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georgi gospodinov
playing, the band had
marched quite a ways ahead.
On the plat form, bored
people in dark suits waved
to the enthusiastic squads of
marchers. Twenty or so kids
in blue neckerchiefs broke
away from the parading
ranks and, guided by their
teaches, ran over to the
platform holding bouquets
of carnations. The dark suits
took the carnations, patted
the children on the heads
and kept waving. There were
carnat ions ever ywhere,
just like back in the day, he
thought to himself. They
were per fect for ever y
occasion—party meetings,
demonstrations, weddings,
and funerals. In the latter
case, you had to make sure
they were an even number.
The set designers had done a
good job. They clearly had a
nice, fat budget, yet another
one of those stupid co-
productions. He couldn’t help
himself, he turned toward an
elderly man wearing a suit
that looked like it had been
sewn in the ’70s with a pin
on his lapel.
“Excuse me, but what are
they filming?”
“What are they f ilming?
Who’s f ilming?” The man
looked around anxiously.
“Uhh ...it must be some
movie. What ’s with this
...demonstration?”
“Don’t you know? Today is
September ninth.”
That really was the date,
but it hadn’t been a national
holiday for the past twenty
years at least. Bewildered,
he begged the man’s pardon
and stepped away from the
crowd. He now noticed that
his clothes also differed quite