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the physics of sorrow
memory and you remain in
your childhood forever. To a
certain extent, it ’s merciful.
He also might be going crazy,
everything might just be
in his head. He got up and
slowly went over to the
window. He stood there for
a moment before drawing
aside the tatty curtain, then
abruptly yanks it away. Down
below school kids really
were marching around, in
the same uniforms as fifty
years ago, men and women
in sui ts and long gray
trench coats were standing
around them. The marching
band was doing its routine,
while the sun showered its
glimmering rays into the
brass instruments, which
had been shined with
putzing
polish in advance. He hadn’t
thought about
putzing
in
ages. A little farther on stood
the platform. He got dressed
quickly and went downstairs.
They were all real, three-
dimensional, living, the men
with crew cuts, the women
cold-curled, they smelled of
strong, cheap cologne, green
apples, and once-ubiquitous
“Ideal” soap.
They must be shooting a film,
how could he have fallen for
it?Somewherehere thewhole
cinematographic machinery
would reveal itself. The
trucks with the generators,
the cameras, the dollies, and
slider tracks ...He carefully
looked around. There was
no sign of any equipment,
they had hidden it that
well. But still, a bearded
director with a megaphone
would have to appear out of
somewhere shouting “Cut!”
and making everyone go
back for a second take. The
demonstration continued,
however, the music was