by Adele B.
“I am going into town, would you care to accompany me?” she asked now, observing Livia as she drank her tea. She had taken the decision on the spot, she felt she needed a stroll in winter’s cold air; she had a sort of circle round her heart, a sensation she felt more and more often these days and which she had come to fear. She had no wish to retire to her room, she needed someone else’s presence. Helga wanted to feel the cold bathe her face, freezing her hands and her thoughts all at the same time.
Livia rose and walked towards the window.
“Why not?” she answered. She could see a great crowd outside. Christmas was drawing near, and the city was in turmoil; the Saxon feast days were going to mellow the hearts and enliven the atmosphere, in this cutting winter cold. The streets were filled with servant girls hurrying to replenish the larders, ladies were holding meetings and planning the New Year celebrations, carols could be heard through the open doors of every church, everyone was preparing for the great feasts ahead.
It was in times like these that Livia felt more lonesome and desperate than ever. She was not a child anymore, so the pleasure of going from house to house and singing carols was forever lost to her now; and she was not a respectable matron receiving her honoured guests, either.
In the last few months nothing whatsoever had happened in her life, and she felt already old. Edward’s memory seemed to be both receding and becoming more powerful at the same time, and in those moments when his beloved presence returned to haunt her dreams and waking hours, she would write poems which she would then carefully hide. Whenever she thought of Edward as a far-away presence, a darkened image, a shapeless face, an unattainable chimera – she would throw all the poems in the fire.
On that afternoon she had a choice between staying home all on her own or going downstairs to visit Agatha. But the possibility of hearing, yet again, stories about things which had happened a hundred years ago made her answer Helga’s invitation in a decidedly affirmative manner “Yes, I think a walk in the fresh air would be good for both of us”
“I’ll get dressed and wait in my room, whenever you are ready you just knock on the door” a satisfied Helga answered.
Livia hurriedly devoured the delicious biscuits and then headed for the wardrobe which Petros had filled with refined clothing, pieces bought from the most expensive European shops. After letting her eyes wander undecidedly over them, she chose a white Astrakhan overcoat, closed at the waist; a long, warm, black Cashmere skirt; a white Astrakhan toque trailing a black gauze veil which covered her face.
She knocked on Helga’s door and found this one waiting for her, all ready to go.
They left the house in silence and walked down the snow-covered street. The atmosphere in the city was electric, even though the weather was cold and gray, the sky filled with heavy, dark and forbidding clouds. The trees seemed even more depressing, covered in droves of croaking crows, their branches shivering in the cutting wind and fluttering despondently. The evening itself seemed to be falling faster than usual, as the clouds were slowly drowning the sun’s last reddish light. People seemed to be made of grey fog, as they hurriedly walked through the thick slush, cold and miserable.
Helga and Livia were hurrying now, heading towards the park- a preferred destination for many of those who still braved the elements trying to complete the evening’s walk.
As in former years, the Mayor’s office had decorated the wild park, which seemed more like a forest, with a Nativity shed and a giant Christmas tree; these and the festively decorated plaza were the main attractions during Christmas and the New Year celebrations.
The desolate, cold park was now filled with ladies, young and old alike, and with young elegant gentlemen stoically braving the cold and wet fog swirling over clothing, hair and cheeks. It was the time of innocent meetings and New Year celebrations, and even people who hadn’t yet been invited still hoped someone would remember them; nobody wanted to be alone on New Year’s evening .
Helga and Livia had not been awaited by anyone, so they just walked past noisy groups of young men and women, happily laughing under the careful supervision of mothers and grandmothers who were exchanging the latest gossip as they kept a close scrutiny on their wards.
They headed towards the lake, so alive and filled with wild geese and ducks, butterflies and bees, water flowers and reeds in summer; now abandoned, frozen and useless. Livia gazed upon its surface, thinking that their destinies were much alike. Like the lake, her soul had been warm, filled with summer’s beauty and love’s caresses; and now it was frozen, abandoned and resigned under the ice-sheet of resignation and pain.
