The applause of life

—For over twenty years, I've been doing theater, and I don't understand why people applaud— said Anastasja (Nastia for friends), leaving us bewildered at her birthday dinner.

—I give my best, I put my sweat and tears into my characters, and in return, I get noise or clamor. People go crazy, whistling, stomping, shouting, and applauding. I don't want to sound unfriendly, but I prefer critiques; those are the true nourishment for a stage artist. When I see my name printed in the morning paper next to a myriad of adjectives, I feel my being ascend. You who come to my plays, please, criticize me! Tear me apart or praise me! Send me to the depths of depression or the heights of ego! But don't reduce yourselves to the noise of the crowd! Express yourselves! Communicate!— she said with that dramatic tone that only professional actresses can achieve. That voice that awakens the most intimate and basic emotions that spectators can feel.

I was dying to stand up and applaud; in my head, my hands were doing a "clap," then "clap" and a thousand "clap, clap, claps." All the guests were sweating, containing our populist instincts. Fortunately for us, the hostess broke the ice —That's right, dear Nastia! Now, who wants a bit more risotto? Come on, I don't want to waste food!—

As we left, I was still eager; arriving home, I applauded the taxi driver and said, "Well done, maestro!" I also applauded the waitress who brought the morning coffee and the man selling newspapers, applauded a girl tying her shoes and a lady who had just bought perfume. I applaud everyone all the time, when I die, if there's any strength left in my palms, I'll give a couple of applause and shout "Bravo life, bravo, damn it!"