: Mircea Eliade(1e07)

Gypsies

It was stifling hot in the tram. Quicklyalong the passage he said to himself : "You're

Gavrilescu, old man !" He had caught sight ofempty siat, by an open window, at the other end ofcar. Having sat down he pulled out his handkerchieftook his time mopping his brow and his face. Then

wound the handkerchief round his neck, under the's collar and started fanning himself with his strawAn old man facing him had been eyeing him in-f as if trying hard to remember where he had seenbefore. The man was carefully balancing a tin box

his knees."It's terribly hot !" he suddenly said. "We haven'tsueh heat since 1905 !"

Gavrilescu nodded and went on fannig himself withhat :"Hot indeed." he said. "But an educated man willy stand everything. Take Colonel Lawrence. Du youv anything about colonel Lawrence ?"

"'No idea.""A pity. Not that I know a great deal myself. Hadgot in this car I would have asked him one or tworgs. I like entering into conversation with educated

Three young rnen, sir, no doubt students, distin-students. We were all waiting at the tram-stop

I listened to their talk. They were talking about a

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rcertain colonel Lawrence and his adventures in Arabia.What a memory they had ! They were quoting wholepages out of the colonel's book. There was a sentence Iparticularly liked, a very fine -qentence, about the heaihe, this colonel, was up against somewhere in Arabia.which struck him on the top of his head, a blow like asword's... A pity I can't remember the sentence 'wol'clfor word. That terrible burning heat of Arabia strucl<him like a sword. A blow on the top of his head and hewas speechless."

The conductor had been listening with a smile, thenhanded him a ticket. Gavrilescu placed his hat on hishead and began searching his pockets.

"Sorry," he mumbled after a couple of seconds, un-able to find his wallet. "I never know where it is."sThat's all right," the conductor said with unexpecteclgood-humour. "Plenty of time. We're not nearly there."

Turning around to the old fellow he gave him a wink.The old man blushed, nervously clinging to the tin boxwith both hands. Gavrilescu handed a note and the con-ductor began to count out the change, smiling mean-while.

"A scandal !" The old man mumbled after a fer.r se-conds. "It's unthinkable 1"

"ft's the talk of the town," - Gavrilescu said fanninghimself again with his hat. "Looks like a fine house,though, and what a garden !... What a garden !"... herepeated admiringly, shaking his head. "There, you car)just see it," he added stooping somewhat, to se it better.

A few men stuck their heads against the wi.ndou's,as if by chance.

"It's a downright shame," the old man spoi<e again,sternly looking straight on. "It should be stopped.""These are old walnut trees," Gavrilescu rvent on."That's why it's so shady and cool. I hear that rvalnui-trees only grow shady after thirty or forty years of life.Could it be true ?"

The oid man pretended not to hear. Gavrilescu turne':lto one of the fellow-travellers who had been lookingpensively out of the window.

o R /

"Old walnut trees," he said, "at least fifty years old.

fhat's why there is so much shade. It's a blessing inthis sultry heat. Lucky they are these people".'.

"These women." the fellow-traveller said never rais-ing his eyes. "They are gypsies..."

"So I have heard," Gavrilescu went on. "I catch thistram three times a week. And I give you my word thatevery single time there's been talk about them, aboutthese gypsies. Does anyone know them ? I wonder :where did they come from ?"

"They came long ago," the fellow-traveller said."They'l'e been here for twenty-one years," someone

put in. "When I first came to Bucharast, these gvpsieswere here already. The garden, however, was much lar-ger. The school had not yet been built..."

"As I was saying", Gawilescu began anew, "I re-gularly travel this way, three times every week. As i11luck would have it, I give piano lessons. I say : as illluck would have it," he added with a smile. "since Iwas not cut out for it. I have an artistic disposition..."

"If that is the case, we've met" the old man sud-denly said, turning to him. (You are Mr. Gavrilescu,piano-teacher. I have a young niece. You taught herfive or six years ago. I was wondering where I had seenyour face. It looked familiar."

"Yes, that's me," Gawilescu said. "I give piano les-sons, I often catch the tram. In the spring time, whenit's not too hot and there's a breeze, it's a real pleasure.As I was saying, I ride three times a week in this tram.And I always hear people talking about the gypsies. Ihave often asked myself : Gavrilescu, f said, supposethey are gypsies; how do they eome by so much mo-ney ? I ask you ? A house like that, quite palatial, withgardens and old walnut trees, why it's worth millions."

"It's a scandal !" the oid man exclaimed again look-ing the other wav in disgust.

"I asked myself another question," Gavrilescu wenton. "Reckoning by my own earnings, a hundred lei perlesson, you'd need ten thousand lessons to make a rhil-lion. But, mind you, things are not that simple. SupposeI had 20 lessons a week. it would take 500 weeks. That

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is almost ten years. And I would have to have 20 pu-pils and 20 pianos. Let alone the problem of the summerholidays when I am left with two or three pupils, tosay nothing about the Christmas and Easter vacations.All these hours of unemployment are lost for the mil-lion, aren't they ? So it is not a question of 500 weeksat 20 hours per week, nor of 20 pupils with 20 pianos,but of much more, considerably more than that !"

"Quite true," one of the fellow travellers said. "Now-

adays there is no great demand for piano lessons...""My word," Gavrilescu suddenly exclaimed, knock-

ing his hat against his brow. I could feel that some-thing was wrong and couldn't tell what. My briefcase !I forgot the briefcase with my music. I had a chat withMme Voitinovici, Otiiia's aunt, and left the briefcasebehind. Bad luck !..." he added extracting the handker-chief from under his collar and stuffing it in his pocket."In this heat off you go, Gavrilescu, mv son, and catcha tram back to Preoteselor street."

He looked round in despair as if expecting someoneto stop him. Then be suddenly got up :

"Glad to have met you," he said raising his hat, andbowing slightlv from the waist.

Then he quickly stepped out onto the platform the\-ery moment that the tram was coming to a stop. Ingetting off Gavrilescu was aware of the same torridheat and the smell of melting asphalt. He crossed thestreet with some difficulty to wait for a tram going inthe opposite direction. "Gavrilescu, my good man," heu'hispered, "mind what you're doing ! It does look abit like old age. You're growing soft, vour memory failsvou. I say it again : be careful, vou've no right to dothat. 49 years of age is a man's prime of life..." Yet hefelt tired, exhausted and dropped onto a seat, in theglaring sun. He pulled out his handkerchief and star-ted mopping his face. "This sort of brings back some-thing," he said to himself trying to buck up. "Just asmall effort, man, a small effort of the memory. Some-rrhere on a seat, without a penny in your pocket. Itwasn't as hot as this, but it was a summer day..." Helooked round at the empty street, closed shutters, low-

2b6

lTered blinds, houses which appeared to be deserted. 'Peo-

ple going away on holiday', he thought, 'one of thesedays Otilia shall be gone too'. It was then that he re-membered : it was in Charlottenburg. He was sitting,as now, on a seat in the sun, but in those days he washungry, without a penny in his pocket. "When you'reyoung and an artist everything seems easy to put upwith," he thought. He got up, took a few steps up thestreet to see if the tram was in sight. As he walked,the torrid heat seemed to abate. He came back, leanedagainst the wall of a house, took his hat off and startedfanning himself.

A few hundred meters up the street there loomedsomething like a shady oasis. From a garden, dense,leafy, lime-tree branches were hanging over the pave-ment. Gavrilescu considered them, fascinated, yet hesi-tating. He looked once more up the tram rails, then setout with long firm steps, keeping close to the walls.Once there the shade didn't seem quite so dense. Youcould, however, feel the cool of the garden. Gavrilescubegan to breathe in deeply, slightly tilting his headback. "It must have been heavenly a month ago, withlime-trees in bloom," he pondered in a dream. He wentup to the wrought-iron gate and inspected the garden.The gravel had been recently watered. You could seethe round flower-beds and, at the back of the garden, apool with dwarfs standing round it. That very momenthe heard the tram squeaking and rattling by. He turnedto look at it. 'Too late,' he thought smiling. 'Zu-spcit !'he added. Raising his arm he waved his hat at it forquite a while, just as he used to do, at the North sta-tion when Elsa left for a month's stay, with her family,in a viliage near Mi.rnchen.

Then, quietly, sedately, he walked on. Having reach-ed the next stop he took off his coat and was pre-paring to wait when a slightly bitter smell suddenlyreached him, a smell like walnut tree leaves squashedbetween one's finger. He turned and looked round. Hewas quite alone. For as far as the eye could see, thepavement was deserted. He dare not look at the skybut felt the same white, incandescent, blinding light, on

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top of his head and could feel the fiery glow of thestieet slapping his mouth' his face. So he set out, quiteresigned,

-6is ioat tucked under his arm, his hat pulled

clowi upon his forehead. Seeing from afar the denseshade of the walnut-trees he felt his heart pounding andslightly quickened his step. He was almost there whenhe- heird- the tram metallically groaning behind him.I{e stopped and gave it a long farervell with his hat. "Too

late !" he exclaimed. "Too late 1"...

