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Two Tales
So that God forbid I wouldn’t
stink of horse. It might
happen that I could start to
stink of horse. But that’s not
such a deadly stench. I have
to even admit that I love the
odor of a horse. It’s pleasant.
But when it’s equine, and
not human. A human smells
of a human, humanity,
humanness.
If I suddenly began to stink
of horse, then a lot of my
friends would instantly recoil
from me. At first they would
show their disgust, but all
the same later they wouldn’t
be able to deal with it. I
understand – it’s difficult to
deal with that. First of all,
it’s hard to conceive that for
someone whom you have
known since childhood a tail
suddenly appears, and not
just any kind, but a horse’s.
I think that of all the tails
out there, the horse’s is the
best. The most elegant. Lord,
make it so, for me to grow a
real horse’s tail! One that I
could move the way I move
my legs and arms, sometimes
consciously,
sometimes
unconsciously, well, the way
it is with legs and arms.
I understand the degree
to which my desire is
unnatural. Because I could
desire something different,
something more human.
Money, eternal love, grateful
children, good neighbors,
the respect of society,
maybe even the recognition
of society – fame. But no. I
don’t want any such thing,
though I don’t have it. I want
a tail.
When I was little I often
thought that it’ll grow out of
my tailbone, and it seemed
that it, like a hump on my
back, was growing bigger. At
six I hit my tailbone against