Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

A Light in the Night

take away his haul. Now for the stairs.

The nurses in the hospice are either no-nonsense old ladies or young girls, pale almost to translucency, as if they are the ones ready to go. Near half are foreigners, must be they haven’t got enough of their own dying to go around, so they come here to take care of ours. It’s the living you should take care of, death can be had without the comforts. Look at them bustling over me – the escapee returns! – took me to my room, put me into bed, gave me a little injection, just in time too, for here comes that gnawing feeling under the ribs. A long-nosed nurse sat down on my bed, started up about God. I barked something back, mentioned the Devil… – she buggered off, they are all delicate here. Left a little book by my pillow. These foreigners, even their Gospels are thin and skinny, in a paper binding. No match for the orthodox version. And the translation is crappy too, can’t even recognize familiar terms. Tossed the booklet aside, closed my eyes. The meds have begun to take effect, getting sleepy. My eyes popped open of their own accord, as if given a push from the inside. The doctor and two nurses in white conical headscarves were bustling next to me. The word ‘adrenaline’ cut through the air. “I don’t need adrenaline! I’ve got a motor for a heart, didn’t skip a single beat my whole life.”

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