In the shade of the *"t.trt, it was unnaturallY, un-l"lelievably cool. Gavrilescu stopped for a moment, puz-zled, smiling. It seemed as if he were suddenly in amountain forest. He looked around perplexed, almostrespectfully, contemplating the tall trees, and the ivy-covered. stone waII. An infinite sadness came over him.For so many years he had ridden past this garden, neveronce morred by curiosity to get off the tram and consider:t closely. He was walking slowly, his head slightly tiltedLrack, looking at the tall tree-tops. Suddenly he foundhimself in front of the gate. There, as if she'd beenhiding on the look-out for him a long time, a young,beautiful, very dark woman stepped up. She was wearinga necklace of gold coins and large goiden earrings.

Taking his arm she whispered :"Coming to the gypsies ?"She smiled a broad smile, her eyes danced, and seeing

that he was in two minds, she gently took his arm andpulled him inside. Gavrilescu followed her quite bewitch-ed; yet after a few steps he stopped as if to ask aquestion.

"Don't you want the gypsies ?" she asked once more,her voice still lower.

She gave him a brief, deep, direct look, then tookhim by the hand and quickly led him to a small oldhouse which he could hardly have suspected, hiddenas it was among large lilac and elder clumps. She open-ed the door and gently pushed him in. Gawilescu en-tered a strange half-light as if the windows were ofblue and green glass. He heard the tram coming, as if

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from afar, and thought the metallic rattle simply un-bearable. So, he put his hand up to his head.-As thenoise died out he discovered an old woman quite closeto him. She was sitting at a low table in froni of a cupof coffee. She was considering him with interest, as ifwaiting for him to wake up."Your heart's de_sire, what shall it be today ?" sheasked, "A Gypsy, a Greek, a German pirl..."- ^"No, .1o," Gavrilescu intervened

-witfr a gesture of

defence. "Not a German girl."'fpell then, a Gypsi, a Greek, a Jewess shall wesay," the woman went on. ,,Three hunclred lei," shiadded.

Gavrilescu put on a grave smile."Three piano-lessons !', he uttered searching his pock_ets. "Not c-ounting the tram-fare both ways."

The old woman sipped her coffee and sat pondering."You're a musician, aren't you ?" she suddenlt ;;iA:"Then you'll be satisfied.""I am an artist," Gavrilescu said while extractinsseveral damp handkerchiefs from one of his trouser nock"_ets and methodically inserting them, one by one, intothe other pocket. "f am now, unfortunately, L piano_tea_cher, but my ideal has always been pure art. I live forthe spirit... ,i b"g your pardon" he stammerecl placing hishat upon the small table and beginning to place in ltthe objects that he had taken out of hiJ pock-ets. ,,f cannever find my wallet when I want to...""No hurry," the old woman said. ,,plenty of time.It's not yet three o'clock."

"I apologize for contradicting," Gavrilescu said ,,I'mafraid you're wrong. It should be almost four. At threeI had just finished my lesson with Otilia.""Then the clock must have stopped once again, theold woman now said sunk in thought."Ah, there we are at last," Gavrilescu burst outtriumphantly producing his waliet. ,,It was in the riphtplace..."

He counted the notes and handed them.'(Take him to the hut," the crone said looking up.

V

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tv

Gavr i lescu fe l th ishandbe ing taken, .andon look ing"ottta,'scarea, he was faced with the girl who had way-

i;id hi- at the gate. He followecl her nervously carrying

trir o*" hat laden with various objects under his arm'"Mind You, remember them well," the -girl said'

"Don't get ihem mixed up : a Gypsy, a Greek' a Jew-

ess.. ."-*"'tft"y walked across the garden passing the tall.build-

ing -

*:ilkt th" recl tile rool that Gavrilescu had seer-!

from the street.-- - Sft" tt"pped and, briefly looking him deep i+. the

"y"., b.rrrt into a short fit of silent laughter' Gawilescu

hld'just begun removing the various objects from his

hat into his Pockets.----'Ab't he said, i 'I h"rru an artistic.disposition: !f- J

could have my way I would stay he.re in these ciumps'

i"i"iitig *itit'tti. hat to the treLs' "I love being -out-of-a;;;;.- il this torriJ heat to be able to breathe the cooi

t""tft uit, as if one were in the mountains"' Why' where

;;; g'"i"g i" h" *i"a, seeing that the girl.was rvalk-

*S "p io a "wooaen

fence and opening the gate'---'"Co the hut'.. That's what the dame said"'" She took

fris atm'-"Sain and led him on' They walked into an

""te"a"a larden, with roses and lilies overgrown b1'

;:il;;;d: briar' bushes. It was hot again and Gavri-

fescu tresitated, somewhat disappointed'^-"-'T -il-;;; been cherishing hoies" he said' "I came for

the cool, for nature's beauty".'' -.-^-,,Y;; waif until- yo,', gbt inside'" The girl cut him

short, pointing to an" old lalf-ruined cottage that could

i;;t b"'seen aI the back of the garden-'-"G;ili;;".t

p.tt his hat on and sullenly followed her'

But upon entering lit"-p*tuge he felt his heart pound-

t"g-"C; more violently, and he stopped'"I am nervous' he said, "I don't quite know whJ "'""Don't have too much coffee," the giri whispered as

she opened the door and pushed him.in'

It was a room the limits of which,yo-u gould not see'

f'ne tfi"A.-were drawn, and in the half-dark' the screens

;fi ;;i1. looked alike. He entered- stepping on cafpets

q,hich became "u", thi"k"r and softer' It seemed as if

2riO

he were walking on mattresses. With every step hisheartbeats beeame faster and faster until he was afraidto advance and stopped. That moment he felt suddenlyhappy, as if young again, on top of the world, as ifHildegard, too, were his own."Hildegard !" he burst out, addressing the girl. "Ihave never given her a thought these twenty years. Shewas my great love. The woman of my life !"...

Yet, turning around, he realized that the girl wasgone. He was aware of an insidious exotic perfume, andheard the clapping of hands. The room grew mysteri-ously light as if the curtains were slowly being parted,ever so slowly, one by one, so that the light of the sum-mer afternoon could slowly filter through. Yet there wastime for Gavrilescu to notice that none of the curtainshad moved. He was faced by three young women stand-ing a few yards in front of him clappng their handsand laughing.

"ft was your choice," one of them said. "A Gypsy,a Greek, a Jewess..."

"Now let's see if you can tell which is which," thesecond said.

"We'11 see if you can tell which is the G5zpsy," saidthe third.

Gavrilescu droppecl his straw hat. He was staring atthem, quite stunned, as if he didn't see them, as if hewere looking through them, as if he were looking atsomething behind them, behind those screens."I'm thirsty," he suddenly mumbled, his hand at histhroat.

"The crone has sent coffee for you," one of the girlssaid. She vanished behind a screen coming back with around wooden tray on which there was a cup of coffeeand a long-handled coffee pot. Gavrilescu seized thecup and drained it at one gulp, then handed it backsmiling.

"I'm terribly thirsty," he whispered."This one is going to be hot, it's from the coffee-

pot," said the girl as she filled the cup. "Drink it slow-ly. . . t '

26r

lTGavrilescu tried a sip, but the coffee was so hot that

he burnt his tips. Disheartened, he placed the cup onthe trav.

"I'r; thirsty," he insisted. "If I could only have adrink of water."

The other two girls vanished beyond the screen andsoon returned with two laden trays.

"The crone sends you jam," one of them said."Rose-leaf jam and sherbet" the other added.But Gavrilescu saw the jug of water and although

he saw a heavy green-rimed glass beside it, he grabb-edthe jug with both hands and put it to his mouth. Hethrew lis head back and had a long drink, occasionallygulping. He then uttered a sigh of relief, PJ-aced- the jug

6n the=- tray and produced one of the handkerchiefs."My ladies !" he burst- out, beginning to -mop his

brow, "'(I've

been awfully thirsty. I have heard of one,colonel Lawrence".

The girls gave each other a meaningful look-, thenthey all burstbut laughing. This time they were havinga gbod, hearty laugh, ever louder and merrier. To beginwilh, Gavrileicu looked at them in astonishment. Thena broad smite lit up his countenance, and finaily he,too, began to laugh. He took his time mop,ping !-t.- t9.9"'

t'M.y I ask a question," he spoke at last. "I'd liketo know what's posessed you."

"We're laughing because you addressed us as Youngladies," one of them said. "Here we are in a gypsyhouse..."

"That's not true !" another exclaimed. "Don't youlisten to her, she's pulling your leg. We were laughingbecause you drank from the jug instead of the glass.Had you drunk from the glass..."

"Never mind what she says," the third contradicted."She's making fun of you. Let me tell you the truth ;we're laughing because you were afraid."

"Nonsensel Not true ! the other two burst out. "She's

sounding you out to see if you were afraid...""He was afraid ! Afraid !" the third repeated.Gawllescu took a step forward and solemnly raised

his hand.

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"Fair young ladies ! he protested, actually lturt." Isee you don't know who you're speaking to. I am notjust anybody. My name is Gawilescu, an artist. BeforeI unfortunately became a sorry piano-teacher, I liveda poet's dream. Young ladies," he pathetically exclaimedafter a pause, at twenty I met, fell in love with andadored Hildegard !"

One girl pushed an armchair, and Gavrilescu satdown with a deep sigh.c'Oh l" he began after a long silence. "Why remindme of the tragedy of my life ? For, you understand,don't you, Hildegard never became my wife. Somethinghappened, something terrible happened..."

