Another egorhythm. Algorithm for the concealing of the own self
Călin Torsan

We kept on hanging around the parking lot and those two had no chance to lay their hands on us. Moreover, the people were quite having a go at them. ?They are drunk and they stuck their hands into our hat!? we were shouting to the astounded passers-by. ?They say they belong to the S.R.I!? And then, as a blessed breeze, as a cooling rain during a hot afternoon, we felt the public opinion pouring over the entire scandal. People let drive at those two and coked their goose, saying that, what are they doing wrong, they just sing down the street to make pocket money, you keep on seeing things like that in the Occident, what, would it be better for them to be on drugs and hit us in the head during the evening because they have no money for drugs? Bloody bastards, together with your damned Security, the Revolution was in vain and people died for nothing because not even one hundred revolutions will ever change you! Somehow, this shock cleared the pedants? mind a bit. They just slacked it, a little too much-we should have thought about that- and they went up, on Victoriei Way, waving those fists big as a sailor?s knot and yelling at us for the last time, wait and see, you legionaries, because we gave it hot to those like you at Gherla till taking the shit out of their heads!

We came back to the instruments we had left next to the arch at Kretzulescu. Two or three kids who were worshiping us had kept an eye on them. They lived next to Sala Palatului and they dropped by to listen to us every day. They used to do it for hours. They were starring at our faces, at the instruments and after that we used to invite them in for a football match with that cloth ball. I saw one of them again after years. He is working in Musica shop. Selling blank CDs. He is a grown-up. It wouldn?t be a bad idea to get what he still remembers of those times on a tape...

Yes? So, those kids were waiting for us next to our instruments. We were quiet. There was not much to say after such a scandal. We were still shivering. They suspected that that was the last day when they had the chance to listen to us playing. I felt a deep pain when thinking that the whole story was over. But it was also obvious that we couldn?t sing anymore. We went back to our homes in high dudgeon and on that road of defeat, Merişică, one of the Gavroches who were joining us in our pain, made us a gift: a small clasp knife with green hilts. I think Jean still has it. We got home late and the only soothing though was that early in the morning we were going to go touring to the seaside. To Costineşti. It took me quite some time to fall asleep, tormented-as always- by the fear of what the respective scandal could have triggered. Of the fear of the follow-ups.

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