Velko Miloev 
	BEATING THE AIR 
	 
					"It's just beating the air" 
					"Don't be offensive", the wind 
					was hurt. 
					           (A really authentic 
							conversation)
	"The parallel-integral analogy between meteo- and
psycho-processes lies in the basis of the aero-transformation
principle. The w-ray radiation transforms the material structure
of the psyche into a transcendental-field one, retaining the
different characteristics of the individual. Psychotrons, as
analogs of neurons, carry the information, while the
psycho-physiological processes of thinking are replaced by
transcendentally quantum ones. At pseudo-active stimulation of
the inter-psychotronic aggregate, the psychotrons radiate
psychoquants that polarize the gas molecules in the air,
orientating them towards an increase of the gradient of the
psycho-meteo-field. In plain words, a wind starts blowing. It is
all too obvious that there is no magic in that." 
	(An excerpt from the advertising booklet "Undergo
Aero-Transformation And Become a Wind") 
	It is past midnight with not a single living soul around.
The square is deserted and quiet. Not even the slightest stir
comes from the garden - neither from the trees, nor from their
shadows under the bluish light of the lamps. And yet, he is here.
There, a few bright-colored leaves are falling from the
linden-tree, making their way down to the ground, then suddenly
they are engaged in a strange dance, they freeze in fantastically
symmetric figures and then scatter again, landing right on the
piles of autumn foliage. 
	"An aesthete." I muttered under my nose, trying to light a
cigarette. 
	A strong  whiff took the small fire away, something flat and
cold struck my back with an ominous flap. Even an experienced
inspector of weather would shrink at this. Without turning back I
peeled the thing off. It was a colorful poster - a blond beauty
with her hair flying and the words "Become a wind!". I threw it
away and the poster slid easily along the asphalt in the
direction of the nearest street-tidy. 
	"Very funny." Said I in my palm, trying to light the second
match. When you talk to a wind, there is no need to look around.
	"The Inspector and the Night." Someone whispered in my ear. 
	"The Inspector doesn't feel like sleeping. Why is that?" 
	I drew the collar of my raincoat up and sat down on a bench.