The girl handed the cup of coffee and Gavrilescubegan to sip thoughtfully.('Something terrible happened," he picked up thethread again. "But what ? What on earth could havehappened ? Strange, I cannot remember. The fact is thatHildegard has not been in my thoughts these manyyears. I had grown accustomed to the idea. I used to,say to myself : Gavrilescu, my good man, the past isdead and gone.. That's the way with artists, no luck. Andsuddenly, a few minutes ago, as I entered your house,I remembered that I once had a noble passion. I remem-bered having loved Hildegard !"

The girls gave each other a look and began clappingtheir hands.

"I was right, after all," the third girl said. "He wasfrightened."

"Quite right" the others agreed. "He was afraid."Gavrilescu looked up eyeing them compassionately

for a long time."f don't see what you mean..."' ((You'r€ frightened," one of the girls provokingly said

taking a step forward. "You've been afraid ever sinceyou walked in."

"That's why you were so thirsty," the second onesaid.

"And you've been changing the subject ever since,"the other said. "You've had your choice but now vou'reafraid of guessing which is which."

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I"I still do not understand," Gavrilescu tried to de-

fend himself."You should have guessed from the beginning," a

third continued, "you should have guessed which is theGypsy, which the Greek, which the Jewess..."

"Have a go now since you say you're not afraid,"the first one took up again. "Try to guess. Which isthe gypsy ?"

"Which is the gypsy ? Which is the gypsy ?" he couldhear the other voices, like an echo.

He smiled looking them up and down."I like that," he said, suddenly feeling in good spi-

rits. "So that's it : you've discovered that I'm an artist,so you think that I'm in the clouds, and have no ideawhat a gypsy looks like..."

"Don't you change the subject," one girl interrupted."Guess which is which."

"So you think," Gavrilescu obstinately went on, "that

I haven't the necessary imagination to guess what agipsy looks like, particularly when young, handsome andnaked..."

For he had, of course, guessed the moment he seteyes on them. The one who took a step towards him,completely naked, very dark skinned, black haired, anddark eyed, was certainly a gypsy. The second, who wasnaked too, but who wore a pale green veil and goldenslippers on her feet, possessed an unnaturally white bodywhich was shiny as mother-of-pearl. This one couldonly be the Greek. The third was no doubt the Jewess :she wore a long cherry-coloured velvet skirt tightlywrapped round her body, her breast and shoulders werebare ; her abundant, flaming-red hair was gathered andcoiled in studied style on the top of her head.

"Now guess ! Which is the gypsy ? Which is thegypsy ?" the three of them shouted.

Gavrilescu got up from the arrnchair and pointingto the naked swarthy girl in front solemnly pronoun-ced :

"Since I am an artist, I accept this test, even thougha childish trial, and this is my answer : You are thegypsy !"

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The next moment he was caught by hands' The girls

whirled him in a reel, shouting and whistling' 'I'he vot-

ces seemed to come from afar.- -- 'i1'5"1', no guess, no guess !" he heard as if in a

dream.He tried to come to a standstill, to tear himself away

from lnote hands that were madly wheeiing him around

is in a fantastic reel ; but it was impossible to set him-

ieti tree. He could smell the hot scent of those youlg

Lodies and that exotic, far-distant perfume' He could

feel, as an inner, but also outer sensation, the feet of

ihe 'girtt

dancing on the carpet-. He also felt that thei"ef

-*ut gently carrying him betw-e-en armchairs and

,"""errr, to"the'far end of the room. Yet after a time heg""" "i resisting ancl was no longer consoious of any-

thing.Ilpon waking up he opened his eyes o1 th-e d"*-

skinned naked lirl-kneeling on the carpet by the sofa'He sat up.

"Have I been asleep long ?" he asked'"You were just about fo drop off," the girl soothed

him. "Just dozing.""Why, what

*on earth have you done to me ?" he

asked putting his hand to his head, "I feel somewhatdizzy."

He looked around in amazement. It seemed to be adifferent room, yet he recognized, those screens that drewhis attention ai soon as he had come in, symmetricaliydisposed in between armchairs, sofas, and mirrors. Hecouldn't figure how they were structured. Some werevery tall, atmost reaching the ceilin-g. You could havetakin them for walls if, in certain places, thev had notjutted right into the middte of the room at sharp angles'bthers irysteriously illuminated, looked like windowshalf coveied with curtains opening onto interior corri-dors. Other screens were curiously and brightlv colour-ed, or covered with shawls and embroideries. Fromtheir disposition, they seemed to form recesses of va-rious shapes ancl d.imensions. Howwer, after consider-ing one of the recesses for a few seconds, he cameto the conclusion that it was simply an illusion, what

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,w!e 9aw being simply two or three separate screens fusingtheir images in the greenish-golden waters of a largemirror. The moment he realized that it was an illusionGavrilescu felt the room swaying around him, and oncemore he put his hand up to bis head.

l'Whatever have you done to me ?" he repeated._"You haven't guessed," the girl whispered with a

sad smile- "And yet I gave you a wink meaning that Iwas not the gypsy. I am the Greek girl.""Greece !" Gavrilescu cried oui, abruptly standingup. "Eternal Greece !"...

The weariness seemed to have vanished. as if bvcharm. He could hear his heart beating faster, a sens"eof singular beatitude taking possession of his whole bodylike a warm thrill.

"When I was in love with Hildegffd," he excitedlycontinued, "it was our one dream, io visit Greece to"-gether."

(You were a fool,'( the girl interrupted. ((Youshouldn't have dreamt, you should have loved her...""I was twenty, and she was not yet eighteen. She waslovely. We were both good-looking," he added.

At that moment he realized that he was wearing astrange costume : wide trousers like Turkish shalwarsand a short silk yellow-gold tunic. He looked at himselfin the mirror in surprise, as if having some difficultyin recognizing himself.

"We had been dreaming to visit Greece," he wenton later, in a steadier voice. "No, it was more than adream. It was almost beginning to materialize, sineewerd decided to leave for Greeee soon after the wedding.Then something happened. Now, whatever did happen ?"he asked after a pause pressing his hands on his tem-ples. "It was just like this, a hot day such as this, afearful summer day. I saw a seat and made my way toit ; I then felt the torrid heat strike the top of my head,striking the top of my head like a sword... No, not quite,that's colonel Lawrence's story ; I picked it up todayfrom a group of students while I was waiting for thetram. Ah, if I only had a piano," he cried out in despair.

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The girl rose from the floor with a quick movementand, taking his hand, she whispered :

t'Come on !"She drew him swiftly in and out of those screens and

mirrors. Eventually she quickened her pace at such arate that Gavrilescu found himself actually running. Hetried to stop for a second to catch his breath, but thegirl wouldn't let him.((ft's getting late," she spoke as she ran. He hadagain that feeling that the voice was wLizzing past asit rushed on from a distance.

This time, however, his head did not turn. Becausehe was running fast he had to avoid tripping against in-numerable sofas, soft cushions and trunks, small woodencases covered with carpets, large and small, strangelyshaped mirrors which confronted him unexpectedly as ifthey were recently placed on the floor. At the end ofa passage between two rows of screens they entered alarge sunny room. Leaning against a piano, the othertwo girls were waiting.

"Where have you been all this time ?" the red-hairedone asked, "The coffee's cold."

Gavrilescu caught his breath, took a step towardsher, and raised both arms over his head as if trying todefend himself :

t'No, no," he said, "f won't have any more. I've hadenough coffee. My ladies, though I have an artistic tem-per, I lead a well-regulated life. I don't care to wastemy time in coffee-houses." .

As if she hadn't been aware of him, the girl turnedto the Greek :

"Why have you been so long ?" she again asked."He remembered Hildegard again.""You shouldn't have let him," the third girl said."I beg your pardon, allow me," Gavrilescu said step-

ping up to the piano. "This is a strictly personal ques-tion. No one can stop me. It was the tragedy of mylife."

"I.[ow he'll be late again," the red-hairecl girl said.'oHe's rambling again."

20 - Proza fantasticd - c. 250 267

"I beg your pardon," Gavrilescu burst out. "I amnot rambling at all. It was the tragedy of my life. Itall came back as soon as I came in here. Listen," heexclaimed walking up to the piano. "I'll play somethingand you will understand.""You shouldn't have allowed him," he heard the twogirls whispering.

"Now he won't ever guess..."Gavrilescu sat intent for a few moments. Then bent

down on the keys and got his hands ready as if to attackvigolotuly.

"I've got it !" he suddenly cried out. "I know whathappened !"

He rose impatiently from his chair and began pacingihe room, his eyes on the carpet.

_"No-*, f know," he repeated over and over again,under his breath. "It was much the same as today, one-summer. Hildegard had gone with her familv to K6nigs-berg. It was fearfutly hot. I was li'n'ing in Charlottenburgand was out for a walk under the trees. They were tall,very shady old trees. The place rvas deserted. It wastoo hot. No one ventured out. There, under those trees,I cauglt sight of a young woman, sobbing dreadfully,crying her heart out, her face in her hands. I was deeplysurprised for she had taken her shoes off and her feetwer-e propped against a small suitcase lying on the gravelin front of her... 'Gavrilescu, my man'- I laid to mvself.'here's an unhappy creature indeed...' How could I sus-pect..."

