Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

The Last Magog

And then, when our mutual curiosity had been satisfied, he started telling me about himself. We sat downstairs, in his café, and he shared with me stories from his life, his remembrances, his fears. Yes, this man had fears. And I found out what he was afraid of, and learned in surprise of his greatest fear. I recall how I nearly cried out, out of amazement, when he told me of this for the first time. We were sitting in his café, drinking his wine, conversing. There were not many customers — two taxi drivers and some disheveled woman. We sat and talked, and suddenly he leaned in towards me and said it. And I nearly cried out in surprise. Giovanni was afraid of the Magog. He feared their — our — invasion so much that he prepared his little cellar in case of a sudden incursion, storing in it food, water, various necessities. He told me about this with his eyes agog. Noticing that I had recoiled from him, he asked if I know who they are, the Magog. Having said I do not, I shrugged my shoulders. That is when he told me of a dreadful, bloodthirsty people, confined to this time by the Lord beyond inaccessible mountains, beyond impassible deserts. Of a people, who are but waiting to escape and destroy the entire human race. Terrible, animalistic beings on shaggy horses, dressed in black skins. Bloodthirsty, terrifying. It is said that they eat babies and drink human blood. What could be more horrifying? Giovanni had recently


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