Seeing Further by Esther Kinsky

Author:Esther Kinsky
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fitzcarraldo Editions
Published: 2024-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

That Saturday evening the lovers gathered at the entrance for the last screening. A wind had picked up outside, eddying the dust on the dry, hard-packed dirt ground, forming small funnels with little things swirling helplessly inside: small pieces of wood, scraps of twine, the scattered, used entry tickets from previous screenings. Thunder rumbled in the distance, frogs croaked in the rushes along the small river and the heady scent of the last linden blossoms seemed to blanket everything in a film, sweet and at the same time vile with its slightly rotten tack. By the time the audience was let in, the partition featuring a romantic film poster had already been blown over by the wind a dozen times, Imre having picked it up just as often, and after everyone took their seats Imre assured them they were about to see one of the most modern films of all, while the whistling of the wind picked up outside in the background and the roll of thunder moved notably closer. Of all, he repeated for emphasis, as the light in the tent turned off and the black-and-white snow flickered, crackling on the screen, thus beginning the film.

For a time, romantic entanglements distracted people from acknowledging the thunder, the howling wind and even the dazzling flashes of lighting which pierced the cracks and holes in the tent, but then a cold gust of wind blew in, upsetting the tarpaulin at the entrance, and with a deafening drumming, rain set in. The girls shrieked and, seeking shelter, turned to their clueless accompaniments, who began to fear for the elegance of their moustaches, faced with the deluge of water from the sky. Before long water penetrated the tent; Laci Deutsch had the presence of mind to snatch the film reels from the folding table, where they sat beside the projector, and when, beneath the brunt of the rain, the tent’s crown also developed small tears, letting in the water, he threw himself over the projector, which thankfully was not yet warm, refusing to surrender it to the storm, while a number of couples plunged into the bluster of the storm with pointed cries and husky curses, for fear of being buried beneath a collapsing tent.

But the tent did not collapse. The wet panels of cotton duck clapped limply in the flagging wind, the downpour gave way to a steady murmur, the roll of thunder receded and the lightning strikes became rare, then ceased altogether.

. . .

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