Life Begins On Friday

by Ioana Parvulescu

  He had travelled all that way, sometimes on foot, sometimes in a cart, sometimes on the horse-drawn tram, alles umsonst, for nothing. But he had discovered something worth sharing and he felt sorry that the silent man, who had been so happy to listen to his stories these past few days, was not there. In all the places he visited, he had heard a rumour which, it would seem, currently preoccupied all the ecclesiastical authorities: a miracle-working icon had been lost, a priceless treasure, brought some ten years ago from a cathedral in the centre of town, which had been demolished. The icon, if he understood rightly, had been in the care of a bishop for a while, a bishop who had been caught up in a scandal a year previously and dismissed from his post. The bishop had secretly entrusted it to an abbot who had in the meantime passed away, and the icon had then disappeared without trace. It was hugely valuable because it had two large diamonds on the golden shoulders. Closing his eyes, Otto pictured the icon and imagined discovering it hidden in a wall while he was restoring a church. Through his mind, now only half awake, filed a host of archangels with slender legs, wearing gowns and carrying shields, angels with tumbling curly locks, and saints with yellow skullcaps. He had seen them all before, but he could not remember where exactly. Soon, the saints were swept away by the waters of a river, and the valet walking down the corridor in that moment heard a snore from the room that the stranger Dan Crețu shared with the church restorer from Transylvania. But Mr Dan Crețu had not returned to the hôtel that day.

  Saturday, 27 December: Visiting

  1.

  The day began badly, with a fog so thick that I could not even see the birch tree in front of my window. I thought about what it would be like if it were the other way around: every day fog so thick that you could not see other people, and clear air only on one or two special days a year, as if an unseen hand had wiped clean the milky, opaque window of the sky. What joy people would feel just to be able to see, what a miracle the transparent, colourless air would seem to them. As it is, nobody delights in the air and they do not even realize what an extraordinary thing it is to be able to see far into the distance, all the way to the horizon. Mama helped me to wash my hair, because since we gave up most of our servants, to make savings (we have kept on only the cook, with her mind stuffed full of superstitions, Safta and the frail, constantly ill Nelu), we have both helped one another. But it is not the washing the that is the hardest, but the drying. You cannot sit too close to the hearth. In school they have always told us of cases of girls whose hair has caught fire in that awful way.

  I have made progress with Vanity Fair. Last night I finished Chapter lix and I cannot even begin to describe how greatly I was irritated by the way in which Major Williams pleads: ‘Only let me stay near you and see you often!’ It irritated me because I might have done the same. It was not the awful way in which Amelia treats the poor Major that disgusted me, the way she lets him desire her exactly like a cake he knows he will never have, but his lack of pride, so similar to mine. But I do not act like that prude Amelia, I do not allow for equivocation, and I am glad that things have been cleared up with Mr Costache, although I feel dreadfully sorry that such a simple thing became so complicated and oppressive. I do not know how I will be able to face him again. Mama and Papa asked me nothing, but Mama said something bad about Alexandru and that she did not trust him – she said it so that I would overhear. That made me feel even more guilty at not having told them about inviting him here this afternoon, when they will both be going with Jacques to visit Dr Rizea, who operated on my brother two years ago. The doctor saved him, but it is hard for me to see him, because it reminds me of all the terror I felt at that time. On the other hand, dear Jacques loves him greatly, and he told me just now that he would be taking his flute with him to play Handel’s minuet for the doctor.

  But perhaps Mr Livizeanu will not come, who knows... I do not understand the words that Nicu told me: ‘green and red.’ We shall see! Papa has started mentioning money more and more often, although he has never done so hitherto. Are we really in such a difficult situation? I ought to marry an old millionaire and rid the whole Margulis family of their money worries, which, although they do not mar our cheerfulness, are like a rain cloud in a blue sky. How might I find Nicu? An amusing thought occurred to me: only Nicu would know how to tell me where to find Nicu!

