By the unwrinkled foreheads and by the pursed
lips of the shepherds and by the gay step of their
dogs Avram Iancou could tell that he was sold
by his own compatriots, his heart was evaporating
with a whistle and a clew as black as the wool
replaced it, a clew that was gyrating maddeningly
and the clew melted too and a bitter void was
hiccupping in his chest he would have desired
to fill it with some seeds but a blizzard swept
them all away. The messenger boy shook him
and said, “The emperor wants to see you!”
“What’s the use of meeting each other?
‒ The emperor Franz Joseph ‒ and a madman
like me?” And he took to the road, a shepherd
hung a pipe on his throat through which he blew
like the wind. Exhausted and starving he lay down
on the veranda of an abandoned house and he was
blowing through the pipe more and more softly
until he gave up the ghost. It always happens
thus. “What sense do all these make?” he may
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