Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Val Votrin

and I was too scared to reply to him. And so I remained silent. But he saw what my silence expressed. He got up and approached me, and stood in my space. “What’s with you?” he asked in his own language. I was silent. “You believe in the Trumpet?” I nodded. “Do you understand what I’m talking about?” I nodded my head. He laughed. “Whowas your father, you, who understand the language of the shamans?” “He had no name,” I answered. “What are you doing here?” I was silent. “Are you a sbegut?” I shook my head. He put his face with its burning eyes right next to mine. He smelled of the depths of the earth, of ore veins, underground streams, emanating with the smell of the earth, like the dead. “You came here,” he said. “You came to Ogon, and you’re not a sbegut. Then who are you? Do you know?” I said to myself: “Shepchu, this man wants to know who

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