Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

The Last Magog

house without hesitation, without any superfluous conversation, immediately, when we arrived and asked to stay with him. Yazygu knew how to find him, how to find Giovanni’s house. If it weren’t for Yazygu, I would have been lost. The city was large, very large. I would have gotten lost without Yazygu. He led me out of the port, accompanied me through the streets, upon which drove loud automobiles, and brought me to this place. He knew everything. It wasn’t for nothing that he was a sbegut, just as those who, it turned out, were already living in Giovanni’s house. There were four of ours there. Three sbegut and a shaman. They met me in the large shared kitchen. I was surprised to have found a shaman there. I hadn’t known that shamans too may be followers of Sbegu. But the shaman quickly brought me to my senses. He immediately proceeded to laugh at Sbegu, calling him a clay head and an idiot of a marmot. The others listened to him in silence. It seemed that they argued a lot, argued until they were hoarse, and then quit, quit arguing. They simply listened, how the shaman heaped abuse on Sbegu, and occasionally looked over at us. We kept quiet. Even Yazygu remained silent. What could we say? He was a shaman, and even here, in this city, where they didn’t know what that was — a shaman.... But to us he was a shaman, and I couldn’t force myself to argue with a shaman. And so, we stood there and listened to him under the searching gazes of the other sbegut.

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