Brings jointly Bruno Schulz's tales, letters and drawings in a single quantity. Schulz is the writer of 2 collections of reports, Cinnamon outlets and medical institution less than the signal of the Hourglass.
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I ran down the fast flight of stone steps and located myself at road point once again. The constellations within the sky stood steeply on their heads, all of the stars had made an about-tum, however the moon, buried below the featherbed of clouds that have been lit via its unseen presence, appeared nonetheless to have sooner than her an unending trip and, absorbed in her advanced heavenly methods, didn't reflect on sunrise. a number of horse-drawn cabs loomed black on the street, part damaged and unfastened jointed like crippled, sleeping crabs or cockroaches. A motive force leaned down in the direction of me from his excessive field. He had a small crimson kindly face. ' we could pass, grasp? ' he requested. The cab shook in all of the joints and ligatures of its many limbed physique and made a begin on its gentle wheels. yet who might entrust oneself on one of these evening to the whims of an unpre dictable cabby? Amidst the press of the axles, amidst the thud of the field and the roof, i couldn't accept as true with him on my vacation spot. He nodded indul lightly at every little thing I stated and sang to himself. We drove in a circle round the urban. In entrance of an resort stood a bunch of cabbies who waved pleasant palms to him . He responded gaily after which, with out preventing the carriage, he threw the reins on my knees, jumped down from the field, and joined the gang of his colleagues. the pony, an outdated clever cab horse, appeared around cursorily and went on in a boring usual trot. actually, that horse encouraged self belief - it appeared smarter than its motive force. yet i actually couldn't force, so I needed to depend upon the horse's will. We changed into a suburban highway, bordered on either side by means of gardens. As we complicated, those gardens slowly turned into parks with tall bushes and the parks in develop into forests. I shall always remember that luminous trip on that brightest of wintry weather nights. the colored map of the heavens multiplied into a huge dome, on which there loomed exceptional lands, oceans and seas, marked with the traces of stellar currents and eddies, with the bright streaks of heavenly geography. The air grew to become gentle to respire and shimmered like silver gauze. you may odor violets. From below the white woolly lambskin of snow, fifty four Tht Strttt of Crocodilts ' Horse-drawn cabs loomed black within the street', sooner than 1 937. fifty five Fiction trembling anemones seemed with a speck of moonlight in every one gentle cup. the full wooded area illuminated by way of millions of lighting fixtures and by way of the celebrities falling in great quantity from the December sky. The air pulsated with a mystery spring, with the matchless purity of snow and violets. We entered a hilly panorama. The strains of hills, bristling with the naked spikes of timber, rose like sighs of bliss. I observed on those satisfied slopes teams of wanderers, amassing one of the moss and the trees the fallen stars which now have been damp from snow. the line turned steep, the pony started to slip on it and pulled the creaking cab simply with an attempt. i used to be satisfied. My lungs soaked up the comfortable spring within the air, the freshness of snow and stars. ahead of the horse's breast the rampart of white snowy foam grew greater and better, and it could possibly rarely battle through that natural clean mass.