Emil
Lungeanu
*
A
novel
English
version by George Anca
Evenimentul Publishing House 2007
“I am a soldier in the Word’s
army”
Stanislas de Guaita,
letter Fragment qtd. By Andre Billy in
Stanislas de Guaita, Mercure
de France, Paris, 1971
1
He stank of decaying time.
The night was a corpse of the deceased day.
From the back of window, with wet jacket and shoes
oozing of water, Al Struba was looking to the brightness of rain in night. Colossal
water chandeliers were collapsing from high, crushing on roofs with a frightful
crash. Since last twenty four hours the flood continued to fall exasperatingly,
devastating the city.
-Are you making the inventory of tears overflow in the
administration of hell? He heard over shoulder Lăstaru.
-He had forgotten him and all others. He answered
mechanically continuing to look at the city lights flickering:
-I don’t believe in hell.
-Of course not. Just this is what makes it to
exist.
Only now, with stiff and heavy legs, he twisted on
heels and found Lastaru grinning along, so closely that he bumped into him. He
looked around, lost, trying to remember what were they both looking for there.
Hideous shadows danced on walls, propagated by the
game of flash lights, like a Chinese theatre. The room swarmed with technicians
and specialists, but no one of them seemed aware of others presence. Everyone
was doing one’s job in silence, preoccupied by own routine, listless to
bustling around. Now and then, the dark groaned stabbed by flash-guns, followed
by an ascendant whiz, announcing recharge of battery.
-Enough by now, for no Raquel Welch is posing! Lastaru got irritated, giving a brutal drive
to the photographer. Now enough, make us place to think
The criminologist gathered hardly his caboodle and
complied, grumbling however a protest. Back of him, Lastaru rubbed his eyes,
with a helter-skelter face. He had photophobia. The others didn’t notice the
incident, even the invitation seemed to be for all. Only the man with yellow
powders and with brush of squirrel hairs turned the head by the way, showing
his profile within lamp with ultraviolet rays. Then he looked further after his work, searching with meticulousness on furniture and on doors
jamb for invisible fingerprints.
-Such beautiful weather did the guy chose to
die!
The forensic again. Any time he came to collect
a corpse, he exclaimed the same. The weather hadn’t actually any connection. He
made his appearance in the door of entrance hall, accompanied absolutely
useless by the Morgue driver. Both wet through. Struba watched them
dissatisfied, how they shaken like rained hounds, sprinkling negligently the
furniture around, with fingerprints on it.
-Oh my, but what are you doing on this
darkness?
-We make researches to find out who killed the
light! Lastaru replied to him with disgust.
-Ah, it’s power failure…
Stopped as by chance just in the ray of a portable
lamp hanging by, the new comer undressed his coat,
displaying from below an impeccable suit of gray wool, with a mauve carnation
at buttonhole matching the tie. Lastaru bitten his lips to blood not to burst
in laughing.
-I have finished the examination low, the physician
announced them full of ridiculous solemnities
He looked vainly after a peg for his felt cup
melted in rain; at last he entrusted it along with topcoat to his companion.
But Lastaru, instead of taking out his agenda as usual, he anticipated by
surprise:
-I’ll write down the conclusions at dawn. If it
will be any need.
Let see if I guess: open cranial-cerebral
traumatism, cervical fracture, crush of vital organs and internal hemorrhage,
characteristic lesions of precipitated death. Old song, isn’t it?
Blocked for good, the doctor looked as if
without his toys. It wasn’t anything left to him than to confirm it, swallowing
hard.
-Something so.
-Same as in previous cases. And also without
traces of striking other than due to the mechanism of falling from high, and to
suspect an aggression, isn’t it?
-It sounded so standardized that seemed just a cheek.
But the forensic, height of surprise, didn’t show offended at all
-Traces of strange blows? Absent, at first
sight. But I will not be able to say definitively before the post-mortem.
-Didn’t I tell you, Struba? You search
phantoms. It is as if excluded the hypothesis of struggle.
-Satisfied, Lastaru searched by pockets after
the flacon with sedatives, for who knows what time that night. He was chewing
them like some agricultural sweets.
-But not also a push in the gap by surprise –
objected Struba impassively, from the window, while backing them.
-Cock-and-bull stories. Fashionable on the
carpet.
-One’s stomach crouched in a handful while seeing him
how methodically was chewing his pills bitter as gall, without leaving a single
grimace. Only at last he rinsed his mouth with a sip from the little bottle
drawn out from his bosom. After what he massaged methodically his temples, with
the patience of a chiropractor.
The doctor watched curiously the movement like of
worms in the room, blowing his nose with noise. The kitchen large open door
left for sight a policeman fumbling with a lamp in the refrigerator.
-Didn’t he live here too the fellow who grew a boa on
the balcony? Circus trainer.
-But yes. It wasn’t boa but a cobra gained at a
bet in Calcutta,
within a tour.
-Last year.
-Last year, Lastaru confirmed.
-The uproar of outside waterfalls had
intensified. Struba listened further from the window, hypnotized.
-That means this story happens here for the
second time.
-Third time.
-Good Heavens! The doctor murmured.
-The driver watched with fear around and made
quickly a dwarf cross. Or perhaps only scratched on the chest. Lastaru sketched
vaguely an offer before shoving in its place the little bottle in the packet,
but the doctor refused.
-Tell the truth: did you ever see something
like that?
-The forensic didn’t answer immediately. He was
busy with his handkerchief as big as a pillow case.
-Who was the third?
-The first, actually. An obscure writer, some
four years ago. The black series has been open by him. Only that he was insane.
-That is dissident?
-He had written a story by pencil on the room’s
walls. The equivalent of a book with some hundred pages. Isn’t that insanity?
-The forensic yawned like at dentist toward the
dark ceiling. The cheap lamp hanged in the gap, corpse of the light.
-Here, on these walls?
-I have seen it with my eyes. It happened that
also then I was in service. From you, I don’t remember who participated.
-Pity that it painted back. It would enter the
history of mural literature. But didn’t he leave any explanation? Classical
little letter of good bye.
-I just said he was insane
-The doctor reviewed the room, bewildered.
Lastaru admired secretly, with no drop of envy, the faultless cut.
-No relevant. Neither the other two after him
did leave explanations – Struba objected lifelessly, huddled in his wet jacket.
-Because it happened to quickly and they didn’t
have time any more for preparations.
-Justly: suicide without any premeditation?
-They panicked and jumped from balcony out of
fright.
-Fright, by whom?
-By room. As one suffers at an earthquake.
-Lastaru had ended his explanation shrugging his
shoulders, with the air of someone forced to waste one’s time discussing
uselessly things understood by themselves. The doctor grumbled with a preoccupied
air:
-O, you want to say an endemic illness. Some
psychosis with periodical suicidal tendencies.
-How endemic?
-Like in that case of asylum. No less than
thirteen invalids had hanged themselves, one after another, by the same gate of
an asylum, until the marshal Serurier has ordered its walling up. I ask if the
mayoralty should not proceed similarly also here. Aren’t these rooms for rent
by state?
-While the doctor removed with a fillip an
invisible lint from the sleeve of his coat, Struba studied his shoes sullied by
mud with the uneasinness of someone entered at Opera only to shelter from rain.
He formulated undecided his question.
