Trafika Europe 7 - Ukrainian Prayer

Sofia Andrukhovych

To dispel an illusion it is enough simply to be attentive and honestly recognize that you see exactly what you see. Adela shakes her head negatively. She wants to believe in miracles, the eternal child. Petro squints his eyes cunningly, gives me a conspiratorial grin. When silence again envelops the hall, Thorn nods just barely, waits for a few more slow moments, and then, having opened with agile fingers the trunk, starts taking out of it some bright- colored rags, embroidered long shirts, wide pantaloons with cockades and frills, tulles, lace, and shawls with colorful appliqués, elegant leather shoes with tips curling upward. Without haste, he demonstrates all of this to the public, one piece after another, from all sides,

and places then in a pile on the floor. Then he turns the trunk upside down, shakes it, and asks the audience to confirm that not a single item is hiding in its mahogany bosom. Except perhaps a few spools of rope. Thorn takes a bundle of straw from the pagoda and starts stuffing with it one item of clothing after another, tamping it down thoroughly. Soon next to him stands a female dummy tightly held together by ropes—a face made of sackcloth, a high turban pinned together with a brooch, long clothes flowing down to the floor. Chevalier starts making another dummy, stuffing an undershirt with straw with familiar movements, like a butcher stuffing a pork gut with a mixture of kasha and blood. The second dummy is a man in dark baggy trousers

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