He stopped walking and abruptly turned to the girls :"My ladies !", he pathetically exclaimed, "f wasvoung, I was good-looking and had an artist's sensitivity.A young woman abandoned was enough to break myheart. I talked to her, I tried to comfort her. That wasthe beginning of my life's tragedy."

"And what shall we do now ?" the red-haired girlasked of the others.

"Let us wait a bit and see what the crone says," theGreek girl said.

"If we go on like this he will never tell us from eachother," the third girl said.

!68

"Yes, the tragedy of my life," Gavrilescu went on.Her name was EIsa... But I accepted it all. I said to my-self, 'Gavrilescu, man, such is fate. An evil hour ! That'sthe way with artists, no luck'..."

"See ?," the red-haired girl put in again. "He's get-ting tied up again and won't be able to get out of this."

"Ah, fate !" Gavrilescu eried out, raising both armsand turning to the Greek girl.

The girl smiled on him, her arms behind her back."Undying Greece !" he exclaimed, "I never had a

chance to see you.""Never mind that, never mind ! the other two shout-

ed, coming up to him. "Just remember your choice."..."A Gypsy, a Greek, a Jewess," the Greek girl said

meaningfully and deeply looking into his eyes. "That

was your wish, that was your choice !"..."Guess which is which," the red-haired girl spoke,

"and see what fun it will be.""Which is the gypsy ? Which is the gypsy ?" the three

asked all at once surrounding him.Gavrilescu drew back instantly and leaned against

the piano."So that's it," he began after a pause, "that's how

things are with you. Whether it be an artist or a com-mon mortal you hold your own: guess which is thegypsy. And why, if you please ? Whose orders ?"

"That's the game we play here, in the gyps1. house,"the Greek girl said. "You try, have a guess ! You won'tbe sorry."

"But my mind is not bent on games," Gavrilescufervently pleaded. I have just remembered the tlagedvof my life. For, look here, now I understand it all : ifon that evening, in Charlottenburg, I hadn't entered abeer house with Elsa... or suppose I had entered, but hadbeen provided with money and able to pay the bill, ml'life would have bpen different. But it so happened thatI had no money and Elsa paid the bill. The followingday I tried everywhere to get a few marks to pay mvdebt. But no. All my friends and acquaintances wereaway on holidal'. It was the summer, it was frig'htfulll'hot..."

ir,,.fdffii

269

W-"Hels frightened again," the red-haired girl spoke

under her breath looking down at the carpei."Listen, I haven't yet told you everything !" Gavri_lescu pathetically shouted. For three

- whole d.avs I

couldn't find any money and every night I visited Elsaat her lodgings : to apologize for being unable to find themoney. And we ended by going to the beer house. HaclI at ieast been firm ancl refused to go to the beer housewith her. But what do you expect ? I was hungry. I wasyoung, I was good-Iooking. Hildegard was a*ay, ancl Iwas hungry ! To be quite frank ihere were dails whenI would go without a meal. An artist's life...""And what's to be done now ?" the girls asked. Timeis getting short, getting short.""Now ?" said Gav_ritrescu, raising his arms again."Now it's pleasant and warm, and I lite it frere. yJuleyoung and beautiful and stand before me ready to offerme jam and coffee. But I'm not thirsty. f feel good. Inow feel perfectly well. And I say to'myself, ,',-Gavri_Iescu, my boy, these girls are expecting something. Givethem_ that pleasure. lf they wa.ri you

-to guers *hi"h i.

which, do it. But take care I Be careful, rian. for if voir€io -wrong,again you'll be caught in their reel and neverwake until daylight..."

He smiled, went around the piano, in such a way asto use it as protection from the girls."So y-ou want me to tell you which is the gypsy.Very well, I shalt tell you..."

The girls fell into line, quite moved, never sayinga wo1,{, looking him straight in the eyes."I'll tell you," he spoke after a p"ause. Then, abrupt-ly, he pointed melodramatically to the young womanu'earing the pale green veil and he waited. the girlswere__stunned, as if they could hardly believe it.

- "What's- wrong with him ?,' The ied-haired girl ask_

ed a._long time after. "Why can't he guess ?""Something's happened," the Greek girl said. He hasremembered and he's now lost, fumbling in the past."

The girl he had taken for a gypsy advanced i fe*"t^up-r, took the tray and the coffee-cups. passing in frontof the piano, she whispered with a sa-d smile :

-

t:70

"I am the Jewess..."Then she silently disappeared behind a screen.('Ah r" Gavrilescu uttered, knocking the palm of his

hand against his brow. "I should have known. Therewas a something in her eyes coming down from the farpast. And she had a veil, thoroughly transparent, but ne-vertheless a veil. Just as in the Bible..."

Suddenly, the red-haired girl burst out laughing.ttThe goverrrolr has goire wron€," she shouted. He

couldn't tell the gypsy."She passed her fingers through her hair and shaking

her head the curls feil flaming red upon her shoulders.She began a dance, slowly turning round in a circle,clapping her hands and singing.

"Tell us, Greek girl, what it might have been like,"she called shaking her curls.

"Had you guessed which she was, it would have beenfine," the Greek girl spoke in a low voice. "We wouldhave sung and danced for you leading you throughevery room. It would have been fine."

"It would have" Gavrilescu took up with a sad smile."Go on, tell him, Greek girl," the gypsy shouted stop-

ping in front of them whlle she continued clapping herhands rhythmically and striking the carpet with herbare foot ever more fiercely.

The Greek girl crept up to him and began to speak.She was talking fast, under her breath, occasionallywagging her head or smoothing her lips with her fin-gers. But Gavrilescu did not understand her. He smiledand listened, a vague look in his eyes, occasionally mur-muring, ('It would have been fine..." The gypsy's footstruck the carpet ever more fiercely producing a muf-fled subterranean sound. He stood it until that strangesavage rhythm seemed impossible to bear. Then, withan effort, he dashed to the piano and began to play.

"Now you tell him, too, you gypsy !" the Greek girlshrieked.

He could hear her coming ever nearer, as if dancingon a gigantic copper drum, and a few minutes later hecould feel her hot breath on his back. Gavrilescu stoop-ed down at the piano and pounced furiously with might

271

W'and main, almost as if wanting to remove the keys, totear them away, to dig with his very nails into the wombof the piano and then further on, deeper down.

His mind was empty of thought, wrapped up as hewas in the new unfamiliar melodies that he seemed tohear for the first time, though they started up in hismemory, one after another, like reminiscences of old.It was late when he stopped playing. Then did he real-ize that he was alone, that the room was almost dark.

"Where are you ?" he shouted anxiously rising fromhis chair.

He hesitated a few seconds. then made for the screenbehind which the Jewess had vanished.(Where are you hiding ?" he shouted again. Slowly,stepping on the tip of his toes, as if to surprise them,he crept around the screen. This might have been theentrance to a different room rvhich seemed to narrowclown into a winding corridor. It was a strangely builtroom, with a low irregular ceiling, slightly undulatedwalls dissappearing and re-appearing in the dark. Ga-vrilescu took a few casual steps, then stopped to listen.It seemed that at that very mornent he could hear swish-ing and quick steps passing close by on the carpet.

"Where are you ?" he shouted.He listened to his echoing words trying to scrutinize

the dark. He thought he could see the three of themhiding in an angle of the corridor. He headed for it,arms extended, feeling his way. But somewhat later herealized that he had taken the wrong way, since hediscovered that the corridor was making a turn towardthe left a few metres away. So, he stopped again.

"It's no use hiding, I am sure I can find you any-way !" he shouted. "Better come out of vour own ac-cord !"

He then listened intently, hi,s eyes riveted on thecorridor. You couldn't hear anything. Yet here the heatseemed to creep in again. So he decided to go back andu'ait for them rvhile playing the piano. He rememberedthe direction he had come from and knew that he had

272

only taken twenty or thirty steps. Extending his armshe advanced slorviy, carefully. A few steps awa.v hebumped against a scfeen and drew back flightened. Heknew for a fact that a few seconds earlier the screenhad not been thele.((What's come over you ?" he shouted. (tl-et me go..."

He thought he could hear again stifled laughter andswishing. He took healt."Maybe you think I'm afraid," he began after ashort pause trying to seem as cheerful as possible. "Justa minute. Just a minute !"... he added hurriedly as if hewere expecting an intelruption. "I agreed to play hide-and-seek with you out of compassion. That is the truth :i took pity on vou. I realized from the start: innocentyoung girls, shut up here, in a hut, at the beck and callof the gypsies. So I said : "M)' good man, these girlswant to play a trick on you. Make them believe vouhave been tricked. Let them think you can't tell whichis the gypsy. Such is the game... Such is the game," heshouted as loud as he coulcl. ((And now that rve'r'e hadplenty of play, come out into the open."

He listened, smiling, his right hand against the screen.That moment he heard the thud of feet scurrying in thedark, very close to him. He turned abruptly with armsextended.

"Let's see who you are," he said. "What have we gothere. Have I got hold of the gypsy ?"

Having thus madly wheeled his arms about for quitea time, he stopped to listen. This time, not the slightestnoise. from anywhere.

