Cabaret “Olympia”
“In your Hate – I have found God,
In your Sin – I have found Love,
In your Faith – I have found Forgiveness”
- In this Moment
Just in case you do not know where to hide from another hurricane of emotions, do not neglect such places as cabaret “Olympia” in the suburbs of Kyiv. God blessed the human beings with these sink of iniquity and let them carouse from time to time in embrace of joy, where modern voluptuous nymphs along with satyrs paint the town red. Very poetical expression, by the way – to add colours to the world and paint its pillars crimson red… The same thing as blood of lambs on the doors of the Jews’ huts to prevent the Death from killing the innocents, clean handed favourites. For sure, I have to write it down and think over it at my leisure. All I want now is to find that stupid pointer almost in the dark, trying not to break my neck in this tenderloin district on endless Kyiv hillsides and ditches – believe me, do not overestimate your strength if only you weren’t born on these damned bald hills, in the proper sense of the word “damned”. I do have a feeling that co-called witches from the outskirts of Eastern Europe settled here to practice black magic – so they started from the fucking ridged surface of the city. Infallibly, an owner - a pinch penny old woman, that shadow of a wizardry name– does not deign to give any instructions to her boys to screw a new light bulb. Not that I disgraced Miss Vytrishka*, not at all, I pay honour to her as much as possible; actually, she is a bosom friend of mine, although this owl-faced crone usually does not want to deal with me; it is all caused by her excess of yellow bile, there's no other way to explain Miss’s stingy temper.
Finally, here is it. Although it is quite challenging to make up the right inward turn at the numerous corner from the first time, but anyway it is worth the effort. As usual, her toy-boys are on guard at the door to the awaited paradise. Like speechless atlantes, they are barely looking askance at me with their four dark eyes from the shadows under their foreheads, not preventing me from entering the gates of “Olympia”, just examining me in limb and carcass. I like them, these silent guys, who do not give you a hard time without the reason, though feel a bit of trembling under my chest, when I pass along the guards. Nevertheless, after stepping across the threshold, I feel relief, as I find myself in women’s semi-darkness reign – with so pleasing and well-known, mouthwatering scent of various perfumes along with lipstick or powder-boxes on the shelves here and there. The narrow hall is full of girls in colourful feathers, carnival masks and full-fashioned stockings, some of them playfully winked me – I must be on time and the show will begin in a few minutes.
- This way, please, - said a nice young woman, leading me right to the stage to my reserved beforehand table.
I must admit that there is no better place for an almost desperate man than cabarets with all these tinsel and glamour, specially decorated flashily with a lack of good taste; I find it particularly pleasant to look at when I reach the bottom of the daily routine. No frames, no shame or prejudices about anybody – all are cross-dressed and that heats imagination the most, arousing desire.
The performance is starting with dead silence around me, the music is barely hissing from the orchestra pit. It sounds a little strange, but it does not disturb me, just excites and relax my muscles. Nothing matters at all now; shadows and noises are thickening near me, cradling in the waves of eternal motion like a child in the mother’s arms. How wonderful Miss Vytrishka has everything organized, for sure, I must shake her hand in the end of the night.
The curtain is up; there is a girl on the stage, having her face covered with half-light.
Music starts playing allegro ma non troppo** coming into step with the singer.
“One day you brought me to the banks of the river,
To show the beauty of the auroral dawn.
You said: “The measure in the eyes of the beholder”
And your lips were scarcely drawn.
One day you took me to the shady grove,
To listen to the trill of a tiny nightingale.
You said: “There’s no measure in the heart of love”
Your face at once turned eerily pale.
The night was bathed in moonlight that time,
You wanted to kiss me goodbye, but you said:
“There’s no comfort for those, who committed the crime
By reason of love that’s one-sided and frail”
One dawn I was laid to rest underground,
You came to that place so cautious and glum
You frowned disgust and replied to the crowd: “I found
good graces, when she thumbed me down;
I will be forever to set right your crown
And violets will be your best wedding gown”.
She has still some traces of beauty with the face that appeared and then again disappeared in the darkness. Blind-eyed Love and hatred… the song, my crime, my pleasure, presto***… my head swims and the vision is blurred. I am guilty, but guilt I see none.
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