Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

A Light in the Night

summer cumulus amongst sullen November rainclouds, it had no particular shape, but stood out with the kind of pure color that one simply doesn’t encounter in late fall. Jerking his feet out of the soft emptiness, Ilya Ilych rushed forth. Walking immediately became more difficult, as each of his eighty years immediately made itself felt in his trembling knees and heaving chest, which was gasping for air. “Where am I running to?” thought Ilya Ilych. “If I am dead then I’ve got eternity ahead of me anyway, plenty of time to make it wherever. And if I am alive, I should take care…” The white thing was getting closer. Human figures could be discerned now, oddly immobile, and next to them… not structures; decorations, rather. Yes, indeed, this looked most of all like old decorations. Columns, ionic or doric ones – who can recall which? – rose up, supporting nothing; unalive white trees looked like ficus plants out of a nursery, and the human figures looked like alabaster statues. Although, no, not human… They were angels! Each had decorative swan wings sticking out of its back. All of this looked stupidly similar to the ridiculous image he made up in his head a half hour ago. His feet finally found purchase, something akin to gravel; it was so unexpected that Ilya Ilych tripped and nearly fell. He was saved by the pole that he held fast in his

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