The Wabbit and Lapinette made their way to street level but what they found surprised even them. An army moved slowly along the street sinking deeper and deeper into snow. It made a sound - as if it was a slowed down recording. The Wabbit saluted because that was demanded by protocol. Lapinette followed suit. One of the officers turned to look and spoke to the Wabbit. It sounded slurred and unintelligible to Lapinette but the Wabbit had a universal translator and the sound fed through it, becoming almost normal. The voice asked why they were there. The Wabbit replied that they came by coach to have a look. He whispered in Lapinette's ear. "It looks like stage set from Erwin Piscator." Lapinette nodded. "He worked with Brecht you know," added the Wabbit. Lapinette nodded again. The Wabbit was knowledgeable in that department. "What war is this?" He addressed the officer directly but the answer was a long time coming back. "Napoleonic," he replied. They looked bitterly cold. The officer spoke again. He was shivering in the freezing temperature. "Are you from the future?" "Sort of, but not as you might think," replied the Wabbit. The atmosphere cut through him like a knife and the Wabbit shivered too despite his fur. "Will we be victorious?" asked the officer. "Winter is coming, worse than this," replied the Wabbit and he shook his head sadly. The officer shrugged and raised his hand in farewell. "War is Hell," he said and moved on. The Wabbit and Lapinette saluted once more and the army moved slowly past. I'm freezing," said Lapinette, "let's go back to our coach." Then together they climbed back to the roof ...
[I am indebted to Paulo Ventura and his excellent exhibition in Turin Photo Museum. The exhibition is extended into this year.]