A pair of ice-skates half covered in snow- a sure sign they had been abandoned there for some time- were hidden near a bench. Livia drew near, lifted them up and brushed the snow from them. Under Helga’s surprised eyes, she sat on the bench, took off her boots and slowly put on the frozen ice skates. She shivered when the coldness coated her feet, but her young warm blood quickly warmed them. She rose and was on the lake’s surface in a few quick steps. She started to skate furiously, faster and faster, skilfully avoiding the branches and tree trunks which stood in her way, unmoving, caught forever in the thick ice sheet. She was feeling free, skating through the fog, free and all alone in the falling dusk. She could feel the bitter cold whipping her cheeks and making her eyes water, her lips were stiffened in a smile, she breathed hard but would not stop. She skated gracefully, avoiding obstacles, bending under the willow branches and not noticing that all the people in the park were looking at her now.
They all saw that unusual person who appeared and disappeared with feline grace between the gray frozen trees. Drawn by the strange show, they drew nearer and were studying her with curiosity and admiration. Some knew her and whispered her name, while others were content to finally behold the wife of the richest man in town- a person much talked about, but seldom seen until now. Another turn, avoiding a branch- and some of the women started enthusiastically clapping their hands.
Livia looked towards the noisy crowd and headed for the shore, embarrassed; but she had stopped too abruptly and she was about to fall now.
Her knee touched a patch of black frozen earth, but a strong arm took hers and helped her get up. She lifted her rosy face to thank her providential saviour; she had almost fallen in front of all those people, and he had saved her from being ridiculed and becoming the talk of the town. But when their eyes met, she felt her knees start to shake, her heart drum in her chest, her mind reel, incapable of formulating one coherent thought.
It all seemed absurd and impossible, a dream or a joke, hardly credible.
Looking at him, as the shock of recognition slowly turned him to stone; seeing him struggle with disbelief as she had done only a moment before; taking in his face, his surprise, his emotion, she understood it was HIM, her lost love, the love she had thought gone forever.
The same blue eyes which had gazed deep into her soul this summer now searched her face.
“You...here?” he asked, amazed, his voice trembling with emotion.
“Yes, it’s me..... I’m married and living in Sibiu now” Livia answered, with a strangled voice. Surprise, happiness transformed in a second the impassive, emotion-dead face she had shown to the world these past few months. She was not feeling the fog wetting her hair or the cold reddening her hands; she was not seeing the gray frozen evening anymore; she felt alive, warm, happy. As happy as on those long gone summer days.
For a moment she asked herself what was Destiny’s plan – why had he appeared on her path just now, when she had already lost all hope for happiness?! Then she answered herself; whatever may ensue, she was ready to continue on the path of her love, and this time no one was going to decide in her place.
“I can’t tell you anything more- not now” she said with a tortured smile. From the corner of her eye she could see the inquisitive women drawing closer, curious to know and to see at close quarters both her and the handsome young officer she was talkin
g to.
She felt in danger; her face might all to easily betray all her feelings. She was unsettled also by Helga’s arrival; she could have easily guessed all if she had seen her now. Surely Helga, omnipresent Helga with her eagle eyes would not have missed the tension between the two of them.
“Please be at the Mayor’s Ball, on Sunday” he managed to whisper, bowing before her as any well-bred young gentleman would do.
Then he hurried off, disappearing into the fog, followed by the women’s admiring glances.
Chapter 11
A powerful sun was shining over Sibiu’s gaily coloured houses, filling with happy light its snow-covered streets, reflecting in both the town and the nearby mountains. It sparkled in the alluring shop windows; in the freshly-cleaned panes from behind which little noses and just-woken-up children’s eyes could be seen; in the ice formed overnight and which was slowly starting to melt; in the lacquered boots of passers-by. The sun penetrated the city’s most secret places, melting the snow from the rooftops and bringing goodwill into the inhabitants' souls.
