some say.
- Wait…my name isn’t Gordon, though?
- No, it is not. But your mother always called you Jim, didn’t she? Well…you understand now, right? “Jim” = G. M. Spell it: “gee-em” – ‘Gordon Morris.’ It all makes sense now, yes? – Peter smiles, again, hiding half of his smile in the bushy beard.
- OK. OK. Yes – she calls me ‘Jim.’ Who was he…Gordon Morris, again?
- Your mother was born in 1944. That’s where we should begin. She was not born in Russia, though. Her father was a military officer. I should qualify this by saying that he was a Cossack. His own father was a Cossack Colonel in the Great Army of Don, which was kind of a big deal...You don’t know anything about this, do you?
- No, I don’t. So, my grandfather, then…he was born in Russia – right?
- Yes, he was. Pre-revolution Russia had various social strata at the start of the XXth century, and Cossacks were a separate breed. They had what would be closest to self-rule within the Empire – in the southernmost lands of it, at least…lands that they won for the Empire, lands that they were guarding for it. In essence, Cossacks were a bit like the Scottish Border Reivers – at first. Then – maybe like the Croatian Frontiermen, Graničars...which later had morphed into the Grenzer troops of the Hapsburg Monarchy, serving as a buffer between Christian Europe and Muslim Ottoman Empire in the south-east.
- Do you mean to say that they were independent – more or less?
- Yes, sort of. Their Army was under control of the Russian Empire, of course – but the Cossacks were also very loyal to the Czar, and, by extension, to the Empire as well. Perhaps, more loyal than anyone else…at the end.
I look around. The airport terminal is not there, once again. I am…sort of soaring, slowly, above a languorously flowing river, which is making its winding way among the sloping hills…these hills look like Robert’s rear, really – rolling and smooth. Darker at the bottom and quite a bit lighter at the top – like an already-harvested corn field in late September.