	"You are here to give me a lecture, aren't you?" The voice
made an effort to sound ironic. 
	"No, I am not. Though I should... What a beautiful night.
And what about you? That's what you've fallen down to - sweeping
the streets." 
	The wind whirled round the bench and I felt cold. 
	"I find it much more amusing, you know, than swaying the
blossoming branches in front of Vihren's window!" 
	He had started his job working for a famous poet. 
	"Poets," there was wisdom in my voice, "are to see beauty
where we don't notice it. Don't be whimsical!" 
	"You are right, I am whimsical. But I don't like caressing
the poplars' tops and lashing the builders' faces at the same
time. It's not fair... Hey, you haven't been sent here to... have
you?"
	"I haven't. I just don't feel like sleeping." 
	He rushed and caught a leaf almost touching the ground and
left it on the pile. Then I felt him come back. 
	"You might have very well been sent. They don't like my
work, I hear... Am I not useful, though. Yes, I am. They could
say nothing to that." 
	"It's OK. But is that what you've come back in town for? For
all I know you wanted space. To fly over fields and mountains." 
	The wind was slow to answer. Only the leaves of the poplar
rustled above me. That was not even a whiff, it was a sigh. Only
he could do that, the slyboots! 
	"I was with the Delta-plane pilots... I've run away... They
don't need us." 
	"How is that?" 
	"I was with them for two weeks. At first they were glad, you
see, they hadn't had such flights before - long and high. And,
safe, too... One day I was carrying a boy. We had had several
flights together. That day he kept silent. After we had flown
over two hills, I asked where we would go next. "Can't you keep
silent, as if you were not here!" he shouted. Then he suddenly
plunged downwards; he slipped out of my grip, you see. He nearly
killed himself. I managed to catch him a little above the ground.
He jacked the Delta-wing and headed practically for nowhere.
Never said a word." 
	I threw away the cigarette and stood up. Then I crossed the
garden and made for the square. I was walking as if I was on my
own but the trees rustled at my approach, the torn ends of the
posters flapped. A few steps behind me everything went quiet. 
	"OK!" I stopped at once and turned back. "What about the
children, then? Don't they enjoy it? The kites, the balloons?" 
	"The children, you say." Repeated the voice. "Why don't you
go to any of the play-grounds with winds-on-duty for the kites?
What do you think you'll find there? - A lot of wind and no
children. Only those brought by a grandfather or an uncle. They
don't like it when it's organized, don't you see?" 
	I thought I had noticed something like that. 
	"Generally," he went on, "all that stuff is too well
prearranged. And it's not at all like people think it is. It's
for that reason that I collect dry leaves along the streets." 
	"Well, if you'd like it, I could transfer you to "Weather
Forecasts"." 
	"Oh no, thank you. I wouldn't like to perform whims, not me.
Whenever their forecast turn out wrong - "take these clouds from
here there. Those clouds from there - here. Today," they'll say,
"you'll be weak to moderate. You'll get it if you are not..."." 
	We had already made a round of the square and slowly started
a new one. A cat showed from a court-yard and miaowed an appeal
to the darkness. At that instant a thrown-away newspaper rose
like a ghost, rustled its pages ominously and slid along towards
the cat. It hissed back and hid away. 
	"Well, life is..." 
	"Ye-e-s." The wind agreed. "And the girls in those
trousers..." 
	"So, as it seems, there is no sense, according to you?" 
	"There is... But I don't think you can understand. What's
the sense in turning a man into a roamer. To make him live not in
his house, but in the street? Or over the roofs. Before I only
thought I knew this town. It's totally different from above. On
the whole, there are many things I see in a different way now...
I've got to know new people..." 
	Some strange note could be felt in his last words. There was
no way I could look in his eyes. We had stopped in front of a
"Ready-made Clothes" shop-window and I was absent-mindedly
looking at the mannequins - their smiles were fresh despite the
late hour. 
	"Isn't it nice?" Asked the wind. 
	"What?" 
	"The hat. Isn't it nice? Tomorrow I'll take a swank lady by
surprise and snatch it away from her after she has bought it." 
	So that was it. I was beginning to understand. 
	"Will you explain, please!" I said with a note of accusation
in my voice. "What on earth do you need a lady's hat for?" 
	Only very few people can imagine a wind feeling shy. Well,
certainly, he couldn't drop his eyes and blush, but my long
experience as a weather inspector told me for sure - he felt shy.
A couple of weak whirl-winds ran along the pavement. 
	"Her name is Maria." 
	"Congratulations! I think you are the first wind in the
world who has managed to fall in love with a lady. Your long
contacts with poets must have brought you to that." 
	He even took my joke easily. 
	"Shall I show her to you?" 
	"Now?" I asked surprised, but he had already taken a bunch
of leaves and, dropping them one by one to show me the way, he
made for near-by building. When we were in the court-yard, he
quickly went up.
	"It's here." He whispered in my ear. It was the easiest
thing for him to do. I looked up - a thinned-out India-rubber
plant was waving at me happily from a balcony on the sixth floor.

	"I am sorry!" I said. "But I couldn't peep in even standing
on my toes." 
	"What a nuisance!" Grumbled the wind. "How could I forget
you are so clumsy. She is beautiful in her sleep. I come to look
at her every night." 
	"Does she know about you?" 
	"She does." He started passionately. "I have come so many
times and ... to think of the games we invented! What she loves
most is to make paper-swallows and throw them over the yard, then
I take them and carry them over the roofs, frightening the
pigeons, and, finally, I drop them through the window in the
landlady's room. In the evening she sits on the balcony and I
tell her about the poets, the Delta-wing pilots, the clouds and
the sparrows and then I help her go to sleep with lilac
fragrance. When the poplars were in blossom, I used to make a
long white train out of their fluffs and carry it behind her. Oh,
how she enjoyed it! She used to go to school like that, as a
queen, and her school-friends would turn green from envy." 
	We went out of the yard and travelled in no particular
direction. We fell silent again, but I felt that I would hear
some more fantastic things this evening. 
	"Listen," said the wind after some time. "I'd like to ask
you a favor, but let's keep it between us." 
	"Your secret is safe with me! I'll take it to the grave." 
	"Would you write a letter for me. To her. You see, it's not
exactly a letter, it is..." 
	"It's what?" 
	"A poem". 
	"I've always thought it's contagious." I said. "Like the
company like the man." 
	"You understand nothing." The wind got angry. "That has
nothing to do with my former job with Vihren. It just happens
when you are awake all night. Look, there are things you can
imagine only at night, or at dawn, when there is still no one
around." 
	I could understand him well. My job was just like that - a
night-time job. I sat down on a bench, took out my pen and
notebook. The sun was rising. To the east the chimneys were
beginning to show their outlines on the rust-colored sky. The
square was still quiet and deserted, as if deep in thought with
itself - with houses, windows and doors as static as theatrical
scenery under the unflickering light of the lamps. Then he began:

	"What happens early in the morning? 
	 Early in the morning 
	 The Sun's warm caress awakens the winds 
	 from their sleep in the branches of the linden trees. 
	 Then the linden trees give out their perfumes. 
	 Rustling, the leaves start sharing in whisper 
	 their green dreams. 
	 At night the leaves are green ships, 
	 the stars being their guides to the ports of dreams. 
	 In day-time the leaves imbibe the sun 
	 and slowly turn yellow. 
	 And then the day comes when 
	 the ships laden with gold 
	 tear the silver anchor chains of 
	 spider webs 
	 and slide to the bottom, 
	 cutting the autumn air. 
	 The transparent waters close above them 
	 and what a mystery that exultation is 
	 to drown oneself in the blue of transparent air, 
	 to clutch at a sunbeam as if it were a straw, 
	 to abandon oneself with no regret to that vortex 
	 only asking of the wind 
	 to make it last longer. 
	 That is what happens early in the morning. 
	 To you it might be only the wind playing in the garden. 
	 And it's only the wind that sees from above 
	 a colorful mosaic of sunk ships 
	 with holds laden with gold  
	 at the bottom of the blue transparent lake 
	 of November air." 
	It was already early morning. The sky was growing paler and 
paler. The trees and the benches were gradually emerging from 
the darkness, like a photograph in a developer. A tram squeaked
in the next street.
	"You are a fool." I told him. "If I were you, I'd go right
away to the office and cancel the contract. I'd undergo a
re-transformation, buy flowers and go straight to the girl." 
	"You think I wouldn't?" The wind answered with bitterness in
his voice. "But would she set her eyes on me if I became an
ordinary human? In fact, I'm so... so ordinary. And a bit stout."

	He gave out a sigh and I shivered with cold. 
	"Now she finds everything so romantic - the wind has fallen
in love with her and she goes out on the balcony in her white
nightgown and the wind caresses her, whispering tell-tale stories
in her ear. She feels sympathy for me because I'm so lonely,
because I ask for nothing. Everything will be so ordinary the
other way." 
	"And soon you'll be sent to clean the chimneys of a factory,
and the girl will keep on waiting for you in her white nightgown
on the balcony." 
	"You are right. You are damn right. Well, there are only a
few more weeks to the end of my contract." 
	"No." I shook my head. "I'll fire you today for
incompetence." 
	He fell quiet as if in thought. 
	"All right. But let's do it tomorrow. I'd like to wander
around once again, through street and wards; play with a cloud.
You know, all that is so pleasant." 
	"OK." I agreed. "Let it be tomorrow." 
	We were silent with fatigue. The fronts of the buildings
were illuminated by the windows, lighting up one after the other.
A door banged. I could hear footsteps and voices. 
	"It's time for me to go." I said, getting up from the bench.
My bones ached. "Staying a whole night out to beat the air." 
	"It's not that bad." 
	I didn't feel like going. 
	"And don't worry..." I said. "About the hat. I'll buy it as
soon as they open the shop." 
	A strong whiff bent down the branches of the linden-tree. A
flock of drowsy sparrows flew up with angry chirruping, leaves
scattered on the ground. I walked slowly along the alley. People
were coming out of their houses, as sleepy and as angry as the
sparrows. I did not feel like going home - then I looked up at
the tops of the trees, the roofs, the pale-pink sky. 
	The wind has said it is good.