-Are they, so, places which really render sick
of nerves? With no particular stimulus?
-Such as, say, the offices of chiefs, completed
waggishly, Lastaru.
-Nerves or even cancer, the doctor confirmed.
As De Pohl has demonstrated. Places overcharged with negative energy whose long
absorption can affect seriously the organism of the individual.
-Very strange, Struba murmured almost for self.
-There are settlements in Ireland where,
before casting the foundation of a house, a wizard to verify if the chosen
place isn’t somehow unadvisable from this point of view. The Chinese also call
a geomant, according o the teaching of Feng-Shue. When I was working in the hospital of Xiaoxiang, an officer from city hall has
invited me once to assist to such test. They were building there, if I remember
well, a hostel for non family men.
-As well as radioactivity is controlled with a
meter Geiger?
-Yes, only here you control by wand, by filbert
little branch in the fork.
-The doctor made to him demonstratively a V out
of index and middle finger.
-The staff of Mozes, by which he detected water
in desert?
-The caduceus of god Mercury? Struba
controlled.
-It is what today we call radiesthesia.
-A violent shiver shaken Struba. The room was
as cold as a cave, and only compared with the outside diluvium it could seem
bearable. The cold came directly from walls, aggressively.
-And what namely should suppose a radiesthetic
test in present case? He left himself tempted by the new turn of discussion.
-Ah, it is at everybody’s hand. The same story
as with the rat-trap. Anybody can control home own Hartmann net only with a
cat.
-Hartmann. What’s this, a net of rats?
-Struba had to wait, intrigued, until the exploding
fit of doctor’s laughing turned to coughing. He was laughing soundly, with face
like a ripening orange.
-No, dear mister cop, it is the radiation net
of the Earth!…Vertical walls of subterranean radiations crossed like meridians and
parallels, thick of some twenty centimeters. Harmful ones, if one is crossed by
them for years. And the geopathogenic
knots from intersection of two walls, the most harmful, can be detected
simply with a cat. One ha to empty the room of furniture and see where the cat
sleeps. A Hartmann knot is there for sure. The dog proceeds exactly inverse.
-The antagonism between dog and cat, isn’t
it?…Lastaru got enlightened.
The forensic pointed to disheveled bed in the
corner of room, with threadbare mattress of Relaxa type and yellowed bed
clothes.
-From where also is recommended to sleep like
the needle of the compass. Because thus you risk to cross lee walls of
radiations on the direction of poles. For instance here…what’s the direction of
north?…
-I don’t know, I didn’t see in face the sun
since some weeks. But if theese negative knots unloads you just as battery
does, then why the population is not prevented? Similarly like it is warned
against infection with HIV, for instance. By television.
-Useless warning. Only 6% of Romanians use the
condom.
-Normal,
this bubble is against nature, Lastaru commented.
-But what, the voyeurism cultivated by
television isn’t against nature? Day by day you don’t see else than sex and again
sex, that disgust gets you. And when it is not sex, the you see violence, games
and competitions, serials of two pennies, endless advertisements and kitsch
made to make dull and waste your time.
-However, there are also some valuable
questions, doctor: the package Connex Go and the vibromasseur/VIBROMASOR
against celulities /CELULITEI with harnesses for ass.
Struba seemed content by the divagation of the
two, which rambled him from own thoughts. He said impaciently/IMPACIENTAT:
-We had started just now to flirt wit the
hypothesis of that net…
-Hartmann…
-You were telling that energetic drain of the
lodger can malign.
-I said.
-But the late one didn’t sleep in this bed even
at least for a full year. And the precedent lodger, about three years. Isn’t it
too little for reaching such denouement ?
The doctor watched again the empty bed, as if
the answer would be hidden under it.
-It depends. At the summary examination, the
corpse presents all signs of chronic alcoholism. What means a diminished
resistance to rendering sick. I’ve
already told you, I will pronounce myself definitively only at post-mortem, now
I introduced him into ambulance.
-Struba ignored the allusion. He was to
concentrated for the time being, trying to reconstitute step by step the
scenario of the suicide. But he didn’t succeed, no matter how many concessions
he was disposed to make.
-Just so. Assisting witnesses confirmed already
to us that the deceased was an inveterate alcoholic.
Top of it, Lastaru said that while DESURUBAND
the lid of little bottle with vodka. The driver from Morgue followed this
ritual with so much desire, that one could feel the will to make him alms; but
no one would think to notice him just now.
-Then, also phenomenon of imitative suggestion
can enter the game, the forensic followed. Did you ever see a sniamen?
-The grave of a self-killed one…
-The tradition required to the peasants to bury
him at the borders of the village isn’t so? Just to avoid that idea contaminate
also others. More, all of them were throwing stones over him, old irons, thorns
and hips of garbage, in order to stop the coming out of ghost, and finally they
were burning all for purification.
Struba sparkled the lighter at least for seven
times without succeeding to light anyone of remaining last cigarettes. They
were all wet, as packets of the jacket. He objected:
-Only that this morbid imitation supposes, of
course, a precedent which one has to know it and to get obsessed of it. It
should therefore, first, that our drunkard have learnt about macabre past of
the room…
-It is impossible not have learn when, since a
year by now, all block forebodes evil about this – Lastaru ensured him, shaking
in the palm a new pill from the flacon.
-But is not impossible at all. From those
declared by the administrator, who had a conflict with him, the deceased was
avoided by neighbours, being exceedingly recalcitrant and dubious.
-So, a choleric? the doctor asked.
-And more, a primitive one. The genre of brute
which doesn’t know to write clearly but with top of the knife. One like this
would turn up anybody’s heels but of himself.
-You’re right. These knifing blokes quite don’t
die due to pessimistic philosophy.
Lastaru protested, chewing his words together
with the sedative.
-I didn’t say that he would have jumped over
the window because had red Schopenhauer. I said he jumped out of fright. As one
suffers at an…
He threw the last word in the middle of the
room like a grenade rising his voice:
-…earthquake!
Immediately broke out a jumble as if in a Texan
inn. The technicians were properly
walking each other, opening way toward the door like through a jungle. Only
when to invade outside on the floor, they got it: the doctor’s bursts of laugh
were resounding between empty walls in zigzags, like a flock of flown gooses.
-Calm, gentlemen, calm. It’s an exercise only.
Lastaru was noding, watching with crossed arms
this spectacle with the attitude of a director satisfied by the performance of
his troop. Perplexed, Struba lighted a flash and pushed it in his eyes with
ostentation.
-What the hell are you doing?
-A reconstitution. Now you got convinced what
panic can make out of people?
-You convinced me that it can make them to go
out by window.
-How could they, if the window was blocked by
you…
-Ah, you see? Perhaps someone had blocked the door to the dead .
More and more eager, the forensic controlled
again his watch in the same curious manner, unveiling exaggeratedly the joint
of hand. Seeing him how is pulling his sleeve almost up to the elbow, one
should think he was preparing to take his tension. For some seconds, the
phosphorus on dial flickered in the darkness, without that Struba can clarify
what was really indicating.
-If you don’t need me any more, my fellows, I
should go back to the institute to take a hot shower and a little nap – the
doctor decided, leveling uselessly the lapels. Shall I wait for you at lunch
for the post-mortem?
