Wait, if everything is eternal, then there will be me again?

Rehearsal of “Robert’s Dream”. Robert is “she”. This is me by the window. (I had no time to damage anything, darling).

To touch the fingers of the rain.

We were not going to Kronstadt. We were not departing from Bergamo. There were no two sleepless nights. There were white nights and white, white eyes. Roma Dubinnikov, hi, as yesterday. These couple of years – just the pause in the rhythm.

What happens not so often – I was connected to myself in a dream. This is Robert’s dream. My dream.

A smell of renewal. A hall. I am sliding on the floor, vertically. One elegant leg. I come toward the big mirror from the side. There is a man appearing in the mirror, moving like my reflection but he is out of breath, with very wet lips. Untidy. His sleeves are longer, much longer than normal. Does he hide something under his sleeves? I know what. Axes, which are already not really clean.

I realize what he did to my reflection and why our movements are not synchronised. I know that it is a dream, one of those rare controllable dreams. But why is there no tidiness? And this unshaved face. Why are murderers ugly and fidgety?

The workers have helped. Morning noises. Happiness of hope and work.

They asked Adriano to arrange the village fair of Cerbaia. He took a minute to think about it and suggested for a theme, “Old Cars Parade”.

“Why old?” they asked him.
“There are no new ones,” he answered.