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.

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