ბავშვები იცინოდნენ მის ხრიკებზე, როცა უჩინარ კედელს ეყრდნობოდა ან ქარს ებრძოდა. უფროსები გულგრილად გადიოდნენ, ზოგჯერ მონეტას აგდებდნენ ქუდში.
მეორე დღეს მიმიმ მას აჩვენა, როგორ იჭერენ უჩინარ პეპლებს. მესამე დღეს — როგორ ეხვევიან მთვარეს. გოგონამ თვალებით ილაპარაკა. მიმიმ ჟესტებით უპასუხა.
From that day on, two mimes stood in the square. One older, one younger. Both silent. Both full of voice.
People stopped. Two white-faced figures, telling each other a story in silence. No one knew what they were saying, but everyone felt it.
One day, in late autumn, a girl appeared in the square. She was silent, like the mime — but not on stage. In reality. The girl had not lost her voice; simply, no one listened to her.
In the central square of the city, among the crowd, stood a mime. White face, black clothes, a red scarf around his neck. He never spoke. Never.
One day, an old man asked: “Why don’t you speak?” The mime looked at the girl. The girl looked at the mime. Then the mime showed — he put his hand to his heart, then to his ear, then to his lips. It meant: “The heart hears us. We don’t need a mouth.”
გოგონამ პირველად გაიღიმა.
