by Adele B.
Every morning Livia would find a bunch of flowers and a jewel in front of her door. She never touched them – but Helga would invariably bring them in at midday, putting the flowers in a vase and storing the jewel in the wardrobe. By her actions the woman silently tried to show the young wife that this was the best way to act, and it would be in her own interest to avoid any open conflict.
Livia was satisfied that Petros was away all day. The only chore was dinner time, when Petros would send Helga to tell her she had to appear at dinner, as both of them would keep him company.
There was nothing she could do except comply with his wishes, and she passively listened as he and Helga would talk about house expenses while Ildiko was serving dinner; she was surprised to find out how costly it was to maintain such a large household.
“I’ll order Hans to buy more wood” Petros said. He always was preoccupied in winter, as he was cold-sensitive and would not wished to find himself snowed-in and with no heating provisions in the harsh Transylvanian winter.
“I’ll free up some space tomorrow in the warehouse next to the fountain” Helga answered.
The large backyard of the pink house had a beautiful, luxuriant flower garden but also two warehouses which were stocked full of goods every autumn, in view of the coming winter. The larger one was for wood and coal, needed for the house’s comfort; the smaller one would be stockpiled with all kinds of things - onions, potatoes, beans and cabbages, but most important, with all kinds of delicious preserves. Both Ildiko and Helga had worked for more than a week, under the thick shadow of the garden trees, amongst autumn’s last flowers and under the rusty vine leaves, to turn nature’s generous and tasty gifts into abundant preserves. Soon the first snow would fall and the earth would not be able to offer anything, its fields empty and desolate under the thin layer of ice.
“I’ll visit the neighbouring villages and ask some peasant to prepare a pig, a few hens and geese, and some roosters” Petros went on as he was pouring ruby wine in his fine crystal glass. He then reached towards the tray on which large chunks of roasted meat were mixed generously with sausages and boiled hams.
Livia who was waiting for desert watched him devour a chicken leg and tried to hide the disgust she was feeling. His white strong teeth were tearing the rosy flesh, his jaws rhythmically grinding like some sort of infernal machinery, the fat dribbling on his chin and moustache was glistening in the candlelight. She was a vegetarian, meat repulsed her, she would have never been able to eat dead meat- it would have been equal to eating a corpse- well-prepared, seasoned and cooked, but still a corpse.
She had decided to stop eating meat on a cold Christmas eve, when she was about ten years of age. She had just returned from playing outside in the cold, was frozen and hungry, and she burst in the kitchen looking for one of her mother’s omnipresent vanilla cakes. But the sight meeting her eyes both disgusted and scared her. Poor Ghita, who she had known as a rosy, playful piglet and who had, over the year, turned into a respectable enormous pig, now was just a mound of slaughtered meat bleeding in a large metal bowl. She recognized the black ears, stored in a bucket together with the hind legs.
She could never stand the fact that chicks and ducklings, and especially innocent lambs, the lambs she loved to play with each spring, would end up torn into pieces and cooked for Easter. Meek and soft, like delightful plush toys, she would have rather played with them than tasted them cooked with parsley and dill.
“Livia, this Saturday the Notary will have a party in honour of his daughter, and she will announce her engagement. He insisted you should accompany me; many people would like to meet you.
Especially the women, who are very curious to see you” said Petros, wiping his lips with a white napkin. He was hoping she would accept, already rumours about the not-too-happy marriage between him and Livia were rife in the city.
“I am sorry, but my state of mind is not suited for a party now” she answered, with a piercing stare. His demands seemed ridiculous, her presence in his house- laughable, on this evening when all he could talk about were his pigs, his larder and his wood stock.
She watched them both in the shaky light of the candle; Helga talking absent-mindedly, Petros struggling with a dinner which seemed more like a sacrificial banquet. It all seemed such a nightmare, not even the music of the flames in the fireplace- sometimes quick and fierce, throwing sparks in the room, sometimes calm and subdued- could set her mind at ease now.
“Please excuse me, I don’t feel so well and would like to retire to my room” she continued while standing up. She was feeling extremely irritated and had she been forced to stay a moment more she would probably have burst into full-fledged hysterics. She would have liked to throw all the plates on the floor and break them, to destroy all the fine crystal glasses, to scream aloud her desperation and her pain.
“As you wish, my dear” he answered, looking a little surprised. He had heard her strange tone of voice, he had seen her twisted face; he felt relieved when she left the room.
# # #
The days passed in the same monotonous rhythm, with Petros always trying to conquer her heart but always fearing he would irritate her by his presence; yet he would not abandon the struggle, convinced that sooner or later Livia would look at him and just see him in a different way. After months upon months, or years upon years; he knew the change in her heart would take a long time, but he was ready to wait for as long as it was necessary. From familiarity or from necessity, she would become his, one day.
