It was only after a month that he got up enough nerve to approach her. They threaded their way with words in the first place, each one revolving around that afternoon in their childhood when Emi had rummaged around in his pants and he had scrutinised the inside of her cherry-printed panties like a real scientist. They had never brought it up directly in their conversation, but the hints acted as aphrodisiacs.
Emilia disappeared for a week after that, and he fell sick during that time. He had had a flash of intuition – like an epiphany – that under no circumstances would he have ever accepted to lose her again. He lay in bed for three days, delirious with fever, striving to draw out from their conversation the slightest of details that could lead him to her. Although he felt dizzy and weak, he had eventually got up and, ballpoint pen in hand, written down everything they had told each other. Then he read it again and couldn’t make any sense of it. At the end of this wearisome attempt, the telephone rang shrilly, and he heard her cheerful, friendly voice at the end of the line, now swept by a slight wave of emotion. He felt like shouting and reprimanding her, but he was still overruled by fear. A few days later, he had already rented a dim room with green-painted walls, a closet, a bed, two chairs and a lot of cockroaches chaotically swarming on the linoleum-covered floor.
Had someone asked him, Sal would have answered without hesitation that, apart from the childhood years when the future was glittering ahead, the time spent in that room had been the most blissful time of all. Emilia had walked in as if it had been their new home, and every day at four o’clock in the afternoon, they would arrive almost at the same time and flop down on the bed, from which they wouldn’t get up until seven or eight o’clock in the evening. They would grab a bite and leave, each to their own places. They had given up the place the moment their landlady, a fat, wicked matron, knocked on their door and notified them – peering viciously under her glasses, particularly at Emi – that starting the following month, their rent would double, and since she had lots and lots of possible clients, they could take it or leave it. They left behind a green, glazed-tin coffeepot, two mugs bought from the Obor market and a heap of towels; since then, their makeshift family had been shattered, and they hadn’t had the courage to put it back together. Thinking back, he thought it was their illusion of having a house of their own – sharing a kitchen, a bathroom, some towels and dishes, under the appearance of a life together – that had triggered the end.
He turned. Emilia had been watching him the whole time; even in his daydreaming he had felt her eyes staring at his back and scratching beyond the surface, trying to slip into his thoughts. He could clearly see that something had scared her as well, but he wasn’t able to tell what.
‘You don’t love me anymore…’
So that’s what it was. She would try him periodically with the same refrain-like words, in a sweet voice: ‘You don’t love me anymore… You don’t love me anymore.’ Sometimes he was tired and would mutter it from the tip of his lips; other times he would hug and kiss her theatrically, telling her all those mushy things she needed to hear.
‘I mean it. I’ve been watching you for some time…’
‘Please, Emilia, let’s not go there again.’
But she was fidgeting behind him.
‘I love you so much. There’s no reason to doubt that.’
He turned again and pressed his lips against her smooth skin. Then he breathed a whiff of hot air, steaming her spotless skin. Emilia laughed excitedly. She cuddled in his arms and he could almost hear her purring. The alabaster-legged, round-faced Emilia…
‘Listen… I’ve been meaning to ask you something.’ He knew he would upset her, but her words had confused him. ‘About what you said then, at the party.’
As if, by saying some words at random, they could reverse the past. As if he hadn’t been so sure of what he had experienced and seen, especially when he had the irrefutable proof.
‘About that thing at Harry’s…’
She became tense and ultimately broke away from his grip as she was listening to him, drawing back in the corner of the sofa.
‘Have I upset you?’
‘No. But I was so sure!’
‘Of what?’
‘That this is what it was all about. I know you’re not even aware of it, but in fact that’s why you came here in the first place.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘Yes, it is. I’ve been waiting for you to ask from the moment I began to tell the story. I’ve been watching you to see how long you could bear it. If it hadn’t been for the whole mess, you would have rushed to question me.’
‘To question you? Don’t you see you’re pushing it too far now?’
‘Why did you ask me if I was upset?’
‘Because I can feel it.’
‘No! It was because you knew there was a reason for me to get upset. That’s why. But relax; I’ll answer any question you ask.’
‘No! Not like that!’ He had stood up and started to pace the room, naked and angry, shaking his head. ‘I think you’re looking for a reason to fight.’
‘Why now? Just because we fucked, does it mean that we stilled all our suspicions? That you can turn someone into a slave? That you can toy with them as you will and squeeze out what you wish? You should have asked first, as soon as you came in, not now! If you ask me now, you only offend me!’
She had been yelling at him, flushed with anger. He was looking at her in bewilderment, feeling the ground slip from under his feet. He kept thinking that if he fell ill, the situation would have turned into something even nastier, and therefore he took a deep breath; but as the air was pumping in his lungs, a feeling of emptiness and despair pervaded his body along with the oxygen, poisoning him. He had become numb; his flesh was weighing down on his bones, and he was tingled by quick electric shocks. He sat again on the edge of the sofa and looked at her in exasperation.