-He greeted pedantic with high cup without
waiting for answer and went joyfully. Lastaru him disappearing full of
greatness, with the frail driver keeping on his traces like a home quadruped.
-Listen,shower at the institute!… It’s clear,
the guy is off rails. Did you see his handkerchief?
-I beg your pardon? Struba started.
-His extra fine silk handkerchief, with
embroidered monogram in the corner. Like the pillow-cases on grandmother’s
time. A superannuated snob. I bet against a martini Bombay that he implores forgiveness to his
shoes when he sullied them with mud through puddles.
Almost reflex, Struba watched again his dirty
shoes, as he did earlier. He tried to mask awkwardly, casting a glance without
interest toward the entrance hall.
-Martini Bombay…he
said expectantly.
Lastaru confirmed ceremoniously by head. The
sobriety full of respect shown brusquely now was an absolute premiere that night:
-Very dry, with a piece of lemon and an olive.
And probably with a sedative, two. Struba
laughed in sideration, making no commentary.
Then he reoccupied his sit at window to watch
again the city.
Outside, the night seemed to never come to an
end. The rain continued to blow with full heaviness the roofs, spreading
sparkles.
2
The tattoo on the back was still burning him.
The rough design of hemp carpet on which they made love.
They had
quarreled again. She remembered it by little and little. She waited vainly for
him the full night, but he didn’t make at least a phone call. She had waited
for him like a fool. Two glasses with red wine untouched and a candle burned by
three quarters had remained as token on the round little table in the bedroom.
It should have been a romantic evening. And what was she left with? With
stereotype justifications and professional slogans, with the record of “lack of
time”, the hit in fashion. But who has , after all, time. Time you make it, renouncing in exchange to
something else for it or not. “He hadn’t time any more as once”…Materialist
bla-bla. Always, since the making of the world to day, the day still twenty
four ours had counted. The guilt was only of her, that swallowed with such
cowardice his selfishness. She made wrong by accustoming him with a tolerance
he confounded with weakness, so encouraging him to believe that he will never
loose her, that “it works also like that”, with expedients and his affection
from a day to another. With his big words, true axioms of the routine. ”We two
it wouldn’t be possible not to be together” wasn’t any more since long a
declaration of love, but a demagogic proclamation of inertia.
This revolt of her, Struba was recapitulating
now in his mind, word by word. Even he had awoken for good, it passed still a
good period o f time before he decided at last to unglue the eyelashes. Anyhow
he already knew that will not see her along; he had heard the whistling of the
shower in the bathroom at end of the corridor.
He hardly got up from the bed like from a
grave. He had got less than four hours of rest.
In the kitchen it was as always lukewarm and well. He
opened the portative radio just in time to hear the survey of ravages made by
floods in some towns, after the unusual rains in the last week. Either
prognosis was not any good. The rest of the news didn’t interest him. He poured
cold coffee from the kettle in the window and lighted first cigarette. On the
table he found opened the yesterday newspaper, with one of titles circled in
red pencil. Even he knew already by heart the article, he started to reread it.
THE
KILLING ROOM
It is known that the eve of winter holidays
brings with it, any year, a maxim growth of suicide rate on the entire glob.
The ill-fated gesture of young Aurel Bau, technician in age of only 30 years,
who, during previous night, threw himself in the gap from eight stores
high, represent only one of the
thousands contributions to this undesired statistical fluctuation. And probably
for lodgers of the block Y-O-Z from Bariera Vergului the death of unique
occupant of room no. 113 would pass almost unobserved, like a daily fact among
so many similar in this period, if it would not join a bizarre black tradition
of respective accommodation. Indeed, in the five years passed since the
inauguration of this block, the room no. 113 changed three tenants, who killed
themselves in the same manner, by window
blowing, one by one, with no apparent motivation. As expected after such a fatidic repetition, the room has ended
by being considered by local people as “cursed”. The strange phenomenon doesn’t
seem, however, to be a singularity. An analogous case has been also signaled at
Paris, in a modest hotel close to Eastern Station, where, in the same room from
the first floor in which the bourse agent Schuller had shut himself three
months ago, a new customer put an end, recently, to his days.
The carpet imprinted on his back smarted him.
But the tattoo of her words smarted him still worse.
“His affection from one day to another”. The
truth is that he was always afraid to attach too much by somebody. With each
closeness one prepares actually, inherently, a future separation. Why would one
offer by self new occasions of suffering, when you already have enough received
from others?
We come on the world alone and so do we leave
it. For a short time only, we meet each other here, in the waiting hall of the
railway station, where everybody will take own train with unknown destination.
We arrive always one by one and go in turn. Any, when the clock rings.
Rut and her suffocating love. Extra time she
pretended, as generously as he would dedicated it to her, shouldn’t ever be
enough for her. Even moving together. Because the vacant space left by Gelu
after their divorce was only the attraction of
a vacuum-trap. Rushing to occupy it should mean a fatal mistake. No,
Struba would not leave him, for nothing in the world, transformed in a personal
possession. Even with the risk to find one day closed the door of woman who
loved him. The locked gate of paradise which stops one to enter is infinitely
less frustrating than the chained gate of the hell which hinders one to come
out.
When Struba
risen his eyes from newspaper, rubbing the root of his nose eternally
irritated by spectacles, he caught sight of Rut wrapped up in his fauvist towel
of beach, with red palm trees.
-Did you read? he asked her.
He gave a fillip to the newspaper, as if he
wanted to shake the letters from it.
-Do not ask me any consultation, Al.
She poured hurriedly from teapot an started to
nibble a piece of lemon. She had the soles still wet.
-Didn’t we really knew each other just grace to
a consultation? Struba played, following her ankles.
-Very much so. While I was taking your tension,
you asked me if I am not by the way relative with Iolanda Balas. But the
coincidence of name was only a mask, you were actually asking me ciphered if I
am not one of those vaulting over the stile.
-But this time, I will ask you a hell
seriously. The investigation of this suicide has been distributed just to the
undersigned.
-Don’t be pathetic. And especially don’t ask my
opinion about dead bodies. It is job of forensic doctor, not of a
neuro-psychiatrist, you know it. Dead with dead, living with living.
She pulled a chair from the other side of the
table. They sipped each from own decanter, with the avarice of some test
makers, without looking to each other.
-Nonsense, now you take revenge, you are
jealous on a dead body!…
-On only one!? she exclaimed bantering. Since I know you, the work was
always your lover.
-Not just always.
-Yes, sometimes you make investigation even in
bed…
-But at least without cuffs.
-Rut put her cigarette in the ashtray, with a
sight which, otherwise, would burn his
face. Now she was so visibly upset that Struba regretted immediately
to have exaggerated with his allusion to Gelu, unburying with no minimum decency a story still not
rotted completely. He forced himself to repair the rudeness through a platitude:
-What matters the work? You simply know very well that I never stopped
to love you.
And as chance, just now, from the loudspeaker
of radio set Aznavour was repeating continuously, eaten by parasites, that only
think which matters is the love. Rut broke out in laugh.
-You never stopped, of course, yes. Exactly the
same declaration was made to me by Pantazescu yesterday morning…
-What Pantazescu?
