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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 33 | volume VI | July-August, 2003



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SLOVOKULT.DE
KRUG
BALKANI
OKF







                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 33July-August, 2003
Prose

Circus

/9
p. 1
Mitko Madžunkov

    For no particular reason a thin man with straight hair and nervous gestures attracted my attention: above his many lips, on his corporal’s mask he had a moustache that looked like two flies stuck on with a pin. It looked like the moustache would outlive its owner. The man wore a uniform with decorations that made you think of a spider, a spider web, and a spider’s victim at the same time. He was with a smaller and fatter man with a conquistador’s mask; he wore a uniform with epaulets and a tri-cornered hat. The thin one and the fat one were talking, and they waved their arms vigorously, as if they arguing who was the greater hero. Their conversation was overheard by a boy with a wonderful body, in a canvas shirt, with a Virgo mask on his face.
    There were bare-chinned Huns here, Tartars, in their clothes and with their idols; there were wine-producers, Slavs, Normans, Saxons, Goths, there were Mayas with half-moon faces; there were Roman emperors and church heads; patriarchs, popes, Pharisees and Scribes; chiefs of extinct tribes; Chinese leaders, Japanese, Indian, Egyptian, Macedonian; there were Greek dictators; Spanish, Hawaiian; there were Nicholas’ and Alexanders, Phillips and Louises, Marias and Elisabeths, with names that ended in ov, va, vo, ski, chki, ich, ik, ah, or, ti, vi, with decorative feathers; there were the wild and the wise smart of this and that place; their hostages and hostages’ lovers; jesters and ladies, statesmen and law makers, bankers and traders, factory owners and entertainers, philosophers and artists, scientists and alchemists, usurers and dreamers, young and old, beautiful and ugly, big and small, dirty and clean.
    This crowd was like a cluster of grapes, like a bunch of carnations in whose middle were the man with the moustache and spider cross, and the fat man; it seemed that they still argued over who had accomplished the greater deeds. The handsome boy stood just to the side and watched everything quietly, but not with disinterest.
    The stage was brightly lighted. There was nobody, nothing on it: just the unbearable whiteness.
    In time, the shiny light grew weaker, paler, taking on violet shades. The audience became quieter and quieter.
    When the noise stopped, I knew the show was about to start. And I would surely see it once the workers (did they?) made the final preparations, unless something averted my attention.
    The audience members started taking off






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