ABSTRACT

But . . . after the third or fourth twirl he stumbled, yelled with pain, stood rooted to the spot with one leg raised and face contorted.

For a moment we thought he was trying to fool us and that he was

playing a game. But he seemed to be in real pain and I believed him and got up to help the poor fellow but . . . had my doubts. The rest ran onto the stage. Vanya wouldn’t let anyone touch his leg, tried to put his weight on it but gave such a yell of pain that Tortsov and I exchanged an enquiring look as to whether what was happening was a hoax or not. Vanya was carried towards the exit very carefully. He hopped on his good leg supported under his armpits on both sides. We moved quietly, solemnly, without a word being spoken.