Arcanum

“In the dense era of Brezhnev, I went into internal emigration. I wrote my works, encrypting them as translations from Arcanum. I invented the country of Arcanum, invented authors who supposedly lived and created there.

And slowly Arcanum began to make its way into my dreams. I lived in Arcanum, dreams about Arcanum flooded me. I waited for the night to live. There was no life during the day. There was fear during the day.

People from Arcanum waited for me. If I was late, they sent messengers on horses and knocked on my window. They knocked with rings on their fingers, with sword hilts, knocked with branches and the wind, knocked with birds and beetles, called in all languages ​​and voices.

I got up and went to the window. It was opening up, and the Arcanum was drawing me in, sucking me in, and ordering my life.

The Arcanum language was pushing through mine like blades of grass through sand, breaking through my memory, merging with mine. I was no longer able to tell where my language was and where the Arcanum language was.

I felt safe in the Arcanum.