"No matter," he said as if ,qure that the girls werejust a few steps away, hiding in the dark. "Patience.I can see you don't yet know who you're up against.Later on you'll be sorry. I might have taught you toplay the piano. You might have improved your musi-cal education. I could have explained the Lieder ofSchumann. Such beautv !" he feivently said. ,,What di-tr'ine music !"

He felt the heat again, it seemed more awful thanever. He began wiping his face against the sleeve of histunic. Then, feeling low, he turned left, constantly fin-

i;i:

27)

gering the screen. He would sometimes stop and listen,then_s_gt out again at a quicker pace.- -."Whatever possessed me to

-take these maids serious_

ly," he.suddenly^ burst out, furiously. ,,I am ,or"y i-tsaid maids out of courtesy. You are sbmething else."youknow well what you -are.

you're gypsies. No"education.uliterate. Does any of you know where Arabia is situa_ted 7 who has heard of Colonel Lawrence ?"

There seemed to be no end to the screen and as headvanced the heat became unbearable. He took off hisjacket, _furiously wiped the perspiration on his face andneck, then slung the tunic bn his bare shouider like itowel. His arm was groping again as he was going alongthe screen. This time, however, he was up agiinst iimo_otlr cool wall, so he clung to it with boih a"rms ex_tended. He stood a long time against the wall takingdeep breaths. Then h-e began m5ving slowly, "."*ii"!along the wall, never leaving it. SomJ time aiier he waiaware that he had lost_ his jacket. He was sweatingprofusely, so he stopped, took off his shalwars "rribegan drying his face and body all over. At that mo_ment he_ thowht something had touched his shoulder ;rvith a sharp shrink he jumped sideways, frightened."Let me go," he shouted. ,,I did ask vou to letme go ! " . . .

. Somebody, something, o being or an object, i^,npos_sible to identiiy, touched his fac6 and shoulders. So l,rebegan defending himself, madly wheeling the shalwarsabove his head. He was gror,ving hotter and hotter. Hefelt beads of sweat running clown his cheeks ancl rvaspanting. At a sudden twirl the shalwars flew out of hishand and disappeared far into the dark. Gavrilescustood a moment with arm raised, spasmodically closinghis hand as if hoping to find out fiom moment to mo_ment that the shalwars was within reach. He felt sucl_lenly that he was naked and he shrank, crouching down,his hands on the carpet and his forehead prot",r"airrg ,..if ready to start a running race.

He began to advance feeling the carpet around himwith the palms of his hands, stitt tropinf he would find

his shalwars. He occasionally discovered objects whichwere difficult to identify. Some looked like small boxesbut, upon closer exarnination, proved to be giganticpumpkins wrapped up in shawls. Others which seemedto be cushions or sofa bolsters, became, upon investiga-tion, gld umbrellas filled with saw-dust, washing bas-kets filled with newspapers. He coul.d hardly decide onthe nature of the objects because he was ever faced-with new ones which he began to feel with his hands.Sometimes large pieces of furniture would stand in hisway ; Gar,rilescu cru'efully avoided thern not knowingtheir shape and afraid to upset them.

He didn't realize how long he had been crar,vling inthe dark on his knees or on his stomach. He had givenup hope of ever finding his shalwars again. It was theheat that was bothering him more and more. As if hewere walking in the garret of a tin-roofed house, oneafternoon of torrid heat. He could feel the parching airin his nostrils and objects became ever hotter. His bodywas soaking wet and he had to stop occasionally andrest. He would then stretch as far as he could, legs apartand arms extended, sticking his face into the carpet,breathing deeply and nervously.

He once thought that he had been dozing and waswaken by an unexpected breeze, as if a window hadbeen opened somewhere letting in the cool of the night.But he soon understood that it was something else,something quite different from what he knew. He stoodtransfixed for a moment feeling the sweat on his backgrow cold. He couldn't remember what happened after-u'ards. He was frightened by his own uttered shriek andfound himself running insanely in the dark, bumpingagainst the screen, upsetting mirrors and all sorts oftiny objects which had been curiously placed on thecarpet, slipping frequently and falling, but picking him-self up and racing on. He found himself jumping overcases, going around mirrors and screens. Then he realizedthat he had entered a half-dark zone and was beginningto distinguish contours. At the far end of the corridor,unusually high up on the wall, a window seemed toopen, the light of the summer evening filtering through.

275

As he walked into the corridor the heat became un-bearable. He was obliged to stop for breath and wipedthe sweat off his brow and cheeks with the back of hishand. He could hear his heart thumping as if readyto break.

!"fof" reaching the window he stoppecl again, fright_ened. The sound of voices, laughter, of chairs beingpushed back upon the parquet fioor reached him, as iTa whole group of people were getting up from the tableand heading for him. That minute he saw he was naked,thinner than he knew he was, bones sticking out fromunder his skin, but his belly, swollen and flagging, suchas he had never seen it before. There was no time torun back. He seized a curtain at random and began topull. He felt that the curtain was very nearly cbmingundone. He propped his feet against the wall and leanedback with all his we,ight. But sbmething unexpected thenhappened. He gradually felt that the curtain pulled himits own way, with growing force. A few minutes laterhe was against the wall and though he tried to set him-seif free by letting the curtain go, he did not succeed.Very soon he felt himself swathed, tied fast on allsides, as if bound hand and foot and pushed into a bag.It was dark again and very hot. Gavrilescu realized thathe couldn't stand this much longer, that he would suf-focate. He tried to call but his throat was dry, as dry aswood, and the sounds seemed smothered in thick ielt.

He heard a voicr"Go on, uor,"r^oi-,'llll ff ,t*:-*l:,,0""*'"What more shall I tell" he spoke under his breath."I've told everything. That was all. I came to Bucharestwith Elsa. We were both poor. I began giving pianolessons..."

He raised his head slightly from the bolster and hiseyes fell on the crone. She was sitting at that low table,the longhandled coffee-pot in her hand ready to pourcoffee into cups.

276

"No, thanks, I won't have any more !" he said raisinghis hand. "I've had more than enough. I'm afraid

"I

shan't sleep tonight."The crone filled her own cup, then placed the coffee_

pot on a corner of the table."Cgqg on," she insisted. "What else have you beenrioing ? What more has happened ?"

Gavrilescu sat thinking for a long time fanning him_self with his hat."Then we started playing hide and seek". He sud_denly spoke in a slightly altered yoice, somewhat moresternly. 6(Naturally, they didn't know with whom thevwere dealing. I am a responsible man, an arbist, a pianbteacher. I came here simply curious to know. I take aninteres.t in n-ovelty, in things inexperienced before. Is€uct : "Liavrilescu, my J.ad, here's an opportunity to im_prove your knowledge." I didn't know it was a matterof innocent, childish game_s. Just imagine, I suddenlyfound myself naked and heard voices", I was certaiithat one moment or another, you know what I mean..."

The crone nodded and leisurely sippecl her coffee."The time we've had to find your hati, she said. ,,Thegirls turned the hut upside down to find it.""Quite, I was to blame as well, I will say" he con_tinued. "I didn't know that unless I could iclentifv themin the daylight, I should have to search, catch, "rri g.rer.in the dark. I hadn't been told anything. Ancl I tell"you,when I found myself naked and felt that curtair, "uriirrgaround me like a winding sheet, it was like a windinglsheet, I give you my word...'"The time we've hati to get you dressecl" the cronesaid. "You simply refused to dress...""That curtain was a real winding-sheet, I teli you.Il *1 skin-tight. It was wound around and so tightthat I eouldn't breathe. And such heat !" he exclairiedfanning himself apace with his hat. ,,I wonder I'm stillalive !..."

"Yes, it's been very hot," the crone said.At that moment the metallic ratiling of the tramcar

could be heard.

277

(Ah !" he exclaimed rising heaviiy from the sof a,"the way time passes ! I got talking and what with onething and another I forgot I had to go to PreoteselorStreet. I left behind mv briefcase with mv music scores.would you believe iti I was thinking this afternoon i'Look out, my dear fellow, it somehow looks iike...' Yes,something of the sort I rvas saying, but I don't quiteremember what it wa3..."'

He took a few steps to the door, then turned, bowedslightly and with a flourish of his hat said :"Pleased to have met you."

In the yard he had an unpleasant feeling. Thoughthe sun had gone down it was hotter than in mid-after-noon. Gavrilescu took off his coat, dumped it on hisshoulder and fanning himseli '"r'ith his hat, he crossedthe garden and walked out. As he r.valked away fromthe shady wall, the stifling heat of the pavement, thesmell of dust and melting asphalt struck him again.He was walking dejectedly shoulders sunk and a vaguelook in his eyes. No one was waiting at the stop. As heheard the tram coming, he raised his hand to stop it.

The car was practically empty with all windowsopen. He took a seat facing a young man in his shirtsleeves. As he saw the conductor advancing he beganfumbling for his wallet. He found it sooner than he hadexpected.

"It's unbelievabie !" he exclaimed. "It's worse thanArabia. Maybe you've heard of colonel Lawrence..."

The young man smiled iistlessly, then turned to thewindow.

"Have you any idea what time it is ?" Gavrilescuasked the conduetor.

