Trafika Europe 7 - Ukrainian Prayer

Felix Austria

(the sitar continues playing on its own—you can even see the strings vibrating) and joins the dance. It walks on its hands, reaching with its feet beyond the back of its neck, placing them on the turban. It crouches and tumbles several times. It stands up straight, then bends backwards, touches the floor with its hands and makes a few steps on all fours, bent in half. And then it rolls into a tight ball and tumbles towards Thorn’s feet. The Chevalier carefully picks up the living ball with both hands and puts it into a round box—not much bigger than a box for a top hat. I can see that Mrs. Festenburg is feeling sick: she has turned her head away, leaning into her hand, and has covered her eyes. Viewers cover their faces with their hands, shriek, and clutch their chests.

Thorn places the box on a small rug that who knows when appeared on the floor, next to the feet of the pair of lovers who continue their enchanted dance, and then, after smoothly moving his arms, covers all threewith the same silk spread. For another minuteor so fromunderneath the fabric body parts still stick out, but suddenly everything stops. The illusionist pulls the spread towards himself and steps aside. “Ahhh,” exhales the emotionally drained audience. “Ahhhh, aaahhhhh.” The man and the woman have disappeared. Not only are they gone but so are the dummies and the rags. In the air, a few feet above the floor, sits the child: the enormous turban menacingly envelops the tiny head; the face is serious, not like a child’s; the hand that reaches out of its

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