surname,
Gothier.
I dashed out
and ran into my work mate.
She likes to hit the bottle
and go around in that condition.
That night she was tossed out
of a car going at full speed.
When I met her, she was all ragged
but gay.
She said to me: "Don't go!
I wouldn't go if I were you."
But I went there anyway.
They had already begun
the dissection.
I stood by the wall,
at a safe distance.
Now and then I could see
her head,
with the hair thrown back.
I had a side view of the face.
A young fellow operated
on that day.
He always looked repulsive to me,
with his greasy strands of hair.
I think he was aware of my dislike.
At the end of the dissection,
he lit up a cigarette
and, inhaling two or three times,
for appearance's sake...
he dropped the smoldering butt
right into Rita Gothier's belly.
And his assistants were quick
to sow the body up.
For a few moments, he relished
his folly.
And nobody said anything.
Miss, a little louder, please.
Nobody said anything.
Me included.
I didn't say anything.
Then I walked out.
I saw him at a bus stop,
and he turned away.
He was in low spirits
amidst living humans.
Later that day,
my work mate and myself were looking
for a white dress for Rita.
Because if the girl is a virgin,
she's supposed to be buried in white.
And we couldn't find
that dress for her.
For some reason, though,
we bought that day...
a red carp
in a plastic bag.
- What did you buy?
- A red carp.
- What?
- A fish.
Do you remember Vronsky
in "Anna Karenina"?
You, Sasha, are a poorly
educated person.
Can you somersault from
a partner's shoulders at full speed?
What for?
How about standing upside down
as the horse clears an obstacle?
Or a "triple curee"?
That's when three riders
jump onto horseback.
Am I any worse than your trickriders?
I'm a sportsman,
a riding competitor.
I'm a concourse man, a jockey.
He's a top-class jockey.
He's not bad.
I'm as good as them!
I can do all that!
Big deal, getting under a horse's
belly! Just hook on a longe...
A surcingle with a loop.
- I'll hook on it...
- And get a kicking on your head.
When I was an intern here,
they found in the mountains
an 18-year-old boy who hanged himself.
That was because of unrequited love.
He didn't get rotten in the sun,
he just got mummified,
hanging for so long.
That's because he wasn't fat.
To investigate it, the boy
wasn't taken out of the noose,
but removed together with the branch.
He's now exhibited in a glass box
at our pathology department.
It's odd to see such an ironic
finale of love.
Some love birds tried
to steal and bury him.
In theory, though.
Only in theory,
only in theory.
Have you ever seen Caucasian
volting? It's quite spectacular!
That super galloping,
risky tricks.
Not to mention elegant and
confident showmanship.
You know something?
For all your Anna Karenina's
gasping in the stands,
Vronsky couldn't have performed
the most elementary,
the most simple thing
which any budding circus rider
can do:
I mean riding two horses
at a time,
with your feet on the saddles
and without holding onto the reins.
No, Vronsky would never do a thing
like that.
Can you at least take a running
jump onto the saddle?
I'm used to being helped onto
a horse.
My! Your eye pupils resemble
a cat's! Well, I was not right.
Not altogether right,
not one hundred percent right.
I remember your Titanic.
He was quite a mean colt.
How can I forget him!
A swell horse, but not for the circus
- bad temper.
Sasha, you've already got smarter.
Once he reared
at the start.
That is our jargon,
meaning stood on his hind legs.
So he reared, and I - bang! -
lashed him with a chamberier!
A chamberier means a whip.
We talked a lot about the circus
with Sasha.
Why don't you join the circus,
Sasha?
Why don't you work with us?
Say, as an orderly?
Fine job.
You carry all sort of loads, you know.
Morning and night
you'll be issued jars
with human organs.