‘I think you’re the one who doesn’t love me anymore, although you keep asking me and make me spell it out. This has made you lose your zest for living. You’ve lost something, and you don’t even know what it is. I’ll tell you what it is. It’s the love that faded away. And so it goes – don’t you remember how I used to say that you just get up one morning and it’s gone? You have a grudge against me, and until now I didn’t understand why.’
‘And now you do understand. That’s why you made me tell you about Harry, right? You’re a phony.’
‘Maybe I am. It’s not that I’m not interested… The Harry episode has troubled me deeply. But telling me that’s why I came is a bit far-fetched. It’s sheer exaggeration!’
Emilia had burst into tears. They streamed down her cheeks and trickled down her chest, giving her skin an intense glow.
‘Please, stop crying.’
She stopped and wiped her eyes. ‘Okay, I’m not crying, see? Ask me whatever you want.’
Suddenly calmed down, she waited. Her tears had dried out upon her nipples and her eyes were already dry.
‘Well, I just wanted to know what happened then…’
‘When?’ she asked ruthlessly, folding her arms like a matron.
‘You know… then, at Harry’s…’
‘It was exactly as I told you.’
‘Tell me again.’
Emilia shot her mouth off, telling the whole story again. She added only that when they had opened the door, they found him on the doormat unconscious, although he seemed to be mumbling something as he was moving his lips – or that was what she had thought she had seen before she scuttled away.
‘It sounds incredible. Do you remember that I came to your place?’
She nodded.
‘I brought you something. You asked me where I had the ring from and I told you. You know perfectly well how it was. You were curious to see the corpse. Where do you think I took the ring from? Do you think I made it all up?’
‘I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter anymore.’
‘Then why have you brought it
up?’
‘Because I wanted to tell you that things aren’t the way you say they are. When we were little, Max told me that one Saturday the two of you went out for a picnic with your parents, and while you were strolling around the Baneasa forest, you had shown him a two-headed monkey in a tree. He couldn’t see a thing, but you had insisted so much that he eventually admitted for your sake that he saw it, too. But he didn’t. He couldn’t have.’
‘Did he tell you all this?’
‘Yeah. But there was nothing nasty about it. It was more like a remark, as we both admitted, as far as I remember, that you were the imaginative one.’
‘But you still think I was lying.’
‘No. It was more like a vision that welled up from your mind,’ she said, laughing. ‘But I was willing to believe back then that you could really see certain things, because I noticed you changing before my eyes.’
‘And now you’re not anymore…’
‘I’m not what?’
‘Sure about this.’
‘No. I don’t know what to say, but what I surely know right now is that you’re a married man who is having an affair and doesn’t know how to handle it. If you had magical powers, I’m sure you would make me disappear right away. Or her…’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter what you might think; I don’t need magical powers for that.’ He looked tired and disappointed, and he sort of wanted to sound her out a bit more, but at the same time he thought it worthless; it would only deepen her feeling that she had been cheated. He remembered he had to act cautiously and remained silent for a while.
‘Are you angry at me?’
‘No. Actually, I need to tell you that I just wanted to make a fool of Max that time. He was such a gullible sucker. He used to heed my words as if I were God. I could’ve told him to jump off the roof, and he surely would’ve. After a while, I really wanted to ask him a favour, to find out something for me… but it was too late. I had moved out, and he was already under Harry’s thumb. Harry, the charmer…’
Emilia, listening to him, started to laugh. ‘I can’t believe you remember all this!’
‘How could I forget them? I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time, but if one of them hadn’t ratted us out, we would be together now. I mean, really. If I had known, I would’ve killed them all and stashed their bodies away in cool basements.’
‘How do you know they gave us away?’
‘I just do.’
‘I can’t clearly remember what happened then anyway. I’m surprised you’re still thinking about it.’
‘I think about it very often. I think about it because our life would’ve been different, and because of a filthy wimp everything went crazy.’
Emilia had grown gloomy. ‘We could’ve died.’
‘Maybe. It doesn’t matter anymore. Listen, I want to tell you one more thing before I go. Everything I told you was true. You had your proofs on several occasions. As for what happened at Harry’s… I don’t know, it’s a mystery. I kind of believe that what you said might be true as well. That I passed out. But how can you explain, then, where I got the ring from? But you’re right, it doesn’t matter anymore. Anyway, what I saw there was nothing but a fantasy. I mean, if I were to believe it, then…’
‘Then what?’
‘Nothing. Once I did believe it, but it wasn’t like that. Luckily.’
He picked up his jeans, pulled them on and started to look for his shirt. Emilia was watching him, coming back to her senses. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I have to go.’
‘Please, don’t leave.’
She leaned forward and hugged him, but he pulled back. ‘I can’t stay any longer. Your husband will arrive back soon, and Matilda might think I’m here.’
‘And?’
She lay there, stark naked and gleaming, baring her teeth. He found it impossible to say what she liked to hear. She would have bit his throat if she could have, would have scratched him and pulled his eyes out slowly and painfully with her claws, sharpened by time and pain; she would have hung his skin on the balcony and his dripping blood would have watered his treasured plants. The sofa over which they had just rolled had reappeared in all its gaudiness, and he felt terribly miserable and helpless. He looked around, saw his shirt dumped on the back of a chair and seized it. Then he scuttled away down the dim hallway, jerked the entrance door open, rushed down the stairs and didn’t stop until the corner of the street.
