Лапидус Аркадия Наумовича
Родился 17 октября 1946 года.
В 1962 году поступил в Талгарское медицинское училище, которое закончил 4 июля 1966 года.
Потом учился около года в Алма-Атинской консерватории на вокальном факультете, был принят в институт Гнесина на тот же факультет.
Работал комплектовщиком и грузчиком на швейной фабрике, массажистом в туберкулѐзном санатории, на “скорой помощи” фельдшером, артистом капеллы в филармонии, художественным руководителем театра Детской оперы и руководителем детских драматических студий и так далее, и так далее, о чѐм, а так же и о другом каждый может с удовольствием прочесть в книжке “Повести весѐленьких лет или “Любимец Израиля”.
В 1972 году поступил на заочное отделение Кемеровского государственного института культуры и 25 мая 1977 года окончил полный курс названного института по специальности культурно-просветительная работа, театральная режиссура.
Несколько лет был автором цикловых постановочных передач “ЧУДЕСА НА ПОЛЧАСА” на Алма-Атинском телевидении и радиопостановок пионерского театра сатиры и юмора, а так же имел несколько публикаций во всесоюзном журнале “Вожатый” и местном сатирическом журнале “Шмель”.
24 сентября 1986 года получил значок “Отличник просвещения КазССР”.
В 1995 году выехал с семьѐй на постоянное жительство в Израиль.
В 2011 году в московском издательстве IRISBOOK были изданы мои две книги – сборник повестей “ПО КАПЛЕ…” и роман “ДЫРКА ОТ БУБЛИКА”.
Ну и желающие полюбоваться на вполне биографические фотографии и послушать несколько песен в моѐм исполнении могут набрать в Гугле – АРКАДИЙ ЛАПИДУС В КОНТАКТЕ, и остальные публикации расположены на сайте ВИПЕРСОН (Аркадий Лапидус).
Lapidus Arkady Naumovich
I was born on October 17, 1946.
In 1962 I came to Talgarsky medical school from which graduated on July 4, 1966.
Then about a year in Almaty conservatory at vocal faculty studied, it was admitted to Gnesin’s institute on the same faculty.
I worked as the picker and the loader at garment factory, the massage therapist in tubercular sanatorium, at «ambulance» the paramedic, the actor of a chapel in philharmonic hall, the artistic director of theater of the Children’s opera and the head of children’s drama studios and so on, and so on about what, and also and about the friend everyone can read with pleasure in the book of «The story of cheerful years».
In 1972 I arrived on a correspondence department of the Kemerovo state institute of culture and on May 25, 1977 I graduated from a full course of the called institute majoring in cultural and educational work, theatrical direction.
Some years I was the author of cyclic production broadcasts «MIRACLES ON HALF AN HOUR» on Almaty television and dramatized programmes of pioneer theater of satire and humour, and also I had some publications in the all-Union magazine «Vozhaty» and the local satirical magazine «Shmel».
On September 24, 1986 I received the Excellent Student of Education of KAZSSR badge.
In 1995 I left with a family on a constant residence to Israel.
In 2011 in the Moscow publishing house IRISBOOK my two books – the collection of stories «ON the DROP …» and the novel «HOLE FROM the BAGEL» were published.
Well and persons interested to admire quite biographic photos and to listen to some songs in my execution can gather in Google – ARKADY LAPIDUS ON VKONTAKTE, and other publications are located on the site of VIPERSON (Arkady Lapidus).
Повести «Повести весёленьких лет»
I realize — it is not some cakewalk to life’s end. But you look at this snoot! As if a skunk is sitting under his nose all the time. And he assures that it is a typical Jewish habitus. That is — an appearance!
«What the heaviest thing is there at your place — to kill you at once? Not to let you feel unhappy!» I tell him.
«The life is hard…» He becomes a little more vivid, and goes back to his habitus momentarily.
«I guess, you have to count every coin, you hardly keep body and soul together, but if you only could know what is the absence of money as I know it! And bob’s your uncle! I keep smiling!»
«Your habitus isn’t Jewish.»
«My? Well, look at my profile! I need no proof of identity!»
«Never mind. You are a mongrel.»
«Okay. Let it be! But I don’t understand you yet. Are you ill?»
«Are you a drifter?»
«Are you hungry?»
«Do you have to be in the altogether?»
«So, due to what is such a snoot?»
«Well, let it go hang, your habitus! Say ‘che-e-ese’!»
«Good heaven, it’s even worse now! Maybe, it is really inherent! O! He’s smiling! Oh, he has died… Ah, my dear habitus, habitus, habitus! Ah, my dear habitus, everything has gone…»
All of us are subject to emigration — if not abroad, then to kingdom come; because not each movement is life, but each life is movement. And death… Here I am positive: even in death, there is daylight, but there’s no death in life!
