Русское воскрешение Мэрилин Монро. На 2 языках - стр. 16

When Rebrov killed his first man he was sixteen. He ran away from the boarding school and began to work with a team of lumberjacks. It was in the early nineties. With perestroika, all state farms collapsed in their Novgorod remote villages. Half-broken tractors, rusty equipment, and hungry calves were then distributed among dumbfounded peasants, and everybody was invited to free-enterprising Capitalist world. With a great pump the land was distributed among them, though in the form of vouchers, pieces of paper with seals, nobody knew what to do with, and would gladly swap it away for a bottle of vodka if anybody then offered. Nobody of them became farmers after that, because one should be born a master to be one, or to be skilled enough, or hard-working. Seventy years of Communism wiped all of that, and there was only devastation and mess in their heads now. The only thing, that could support the families of these men, and supply them with vodka they depended on from their adolescence, was timber.

Самые тертые и крутые скупали старую или краденную технику, сколачивали бригады из ошалевших от безденежья мужиков, запасались ксивами на делянки у продажных лесников и, как хищники, рубили все подряд. По ночам с надрывным воем шли по длинным лесным дорогам в балтийские порты перегруженные лесовозы. Без лишних проволочек они прямиком подходили к бортам сухогрузов с чужими скандинавскими флагами, и когтистая лапа крана захватывала наши северные елки и уносила их в темные трюмы. Расплачивались тут же, наличкой, набитой в дешевые китайские сумки. При свете фар, над раскаленными радиаторами грузовиков деньги пересчитывались только по толстым перевязанным веревкой пачками: этих, из леса, обмануть боялись.

The most brave and cool of them bought old or stolen equipment, and hammered together teams of crazed from the lack of money men, alcohol-hungry and ruthless. Bribing or intimidating corrupt and defenseless foresters, getting permits from them, these predators chopped down twice or thrice as much, leaving only bald hills that have been once thick with beautiful north-Russian woods. In the nights, with the hysterical roaring, groans, and squeaks overloaded trucks hauled their lumber through long back roads to the Baltic ports. Reaching the pierces, trucks with no delay drew near to cargo ships with Scandinavian flags, and a sharp-clawed paw of the crane hurriedly grabbed northern fir-trees and carried them down to the deep holds. This hard men’s lumber was paid on the spot, immediately, with cash from the cheap canvas bags. Packs of the money, tied up by rope bands, were hurriedly counted by the truck’s head lights on its hot and steaming radiators. No one ever tried to cheat here, for these neat Europeans were really afraid of the wild men from the woods.