  I told Mama my observation about her agate eyes having been inherited by Jacques, but she, who is proud of our Greek ancestors, even though they are rather distant, told me that Agatha means ‘good’ in Greek and has no connection with the black stone, as I believed. That Papa is Leon, which is to say, lion, that Jacques is named after our godfather Jacob, which is a biblical name, and that she called me Iulia because I was born on the twelfth, or according to the new calendar the twenty-fifth, of July, on exactly the same day as Mama’s Mama, grandmother Trandafira. She was surprised that I did not know that agathos means good and I felt like telling her that I do know that Andros means man, because I remember only what is connected with the soul. The eternal man – Alexandru.

  2.

  Alexandru knocked discreetly on the door, but there was no answer. His shirt was unbuttoned and he was not wearing a lavaliere; although over his shirt he had a gris perle vest. He knocked again, more loudly, and pressed his ear to the well-polished wood, but there was still no sound. He looked at the clock: It was a few minutes past eleven. He decided to enter, at the risk of waking his guest, but no, he found him sitting on the bed, staring at the silk wallpaper, whose gold patterns coiled over a blue background. With Alexandru entered a servant, who drew the two sets of curtains and asked whether he should bring the patient breakfast in his room.

  ‘Yes, bring it,’ said Alexandru, since Dan did not seem to feel the question had anything to do with him. The servant went out and when he returned, with a small trolley, two children slipped through the door behind him, a little girl and boy of about six, who held each other by the hand and stared open-mouthed at the guest.

  ‘They are twins, two of my sister Marioara’s three children,’ said Alexandru, introducing them. ‘Say hello to Mr Dan Crețu and then go to your nurse, you little rascals. How did she let you out of her sight? Tell him your name,’ he urged the little boy.

  ‘Ciuciu Penciu. Ciuciu Penciu from Silistra is my name,’ he said, repeating himself to make sure he had been heard and then burst into laughter at his joke, which seemed to amuse him no end. ‘I have been awake for hours!’

  ‘Good day, sir, and I have been awake for hours too,’ added the little girl, in a voice very similar to her brother’s, politely, but reproaching the guest, who was still in bed. ‘My name is Anica.’

  Then they let go of each other’s hands, went to the door, and taking each other’s hand again, as if in a dance, they galloped laughing down the hall.

  ‘They are very mischievous and spoiled. People say they take after me, especially Ștefănel, whom nobody can resist, and today is his name day. They like funny words. At one time, they imitated the noises of different animals. I hope you are feeling well, with your shoulder. Please eat and allow me to keep you company in the meantime.’

  For the first time since they had met, Alexandru saw Dan Crețu smile and he remained with his eyes on him, with a face not particularly intelligent at that moment. It seemed as if he had grown ten years younger and you suddenly felt a desire to be his friend. It even seemed as if his smile resembled Iulia’s.

  ‘Everybody has been giving me food since I arrived here. It is good. Thank you, Alexandru, that is your name, isn’t it? But I would rather have a cigarette.’

  Slightly embarrassed, the host took out his tobacco tin. Dan sighed, as if something bothered him about the gesture, and then he forgot to take a cigarette and started eating. He finished quickly, pulled a face at the coffee – it was obvious it was not to his liking, although it was the finest blend from Levon Harutunian’s shop. Alexandru went out, leaving him to get dressed – he had given him a set of Mișu’s clothes, who was th
e same size – and when he came back he was accompanied by his mother. Maria Livezeanu had a mobile head with a furrowed face and large mouth set atop a large, clumsy body, which made her somewhat resemble a tortoise.

  ‘Mr Dan Crețu, I am most glad to have you as our guest. How did you sleep?’ she said and, hesitating slightly, extended her hand for him to kiss.

  ‘Very well!’ said Dan curtly and when Alexandru’s mother’s hand appeared next to his lips he kissed it without very much elegance.

