With long trembling lights on its back, the large, fragrant,
swelling river rolled along darkly. It made no sound; the
waves had subsided. The tiered riverbanks rose beyond the waves’
last laps. On steps under the water, clinging duckweed made
bubbly sounds as it rocked back and forth. The two
ferries that had met here a little while earlier, one
carrying expectant passengers all the way to Lavasan, were now
far away, the sound of their horns fading in the
distance. The whine of one could be heard somewhere to
the north, from behind the dilapidated and badly-lit bridge.
Paraphrases from the novel Parallel Lives by Péter Nádas.