A book of famouse journalist Maria Karpinskaya is an attempt to connect a world of imagination, or a private world of person with real world. This attempt has succeeded. Today on a border of times and centuries this surprising and magic book gets out. Surprising because it was written by a Woman who has past a colossal way of her soul.
             And why is she here with us? Evidently we will learn it slightly later, for the moment let's go, dear reader, to her Magic Country, where all what is written by her suddenly (or not suddenly) begins to become alive. Ahead to meeting with a Teacher who through her father's figure passed us his knowledges of the World, Earth and people on it.
               Ahead to her ship, where all of us are passengers, inhabitants of planet Earth! Smooth sailing to you!

A winner of the All-Union and International variety competitions, a winner of the International festival of actor's song of Andrei Mironov, an actress of "The Modern" theatre.

Valentina Ignatieva.

AN OPENED BOOK OF A CHILDHOOD.
AN EXTRAVAGANZA.

The eleventh chapter of the book:

RAPHAEL He pestered her, beautiful and thin, Making his passes by Renaissance measures. And the eardrums were burning, And all it seemed as Eve or Venus. With Mother of God? How is that? But I am a girl, if someone will see. What will the church and the family tell? And I need a maiden fright. Don't move... You was left, For them you was a purpose... Don't move... In a rainy autumn You spent your best nights... Don't move... You are an incarnation of house, You enter - they are dumb and ailing. Don't move... Everything is familiar to you: Words that will be and scenes. You are tired keep to a days river, You are ready to burst out crying – But only there is no one. Don't move - it is almost ready, Remove from yourself this cloth, Well, tell your word, Sistine Mother of God. "I love you!" - spread over heavens With a whisper passing into a thunder. And the consciousness hit on green eyes Same painfully as a rum. And, carrying her away, the wind was essenteic, Giving to Florence a smell of madonna's body. And the street was drawing in, As far as was enough force, A smell of grotto near Bethlehem. I love. And the Magi came. I love. And to Egypt flight. I love. And he makes a chair And looks up, As if there his place. Don't move. He told: I leave. Don't move. He poor and weak. Don't move. If you want - I will give rise to all mankind anew, Only not to see that he is crucified, as a slave... Don't move. Clouds don't grow old - Grow old some models and an escort of things. I love. And a seed sank down In the body by means of soul... Vladimir Oxikovsky.