-A former faculty colleague, from province, one
dumpy with allure of a GEAMBAS. He appeared suddenly to CAMERA DE
GARDA, terribly brisk, with diplomat bag clanging of bottles. I didn’t
recognize him. He jumped filmy on my neck, almost to demolish me: “What are you
doing, hey, Balaseasco, the years have gone and you still hell beautiful!” And,
TSOC,TSOC! fills me with suckers. I stared at him like to a penguin sent with
hospitalizing ticket. “Jean Pantazescu, me, your colleague from Panciu, you
forgotten me completely, isn’t it?” It was too much to remember just one like
this. The assistant, embarrassed, evacuated from cabinet, leaving me alone with
the biped. Immediately he fell uninvited in her chair and pulled it closer to
sniff me. Once patted me on shoulder, once touched my knees, with unprecedented
pluck. “But I see that you keep fit, Balaseasco, gorgeous you look, you didn’t
engrossed at all. Still those thin legs have you? Do rise a little your overall
“.Listen to him, some sister to have pop just then and hitting upon me with lap
in the waist! It’s worth of it: “Do you know how mad I was after you in
faculty, Balaseasco?” “Don’t say, and you needed ten years for making me
declarations!?” “You’d not believe me, but all these years I never ceased to
love you in contumacy”. “Oh, if you take me with the contumacy, then I believe
you”, I told him. And he keeps me to chat more some quarter of hour: that he
came with delegation for four days, how he had learnt that I divorced, to give
him my actual address, that if I somehow suffer by solitude I could offer him
the occasion to safe his money for hotel, that he invites me in exchange to him
to Panciu to try some soda wines like in fairy tales etc. etc. And at last he
makes to me my sterious :” Listen, I will unveil you a great secret,
Balaseasco, I don’t keep it from you. You know how strong am I in preludes?”
-They burst, both at the same time, in a
hysterical laugh, with sighs, which didn’t stop before they started to choke.
-The luck was with director of the hospital,
who just then entered on the door with an emergency and got me rid of him – Rut
added in shape of conclusion.
-She shaken her disheveled locks, exhausted by
giggles. She risen suddenly and made for bedroom to dress.
-Come on, tell once what do you want to ask me
with that article. An hour from now I have to be at report of guard (RAPORTUL
DE GARDA).The chief doctor is with the eyes on me.
-You mean he courts you? Struba joked, forced
to cry on her back
-He passed already to the next stage: now he is
revenging. Since two weeks, under different pretexts, he keeps me only in
guards (GARZI).
Struba heard her searching in the wardrobe.
From the angle in which he settled now, standing with the shoulder propped up
on the jamb of kitchen door, he saw her through open doors reflected by the
mirror over the chest-of-drawers. She was completely naked.
-Perhaps also Pantazescu was his man. He has
sent on your head a squeak trying to compromise you. A trap.
-How squeak? her voice resounded from the
bedroom.
-One specially sent to sound you. The classic
method: it falls out of the clear sky some third grade cousin or some former
colleague from province; he asks what have you being done in the ten years you
didn’t see each other, and you tell him, making thus, without observing, your
autobiography. And, to tickle your memory, the fellow puts also for a poetry,
two, with prefabricated intimacies, like this IPOCHIMEN of Pantazescu.
-See for your self? Do recognize that the
declarative love doesn’t convince.
-If you make abstraction of that who confess it
to you. It is not my case.
She returned already dressed, combing
hurriedly. When she passed by him, Struba tried to catch her from waist, but
she pushed under his nose the watch-bracelet.
-The question, Mr. investigator.
-The room. Its ambient. Could it indeed
exercise such a morbid influence over the psychic of a normal individual?
-It is not about the ambient of the room, but
about the memory of place occupied by that room. So called akashic memory. How
should I explain to you… There is an universal bank of information where all
vibratory signals are deposited, all events, including emotions, even the
energy consumed by single thought. Each object, or particular place, has it’s
own history, registered somewhere, in a transcendent plan, printed there
invisibly as the fingerprint on the coffee cup. Usually, this vibratory memory
can be detected only be extremely sensitive persons. It is just the working
principle of radiethesists. Do you follow me?
-I would prefer on the hole of key.
-Then, in a good day, to some Burr, a biologist
to the Yale University, came the idea that living structures must also have
some invisible matrix, an energetic pattern
of organization, likewise the walls of houses, bridges, places of any
kind have there own memory. And how the genetic program in interior of cell
doesn’t explain sufficiently the preplanned fabrication of organisms, it was
supposed that the true matrix is somewhere out of the cell, and genetic code
only imitates this. Similarly to the builder of a house who conform to the
project thought by an architect. And just as the project of the designer exists
already befor that the masons start the work and will continue to exist after
jerrybuilt house will fall at the next quake, so your bio-energetic matrix,
preexisting at birth, will persist also after he will die.
-What means that the resurrection of dead will
by simply an anatomic reconstitution…
-… on the basis of individual matrix.
Everything is the card index in archives.
-The Book of Life, of which spoke the psalmist?
Struba excaimed.
-Don’t ask me, for only psalms I red in school
were of Arghezi.
Struba was skimming hastily through his agenda
which he brought with him in the kitchen. His index finger stopped over a
scribbling out of which only he could understand something.
-“Let them be whipped from the Book of the living”. The damned
ones. As you whip from the evidences of hospital the deceased patients. Psalm
68. That is not to be mentioned. Put off the divine memory.
Rut opened the mouth to him, as if she was
hearing him asking her to marry him. She had forgotten even about the comb.
-Don’t say, are you sustaining your doctorate
in canonical law?
-Since they gave on my hand this file with the
curs of the room, I started to abstract from Bible as from treatise of
criminology of Paul Kirk.
The news was indeed so amusing that even Struba
couldn’t help to smile himself.
-You, from Bible! I don’t recognize you, Al.
-Do you know other bibliography more consistent
in the topic of curses?
-You may see what need makes out of a man. And
did you find examples?
The same agenda was quickly consulted. It had
probably been over required in the last
days, because it had the pages made tatter.
-In hips. Cursed places, accursed, punishments.
Starting with first archaic forts from the Dead Sea.
Especially the Jerichon, cursed by Joshua. The oldest city on the world. Under
Assyrians, Niniveh was fortified with walls ten meters thick; it ended in
smoke. Or its adversary, the Babylon,
considered at ists time the hub of the universe, cursed by psalmist that his
kids be crushed by rocks. It is said that the Bedouins avoid even today those
deserts by there where only owls make their nests, exactly as previewed by
Isaiah 27 centuries ago. But still
stranger is what Wolf Schneider writes: that tragic fate of cities during
history gives impression of revenge for the fratricide committed by
Cain – their first builder, murder without whose memory the hate against nomadic populations against
forts (which instead of occupying, they destroyed from fundaments) had not any logic
explanation.
-I see you are a walking dictionary – Rut
observed, torturing herself with an earring. But why don’t you consult rather
that reader, your friend historian, what his name…
-Professor Turbala. I have appealed already to
him, but he was just making his luggage to go to Cairo, to a congress…
-He will free you of care and trouble with
documentation.
-It’s understood. Only that this will clear
only cultural aspect of the file, not also scientific. That is, if the
phenomenon in itself is or is not possible. Indifferently what interpretations
would be assigned to him, physical,
psychological or mystical. For instance, your interpretation with energetic and
informational matrix: was it confirmed experimentally, or is a pure
speculation?
