BEFORE SUNRISE
<467
"Heavens!" I think. "Why did I agree to these evenings?"
I look wretchedly at my watch. Pieces of paper fly onto the
stage. A chance for a rest. I close the book.
I unfold the first note. I read it out.
"If
you're the author of these stories, why do you read
them?"
I am annoyed. I shout in reply:
"And if you're a reader of these stories, why in hell do you
listen to them!"
The audience laughs and applauds.
I open the second note:
"Rather than read what we all know, tell us in a funny way
how you came here."
In a furious voice I shout:
"I got on the train. My relatives wept and implored me not
to leave. They warned me I'd be pestered with stupid questions."
A burst of applause. Laughter.
Ah, if only I could walk around the stage on my hands or
ride around on one wheel, the evening would be a success.
The man who organized my appearances whispers to me
from the wings:
"Tell them something about yourself. They like that."
Submissively I begin to tell them my biography.
Pieces of paper come flying onto the stage again.
"Are you married? . . . How many children do you have?
... Do you know Esenin?"
It's a quarter to eleven. I can finish.
Sighing sadly, I leave the stage amid sparse applause. I am
consoled by the fact that they are not my readers. I am consoled
by the fact that this is an audience which would attend a per–
formance given by any comedian or conjurer with just as much
zeal.
I leave for Leningrad without fulfilling my contract.
