Zbornik Mednarodnega literarnega srečanja Vilenica 2004 - Ljudmila

Krzysztof Varga
to mind. Whereas the mocha ice cream really was like frozen milky coffee –
light and slightly bitter all at once, while the coconut was bristling with
white shavings, and you bit into it, listening out for the crunching sound
it made to remind you of the noise of a beetle being crushed underfoot;
when it meets the sole of your shoe its thin armour plating becomes so
pitifully useless. The next ice-cream parlour was a fixed point on my daily
route, where I tirelessly steeped myself in the distinctive flavour of fruit
& nut, chocolate and coffee ices, insisting, to my shame, on mixing blueberry
and blackcurrant, and randomly choosing between raspberry and
cherry, because there was really no difference between their flavours,
just as there was no difference between one day and the next – they just
followed on from each other in an age-old scourge of repeats.
Translated by Antonia Lloyd Jones
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