-You did experienced it already on your skin,
destroyed after the burning of two years ago : in spite of it the fingerprints
in between remade themselves. By the way, did you ever see Kirlian
fingerprints?
-The photographing of the aura, isn’t it? The
halo of saints in icons.
-When you photograph through this proceeding a
seed before germinating, on film appears something more, already prefigured,
the root and the stem of future plant. The reversed phenomenon, persistence of
image of already physically disappeared entities, is practiced by Klaus
Schreiber. You leave television on a free channel enough time, and you have the
chance to receive images of those deceased. It happened the same think, as to
recording on magnetic band of the voices of dead, if you search for them on a
special frequency, somewhere between radio Vienna
and radio Moscow…
-The effect Raudive, I heard. Some houses of
records in Europe sell already on market music
composed posthumously by classics, verified by experts. Unedited pieces whose
authors are absolutely impossible to mix up.
-But as the composers are anyhow dead, these
cannot be products od some brains, but of matrix of each from transcendent.
About The End of mystery of Edwin Drood I don’t tell you any more, that it is
published since over a century…
-Charles Dickens? The unfinished novel?
-The last six chapters, dictated two years
after his death to an American apprentice typographer. By so-called automatic
writing. Exactly the principle of telex functioning. As about phantoms
materialized with ectoplasm, about scholarly experiences of doctor Crookes,
what to speak more – they are celebrate already. Even the hallucinations have
been recorded on film, since 1974 by a Russian psychiatrist, one Krohalev, at
the persons sick being in crises of delirium
tremens. The Japanese photograph already the thoughts; the doctor Fukurai
baptized this technique “nen graphics”…Do you want also other confirmations?
Confused, Struba rubbed the root of nose, under spectacles.
-I don’t succeed yet to see the connection
between my suicides and informational matrix of the room at the eight floor…
-The stay in a particular environment means
exchange of energy with respective medium. If the energy of that place is
negative, its absorption is long and will affect seriously own matrix of the
individual.
-This I understood. Only that here death
repeats itself after exactly the same pattern, like a ritual of sacrifice.
Coincident are not only deaths, but also the manner. You want to convince me
that morbid influence of a ill-fated place can make three individuals to
choice, independently one from another, the same manner of suicide?
-So, the room was their only common
denominator? Give me a psychological profile of each of them, in few words.
Struba watched fugitively how she was painting
her face. Lavender pale and green malachite.
-The first one, an unpublished writer.
Bachelor, isolation of monk. Declared insane, but without formal documents.
Probably marginalised under the former regime. Bizarre things and lack of
communication. He was writing on the walls.
-Like Jakob Suter.
-Who?
-A Swiss shoemaker. Were they illustrations or
ornaments associated with the writing?
-I’ve no idea…Is that important?
-The obsession of explanation, the association
with bizarre or infantile drawings, the tendency to cover integrally existing
surfaces are indices of schizophrenia. The next one?
-Animal trainer without contract. Temporary
employed as genitor in the menagerie of circus. Fired then at a reduction of
posts. Recorded for emigration visa in America. He was growing in the
balcony a cobra, gained against a bet in Calcutta,
in a tour. Left by the wife because of reptile.
-A cobra at home! This also was on a razor’s
edge. And the third, the closer of platoon?
-Technician to a factory nearby. Until a year
ago, when he shifted to the room he had have a concubine somewhere by railway
station quarter. A drunkard and a detracted. Impulsive, frequent conflicts with
the administrator of the block. Avoided by neighbours. Nobody new big deal
about him.
-In conclusion, three frustrated solitary
people. Look, already something common.
-They have in common much more than that. Read
the article: “without an apparent motivation”. And with what may I fill in this
void of motivations: with local folklore about curses, as unique available
explanation?
-But who forces you to invoke the local
folklore in order to classify the file? You are by now like the dog in desert
which was saying to self: “If in five minutes I don’t find a tree , I pee on
me”, and who, finding at last a bush, still stays on thoughts: “May this be a
tree?”.
When Rut giggled, Struba searched himself into
her like in a mirror, saying to self that he might have make a very comic face.
He answered:
-The question is rhetoric. Of course nobody
forces me. The lack of any indices of murder is sufficient to classify an
affair of this genre. But when you have three
affairs of this type, in chain, then the last one becomes suspect.
-Not the chain itself?
-No this. But due to it. Look, the missionaries
told that some tribes of Hottentots, having not proper terms for designating
the figures bigger than 3, they count “one, two, three, much”. But the same
system of counting is practiced also by some Hottentots from us in research on
thefts committed by recidivists. When one operated no one-two burglaries, by
the way, accidentally, but “many”, then their exact number even doesn’t matter,
because can’t aggravate the punishment beyond some limit. Therefore, one can be
sure, in exchange to some privileges, one may assume supplementary , with
generosity, also some other older burglaries, one hadn’t idea about them,
remained from antiquity in the evidence of
facts with “unidentified
authors”… My first case, as a probationer, was the theft of some silver
candlesticks from a locked church, at midnight. Unsolved file in the last three
years. They brought me from the penitentiary a little elephant, professional
thief , with overfull criminal record. A swollen one and half, hardly could
climb the stares. And Jumbo stars to recite his poetry in my office deceiving
with serenity, ready to “confess” in writing that he had been the thief. For
amusing myself, I have disposed the reconstitution on the spot. He didn’t
succeed, poor one, to go in narrow little window of the church otherwise than
pushed with all strength by three policemen. Hell, how much he fatten! they
said. So are also the things with the three suicides in the room. “Many”.
Already too many to count them, isn’t so? And when you see the chain in its
whole, you don’t see each link separately any more.
-You mean one risks don’t see a murder mixed
eventually among them?…
-You see? If you can think so, that means also
a murderer could judge similarly. The superstition with this killing room is
notorious among the lodgers in the block still since the story didn’t happen
for the second time, one year before it have spread in newspapers. Not counting
also the gossip of people, which had amplified uncontrollably the number of
experts. And if among them happen to be someone who bear a grudge to this Aurel
Bau, then macabre tradition of suicides was ideal occasion out of which to profite.
Rut watched him upset, with the air she had
forgotten suddenly what was she searching in her handbag and that she didn’t
succeed at all to remember of it.
-So, you don’t believe, in fact, in the
negative potential of the room.
-It is not important what do I believe, but if
the phenomenon is or is not possible.
-Make me understand. If it was enough to
someone to profit by a simple superstition for dissimulation of murder, why the
do you uselessly gather evidence about ill-fated places, occult powers and
curses?
Judging after her voice, disappointment risked
to degenerate soon into revolt. Struba hurried so to justified himself:
-Justly, that to the profiteer a simple
superstition wasn’t enough. Local folklore was an ideal occasion, but not a
plausible explanation. What investigator would have taken seriously some
popular beliefs. If instead of organ The
Fugue in Re minor should have been composed for mouth-organ, would the
somebody have taken Bach seriously? One doesn’t dishearten the secrets of a
suicide with popular superstitions, but with scientific controversies. For not
what people believe is important but if the phenomenon is or is not possible.
-But this would presupposes that the assassin
himself be a initiate.
-Voila already a first indication about him, Struba confirmed. We have already
a track.
Rut left her head backward with a demonstrative
exasperation.