"Five minutes past eight.""Bad luck ! They'll be having dinner. They'll think

I have specially eome so late to find them dining. NowI don't want them to think that... You see what I mean,don't you ? On the other hand, if I were to tell themwhere I've been, Mme Voitinovici, who is an inquisitive\f,'oman, will keep me talking until midnight."

The conductor who had been considering him witha smile, winked at the young man.

276

"Tell her you've visited the gypsies, and she'll askno questions, you'll see."

"Oh no, not a chance. I know her well. She's aninquisitive woman. Better say nothing."

At the next stop a few young couples got in. Gavri-lescu changed seats closer to them so that he mighthear the conversation. When he thought it was properto join in, he slightly put up his hand.

'I am sorry to contradict you. I am unfortunately apiano-teacher but that was not my calling..."

"Preoteselor stop," he heard the conductor's voice.So, getting up suddenly, he bowed and hurriedly crossedto the door.

He set out at a leisurely pace, fanning himself witlthis hat. When he came to number 18 he stopped, sethis tie right, passed his fingers through his hair andwalked in. He climbed slowly up to the first floor, thenrang the bell energetically. A few seconds later he wasovertaken by the young man in the tram.

"This is coincidence indeed !" Gavrilescu exclaimedseeing the young man stop by him.

The door was abruptly opened and a woman ap-peared on the threshold, still young but with a pale andwithered face. She wore an apron and held a mustardpot in her left hand. Faced with Gavrilescu she frowned.

"Yes, what is it ?" she asked."f left my briefcase," Gavrilescu timidly began.

"What with talking, you know, I left it behind. I Lladvarious things to do and couldn't come sooner."

"I don't quite understand. What kind of briefcase ?""If she's having dinner, don't bother," Gavrilescu

rapidly continued. "I know where I left it. It's by thepiano."

And he tried to enter. but the woman woulcl notbudge from the threshold.

"Who are you looking for, may I ask ?""Mrs Voitinovici. of course. Mv name is Gavri.Iescu.

Otilia's pr,ano-teacher. I didn't hive the pleasure ofmeeting you," he added politely.

"You're in the wrong house" the woman said. "Thisis number 18".

279

. "I b"g your p-ardonl' Gavrilescu began smiling. .,I'r,,e

known this flat for five years and mo-"". Vo,, ,i"y ,"fthat I'm a member of the family. I come regularlv iir."!times a week..."

- The young man watched the scene leaning againstthe wall.

"What did you say her name was ? he asked."Mrs Voitinovici. She's Otilia's aunt, Otilia pandelethat is..."

"She doesn't live here," the young man interrupted."This is where we live, the Georgescu family. This ladyis my father's wife. Her maiden name was- petrescu...i'

"I'll thank you for being polite," the woman said."And don't you come home with all sorts of charac_tgrs..."

She turned her back on them and disappeared alongthe comidor.

_"I do apologize for this scene," the young man said,trying to smile. "She's father's third wife. She carriesthe weight of all the errors of former marriages ; fiveboys and one girls."

Gavrilescu was listening quite upset, fanning him-self with his hat.

"I am sorry", he began, ((deeply soruy. I didn't meanto annoy her. It's the wrong time, quite true. It's dinnertime. But, you see, tomorrow morning I have a lessonup in Dealu Spirii. I need that briefcase badly. Czerny IIand III are in it. They're my own scores, with my per-sonal interpretations in the margin. That's why I alwayscarry them with me."

The young man looked at him still smiling."f don't think I made myself quite clear," he inter-

vened. "f mean to say that this is where my family lives,the Georgescus... We've been here for four years."

"Impossible" Gavrilescu burst out. "f was here afew hours ago, I had a lesson with Otilia, between twoand three. Then I chattered with Mrs. Voitinovici.

"Was it the Preoteselor street, no. 18, first floor ?"the young man inquired with an amused smile.

280

t""Exactly so, I know the house irrside out. I can tell

you where the piano is. I can take you there blind-folded. It's in the drawing room, by the window.""There is no piano in the house," the young mansaid. "Try another floor. Though I am positive youwon't find her on the second floor either. That's wherecaptain Zamfir's family lives. Try the third floor. I amso sorry," he added, seeing that Gavrilescu was actuallyfrightened, feverishly fanning himself with his hat. ,,Iwould have been glad if this Otilia lived in this house..."

Gavrilescu hesitated looking deep into his eyes."Thank you," he said eventually. "I'll try the thirdfloor, too. Though I give you my word that about aquarter past three I found myself here." He firmlyraised his hand and pointed to the corridor.

He began to mount the steps, breathing heavily. Onthe third floor he took his time mopping his face withone of his handkerchiefs, then rang the bell. He couldhear_ tiny steps, and the door was soon opened by asmall boy of five or six."Ah," Gavrilescu uttered "I'm afraid it's the wrongfloor. I was looking for Mrs. Voitinovici." A youngwoman then appeared in the doorway, smiling at him."Mrs. Voitinovici used to live cn the first floor," shesaid "but she has moved, left Bucharest for some pro-rrincial town."

"Has she been away long ?""Oh yes, quite a long time. It will be eight years

this next autumn. She left right after Otilia's marriage."Gavrilescu touched his forehead and began rubbing

it. Then he searched the woman's eyes and gave her asgentle a smile as he could.

"I believe there's some confusion," he began. "I'm

referring to Otiiia Pandele, a schoolgirl in the 12tr' glade.The niece of Mrs. Voitinovici."

"f knew both of them welI," the woman said. "When

l*'e moved in, Otilia had just got engaged - you knowthat affair with the major, to begin with. Mrs. Voitino-vici refused to consent and quite rightly. The differencein age was so great. Otilia was a mere child, she was

28r

Fnot yet 19. Fortunately, she met Frincu, Frincu theengineer. You're sure to have heard of him.""Frincu, the engineer ?" Gavrilescu repeated. "Frincudid you say ?"

"Yes, he made some kind of discovery. It was ir-i thepapers."

"Frincu, the inventor" Gavrilescu dreamily spoke.Strange, very strange..."

Then he put out his hand, patted the boy's head andmade a short stiff bow :"I am sorry. I think I've come to the wrong floor."

Smoking and leaning against the door the youngman was waiting."Did you find out anything ?" he asked."The lady upstairs claims that she got married, butsurely there's sorne misunderstanding. Otilia's not yet17, she's in the 12ft grade. I talked to Mrs. Voitinov-ici.we spoke about one thing and another. She never saida word."

"Strange...'

_, "Very strange indeed," Gavrilescu said, encouraged.'That's why, let me tell you, I don't believe any of this.

On my word of honour. But, after all, it's useless toinsist. I'il come again tomorrow morning."

And having taken his leave he began going downthe steps with a firm gait.((Gavrilescu, my man," he uttered to himself as soonas he was in the street," be careful, you're beginningto grow soft in the brain. You're losing your memory.l'ou'r'e mixing up addresses..." The tram came in .cighi,and he quickened his step. He sat down by the windowand then only did he feel a stight breeze.

l'Why, at last!" he exclaimed addressing the ladysitting in front. "It's almost, practieally..." IIut he wassuddenly at a loss for a conclusion to the sentence, sohe smiled a confused smile. ,,yes, he went on shortlvafter. I- was just talking to a friend and saying that wLwere almost, practicaily, in Arabia. Colonel Lawrence,if you have heard of him...'

The lady continued. to gaze out of the window.

282

"Qne more hour or two," Gavrilescu began ag-ain:"and night shall come. The dark, I mean. The cool ofnight. H6wever, ... we shall be able to breathe."

The conductor was standing in front of him andGavrilescu began searching his pockets.

"After midnight we shall be able to breathe," headdressed the conductor. "What a long day !" he addedsomewhat nervously, unable to find his wallet. "Such

misshaps !... Ah, heie it is at last," he burst out, quicklyopening his wallet.- "Th-is one's no longer curuent" the conductor saidreturning the note. "You have to change it at thebank..."

"But what's wrong with it ?" Gawilescu asked, turn-ing the note in his hand, quite surprised.

"It's been out of use since last year. You may changeit at the bank."(strange !( Gawilescu uttered considering the note$?ith concentration. "It was quite good this morning.And the gypsies will take it. I had three more like this,and they took them all at the gypsy house..."

The lady turned slightly pale and ostentatiouslyrising she took a seat at the other end of the car.

"You shouldn't have mentioned the gypsies, not infront of a lady," the eonductor chid him.

"Everybody does," Gavrilescu defended himself. Itravel this way three times a week, and I give you myword... t t

"Yes, that's true" a passenger put in. We all mentionthem, but not in front of the ladies. It's a matter ofdecency. Particularly as they're going to have the placelighted up. Quite so, the town council has approved :they'll have the garden illuminated. Personally, I amunprejudiced, as you might say, but a gypsy house illu-minated, I consider that provocative..."

"Strange," Gavrilescu said. "I haven't heard anysuch thing."

"ft is in all the papers," another passenger added."It's a disgrace" he spoke, raising his voice. "ft's un-thinkable !"

st

21 - Proza fantastic6 - c. 2b0 283

Some people turned to look at him, and Gavrilescucowered under their accusing gaze.

"Search. thoroughly, maybe you've got some moremoney" the conductor said. If not, you'll have to getoff at the next stop."

