A woman started back to the audience, under the glare of the spotlights. She wore long white gloves and a gown of black tulle sleeves appeared membranous wings when unfolded arms. Made a lot of things with arms and back, but when he finally turned around, was old. He wore the white powdered face of death, her mouth painted a bright reddish purple, but it was old. I felt a wave of shame invades the body, and was not funny, this woman did not want Take off your clothes, do not want to look. I felt it was me, not the woman of the stage, which was humiliated exponíay. I was sure she will hiss and scream things, that would feel cheated.
She unzipped his black suit, slipping into the body, and started moving his hips. He smiled with his face white mask and purple mouth, and within LABOS reflected their teeth, stones dull white, it was a joke, unintentionally, she knew it was a trick but other did not know who We was playing a joke. The trick was that suddenly there was no trick: the body was raised up there was real, older, not floating on the light bulbs in a world apart from ours was, like us, caught in time.
The Victory Burlesque was a dead silence.
Margaret Atwood "Murder in the dark."