-You top up. And I who believed, pitiful one,
that I spare you from work…So, you gather evidence now, in fact, not for being
able to classify the file without doubts but – on the contrary – to justify the
opening of investigation for murder!
-Come on, tell me I am paranoiac.
-More gravely: you are an investigator.
-Do I have, however, some hope, doctor
Balas?…Struba joked without effect.
The zip of the handbag screamed of pain, pulled
with brutality with a single quick movement.
-You make me lose my time for nothing, Al.
She had become again contracted, like in the
beginning. Sipped suddenly, like a conclusion, the rest of tea on the bottom of
decanter.
-I a m afraid you didn’t understand, however,
the importance of this consulting for me…Struba mimed a reciprocal deception.
-He risen benumbed, trying to synchronize to
woman’s preparations for leaving.
-And I am afraid you are not yet enough documented
so that you investigation be not taken as an adventure.
-You convinced me already that ill-fated places
exist. Isn’t enough that a murderer could speculate this?
-Places. But you don’t know yet if that place is ill-fated.
-And if it were, does it exclude the hypothesis
of murder? Do you think that killer would wait that room make job in stead of
him?
The discussion shifted gradually from kitchen
on the corridor and from there in the entering hall.
-You have a fixation with this theory of murder
occasion. You lose from sight, dear Columbo, the second victim, the one with
cobra in the balcony. Couldn’t his suicide hide also a murder? You push him
from the balcony, then you launch the rumor the room is cursed (for is already
second time that happens) and bingo, classification of the affair is granted.
That is you create for self the occasion, you don’t profit of a preexisting
occasion.
-But then, the accommodation wouldn’t have any
guilt. Therefore, how could afterward happen for the third time?
-Just because of that murder (if it was somehow
a murder), or because of both suicides, which impregnated it with negative
energy. There where a violent death happens – and not necessary a massacre –
that topologic segment blends with information of event like a sponge. This is
the time one, when the ambient memorizes. After some time it will discharge,
diffusing collected energy; it is the time two, when the ambient reproduces.
Shortly, a mechanism in two times, analog to a …breath, get you? Infusion,
diffusion. Passive, active. Like contagious sick. First you contaminate from
one with a virus, then you contaminate others. You transmit them morbid
information you received. Most contaminating being the dramatic events, the big
consumes of energy. The illness isn’t other thing than the antagonism between
information of microbes and information of the cell, isn’t it? Lakhovsky says
radiation. A war of information.
Struba helped her to put on her coat. More for
smelling her than out of gallantry.
-What do you say, shall I find to you someone
to make a radiesthetical test of the room? Unofficially, of course. For me.
Rut kept her busy with spoiled mechanism of the
umbrella, eager.
-You just believe that detecting there some
sources of a signal will be sufficient that results be conclusive? The town is
packed with ill-fated places, but this doesn’t mean that all suicides are their
victims. Then, there are various kinds of environments chronically ill. And
with only a radiesthetic pendulum you don’t put diagnostic to a endemic illness
which had, three times successively, the same end. There may be an absolute
unusual configuration.
-You didn’t give me yet an answer, Struba
insisted.
-Let say I know an expert in the field.
-Can you arrange a historical meeting in three?
-Only not to be Yalta.
He pulled her toward him and kissed her mouth
avidly.
-Leave me, you smell of old files…
Distinction of eye circles, yes. Exactly what
made him ill suddenly when he knew her. Watching her, he found himself eyes in
eyes with her, just as it happened also then, in cabinet, first time.
-What are you staring to?
-I red somewhere about a French missionary who
had changed his physiognomy after what he lived among Moroccan tribes. I may
understand, thus, that these personal matrixes can be affected also
beneficially? You mentioned until now only negative influences…
-You didn’t read anywhere, this with pastor
Perynare I’ve told you as well. Yes, at long living together the love can
change the physiognomy like in the Mirror. The partners arrive to look like
some twins, when thw harmony of the couple is perfect. But what came to you?
She went out without waiting for answer.
Remained alone in the threshold of door, Struba
cried once more by eyes something on her back.
Then he came back to the coffee in the kitchen.
“Long living together”. Until both of them
arrive to look like some twins…A full life…Great God, what a bore!
Wouldn’t be it simpler with an aesthetic
operation?
3
3
“The undersigned Edgar Papazian, resided in
Aleea Barsei no. 1-3, block Y-O-Z, grand
floor, apart. 45, professor retired, declare the following: In quality of
president of lodgers association of block Y-O-Z, I have the occasion to know
personally the named Aurel Bau from the apart. 113, moved in our building at
the beginning of the year 1992, now deceased. He was a unsociable and
recalcitrant bloke, whose relations with neighbors have always been tensed. At
two months from his coming, when he was already figuring on the black list of
overdue lodgers at pay of rates, the first problems appeared. One evening, two
men dressed in civil had visited me at residence, legitimating themselves as
officials of Home Ministry. They asked me about Aurel Bau, they had searched at
home in repeated times with no one result. I made them known that also myself I
was confronted with the same failure, not succeeding to trace him in order to
summon him to acquit his locative charges, from where I deduced that either he
was gone from the city, or he was coming back from the work at impossible
hours, in the power of night. The place of work? Technician somewhere within
the works Republica if not somehow
I.O.R. – information received were contradictory. The man was taciturn and
retired, almost inaccessible, and if you tried to sound him he got up on his
ears and became violent especially when he was about getting drunk. His single
distraction seemed to be the elevator in which he abandoned by purpose empty
bottles of brandy “Two plums”, probably his favored drink, known more popular
under the name of “Dobrin’s Eyes”. This custom revolted, it’s understood, all
lodgers. At the beginning, some of them retorted, drawing his attention to
don’t confuse the elevator with the machine of garbage. But A.B. amused
himself, replying them that they were free to use the stares, which are anyhow
healthier, being recommended against the cholesterol. And when he wasn’t
cynical, then he was aggressive, menacing with a knife and boasting with his
years of jail. Hearing this, poor people renounced to make him morals, because
that should have been not only in vain, but also dangerous. Some of neighbors,
even, instructed their children to avoid him in the future, from where also the
nickname invented by kids in the block: Bau-Bau. Finally, after they listened
to me with attention, the two visitors interested if Aurel Bau had been somehow
searched in the last time by some Arabian citizen, but I didn’t know anything
in connection with this aspect. I ensured them that, if some unknown suspect
would walking round the block in the last two months of days, I would have
learnt from madam Filotti, a hag from the second floor who made her century by
spying at windows, because such a thing wouldn’t escape in any case to her eye
of kite. They had explained me summarily
that A.B. seemed to be involved in dirty works with some foreigners and
prevented me that the individual could be much more dangerous than the
appearances shown. In the end, before leaving, they left me a phone number to
which to call them in case I would find something worth to be signaled. But,
only after some days, the sector policeman in the quarter passed in a evening
by me – to tell me that the story with
Arabians of Aurel Bau had already been clarified in between, that it
hadn’t been else than a storm in a glass of water, and that I can look silently
after my pension. Curious to learn details, I invited him to serve together a
portion of kisghisher, that is
hotchpotch of meat and vegetables, at which my wife cooked all night, and to
test a brandy of dates brought recently
by some relatives from Erevan, occasion with which to sound him a little. He
toldme that Bau interfered with a petty official from the embassy of Algeria ,
known somewhere at a little drink, who promised him a visa for six mounths,
through a gluing with a group of workers scheduled to go on a workshop to them.
