Moving Parts

It has stopped, then, in front of the hotel, one wheel riding up onto the sidewalk. In it are long flat styrofoam packages. And for sure also a toolbox. Sets of handy screwdrivers are carried in the pockets of the blue overalls. The two men take them out and set about removing the revolving door. In the required sequence they unfasten everything attached with screws and everything clipped into place. The bronze armor first, then the horse’s head, then the forelegs and hind legs. And all the events that have flashed past the hotel door with the monument in the background now equally become subject to dismantlement. Strips of paper are soaked by the rain; the wind blows scraps of styrofoam along the sidewalk. Four axleless panels stand for a moment in the lobby alongside four new ones, which glisten just the same, almost indistinguishable. And now the men in overalls have finished the job; they set in motion that which they have taken from the factory packaging and assembled into a new whole. They’ve done this dozens of times. They hang on the handrails and turn in a circle, checking that the mechanism works as it should. In the panes of glass, instead of the rider and horse, a fountain is reflected. A fountain that stands in the middle of the square in place of the monument. Its bronze bowl is covered by the same green patina. For a moment it looks as though the narrator will manage to escape into a different story. Things are better this way.