Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Two Stories

instruments at the Old Feodosia Cemetery – it goes without saying, at quite a distance from the Writer, that is, in a different town altogether. And that is when that hour of darkness dawned. Out of the irredeemable night, immediately after the funeral, ghostly figures silently approach the grave armed with spades. And one of them, nearly two meters tall, stooped, in a low-pitched voice that evokes a shudder, issues the calm, authoritative instructions of an experienced digger…. In another hour, they restore the now empty grave. They would need a few more hours, a horrific thought, to deliver the lined-with-satin coffin to the off-limits official site and, with surgical precision, to exhume the grave of the classic so as to minister to the reunion of the ashes with the dust. With the advent of morning, the upended literary historical monument looked none the worse for wear, about the same as the day before. I am acquainted with people who had undertaken daring, illustrious, mind-blowing deeds primarily so that, immediately in their wake, I can blabber about them to anyone who will listen. The above-described events, entirely typical for Schneiderman, as I had already mentioned, were not motivated by any need for popular approbation and did not serve any ulterior “external” aims. They only sated some unconscious a priori thirst, a vague apperception of the patently

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