Helen Borodina

Страна : Россия
Главные жизненные интересы – познание и созидание. Творчество в различных сферах наделяет необходимыми для этого инструментами. Я занимаюсь художественным переводом, пишу стихи, рассказы, статьи и песни, рисую, фотографирую, участвую в музыкальных и театральных проектах, много путешествую. Профессиональная деятельность, по больше части, связана непосредственно с переводом, я билингв, и образование у меня лингвистическое, однако всем остальным творчеством занимаюсь на серьезном уровне. В детстве мечтала стать актрисой, певицей или художником, так получилось, что все эти мечты постоянно находят воплощение, всегда удивляя меня саму.
Country  : Russia
My main interests in life are all about learning and creating. Creative activity of various kinds provides all necessary tools for this to keep happening. I am a literary translator, write poetry, stories, articles and songs, do photography, participate in musical and theatrical projects, and I’m also an avid traveler. Strictly speaking, I’m a professional translator, I’m bilingual and have a degree in linguistics, however, I do everything else on a rather serious level. As I child I dreamed of becoming an actress, a singer, or an artist, and it so happened that all of those dreams come to life in different ways and always to my own great amazement.


The tall man in dark clothes was called Mr Dire. Almost everyone in Direville had seen him in the streets and in public places, but no one knew him well enough to be able to tell what his occupation was, or where he lived. One thing about him was obvious – Mr Dire didn’t seem to age at all. 
Mr Dire rose from the flat stone and, brushing sand from his longсoat, moved his hands in the air, as if stroking it, clearing it from cobwebs. The invisible emptiness filled with silver glitter, and then, the translucent cover was dissolved.
He knew that on that special day it would not have been right for him to linger in the cove where he so much enjoyed being. He had to leave, but waited for a special moment, for some sort of a sign. He often did so. And, when he saw a fish thrown out onto the sand by the waves, its scales glimmering, he stepped out of the cove and walked down to the shore, carrying his hat in his hand.
The living fish desperately beat its tail. Its gills dithering, its mouth open in a silent plea for help. But as he approached, he kept watching it with an even closer attention. From the side, it seemed heartless. But was it so indeed?
Mr Dire tried to stay away from natural processes, interfering as little as possible with the course of history. The Lord of the city and the Tamer of light and dark forces in and around it, he could not afford to take any liberties.
He stepped back, and the fish became still. The glittering scales on its side became a uniform shining mirror. It did not have to beat its tale against the white sand in vain anymore; as soon as it knew it had been saved, Mr Dire took it into his big hands and released it into the gentle sea.
The waters received the grateful fish, and the silhouette of the mystery man disappeared behind a steep slope.
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