Livia paid no attention to Petros’s flowers and jewellery. She filled her days with reading and writing poems, which she would carefully hide or burn. Edward visited her less and less, but in those moments when his memory and his image pierced her heart and her mind, his presence was strong, heart-rending and so tangible. She would have given anything just to be able to feel her waist encircled by his strong arm once more, to taste his lips and feel his sweet breath stirring her senses, to lose herself once more in his sincere blue eyes. She was left powerless and even more desperate than before, these memories were sapping all her strength and her sanity and she swore to herself she would do anything to avoid them. The pain and the suffering were too much, she felt herself slipping towards a frightening chasm, and she decided to stick to the present, the here-and-now if she meant to keep her sanity.
She relegated Edward to the far recesses of her mind, to the corner of
beautiful, lost memories.
Chapter 9
The first snow started to weave its fine embroidery which soon turned into a fluffy carpet, in the second half of November. It was a little late, and this might be just the reason that it had started to pour fast and quick ever since the break of dawn, and by noon it had already covered streets and buildings. The multicoloured houses seemed to turn into large festive cakes, covered by creamy white snow.
From her window Livia was watching the noisy children who had all come out of their houses in droves upon seeing the freshly-fallen snow cover the streets. The fact that it was still early in the day didn’t stop them at all.
A familiar happiness filled her soul; it was the same enchantment she experienced every year when the first snows came; now as in the long-past winters of her childhood or teenage years , the magic of the season was taking hold of her.
She dressed hurriedly and left the room smiling, almost ran down the long hall which smelled of freshly-made coffee and new fire, then she slowly opened the heavy entrance door. One step, and her feet were drowning in the soft, inviting snow. Holding tight onto the banister-rail, she slowly descended the stairs - barely visible under the innocent white cover. But she knew that underneath it, the treacherous ice-sheet was waiting patiently for its first victims.
She watched the children, noisy at their play, totally enraptured by winter’s gift. She took a few tentative steps towards the middle of the street; no carriage had dared touch the pristine white veil yet.
As if hearing an invisible order, the
youngsters surrounded her, noisy and smiling, with red cheeks and glittering eyes. Livia who had understood their plans perfectly, hurriedly bent down to manufacture a snowball; but as she was straightening her back a determined and crafty kid aimed a faster snowball right at her head.
A life-and-death battle was expected now, as she was all alone against more than twenty of these small, well-organized warriors who had already prepared piles of projectiles, all ready to be thrown as quickly as possible at the approaching enemy. She was as willing to play as they were. Falling to her knees under the implacable barrage, she was laughing and throwing snowball after snowball towards the approaching children who were laughing as much as she did.
All she could do now was raise her hands in the age-old surrender sign; when all of a sudden she saw them all hurriedly retreat under a hail of fresh balls, fired with devilish precision from somewhere beyond her back. All alone now, like a trophy abandoned on the battlefield, she turned her head to see her saviour.
She beheld Petros, happily fighting the small children. He was elegantly dressed and not far away from him a black briefcase lay abandoned, a sure sign he had got out of the house to go to his office and, upon seeing her, had stopped to give her a helping hand. She got up, brushing snow from her clothes; but the childish troop attacked strategically again, pushing her into retreat. She was thus forced to fight alongside Petros against the little men who had besieged them both.
The kneeling Petros was gathering the snow around him with his thick strong hands; then he turned it into balls which Livia was throwing in a lively rhythm.
But not for long; after a while under the children’s systematic attacks, both Livia and Petros, laughing as hard as they could, covered in snow, red-cheeked and as bright-eyed as the children around them, raised up their hands in capitulation.
A victorious cry was heard as the children saluted their snow-covered former enemies, then ran away in search of other victims.
Petros delicately brushed the snow from her back. He was happy and one could clearly see the love in his eyes, stronger than ever. Livia seemed to be alive again, all rosy-cheeked, smiling and with glittering eyes under the rebellious black masses of hair, covered in white flakes now. Her cheeks, refreshed by the cold and the snow melting upon them, had a pleasant rosy hue; all the former pallor had vanished.
“Thank you for the help” Livia said, as she was heading for the house. The snow still clinging to her hair was slowly melting in her body’s heat, she could feel cold droplets making their way on her face and neck, and her hands were almost unbearably numb from all that icy wetness.
“It was a honourable duty, as you were all alone facing at least twenty wild little devils!” he answered, taking her arm. He carefully guided her on the slippery steps, accompanied her to the living room and helped her take off her astrakhan coat.
“Oh my God, what a lot of water!” Helga said in an annoyed voice, looking at them both.
“You should go out a little, too, Helga!” Petros answered while helping Livia take off her coat.
He handed it to Helga and then, suddenly, bent over and planted a furtive kiss on Livia’s rosy cheek; then he hurriedly left the room.
Helga took the coat with an impatient gesture, ran over to the balcony and started to forcibly shake it. Then she hurried back to the living room with her hands filled with rags, and set about drying the small water puddle formed by the melting snow that the two combatants had brought in, and which had fallen from their coats and shoes.
Livia entered her room, welcoming the pleasant warmth. She could feel her hands growing numb and her cheeks a little painful, but she felt also euphorically happy; playing with these children had had an extraordinary effect on her; for the first time in a long while she had felt alive.