Accompanied by Helga, Livia was leisurely strolling and observing the imposing, elegantly decorated houses, the hand worked white-curtained windows through which red carnation vases could be seen.
She smiled mischievously towards an attic window. Ever since arriving into town she had been delighted by its surprising architecture, the streets large and small, the plazas and bridges, fortifications, austere churches and most of all those strange attic rooms which sported two eyelid-like openings in place of windows. She adored these strange openings, they were the eyes of the old city itself; that Sibiu built of stone, wood and tiles. It seemed the town was somehow keeping an eye on its inhabitants, spying on their every move from that most strategical of all observation points, the roof.
The town with all its beauty had received and accepted her benignly, easing her sufferings a little, and she was grateful for it. She loved this city more than ever now, when she knew Edward lived here too. She could imagine him walking along the streets, sitting on the benches, gazing curiously at those strange rooftops. But she was also jealous – the city knew all about Edward’s comings and goings in these last few months, it was more than she knew; the city had swallowed him up in its labyrinthine streets, had hidden him from her for so much time. And all the while she had cried and suffered so much, hoping for some help, not knowing that in all this time he had been just a few streets away.
But now Destiny had offered her an unhoped-for second chance, and she intended to make the most of it. She gazed at the inviting shop windows, filled with a variety of clothes and accessories, jewellery and perfumes, everything a woman might have wished for in order to adorn herself and make herself beautiful for the one she loved. As she would adorn herself - for Edward.
The previous evening she had informed Petros of her wish to take part in the ball – he had been agreeably surprised by the news and left her a pile of banknotes, inviting her to spend all; and should they prove to be insufficient, to buy on credit, which he would pay for later. He was ready to spend any sum of money; he was a Municipal Counsellor and one of the ball’s main organizers, and felt really satisfied that Lidia had agreed to come to the ball too. At long last he would be able to flaunt his beautiful wife to the public at large.
Livia accepted all the money he gave her, and took all the money from the little drawer in her room as well; a sum which he replenished every week with the utmost discretion, just for her expenses; but which she had never touched, until now.
But ever since she had met Edward in the park, she had decided it was time to start living again, to get out of that state of numbness she had been wallowing in, these past few months.
She was going to avenge herself on Petros for all the life and time he had stolen from her; and she would start by spending his money. She felt a naughty kind of joy at the thought of using his money to beautify herself for Edward. She would buy herself clothes and jewellery, fine perfumes and elegant shoes, because she didn’t have the slightest intention of touching anything from Petros’s overstocked clothes wardrobes. For the Sunday ball she would be the only person to choose what she would be wearing; she alone and no one else.
An alluring aroma of freshly ground coffee and warm rolls filtered from the café on the corner, making her forget all about Petros’s hateful face for a while.
She entered the inviting place, accompanied by Helga, and chose a table next to the window; then she started a painstakingly slow conversation with her, while they were waiting for their order to arrive. She was trying to infect Helga with her own good spirits, but it was useless. The woman was as cold and impassive, as indifferent, silent, severe and devoid of sympathy as ever. Studying her, Livia thought this attitude could not just be explained by a superiority she might feel towards her, the little Romanian peasant who had made good; it had to hide something more, something deeper; and she thought she would very much like to find out what that something was.
Livia thanked the waiter and started sipping the delicious coffee while at the same time studying the miniature “Viennese” coffee shop, modelled on the genuine ones found in Vienna, whose atmosphere it was trying to emulate. Photographs of painters, poets and writers, many of them autographed, adorned the walls next to signed and dedicated paintings; and the autographed books nonchalantly left lying on the windowsill bore witness to a cultural life of sorts.
She was looking out the window now, observing each passer-by in the hope Edward would appear; she acutely wished he would just stroll past the café, it was a sweet madness, a delightful obsession. She had the clear sensation that time had stopped, and she could hardly wait until Sunday.