They had have two-three meetings at Carul
cu bere restaurant , where the Sahara fellow, who pretended to be no less
than an advisor with car at stare (a blue Mercedes with number of diplomatic
corps), was leaving for the waiters and musicians fat tips. In his company, Bau
was as vain as a peacock like a big boss, with singers around him fishing bank
notes with the top of bow. When really, the Sahara
guy was only a runner by from the servants of the embassy, a good-for-nothing
whose job was to put the flag and take it down, and the blue Mercedes was in
fact the car of the ambassador. Learning after some weeks that workers left for
good and mercy and he fallen between two stools, Bau went to ask explanations from
the official, but Algerians sent him away refusing to parliament with him. Then
he made big noise at the gate of the embassy, asking back in big voice the tip
he pretended to have given, and throwing over fence menaces (how he will shave
the rogue’s moustache “together with the head”) and insults. No result at all.
The next day he came again, but changed the tactic, posting in the back of some
bushes from nearby and watching from there the outing of diplomatic personnel
at the end of program. He repeated such figure for the full week, supervising
vigilantly the movements in the courtyard of the embassy, but his moustache man
entered apparently in the earth. Until the Algerians, full of this spying of
waste ground, complained to authorities, asking them to intervene and free them
of terrorist in the bushes. Immediately a brigade seized Bau with a van and
brought him to police. But there, after applying him a fine and a mother oh
beating, sent him free. His personal conflict with the little Algerian clerk interested
nobody. And after finishing to tell this story, the sector policeman advised me
friendly to don’t interfere also myself, to don’t expose so somehow uselessly,
in case the Algerians – provoked as they were – would search Bau at residence
to balance the accounts with him. What didn’t happen, by luck or pity, in the
next period. Otherwise, revenging enemies to hunt him, Aurel Bau may have make
everywhere by his aggressive and indolent behavior, so the Algerians wouldn’t
be his only care. At the question if I myself had conflicts of personal order
with the above-named, I answer affirmatively. It is about an incident happened
last summer, when A.B. aggressed my nephew, Agopsha Papazian, aged 12 years,
being then in holiday at me and my wife, slapping him under the reason that the
boy and his friends of playing had insulted him. It had been a confusion. The
children were carrying through the dust of ground in the back of block, where
the civil building workshop is, a puppet made by my nephew of wood and dressed
like a boy in rags, called “Cutsgululu”. A sort of scarecrow destined to bring
rain in time of draught. It is an old popular custom to us, like paprudas at Romanians. The monkey is
dragged from house to house crying: Cutsgululu next year, only to rain this
year”. Coming back to work, Aurel Bau had impression that kids mocked him
crying like to a dog: “Cutsu-cutsu” and besmirching a mummy which seemed to
represent him. Highly irritated, he applied him a palm that deafened him, and
would stuck the ears of the others too if they wouldn’t ran away. Of course I
went indignant to ring at his door to take him to task, but he didn’t open to
me. I searched then our sector policeman; I asked him to intervene before
Agopsha’s father learn and take out some teeth to the guttersnipe without
anesthetic, for it is known what kind of fists have the dentists. Next day, Bau
arisen in the threshold of my door reeking of alcohol; he drawn my attention to
don’t send the police on his head, otherwise he would retouch my nose with the
razor. We, Armenians, being a little longer in nose than normal type, but not
just like Mozart. I tried to explain him that he made an injustice to my
nephew, brutalizing him for nothng, but he was keeping deadly on his point,
boasting that he isn’t afraid of police and that he had been in jail also
before in his life. At departure, he made me “candy Armenian” and “moth in
pension”. My wife got such a fright that I gave her urgently a Rudotel, to
don’t suffocate her engine. But since then in summer and until a week ago, when
Aurel Bau threw himself from the floor I didn’t have with him other personal
conflicts. It is not true that my wife Arax Papazian would have proffered in
public insults to the address of the respective. The accurse “let his mother
wear blue” isn’t an insult, but a curse threw sometimes by our women at great
anger. I don’t know the reasons of the suicide of Aurel Bau. He was living
alone and nobody visited him, what is not surprising at all . In the last 2-3 days he wasn’t seen,
and his neighbors from the eight floor believed him gone from home. No incident
had taken place in block a day before. This much I know, declare and sign along
unforced by anybody.”
4
Bonny, lanky, with thin parts longed
monstrously, one of those unclassifiable vertebrates of Dali. As tall as the
door, he made him place to enter without much protocol, insensitive to the
almost indecent curiosity with which Struba measured him from head up to feet,
as if he would contemplate the skeleton of dinosaur from the Museum Antipa.
-Come in please. I recommend myself doctor
Al.B.Tsarush. Bioenergotherapy. My friends call me simply “Unicorn”.
Tsarush (“stake”), listen! Struba thought
amused. Exactly what fitted this phantom. Judging after the name, belonging to
a family of stakes, probably old since the time of Vlad Tsepesh.
-Al.Struba. Criminology. If the notice about
friends is somehow a suggestion, then I feel flattered. However, if you have
nothing contrary, it will be more at hand for me to address you for the time
being with “doctor”, for putting up.
They shaken hands, rather Struba hanged from
his hand. He waited that Rut be witness to this acrobatics, but he didn’t see
her there. The finding upset him, that it meant for moment he had to manage
alone, without intermediary. He pretended to be preoccupied by the sumptuous
structure of ceiling and oak lambrequins of the little saloon where the host
was inviting him.
-Let’s take place here. Our common friend has
just rang me that she will be a little late. Didn’t she tell you? Problems with
a patient. I am not surprised, I am accustomed to.
Did he play somehow like intimate? Confused,
Struba remembered strange fascination exercised over women by these misshapen
individuals. He complied mechanically burying in the armchair offered. A few
seconds both of them said nothing sniffing reciprocally like the giant O’Brien
and the dwarf Boruwlaski, when they knew each other at London in 1782.
-And why just “Unicorn”? Struba shown himself
curious, with false ease.
-If I were a liar, I’d answer you: from the
virtues of the unicorn. Impetuous, cast, unbeatable, affectionate, purifier of
hunted things, panacea of mythical pharmacy. Out of his horn it was obtained an
antidote against strongest poisons, isn’t so? But I’ll be sincere, answering
you that explanation is more prosaic as can be thought: from the initial of
father, added to the first name and to patronymi. Al.B.Tsarush, or Tarus Alb (“White Stake”), that is just the horn of
unicorn. Useless to tell you also about obscene speculations attracted by such
a risky nickname. People think only what they like to think.
The unicorn, phallic symbol – Struba thought.
Is likely his interlocutor be some porter of the illness of Priapus.
-I, for one, prefer reputation of healer
attributed to unicorn, Struba ensured him with good will. In fact, I am
convinced that it fits you, judging after recommendation from Mrs. Doctor
Balash which as you see I followed.
-I am flattered. Yet it would be a pity to
waste time with gallantries until her arrival. I propose you to profit of this
small delay for clarifying some serious things, already discussed by me and
Mrs. Doctor. You understand, I wouldn’t like to bore her repeating them in
front of her…
Struba understood the prick. He pricked with
horn, the unicorn.