With a flushed face, not daring to look up, Gavrilescuproceeded to search his pockets again. Fortunately, thepurse with small change was quite handy, in betweenthe handkerchiefs, Gavrilescu counted a few coins andhanded them.

"You've given me only five lei" the conductor said,showing his open palm.

('That's right, to the custom house."(The fare is ten lei, no matter where to. Don't you

live in this world ?" the conductor added in a stern voice."I live in Bucharest," Gavrilescu said proudly look-

ing up. "I catch a tram four or five times a day. I'vedone it for years, and I've always paid five lei..."

The whole carriage was now eagerly listening tothis conversation. A few passengers came closer and saton seats on either side. The conductor played with thecoins tingling them in the palm of his hand, then said :

"If you won't give me the rest of the fare, please toget off at the next stop."

"Tram fares went up three or four years ago.""Five years ago" the conductor specified."I give you my word," Gavrilescu pathetically began."Then get off at the first stop," the conductor cut

him short."Better pay the difference," someone advised. "The

custom house is a fairly good walking distance."Gawilescu looked into his purse and held out another

five lei note."strange things going on in this countrY," he mum-

bled under his breath when the conductor had gone.Decisions are made overnight, within 24 hours. Moreprecisley within six. I give you my. word... But, afterall, what's the good of insisting ? It's been a terribleday. And the woist of it is that we can't do without thetramway. I, at least, am obliged to use it three or fourtimes a day. Yet a piano lesson is worth a hundred lei.

284

A banknote such as this one. Now this one's no goodany more. I must go and have it changed at the bank...

"Give it to me," an elderly man said. "I'll change itin the office tomorrow."

The man took a banknote from his wallet and handedit to him. Gavrilescu took it reverently and studied itattentively."Very fine" he said. "Has it been in use some time ?"

A few passengers smiled at each other."For some three years" one man said."Strange that I haven't seen it before. I am rather

absent-minded, I will say. An artist's temper..."He placed the note in his wallet, then looked out of

the window."Night has fallen," he said. (At last !"He suddenly felt tired, worn out and with his head

in the palm of his hand, he closed his eyes. He stayedthus as far as the custom house.

He tried the lock *ith h; key in vain, then heavilypressed the button of the electric bell, and, havingpounded loudly on the dining room window, he cameback to the front door and pounded on it with his fists.A man in his nightgown soon appeared from the darkin the open window of the house next door, shoutinghoarsely :

"What's this row, mister ?... What are you up to ?""Sorry," Gavrilescu said. "I can't think what's hap-

pened to my wife. She doesnt answer. And something isthe matter with the key. I can't get in.""Why should you get in ? Who are you ?"

Gavrilescu went up to the window and raised his hat :"Although we are neighbours" he began, "f don'tthink I've had the pleasure of meeting you. My nameis Gawilescu and I live here with my wife Elsa...'

"Then you've got the wrong address. Mr. Stdnesculives here. And he's not at home, he's away at a spa."(I beg your pardon," Gavrilescu spoke. (I am sorryto contradict you, but I'm afraid there's some sort of

confusion. Number 101 is our home. Elsa's and mine.We've been here for four years."(Now that's enough. Stop it all for goodness sake !We can't get any sleep" someone shouted."He claims to be living in Mr. Stdnescu's house...'"f don't just claim," Gavrilescu protested. ,,This ismy house, and I won't have anyone... And first andforemost I want to know about Elsa, where she is. what'shappened to her...'"Ask the police station," someone spoke from theupper floor.

Gavrilescu looked up in panic."What has the police station to do with it ? Has anv-

thing happened ?" he shouted beside himself. ,,Do v6uknow anything ?"

"f don't know anything, but I do want to get somesieep_. And since you're going to chat all night..."-"I_-beg your pardon," Gavrilescu said.- I want sleeptoo, I'm dead tired... I've had a terrible dav. Torribheat, as if we were in Arabia... But I can't think what'shappened to Elsa. Why doesn't she answer the door ?Maybe she's been taken ill and fainted."

And going back to the front door of number 101 hebegan -pounding the door with his fists again, ever morestrongly.

_ _ "I- told you, mister, didn't I, that he's away ? That

IVIr. Stdnescu is at the sea-side."-

"Call the police," a shrill woman's voice spoke ,,callthe police right away."

Gawilescu ceased abruptly, leaning against the doorand breathing with difficulty. He wai suddenly feelingvery,tired, he sat upon one of the steps and-clutched!i: br.9w in the palms of his hands. i Gavrilescu, myfriend," he murmured, ,,be careful. Something veryserious has happened and they will not tell you whal.Get a hold of yourself. Make an effort of memorv.""Mme Trandafir !" he burst out. ,,I should havethought of her from the start. ,,Mme Trandafir !" heshoute9,., getting up and making his way to the house infront. "Mme Trandafir !"...

286

Someone still standing by a window said in a quietvoice :ttl,et her rest, poor woman.""It's urgent !"

- ul"l. her.- sleep, God rest her soul. She,s been dead

a long time.""Impossible," Gavrilescu said. ,,I spoke to her thismorning."

_ _ "You've_ qrobably taken her sister Ecaterina for her :Mme Trandafir died five years ago."Gavrilescu was stunne"d, then"he stuck his hands intohis p_ockets and extracted a few hanakercfriefs..,Strange," he mumbled atter

- a- ti;;.--He siowly

yglLga back and, climbing the three steps at number101, he picked up his hat'and p"i it on. He tried thedoor-handle once m_ore, then clfib;d down and walkedaway uncertain. He was walking stowly,--wi;l;^^;;thoughts, unconsciousiy mopping his face with his hand_kerchief. The pub a1 the "o".r""--* ,iitt opur, ""a-"ii""walk-ing around he decided to Eo i".

-"We only serve by tire gias;'now,,, the boy said."V[/e're ciosing at two."

. "At two ?"" Gavrilescu wondered. ,,And what is thetime now ?""ft's two. Even past two..."'llt's terribry rate," Gavrilescu murmured to himself.

.. Going up t-o the countel .h" thoughi-h; ;;fiffi;the pub-owner's face, and his heart' began to thump."You are Mr. Costica, """rr,t y;;i; rr"j"q"i."o.rurtrv."That's me" the owner said-giving frim l*ffi foot."I {1T"{ f've seen y"".Uu1"r",;fri"ujEua after a silence."rt does rook like it, ioor.s tii"*it].." Gavrilescu be-gan, then got tied up,, stoppea speali"g and smiled ananxious smile. ,,r used to i,ome h;;;'i;"g ago,,, he con_tingg{ "f had some friena. , fvf-u ti"idufi..,,"Yes, God rest her soul.,,llMme Gavrilescu, Elsa...""Ah, the trouble'she's been through,, the pub_ownerintervened. ..What

!"0*"* _ii " ^-y.Jt"ry

to t,l.is veryl1{. tt'S- lglig" looked te"-h,- ;#;i,ir""inJ'* !"itrut couldn't find him alive ; deai_: As if he,d sunk

287

\.

into the earth... Poor Mrs. Elsa, she writed for him a

.ffi"]--ift""- *""t back to her family in Germany' S-he

.ofJ it"" belongings and left. There was nothing much.;

;;;y ;;"t rar Froir well off. I wanted 1," lYI.tl':t"::,1,So she's gone back to Germany," Gavrilescu salct

clreamily. "Has- she been gone long ?",--;;srtd' left long ago. A few mbnths after Gavrilescu

"u"ititua. It will "U"

iZ years this next autumn' It was in

the paPers...""^' -.-S;i;g;," Gawilescu whispered, f anning himself with

hir h;1. "ftow, if I were to fell you, if I toid you that

only this morning, my word, mind y-ou I am not exagge-

rating. This very morning i sat titXing to httl:,,Wlll

is m6re : we had lunch together' I can even tell you

u'hat we had..."' -- "M"tb. she's back," the pub-owner said looking per-

plexed.---iNo she's not back. She never went away' There-must

Ue .ome misunderstanding. I am now rather tired' but

i" tfr" -"t"ing I shall getthe hang of it a11""'With a slight bow he went out.

He was walking ot . t"l"ely pace, his h-at in.one

n""a, his handket&i"t in the other, pausing -for a long

li-u'o" e\rery seat, to take a rest' It was a clear moon-

i"rr trigitt uttd thu cool of the gardens was pouring out

"""tit"'ttteets. After a long time, a cab with d single

horse came uP to him."Which way, sir ?" the driver asked'"To the gypsies," Gavrilescu replied'"Get in."ii'll b" forty lei" the driver said coming

to a stoP.-- ;'i ;; sorry but I'm short of money' A hundrled lei

"r,a !o*" .*"fi "ttu"ge is atl I have' Thb hunfued I need

for an entrance to the gYPsies !""It will be more thin that," the driver spoke with a

taugh. "A hundred will not take you far'"TThut'. what I paid this afternoon' Good night"' he

said, setting out again.-- B;; the" cab f6llowed him at the horse's slow pace'

268

"That's the nicatiana," the driver said taking a deepbreath. "It's from the general's garden. That's why Ilike driving this way at night. Customers or no custo-mers, I drive this way every night. I love flowers, some-thing terrible."

You've got "an artist's disposition" Gavrilescu saidwith a smile.

