THE LAST DAY OF THEATRE
She sketched their costumes herself, of course. Or maybe she demonstrated on herself. With habitual ease traced the sleeves with smooth wide gestures, underlined the narrow waist with a poised gesture, with her palms, from the chest down, and caught the wide skirt with her fingertips. She knew how to wear imaginary dresses. She would have discussed the colour scheme with them, too, but they held their tongue until the Day of Theatre dawned. When they appeared, when they were delivered by car, ironed, freshly sewn, floating on air, F. blushed. They stood inside, hands held high, flushed with her joy, because now it became clear as day to us, who had been abandoned, that she had not been wrong to abandon us. After turning away from us, she made the right choice in tu