It seemed Helga could hardly wait either. She had risen and now headed for the door. Livia hurried after her.
Livia amused and diverted herself by entering each shop, studying and caressing precious materials, fabrics and accessories. There were so many wonderful things the like of which she had never seen before; clothes and boots from Vienna, handbags, face creams and perfumes from Paris, Venetian lace.
These shops were indeed filled with everything a woman’s vanity, good taste or love for luxury could ever wish for. The city’s centuries-long prosperity was due to the quality and beauty of the objects manufactured by its artisans; guild secrets carefully guarded for generations and passed on from father to son. But of late more and more things were brought from abroad.
While she was walking at a brisk pace, studying shops, passers-by or rooftop eyelid windows, she glimpsed the perfect costume in a shop window.
A white, long Cashmere cloak with a fine fur-bordered hood. Next to it, a precious and beautiful dress made of dark green velvet and black lace.
She went in and impatiently asked the vendor to show her the clothes. Hidden behind a heavy curtain, in front if an old mirror and with Helga’s help she tried on the dress. Helga’s face registered amazement, as if she could hardly understand her mistress’s sudden interest in shopping.
Livia pretended not to understand the woman’s feelings; she was studying herself in the mirror, enchanted by what she saw; she softly caressed the fine velvet, admiring the delicacy of the black lace surrounding her shoulders and embracing her waist.
She smiled and thanked the vendor while she paid for the now-carefully wrapped-up clothes. She had such a happy smile that the people she talked with were a bit embarrassed and mystified by it. Even Hans who had patiently waited for them both in front of the shop looked puzzled when she handed him the large packages.
Livia did not care about their looks; she would have liked to cry out, as loudly as possible, in the middle of the plaza, ”I am happy!” She would have liked to tell this to everyone and everything; to the attic rooms and the people filling the streets, to the whole world, how happy and how in love she felt!
They then went into a jeweller’s, where she picked a pair of earrings, a necklace and a bracelet adorned with emeralds in the same hue of green as the
dress.
From a perfumery she bought a sweet and delicate French perfume. In the shop’s corner a porcelain doll as tall as a child, was proudly standing, dressed in lace and silk, with an adorable little hat and bunches of golden curls escaping from under its brim. Livia studied it for a long time, then carefully took it in her arms. She spent thus the last of the money.
# # #
Petros gently knocked on Livia’s door. He had just returned from the ballroom; together with the other organizers, he had checked all the last-minute details. Once arrived home, he groomed himself for a long time. It was the first occasion for an outing in public with his wife, and he wished everything to be impeccable.
He then headed fearfully towards Livia’s door; he was unsure whether his wife hadn’t changed her mind, maybe even invented a headache so she would be able to stay at home.
But the door opened, and when Livia appeared, the man stopped short in his tracks, as if struck by lightning. His wife was ravishingly beautiful and as he looked upon her a terrible desperation took hold of him. He would gladly surrender all his riches and belongings, become again as poor as he had been in his childhood, or even poorer if need be - just to be loved by her. He would do anything, however strange or wild, just to have her.
He looked straight in her eyes... and could clearly see that his fortune was safe and so was his life. Livia gazed upon his face with uncaring, empty, ice-cold eyes; even a note of effrontery. This was something he had never before seen in her; sadness and resignation, yes - but not arrogance, as in that moment.
“You look stunning!” he said, offering her his arm. The sensual perfume, the dress softly whispering under the ample cloak, the black curls peeking from underneath the white fur cape, the rosy face and the green eyes glittering like the emerald earrings. He wished it were possible to cancel the ball invitations, to turn back and sit in front of the fireplace, just the two of them. He would hold her hands in his and tell her how much he loved her; and if she would just agree to make a tiny effort, to perhaps try and love him too, he would become the happiest person in the world.