Then he sat down on a seat and waved him good-bye.But the driver suddenly brought the cab to a standstillclose by in front of the seat. He got out his tobacco boxand began rolling a cigarette."I'm fond of flowers," he said. "Horses and flowers.In my young days I was an undertaker. Somethingsplendid ! Six horses in black and gold trappings, andflowers, such flowers, no end to the flowers ! Why, youthno-!i/ gone, everything's flown. I've grown old, a nighteab driver with one horse."

He lighted his cigarette and leisurely enjoyed a firstpuff.

"So it's the gypsies', is it ?" he said after a time.'_'tes, a personal matter," Gavrilescu was quick toexplain. "I was there this afternoon, and there's beenno end of trouble."_._-'Ah, the gypsies," the driver put in with melancholy."If it weren't for the gypsies..." he added in a lowervoice. "ff it weren't.",

"Quite," Gavrilescu said "it's common talk. f mean,in the tram. As the tram rides by the garden, every-body speaks of the gypsies..."

He rose from the seat and set out again, the cabslowly pacing after.-

"Let's go this w€rj," the driver said, his whip point-ipS to a narrow lane, "It's a short cut... And we passthe church besides. The ni:atiana there is in bloom. Bvno means as fine as the general's, but you won't bLsorry, f'm sure."

"An artist's disposition" Gavrilescu spoke dreamily.In front of the church they both stopped to inhale

the perfume of flowers.(6There's possibly something else besides nicatiana,,'Gawilescu said.

289

ry:"Ah, there are all sorts of flowers' If there's been a

fruri"i-ioaay a lot of flowers were left behind' Now' at

ffi;;;;k, ihey alt -uegin

to smell good again"' I used

i""'""*""t"ru'ulot *"itf, the horse. It wis splendid !""" ii" .titi"a up his horse with a sharp whistle' and set

out side bY side with Gavrilescu'""",,Ve'r;'almost ttreie now," he said. "Why not get in ?"

"I'm sorrY, it's the money"'""Vou'll gi.te me--som" oi that small change' Get in'

won't You ?""""'blitil"i"" hesitated briefly, then got . in with an

effort. But as .oor, ". the cab was i! motion' he leant

"e.i*t1h. cab's cushions and-fell asleep'((It was fine" tiie ati""t began' "A well-endowed

:trurctr and choice society... Why, youth""'

He looked over his ihouldei, saw -that the customer

*u. ".fuup, so he started gently whistiing and the horse

trotted on.- ";;ir"t" *e are," he shouted, getting off the driver's

seat, "but the gates are closed""'"--h" -b.gun io shake him, and Gawilescu woke with

a start."The gates are closed"' the driver said again' "You'll

irave to ring the be11..."Gavriles'cu too]< his hat, set his tie right- and got out'

Th; f,-"- fougu" fumbiing for his small-change purse'--

liDorr't bJther," the -driver

said' "Save it for the

next time. I' l l be waiting here anyway," h9 added'.If

any customer were to turn up a! this hour oI the mgnt'

it's here I would come upon him'"Gavriles;i:lt waved trii trat at him, then made for the

gate, felt for the bell, and pressed the button' The door

Jpened that very moment and on entering ttre garden

iawilescu made for the brushwood. A pale light could

still be seen in the window. He knocked timidly on the

door. Seeing there was no answer he tried the handle

and entered-. The crone had fallen asleep, her head on

the table."It's me, Gavrilescu" he said, giving her a gentle

tap on the shoulder. "You've landed me in a fine mess"

290

he went on seeing she was coming awake and beginningto yawn.

"It's late," the crone said, rubbing her eyes. ,,They'veall gone."

pg! Siqng him a long look, she recognized him."Ah, it's you again, the musician. There's onlv theGerman girl. She never sleeps..."_- Gawilescu again felt his heart thumping and felt a

slight tremor."The German girl, did you say ?""One hundredlei'; the crone iaid.

- Gavrilescu began fumbling for his wallet, but hishands shook ever more violently and, on finding it amonghis handkerchiefs, the wallet

- slipped down 6n to thE

carpet.

.."I ut-r lolry,'l he said, stooping to pick it up. ,,I,mrather tired. It's been such a terrible dav..."

The crone took the banknote, got up from the stooland on the doorstep pointed to the big house:"Now, mind you, don't get lost," she said. ,,Walkright along the corridor counting seven doors. Whenyou reaeh the seventh, you'll knock three times andsay : "ft's me, the old woman sent me !"

She then stifled a yawn, tapping her lips with herhand and closed the door. Heavily breathing Gavrilescuslowly advanced towards the building that was shiningsilvery under the stars. He climbed the marble steps-,opened the door, and stood for a moment in two minds.A badly lit corridor was stretching before him. Gavri-lescu again felt his heart pounding as if ready to burst.He proceeded, much moved, counting aloud the doorshe was passing. He soon found himself counting: thir-teen, fourteen... and stopped, quite unnerved. l,Gavri_

!9t*, my good man, be carefui, you've done it again.Not thirteen, not fourteen, but seven ; That's whai theold one said, you're to count seven doors..."- He meant to go back and count again but after afew steps he felt as if drained of all strength. So stop-plng before the first door in sight, he gave three knoci<sand entered. It was a large simply, sparsely furnished

Ydrawing room. By the window, looking out into the gar-

den loo-med the shadow of a young-woman''lSorrY." Gavrifescu Ggd; wi"th some difficultv' "I

didn't count ProPerlY."The shadow ""-'" u*"y from the- window advancing

to*"ta. frim wittr a soft tr"ead and a long-forgotten scent

suddenlY came back to him''"*;Hil&"g;.d" he cried out, dr-opping his hat'

,,I,ve been waiting -such'a

long tlime," the girl said,

""-;;;;. i;ve loot e"a for you.-everywhere"'"--;t itt"itt to the pub," Givrilescu--said in a low voice'

If I hadn't .""omi"ttied her to- that bar' ever:vthing

*o"ta have been aii tight. or if I had had some moneY

;;;... But as it--haipened she paid the bill' EIsa I

;;;-A"d you'll ugt"" itt"t t was under an obligatio-n' I

f;i lI o*ua"it to n8"... And now it's late' isn't it? Verv

late indeed..'"-*-1'W[t should it matter ?" the girl said' "Come on'

let's go...""But I have no home, nothing at all any more' It's

been a terrible a"y..." i-tof t"il.i""g to Mrs. voitinovici

;;i";e;i my brieicase, irusic scores- and all"'""You alway. *"t" absent-minded," she put in' "Let

us go.. ."'" :i"t where to ? Gavrilescu made an attempt-to shout'

"somebtdy's moved into my house, I forget .the name'

b;i it'; .5-"ot " I don't know"' And he isn't even at

;;;;;1nuf *u might explain it all' He's awav for a

treatment."-^ -lto*" along with me," the girl said taking his hand

and gently drairing him out into the corridor'"---"8;i i h",r"t'iany money' worse luck"' Gavrilescu

"orrtitr"a under his 6reath. ;'iust when the currencY's

;fiFd and the tram fares are higher"'""You're the same that you've ilways been"' the girl

said laughing. "You're afraid"'""Nonle oi my acquaintances -are- here"' Gavrilescu

mumniea on. "T"hey're all away for, the summer' As for

if-" -V"itinovici

f'rom whom "I

might have borrowed'

f;pl"'say she's gone to live in the provinces"' Ah' the

fi"i.; tt" cried oit and was ready to go back for it'

282

"Leave it alone," the girl said. ,,you won't needit now."

"You never can tell, you can't," Gavrilescu insistedtrying to e,xtricate his own hand from the girl's. tlf, ugood hat, almost new.""Is that so ?" the. girl asked in surprise. 'Don't youunderstand yet ? Don't you understand iomething's h"ap_qened to _you, recenily, quite recenfly ? Is it

"possi-bje

that you don't ?"Gavrilescu looked.trer deep in the eyes and sighed."I'm rather tired," he sai-cl, ,,Forgiv6 me. It's

"beln

sucha terrible d.aV... But I seem to fdel better "fr""ay:;-_ ;l'l: ,qi"{ SentlV.led him on. They crossed the gardenand warked out without opening the gates. The coach_man. was _waiting and dozing. The girl drew him asgentty as before into the cab with her."I swear," Gavrilescu began in a whisper. ,,I aiveyou..ll_y word that I have not a pennv left..."'"Which way, Miss ?" the coa"trmd' asked. ,,And whatshall it be ? A slow pace or rather more swifflv ?,,-, ,1ThgJ3{ p the wdods, on that wioai"g ;;;,1ie$ild said. "And drive_ sl-owly. There's no huiry...',

. ."Yfty, that's youth for you," said the driirer, gentlywhistling to start the horse.

She held his hand in her own, but her head was]gainst the pillow, her eyes upon the sky. Gavrilescu waslooking deep into her eyes, quite intentiy..

"Hildegard," he spoke after a whiie. ,,something's

lr^ap_pening to me, and I don't quite know what it ls.If I hadn't heard you speaking io the driver, t wouldsay that I was dreiming..."'

The girl turned to him and gave him a smile.^ _ lW" all dream," she said. ,,fhat's how it all begins.fIS ln a ctream..."

Pods, June 7959.