Korniss Péter - Erdős Virág: Courtyards - Our Budapest (Budapest, 1993)
The arm swings. Takes its position. It is getting nearer. The needle lowers into the groove. And while fine dust circles on the record - Gas lights blaze up above it, chandeliers and pendants are lit. Violin bows pant, the cello adjusts its tie, and like a bowl brimming over knocked to the wall, the parquet starts swinging as a horn intones its tune in the hall. Mo sooner do 1 lift my feet than they catch the beat, pairs of buckled shoes clack on the floor, and the swirl of dance attracts many more. Crinolines enter sideways through opalic doorleafs, door handles shake hands with lace cuffs, a greyhound crosses, trays fly, almond milk cools in stemmed glasses, and as I take one rice powder scatters from under my wig. The ball is in full swing around me. Trombones fling me up, I'm caught by kettle drums, violins send me flying, and while fish bones gasp for breath in the corset, a whale hunter weeps in the lavatory. The dance gains speed, and while the oid roué changes his partner, he tucks the triple wrinkles on his forehead under the mask - but the ball draws to its close, ruffles bulge, tulles pant, wallflowers fade. And like the bowl brimming over knocked to the wall, the magic ebbs away, soon empty is the hall. And as I hold out my hand snowflakes settle on it. Still cellos fling me up and I’m caught by the horns, still triangles clank in my ears, yet by the time almond milk and greyhounds and laces and tulles disappear with the cheesy smile The arm slowly lifts. Hovers above it. Clicks. Turns home. The disk is still rotating. Mow it stands still. 46
