86
TALES FROMTHE FUTURE
have a whip or even a twig, but the steed kept picking up its swift pace, its
hooves barely touched the road, and its mane fanned out in the oncoming
wind. It must have wanted to be worthy of the beauty riding it.
Her outward beauty was unusual. Of course, one could admire both her
regular facial features, and her dark blond braid, and her thick eyelashes. Of
course, under her embroidered white blouse and skirt in white daisies one
could clearly imagine the taut, chiseled torso of her magnificent figure. The
flowing, feminine lines of her entire figure seemed to frame an indefatigable
energy. The flush playing on her cheeks radiated the grandeur and indomit-
able possibilities of this mysterious energy. The young-looking rider stood
out from the people standing at the side of the road with her unusual
healthy look. She sat on her hot steed without the slightest tension. She was
not even holding onto the pommel or reins, and she had not put her feet,
which were thrown to one side of the horse’s rump, into the stirrups. Lower-
ing her eyelashes, she rebraided her hair, which had come slightly undone,
into a tight braid with smooth movements of her hands. Sometimes the
beauty raised her eyelashes. And when her gaze seemed to singe with an in-
visible, pleasant fire, one of the people in the crowd; the person who met
that gaze, seemed to straighten up visibly, became taller.
People seemed to catch with their feelings the light and energy emanat-
ing from the rider and attempted to fill up with it, at least partially. She un-
derstood their desire and graciously shared, and she raced forward, and she
was beautiful. Suddenly, a temperamental Italian ran out on the road to in-
tercept the speeding horse, spread his arms out, and exclaimed ecstatically,
“Rossia!Ai luf yu, Rossia!” The rider neither shuddered nor took fright when
her horse reared and pranced in place. She just grabbed the pummel of her
saddle with one hand, with the other tore a flower from the wreath adorning
her head, and threw it to the Italian. He caught the gift, pressed it carefully
to his chest, as if it were the greatest treasure, constantly repeating, “Mama
mia, mama mia.”
But the beauty wasn’t looking at the ardent Italian. She touched the reins
of her steed, and the horse moved, dancing lightly, toward the people stand-
ing on the shoulder. The crowd parted, and the young rider lightly jumped
