He

He

Alexandr Piatkov



An old man of simple appearance stopped in surprise near a kiosk filled with

plastic flowers.


"Miss, how much are the flowers?"


The saleswoman turns around, and the old man is struck even more.


"I thought you were a young girl, but you're an old woman!"


The slender "old woman" ponders resentfully whether this could be considered a

joke.


"What did you want?"


"Well, you see, I look at these flowers, they are so beautiful, and I'm thinking

of giving them to my old lady for her birthday."


"Is she still alive?"


"Of course! What would happen to her?"


"But these are artificial flowers, mostly for the cemetery!"


The old man is utterly lost; the world feels like a stage set for a finished play

of his life. He has watched this play almost to the very end, yet he never

learned to distinguish falsehood from truth.


Neither clerical dogmas, nor Communist education, nor capitalist openness left

the slightest trace in the depths of this primitive consciousness, untainted by

any concepts. It preserved its non-historical, primordial nature. A man has lived

a whole life, yet he looks at the world through the eyes of an infant! Where are

those contemplators, where are the seekers of the Way and enlightenment? He has

just passed right before our eyes in the guise of a simple old man, and we didn't

even remember Him!



Original text: proza.ru/avtor/alexanderan
English translation by AI Assistant, November 2026
Author's name spelling: Alexandr Piatkov
Based on publication certificate №216082501268 (2016)