She headed towards the window and looked as Petros was getting into the carriage; as usual, he lifted up his eyes towards her room. For a moment their gazes met, and he waved at her; she answered with a faint flutter of her fingers, undecided still. She could feel the sensation of his lips on her cheek, she had felt his touch for the first time since he had abducted her and held her so tight on that horse. This time his skin wasn’t smelling of sweat and of horses; it was a scent of fresh snow and cold winds, mixed with some costly perfume.
# # #
From her window, Livia’s eyes travelled along the now-empty street. It was already five o’clock, the hour she had always hated - it was the grey time when, in winter, hesitating day descended into night.
It was a numb hour, neither day nor night, suspended between two worlds and so sad, and it was just at this time that Petros’s carriage was hurriedly drawing hear the house.
She hid behind the curtains, observing him without being noticed. She saw him alight from the coach with a large flower bouquet in one hand and a small package in the other. He furtively glanced towards her window. She had had little time to think of him since the snowball fight they had faced together in the morning. His playful, childish manner had surprised her; she would have hardly believed him to be capable of such abandon, such careless, zesty laughter.
“Good day, Helga!” she heard him say, saluting the woman who had doubtlessly been waiting near the door, with her rags, all ready to wipe the snow stains from the marble floor.
“Would you like to accompany Livia and I in a stroll through the city?” he continued.
“Agreed” Helga’s voice answered, after a small pause. She had understood the plan that Petros had concocted; he needed her presence between him and Livia. By inviting her, he was hoping Livia would accept the planned stroll too - a neutral walk, three people. He would have wished a more intimate situation, just him and Livia, but he already knew the young wife was not going to have it.
“Please ask Livia to join us” he continued in a low voice “while I go to change my clothes”.
Livia headed for the small boudoir; she had heard the conversation in the hall and without giving it too much thought she suddenly decided it was time for a trip into town. She adored these long winter evening strolls, she loved the refreshing cold, and she was curious to see the beautiful town under the cover of fresh snow.
“Come in” she said while buttoning up her white astrakhan coat.
“We had planned to go out for a stroll” Helga said, a little taken aback by Livia’s readiness; she had feared the young woman would give her a hard time- but here she was, all ready to go and smiling.
“I am ready, call me when you are, too” continued Livia, standing next to the mirror and arranging a rebel curl which tried to escape from under the small elegant astrakhan toque.
Not long after, through the half-opened door, she saw them and hurried to join them. Petros was marching between the two women in his decided, ponderous way, holding both their arms in case one or the other should slip or lose her balance on the thin ice layer. They walked with small, careful steps, trying to avoid the fate of a man on the corner of the street, who had just fallen and now was getting up, swearing and grimacing in pain.
Petros extended his arm protectively towards Livia, steadying her even when it was not necessary; until he delicately took her arm, and she did not withdraw it.
They strolled leisurely through the city, enjoying its special charm which made everyone on the streets seem filled with a special kind of joy. Hungarians, Saxons, Romanians; poor people with worn-out clothes or rich people adorned in elegant materials; young and less young; women and men; they all seemed to share the same frenzy.
They headed for the main park, so large it seemed more like a deserted forest. There were no other people around, just the three of them, walking in silence, and the full moon. Petros was still holding Livia’s arm, and was drawing nearer and nearer as if by accident.
After a long walk they finally headed home, their feet growing numb from the cold. In darkness, lit only by street lamps, the city had a mysterious charm. Shop windows were lit by flickering candles and lamps, and so were the houses; but th
e snow glittered in the moonlight like a thousand diamonds, and screeched under their feet in the cutting cold which had covered the entire town with the fall of evening.
Reaching home, they changed their clothes and hungrily devoured the chicken soup Lina had prepared. A delicious piece of cake ended the dinner. They greeted each other and headed for their rooms.
Livia turned towards the window, to behold once more the bewitching beauty of the winter night. Their house was the tallest building around, and all the others seemed just muted, lined-up piles of snow. She put out the candle and fell into bed, admiring the glassy silver light in the room.
She fell asleep instantly and did not hear the door slowly open. A furtive shadow slowly crept towards her bed, and kneeled in front of it, watching her. She was beautiful even when asleep. Moonlight reflected on the silvery snow, its light increasing in intensity. Pouring into the room, it lighted Livia’s perfect face, her red lips, the long black eyelashes casting shadows on her preternaturally pale face, rich black strands of hair scattered on the white sheets.
Petros felt desperation. He felt a strong impulse to caress her; he had only come with the intention of looking once upon her face and then leaving, but now he wanted more. He wanted to see more, more of what was hidden under the sheet covering that perfect body. With one hand he slowly pulled on the sheet, while the other was caressing her face. His lips alighted on her neck. Petros was attacking now with hands and mouth all at once; his body could not be patient and well-behaved anymore.
A cry awoke him from this drunkenness of the senses. Livia had jumped from the bed and was looking at him with fear and horror; her large green eyes seemed even larger because of the fear, and even greener in the moonlight.
In a shaky, rhythmic voice she said; “If you do not leave this room at once, I’ll kill myself tomorrow! And if you ever try to come into this room, I’ll kill myself! You better be sure of this!”
