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the physics of sorrow
a past-time machine
The last time I went back to
T., I noticed some strange
things. They had restored
the monument from the
1980s on the town square.
I could have sworn i t
wasn’t there a week ago. I
remembered that monument
well. A man with a long
granite garment, perhaps
a cassock, an overcoat or
a royal mantle. And with
the most nondescript face
you’l l ever see. On al l
important historical dates
it somehow inexpl icably
took on the features of the
corresponding hero who was
to be honored. On February
19, it became Vasil Levski, on
June 2 Hristo Botev. It was
also a Bulgarian tsar, most
of ten Simeon, sometimes
a monk from Mount Athos,
somet imes a par t i san
guerri l la commander. It
was most of ten saddled
wi th the task of being
Georgi Dimitrov or some
other (local) communists. A
universal monument. It had
its overcoat, noble forelock,
and high forehead— the
minimum requirements for
every hero back then. Now
they’ve cleaned it up and I
could even see that a fresh
wreath of braided carnations
with two red ribbons had just
been placed at its base. I also
noticed that the newspapers
arrived a day late, the shop
clerks had become sullen
like back in the day, there
was no Internet, while the
stores sold only two types
of salami and frankfurters.
Given all of this, plus my
fruitless experiments on