Page 48 - СКАЗКИ СНЕЖНОГО ЭЛЬФА

I looked up to see a strong aged man. He was powdered
with snow and was still holding me tight in his arms, re-
garding me openly and trying to guess who it was he’d just
caught on the fly. His teeth set over a curved exotic pipe of
dark wood.
‘Sorry, I was mistaken,’ I said shyly, breaking his embrace.
He grabbed my arm and said cheerfully, ’Wait, don’t go!
It is snowing, eh? Let’s go for a walk.’
‘Sorry, I can’t. I have to pick up the kids. They’re at the
kindergarten.’ I muttered, confused.
‘That’s too bad. OK, another time perhaps.’ At this he
swung around and vanished in the blizzard. A moment later
I heard him asking ‘,What’s your name, flyer?’ ‘Nadezhda,’
I cried in the whirling snow, my speaker not in sight. ‘Na-
dezhda? That’s great!’ I heard again and it was over. Neither
steps nor snow creaking.
Back home, I mused on who he was, that man, where
he had come from and where he left. Why does he smoke a
pipe in the blizzard and chat up the girls he catches on the
fly? Why does his husky voice and his laugh seem famil-
iar and why was he talking to me the way we’d said ‘Good
bye’ to each other the day before and were going to see each
other the next day again? Was it deja vue that I had? Or I
simply was not aware of some magic happened? It looked
out of place. To add, I could smell New Year wonders. I could
hardly remember that smell, but still ---

42