Here’s a fragment for it that I found online and managed to translate into English:
”He sat down, as usual, at the last table on the left, with his back to the fleuron pillar by the kitchen door. The gas lamps hanging from the ceiling, mimicking the austere style of the Dayzida dynasty before the Thracians were drove out of Europe, created a gloomy atmosphere, stretching the shadows on the granite walls on which hung the chain-link shirt of a tyraget catafract, a few larch bows and a tlaxacab piarens with a cracked spring. In the Maechua of Berechet it was known that Derzelas was a nationalist who would have christened his tavern Amissa Dacia,if he had been allowed by the White Chancellery. He hadn't been allowed,so he'd called it neutrally Many Shards, which didn't stop him from beating up customers without Thracian blood whenever he caught them. With his own hand sometimes. It was even whispered in the corners that in a back room, the archons of the local cells of the Green Caps met every month, always on a different day.
At the knotted teak plank bar, Ortolan walked absently, pointing his straight, fingernail-free finger at the edge of the clay jug adorned with scalloped grooves. He seemed absent, though he never was. He couldn't afford to be.
A talented storyteller, Ortolan. He wrote a front-page article on "Enough.” Once upon a time, when people were still reading. Two volumes of published short stories… Later translated into latteca-nah by Lisimah Servandus. By Lisimah Servandus himself. Then the Young Dawos broke his bones. They ripped off his fingernails, crushed his nose, and spat in his mouth. They dragged him along the Via Ziaxes, from Roles Square to Ramidava Gate, with a plaque hanging around his neck which they had forced him to scribble with his own blood: “I am a traitorous pig and enemy of the nation who wrote books for the Romayans ". At the same time, his woman left him, after 30 years of marriage and five children. She had been looking for an ambitious man, Zetzi, had found him, but in the end his convictions had stifled her. It is said that women have desires, and men have aspireations. And duties. Belizarie said that. Belizarie, my cynical bastard. “