It was yet another trick. Everyone was gathering in the vast wasteland on the outskirts of the city, the former airstrip. Once more, there was the old zither ringing, followed by drifts of harp, flutes, a medley of soft melodies of arrival. Altogether, they composed a makeshift bolero, maybe half a waltz. Big crowds could be seen trekking down the slopes at a distance, carrying their tents, cars, and cattle along. There were some stormy clouds. The air was hot and wet. People gathered around people. Sheep roamed around freely. 

The crowd moved slowly. There was no line anymore, really, just an endless swarm of bodies waiting to find out what was happening inside the box. Every 5 minutes, the same teaser amplified the mystery: joyous wizards and gnomes came down from their trees singing soft words. Flying fish hang from warm winds of silk - come have a look. We all knew the trick. It was Pepper’s ghost: you put out your cash and you get to have a look. That's how it works. Then the drums would play again (followed by Alceu Valença, David Guetta, ‘Dragostea Din Tei’, ‘Pump it Up’). Next to me, a little kid turned to her sister repeatedly, always with the same question: what do you feel?

It’s hard to tell the size of the box. There were people all over. Nobody really knew what it looked like. Endless faces of expectation. And there was gossip. Ignorance and gossip. The world became invisible as we waited, as if the box was spread inside out, laying a veil over the valley. Whoever got to finally peek would obviously not share what happened inside, either. First, they would cling to that position as long as possible, then they’d step away in deep silence, adding to the mystery. The wait was already part of the game–everyone was imagining something different.

2025

What do you feel? We started voicing our imagination. M. was the first. I see an obelisk spinning at an odd angle. It's a game. Two mirrors float around face to face, sometimes holding a sphere of light, sometimes sending a beam of fire back to the sun. The air grew thicker. We were still in the same place. I see several suns, two lions, one purple, one green, sizing each other up patiently. There is a carpet made of rubber in the middle of the stage. There is a moon. It’s a forest. The moon is a strobe light. A horse dances below four moons. This is what E. said.

I see several hands hanging down, making gestures. Some raise all the way up to some of the faces, sometimes coming closer, then lying down again. We all whisper with our backs turned, always in an outbound conversation. There is a lemon tree. The scent is suspended in the breeze. It’s cold, maybe just fresh, I say. Then one of the hands hits a sheet of plate glass, a mirror-image of the scene, and everything suddenly vanishes into the blue. 

The crowd doesn’t move a single inch.

Written for ‘Vanishing Act’