TWOMarat
It’s a working day, but the quarry is silent; there’s no repulsive screeching from the disc saws, the dust has settled overnight, the air tickles my nostrils pleasantly, my feet bounce against the firm ground, stirring up little swirling tornadoes of dust which, as they uncoil, merge into the white trail stretching round the quarry. My body has warmed up at last, as if everything inside it is bathed in a hot, viscous liquid that has splashed right up into my head — I feel a state of strange lightness, almost flight. There is more water than before on the bottom of the quarry. At least, that’s how it looks from up here. It is dark-green from age and covered with rushes. If not for the three rather macabre-looking stonecutting machines frozen motionless right at the very edge of th