At home, he sank into his workroom, into which he had crammed a desk and a swivel chair. He stood hunched, full of remorse and regret, his ears pricking up at the slightest noise. Then, feeling stifled, he moved into the bedroom and lay upon the rough cover spread over the sheets. He heard Matilda walk into the apartment and the girls in the background, twittering cheerfully. Then silence fell and everyone hushed, as if at a sign.
He was wondering why he had run away. He had thought of going back, but he was afraid of the man he thought he had caught a glimpse of while running down the stairs toward the bus stop. He was wondering if, upon seeing his wife sprawled and bare-assed on the same sofa where he sat to watch his favourite TV shows, his anger had been so violent that he had beat the hell out of her or if he had simply knelt down, overwhelmed by shame and helplessness, begging her to stop this madness and to come back to him, repenting and reasonable. She was allowed to love someone else as long as she stayed home, obediently, without hurting him. This was what he would have done. Had it been his wife, he would have humiliated himself and asked her to stay.
Matilda walked into the room and stood still for a moment. She may have been watching him, or maybe she was afraid to break the silence around him. She might have thought that any noise could have altered his mood, but after holding his breath for a few minutes to study her movements, Sal took a deep breath and shifted onto his other side. Matilda got into bed and nestled next to him.
‘Are you sleeping?’ she asked him, but she got no answer.
He didn’t necessarily want to make her believe he was sleeping; rather, he wished to remain motionless and wait aimlessly, to dive into his own thoughts, just like when he was a little boy and waited to fall asleep, curled down under the covers. While waiting, he slowly slipped into dreams, suddenly freed from the remorse of having brutally deserted her without any explanations whatsoever. He was no longer tired, and a feeling of inexplicable happiness made his body soar. One last thought flashed through his mind before darkness fell: Emi might have betrayed him with Harry and the others, but she had loved no one but him. Should history by any chance trace their story, that would be the most important thing: their pure, unblemished love, travelling through the ages like thin mist and reaching people’s ears even after they were long gone.
X
RUNNING AWAY
At daybreak, the neighbourhood looked different and strange. He didn’t usually wake up at that hour, when the night was melting away and daylight hadn’t set in yet, except for the times when he went on holidays or for a picnic with his parents on the outskirts of Bucharest. They would pack the car with the barbecue grill, the charcoal, old blankets and sheets, the barbecue meat and other food they gathered together along with the plates and cutlery. They would also take the badminton rackets and the camera, and during summer, his mother would never forget the Doina body lotion, which she would rub on every uncovered part of her body. Every time she got hold of Sal, she would smear some on the tip of his nose so that he wouldn’t get sunburnt. He hated these weekend outings, and this was why it dawned on him that this particular morning he was stumbling upon a world that had been concealed up until now. The sun had not risen yet, even though a pale, wavering light was expanding behind the grey curtain.
He had slept with his clothes on and had stashed a backpack under his bed in which he had crammed some stuff: a jumper, some underwear, his toothbrush and a blanket. He had also thought about packing some sandwiches, but it might have looked suspicious, so the money saved in his piggy bank and wh
atever he had been pinching during the week from his father’s pockets would have to be enough to provide for a week. After that, they would have to see what happened. Right now his chest was bursting with optimism, stifling him with joy and excitement. He took one last glance at the rumpled bed, the walls plastered in posters, the bookcase and the polished wooden desk, the white lacy curtains slowly waving in the air sifting through the slats of the pulled-down blinds, and resolved that he didn’t feel the slightest regret. He wasn’t even sorry for the pain and suffering he was going to cause his parents when they discovered he was missing, for what else was he to do? What feasible choices had they given him to fight the resolute decision of leaving this neighbourhood and moving away to God knows where?
He tiptoed outside the house, glided along the walls and caught a glimpse of a dwarfish, shivering silhouette at the corner of the street. He approached it; only on clearly hearing his footsteps on the pavement did the figure bare its head, so that Sal could now see Emi’s sleepy eyes, her pale face and her mouth drawn into a single red dot that he could barely make out. He had been taken aback to see how quickly she had agreed to everything without questioning him. She had pulled a long face when Sal had told her about running away. He had said it as an order, and she obeyed as if confronted with an implacable fate. The day before, in the basement, he had assigned clear tasks to her: first of all, she should sleep well, because they couldn’t know when and where they found shelter; she should eat everything she was given for dinner, as this would be the only food until the next meal, which could come any time in the next twenty-four hours or even longer. He had told her to cram her backpack with warm clothes, just as he was going to do, because they might get cold at night when sleeping outside and they wouldn’t have money for new clothes any time soon. Above all, he warned her to act naturally, just as she always did; to neither behave nor misbehave, but try not to betray her feelings, to seal up her tongue and not let herself be seized with guilt or regret. Then, hugging and cuddling her up to his scrawny chest, he told her resolutely that the next morning he would definitely be waiting for her at the corner of his street, at a place where they wouldn’t risk being spotted by anyone.
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