Trafika Europe 6 - Arabesque

georgi gospodinov

playing, the band had marched quite a ways ahead. On the plat form, bored people in dark suits waved to the enthusiastic squads of marchers. Twenty or so kids in blue neckerchiefs broke away from the parading ranks and, guided by their teaches, ran over to the platform holding bouquets of carnations. The dark suits took the carnations, patted the children on the heads and kept waving. There were carnat ions ever ywhere, just like back in the day, he thought to himself. They were per fect for ever y occasion—party meetings, demonstrations, weddings, and funerals. In the latter case, you had to make sure they were an even number. The set designers had done a good job. They clearly had a nice, fat budget, yet another

one of those stupid co- productions. He couldn’t help himself, he turned toward an elderly man wearing a suit that looked like it had been sewn in the ’70s with a pin on his lapel. “Excuse me, but what are they filming?” “What are they f ilming? Who’s f ilming?” The man looked around anxiously. “Uhh ...it must be some movie. What ’s with this ...demonstration?” “Don’t you know? Today is September ninth.” That really was the date, but it hadn’t been a national holiday for the past twenty years at least. Bewildered, he begged the man’s pardon and stepped away from the crowd. He now noticed that his clothes also differed quite

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