And so, my family and me had nothing to live upon in Alma-Ata. On the other hand, we were teed off about that national madness, which got under our skin. For all the residents of the around-Alma-Ata world, I’ll explain that it is in Kazakhstan, which, in its turn, is in the CIS, which, in its turn, is in the former USSR, which was well known to many people by the only word ‘Russia’, though it is house-to-house (i.e. sheer) Central Asia. During the last year, my wife didn’t work, because her salary had turned to the sum, which didn’t cover her expenses of commutes and calkins; I was running through different schools, they paid me six and a half rates, and that was enough for the family only to victual for three weeks. And I got according almost the highest category! The last week, our son, a student, would feed the family and pay for flat, telephone and light. He took a saxophone and, playing, passed the hat in dirty streets, markets, and rag fairs. Near him, at every step, one could see the first violin of some orchestra, and Ph.D., and generally, the intellect of the merchants’ brethren had half grown, at least.
I used to take a guitar, to go up Kok-Tube (a little mountain with little restaurants) sometimes, too, and to sing. It’s kinda passing the hat as well. I sang to the whole world! To generals and colonels of militia and national security, mafiosos and gangsters of all ranks, and, imagine, even to simply good people — from time to time. It happened. But more and more seldom. The life pressed those people away. Some of them were removed to a rag fair, some — to heaven, some — abroad. I chose — abroad! To Israel! It was the most real variant — minding our absence of money presence. The more so, that my father, who had supported me until he died, and then, afterlife, gave me his kind warm hand: he was a JEW.
And I used to conceal the fact: not to hear any obscenity addressed to him and me once again, and not to see curls of the lips. Though such a JEW as my father was a full synonym to the words ‘a REAL MAN’.
It is not surprising at all that I have a special attitude to Jews. And a bar for them was placed higher than for others. That was why I tried… not to communicate with them! Not to be disappointed irrevocably. After my father, I met such Jews in my life that they would better have not been met. Now I know where the shoe pinches, and at that time, I was about identifying myself as an anti-Semite. Their desperate striving to survive and to get at least some presence had driven them into two very dependable, for the first glance, ruts; but they lead to an abyss. Look more attentive — and you’ll see there almost all the mankind. ‘The measure for all things is a thing!’ and ‘The measure for all things is an idea!’ are their credo. And my father’s credo was, ‘A MAN is the measure of all things!’ That is all.
That was why, when the black hole of Kazakhstan let us go, I didn’t ask Lord for the things that are usually asked for in such situations.
«O my Lord!» I was praying. «Send us, at least for the first period, well, not much chop, but simply normal people!»
I even didn’t dare to dream about good Jews.
«Look!» I used to say to my wife. «Your aunt, though once removed, had left six months before us — and we’ve got neither an address, nor an invitation to house us for a night! The chief fable of all her letters to her mother is her plentiful and treated with imagination food, her plentiful sleep, and her plentiful sea baths. I don’t speak about our acquaintances yet. As if they have been levelled by a bomb…»
God heard me — and normal people began to appear. Even a sallow neurasthenic cramp began to disappear from passengers, though their hands were jerking in fright for a long time still, groping their bags and wallets with documents and dollars.
Some Doctor of Science was even laughing.
«Snook to him!» he was repeating joyfully and endlessly. «Not a cent! Neither for the computer, nor for the disks!»
I kept silence. They had shaken one hundred fifty dollars out of me for ‘the simplified variant of baggage checking’. And I hadn’t carried anything forbidden, really! Only a diskette with my novel under the working title ‘Beat a Sheeny in Yourself — Save a Jew!’.
And God kept carrying the load. Normal Customs met us in Tel-Aviv. They dispensed our baggage normally and admitted us to citizenship normally. Normal people were going round about. And they seemed to be… sober. Sober men? It was so hard to believe in it! Simply impossible! Nevertheless, there was one anomaly there. But it had nothing to do with people. The sky! The bluest July sky in December! Like in ‘Clouds’ by Lermontov!
We were going to move to the hotel already, when I looked around once more and took my wife’s jotter.
«Call to your friend’s sister! Call to the Belfers! They live in Tel-Aviv!»
«No soap. Everybody has already left for work,» my beauty answers.
Seva, the Belfers’ elder son, answered the phone.
«How nice!» he bawled into his receiver. «What a mercy that you’ve caught me! I’m leaving for army just now. We are waiting for you so much! Chop-chop — to our place! Well, as for chops, they are in the refrigerator, the key to the door is under the mat in front of the flat! Eat and sleep! See you later!»
My wife hung up.
I kept silence.
I was shocked…