Theatrical
Autumn–Winter ’22/23
Part l

WHY WILL EVERYTHING BE THIS WAY?

Autumn.
Weekend.
A light drizzle.
An evening wind, colder than the one that swayed through the just-passed Summer.

Dressed in white tights and my special-occasion shoes, hair neatly braided into pigtails, I hurry so I won’t fall behind my family.

We must not be late.
Before the “gong” sounds, there is still so much to do…

Hang up the coat.
Wander around the exhibition displayed in the theatre foyer.
Buy the program.
And before the lights dim — settle comfortably into the seat indicated on the paper ticket clutched tightly in my palm.

Back then, I was just a child.
I remember very little about what the plays were actually about.
But I remember their… scent.

To me, at that age, they smelled like the most exquisite perfume I had ever encountered.

A scent I feel I would recognize even today.

Only now, grown up, I understand: it was the actors’ perfume mingling with the smell of stage sets, cigarette smoke from the characters, dust…

I remember the lines at the cloakroom.
The elegantly dressed people patiently waiting for the coat fairy to extend her hand with their numbered tag.

I remember the buffet.
And the woman pouring hot chocolate.
It tasted that good only in the theatre.
During intermissions.

I drank it greedily so that I wouldn’t be late returning to the hall with my mother before it “grew dark” again.

I remember the creaking of the old theatre parquet floor.
I remember the actors “disappearing” from the stage… into the black side curtains.

If only you knew how, as a child, I longed to find out where they vanished!
How I wanted to slip just the tip of my nose backstage.
Into the dressing room.
Into the space where the actors’ costumes hung.
To touch a real, well-worn script with my fingertips.

Childhood thundered past.
The memories remained.

I cradled those beautiful autumn evening memories
in my now grown-up mind.

And I knew.

That one day I would return to the theatre.

With permission:
—to wander between the black curtains where actors disappeared.
—to explore backstage.
—to touch a real script.
—to spend time in the dressing room, to brush against the costumes.
—to sit alone in the theatre hall.

And to reach out to the theatre of my childhood,
which had remained a symbol of a uniquely autumnal coziness.

After two days in the theatre, I can say with certainty —

It was not in vain.

The theatre holds a kind of magic.

One I have not outgrown.

Mua,
V.