  ‘I read in the newspaper about you. What is the ultimate truth of the matter? Forgive me, but I am a very direct person, I do not hide behind nicely turned phrases. You may tell us, we shall not betray you, since we have many defects of our own in the family,’ added the lady, trying to catch her son’s eye, ‘but we are not traitors.’

  Not one trace of the earlier smile remained on Dan’s face. He now looked forty-three, the age given in the newspaper.

  ‘Laissez-le, Maman, il a besoin de repos, c’est le médecin qui l’a dit,’ said Alexandru, alluding to his brother, who was already known in the family as the doctor.

  Dan listened to them as if we were watching a pantomime. He was livelier and seemed in a better mood than on the previous evening.

  ‘I don’t know, madam, I would like to be able to answer you. What day is it today? I could do with a calendar...’

  ‘Saturday.’

  ‘Ah, I was afraid that I ought to be at work. In fact, I do have to be there, I will have to leave you, I don’t want to be fired from the newspaper, I need the money to live on and besides, they’ve treated me well.’

  ‘Do not worry, I will take you. I heard that you are an employee of Universul, I recently had dinner with the Chief of Public Security, Mr Costache Boerescu, and he told me the news. You know each other, do you not?’ said Alexandru.

  Dan shrugged, as if he were not interested in the subject.

  ‘My daughter Marioara would have been delighted to make your acquaintance, you know, ever since her divorce she has been rather gloomy, but unfortunately she is visiting a lady friend for the day. But we hope that you will call again in the days to come.’

  The guest had fallen completely dumb and after a few unsuccessful attempts to make conversation, the lady went out, casting a meaningful glance at her son. And the meaning was: the man is completely mad! How could you have brought him in off the street? Dan caught the exchange of glances and after the door closed he smiled conspiratorially at Alexandru, without saying a word, and yet again one would have thought he were a different man.

  ‘Mr Crețu,’ said Alexandru after his mother left, ‘we met at a very difficult moment for me and I would be glad if I could help at least you. Please do not regard me as arrogant if I wish to offer you help of every kind, but it would help me if you accepted. I have a very personal reason: you resemble somebody who at this moment is very important to me.’

  He went to the window and peered into the fog, but all he could see was a milky sea whose waters had flooded the entire city.

  3.

  I wouldn’t have the courage to go outside now, I get lost even when the weather is fine, let alone now, with this mist – it is as if it has poured out of me and flooded the street. Then again, I can’t believe that I slept so deeply, a dreamless sleep, that this morning I woke up more clear-headed and haven’t been thinking about the questions that are eating away at my soul. When I opened my eyes I looked for the old walls and I saw wallpaper with a gilt pattern. I went to the windows, I drew the curtains, which were like a wall, and I saw the other wall, the mist. But inside me the walls have started to crumble. When Alexandru came, it was as if he came out of the mist, like a boat, an old friend. Right now, Dr Margulis and he are the only people I trust, the others annoy me, make me coil up like a spring. Alexandru made some veiled confessions to me about the nasty business he is mixed up in and about a girl, Iulia, whom he says he probably doesn’t love, although it’s obvious from a mile off that there is no point to his doubt. She asked him to meet her, but he doesn’t know where and she sent him code words that he can’t understand: ‘green and red’! The lad is stranger than I am. It turns out that that was why we ended up in the same place yesterday; he was looking for her. The truth is that I fell because of him. I heard the horses behind me, I turned to look, because the clatter of hooves always frightens me, and I slipped on the ice. The medical student seems a bit arrogant and serious, while Alexandru has something about him of the child who has always got his own way in life; and something of the rich kid. But even so, it took me by surprise when he told me, with a warmth and understanding that only very intelligent people possess: ‘Mr Crețu, you are a subject of discussion at the moment, the same as everybody who appears in the newspaper. I intend to write for a newspaper very soon, it is a profession that tempts me. Even at the meal with Mr Boerescu, which I was telling you about, you were a topic of conversation.’

  I told him not to address me formally, to call me by my first name, but he said that it would be over-familiar and so he carried on addressing me with the formal you.

