ANDREY AND THE LION

"My name is Andrey Adamovich, I am an animal tamer at the Шут (Shut) circus in Moscow. It took me eight years to write these shaky and discontinued lines; interrupted by tremors and crying attacks. I avoided remembering everything until then. Even after so long my nerves break and my heart sinks as I relive the most insignificant episode of those tragic memories that have populated my nightmares since then. Razyarennyy (furious), arrived at the circus on January 25, 1912, how could I forget? I turned 18 on that day. I was not an animal tamer at that time, just a wizard's assistant. Furious, if you're wondering, it was a one-year-old lion. The first acquired by the circus while still a puppy. At the time, adjustments were necessary because of constant reports of animal abuse. What made it furious was the first of many puppies, among bears, dogs, seals and penguins. Treated with all the perks and whims, the feline grew up to be the mascot of the circus. The owner even had the emblem of tarpaulins, uniforms and advertisements changed to that of a roaring lion. I had no problems with furious in those times yet. But everything was already a little strange, because inexplicable things came to such an extent that it was no longer possible to credit such coincidences by chance. Igor, a cage cleaner, was found dead, hanging from a trapeze around his neck. His weight made him sway slowly and his red, bulging eyes gave an aspect of stone madness, mortified, which the tongue, squeezed between his teeth, stood out even more. Sônia, a dreamer dancer, had an even more terrible end. She was run over by an animal transport truck - but here, an important observation must be made. The truck had been out of use for at least ten years. –Rusty, without engine and clutch. And the accident occurred in a flat area at the back of the circus, between the circus and the animal stalls. Her broken arms and legs drew a distressing expressionist painting on the dirt and sawdust floor and caused revolt and pity in everyone who saw her.

And finally Boris, the ticket agent, who was trampled to death by a bear. This case also without explanation. You see, at ten o'clock at night, time when Mikhail, the circus owner found him, he should be at home with his family, as the performances took place from 17 to 20 p.m. Another questionable fact is that the keys to all the cages were kept by the caretaker and the only one who had the copies was the circus owner Mikhail himself, who came across Жир (Zhir), the bear, sleeping on Boris's body, crossed and crushed, with an apparent arm and leg.

But you know, who wonder what the furious lion has to do with these deaths, that no one, investigators, policemen or whoever was present noticed what I noticed. In each case hairs from the lion's mane were found. I compared samples and they were identical. Were it not for that, which was already a very strange suspicion, but blunt, it was the episode of the gypsies that made me sure. On a moonlit night, when I was resting from a tiring day of presentations, smoking my cigarette while sitting in a straw chair, that shadow that passed quickly out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I distracted myself from the lively party that the gypsies had at the camp ahead and I went where I saw the shadow pass. I ran, dodged one, two bays, tripped over boxes and tools with such excitement to achieve whatever it was. When I gave up I heard a hideous woman scream and I ran over there. I was hit by the brutal blow of that terrifying sight. Matilda, my wife, who worked beside me, as an assistant, in the magic presentations, with her head pulled out bobbing by the hair between the lion's teeth. I avoided talking about her, in order not to leave those memories in half and even after eight years, friends, there is not a day when I don't cry for her. So understand my enormous pain in reliving all those bitter memories. That shadow still haunts me, even though I moved and lived in St. Petersburg, I experience the horror and pain of that night, every time I open a door or stumble across the dim light of a street.

I work in a pot factory and live alone, closed in my own world. No friends, no women. The drunks of the dirty streets and taverns keep me company sometimes and the shadow will always keep me company. Lurking from afar, covering me with his certainty of death ". When I closed the book I could understand what Ellen felt, in a way. But the things the book brought when it was read went further. It was as if we opened not a book, but the mouth of hell and released all the demons at once.