Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Svyatoslav Loginov

– I am not worried about the dust. But who put up these mock-ups? – Ah! – the stranger gestured disappointedly. – Best not to think about it – it’s all just so sad. I’ll explain later. – Without the slightest segue, he stretched out his hand and introduced himself: – Afanasiy. Afonya for short. I am a spotter. – Ilya, – replied Ilya Ilych. He wanted to add the patronymic, as he had gotten used to doing in his later years, but then realized that the talkative Afonya was quite likely his senior and held off to avoid confusion. – So, Ilya, – pronounced Afonya thoughtfully. – Do you understand what’s happened to you? – More or less. I was fully conscious when I died, remember everything up until the very last second. – All the better then, I won’t need to beat around the bush. You are a sensible man, I see, so you won’t be crying and smashing your head against the wall. Though I’ll be straight with you, things around here are not as they taught you in church. Better grasp that straight away, or else you end up with nonsense like this… – Afanasiy took a step and deftly knocked down another angel. – I hadn’t expected anything of that sort, – said Ilya Ilych carefully, keeping his stubborn godlessness ambiguous, just in case. – Which is why I was surprised when I ran into this little bit of heaven.

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