  ‘Do not take it amiss,’ he went on, ‘but everything you have done this morning puzzles me.’

  I did not understand why. He hesitated to tell me, and so I had to insist and finally, reluctantly, he told me the following: I addressed him by his first name, although in effect we did not know each other and, although I am older than he, it is not the done thing, unless you state that it is your intention; I did not rise to my feet when his mother entered and left, which was ‘unbelievable,’ his poor mother had blushed in embarrassment in my stead; I do not know how to kiss a hand (‘you placed your lips in the middle of the back of the hand, whereas the hand should be kissed on the knuckle of the middle finger, you should barely touch it with your lips, you should grasp the fingers, without squeezing them, and then place the shadow of a kiss on the glossy skin of the middle knuckle’); the answers I gave to his mother’s questions, as well as to his questions, all had a certain abruptness, lacking the essential terms of polite address, madam, sir, thank you; and when he thanked me, I never replied ‘you are welcome, sir!’; my hair was cut strangely, freshly cut, but as for my completely shaven cheeks, at my age... ; I seem to have a fear of horses; I talk seldom, but when I do there is something strange about it, he cannot say what; and as for how I ate my breakfast, he does not even want to mention it, it would be indelicate to do so, but he has never seen such a messy, sloppy manner of eating. It would not surprise him if he saw me greet somebody without lifting my hat. He concluded in a different tone of voice: ‘Who are you in fact, Mr Crețu? Where do you come from? I am merely curious, but if it is hard for you to tell me, I shall not insist.’

  The question made me shudder. It was as if the man divined what was happening to me and to win time I asked him: ‘What do you think, Alexandru? Or, if you prefer, what, Sir, do you think?’

  ‘No, please continue to call me by my first name, I like it more, it is more direct, I will try to accustom myself to saying it, in time. To be honest, I have thought of a number of theories, but none of them are satisfactory. If you are from a foreign country, for example, why do you not know how to kiss a hand, for example? If you are, as people say – forgive me, but I repeat it only for the sake of the discussion – a malefactor, why do you have such a gentle and absent air? The hypothesis is out of the question: your face is that of an honest man. I thought that you might be – there have been cases, I know of one that occurred last year – a man with a false identity, let us say, a man of the slums who has invented an aristocratic past for himself, but you do not seem to be from the slums, and nor do you claim to be an aristocrat. But then again, nor do you seem to be from the centre of the city or from a foreign country or from the countryside. You seem not to be from anywhere.’

  I said calmly: ‘I think you are right. I’m not from anywhere,’ but he was afraid that he had insulted me.

  And then, in an uncontrolled outburst, which I may end
up regretting, I told him everything, with more details than I gave the doctor: the fact that I thought I came from another world, although not from another country. Strangely, unlike the doctor, who immediately suspected I had something to hide and was feigning madness, Alexandru almost believed me.

  ‘That is exactly how you behave, indeed, and it is extraordinary, if I were to put together everything I have observed about you, you seem like a man from another time, one not yet known to me. Mr Crețu, I am not regarded as being very intelligent, in the family – Mișu has the sharp mind – and nor have I made much effort to study hard. But ever since I witnessed Dr Gerota’s demonstration of X-rays, ever since microscopic creatures were discovered and it has been known what those strange animals look like, which are responsible for epidemics, the influenza microbe, for example, which killed so many people when I was a youth... erm... ever since it has been possible to speak in a whisper and have a man hundreds of kilometres away hear you as if he were standing next to you, ever since we have been able to see the moon with a telescope, ever since they have made so many attempts to fly away from the earth with the Zeppelin and attempts to replace the hippomobile with an automobile, with horses that cannot be seen and do not need shoeing – what will the ironsmiths do?... erm... so many marvels of science have occurred – I do not even try to know them all, our ancestors would die of amazement on the spot – well, I for one think that anything is possible. Given that people are even talking of immortality, then why should this not be possible? Nothing that man will be able to do or achieve henceforth will surprise me.’