-I don’t see why shouldn’t I agree.
He saw him pulling a drawer of the desk, from
which he took off a pair of scissors exaggeratedly big , as for cutting vine.
Perhaps just ordered specially for his measure. He flapped with them shortly
for four times, cutting up something from a crumpled newspaper, and Struba
guessed immediately what namely.
-Therefore, you want a radiesthetic
control…From what appears from this article of newspaper it is about a block
still youngster, inaugurated some five years ago. If I mistake, correct me
please. A block without history, to say so, in whose bed clothes didn’t
consumed yet its existence at least a generation. Until the appearance of the
legend with cursed room, a certain block, anonymous among so many copies of it,
with tasteless systematization and with stupid reckoning. Here you see, the
block Y-O-Z, perhaps an acronym of Yeti, Man of Snows…
-No, it’s not letter O, is figure zero. Blocks
with three sides each in form of star called because of this “igreeks” in the
argot of lodgers. Y-1-A, Y-2-B, Y-3-C, and so forth, an entire quarter.
-A stupidity, in any case. Thus, an ordinary
block, without own personality, a heap of boxes, cables, conducts, pipes,
radiators. A nothing, with as many floors and parabolic antennas would boast,
in comparison with a traditional house. Because the real structure of
resistance of a building is it’s destiny. And no with number of bricks you
measure the destiny of a building, but with number of steps which walked it.
Such a block has no memories. Bycomparison, the old houses accumulate huge
quantities of soul prints remained from their masters, whose fate they share.
It is not a metaphor, it’s a law, world’s unity. Con-substantiality man-earth
expressed just in the name of Man, because Adhamah
is translated just by “red dust”. “All things go together, all have been made
out of earth”, as Ecclesiastes sings. It is indifferent what language what
language we use when we speak about the ambient of a house, as a deposit of
soul echoes. Hewitt, for instance, says “energetic memory”. Doesn’t matter. It
is important to don’t judge reductively this transfer of personality,
constipated as we are with our Cartesian thinking. Here is not talk about
locative vestiges, about potsherds of plates and traces of sauce on the walls
left as reminder from some scene of Italian divorce happened sometime, in the
past. Not about material manifestations is the talk, but of soul ones. You hear
always ancient word of spirit about the man who “saints the place”, but
moralist parrots who repeat it don’t understand but figurative meaning, and as
proof, they apply it univocally, even the reciprocation is also available. For,
as the man saints the place, the man can filth it as well. And so much so!
Capacity of individual to destroy own habitat (and self) is practically
unlimited.
Listening to him, Struba was asking himself
what number was wearing such a giant, by the way, to underpants.
Pavel from Taes says that sin entered all world
through a man only. And what is, finally, the sin? Negative information. In
what is it expressed? In sudden acceleration of entropy. But this means not
only demolition of some segments of space-time, but also biologic disorder:
discomfort, anxiety, physical, nervous exhaustion , phobia, crises, death. What
else is the illness than a de-information of cell? The same mechanism capsizes
also the ambient environment, which becomes ill-fated, or “hunted”, because of
feelings of individual extended to it. Prototype was, as you know, the original
sin, with its universal consequences. ”Cursed is now the earth because of you”.
The entropy has been legalized for entire nature. The second law of
thermodynamics. And if then could broke definitively the thermodynamic
equilibrium of whole Creation, what big thing may mean today infestation of a
little house? To spoil atmosphere is enough a scandal, a discharge of anger.
Like taking a candy from a baby.
Here he made an interruption to clear his
rattling throat. Struga remembered how Rut was complaining to him that, after
quarrels with Gelu in the eve of divorce, all flowers in the flat vanished. He
profited of pause to ask:
-So, when you occupy an ill-fate place left by
another, it is as if you would inherit a illness from him?
-Don’t occupy you an ill-fated place, but it
occupies you. Up to there that you arrive to be evacuated from your own house.
But this takes some time. And time presupposes, as I was telling you, an
ancestral traditional house. And here I reached what preoccupies me. What kind
of dwelling which, old of only five little years, made already three victims.
And only a room, that is most elementary locative ensemble. Disproportion between
its possibilities and its results is absolutely amazing. It remembers me of that
booth in Boulogne
burnt from the order of Bonaparte, in which all sentinels had accesses of
madness. Her no explanation of topological order stands. The pattern of this
place may have been maimed by a pathogen agent extremely virulent, which defies the factor time. Who have been
it’s porter? From the beginning I would exclude the first lodger, a mad writer
if I understood well from explanations of our friend, who was living there
solitary, in absolute isolation. But neither conjugal conflicts of animal
trainer of circus who replaced him, crown by divorce, can’t be a convincing
explanation. There took place ceremonies of black magic, had the deceased been
endowed with great occult powes? Totally improbable. But indifferently what
cause would be, it is certain the maxim danger of penetration of other persons
in that malefic pattern. And in consequence, as a practitioner of occult pathology (indifferent what you’d
believe about such practices unaccepted by officials), is my duty to prevent
you to take seriously this danger. I tell it now to you, Mr. Struba, as long as
we didn’t yet go there together.
Struba made by mouth a half moon up to ears.
Smile of harlequin.
-Doctor, you know Ciceronian answer given to
Brutus’ warning: “I am grateful for your good will to make me know about these
trifles”.
-From where also the comment of lord Bacon:
“Since ever most distinguished persons by their wisdom have perished just due
to dangers they disdained most”.
The reply of host had left back an ironic
ether, which pricked Struba’s nostrils. The harlequin disappeared in a grimace.
He adopted suddenly a voice as official as possible:
-Let’s understand clearly. Do you suggest me
not to be present to the testing of room?
-Is worth to risk?
-But what should I suffer after a stay of only
few minutes? They aren’t just nuclear offal! For not saying that I already
spent a full night there, at the research of last week event.
-Mr. Struba, nuclear offal isn’t the worse
think in the world. They can make us sick at most by cancer, but not by
diabolic desire to throw alone, from the eight floor, in the street.
-With all respect, I am afraid you exaggerate.
And otherwise, even yourself expose to the same danger, I see you don’t
hesitate, in what concerns you, to do it.
What came to Rut to recommend to him just this
fool? He almost regretted for asking her support.
-Of course I expose myself; but in my case
there are the risks of profession…the long one answered superior, unveiling
enormous teeth with a grin of horse. Someone has to make also this, as
scavenger says. What else than a soul sanitation service are, in fact, occult
therapies? Only that energetic garbage is not visible and doesn’t stink.
Otherwise, everybody would take it out in courtyard. However it was reported in
some cases a strange and persistent smell, whose source was never find. An old
house in Sibiu,
for instance, with four big rooms and attic, painted several times with no
result, with an unaccountable smell of crypt. Whitewashing of walls, painting,
repairs, hygiene making didn’t cease since installation of new tenants.A
Sisyphiad, something in the kind of repeated crumbles of Palace of Culture
in Iassy. There were recorded a child born dead, a mortal electrocution , an
accidental abortion by fall on inner stair, a broken engagement, unbelievable personal
failures. Exasperated, the survivors have gone definitively, moving to Mediash.
Diagnostic? The former proprietress, whose house has been nationalized,
confessed that she had cursed years in succession to have no living anyone who
will lodge there. An endemic curse, therefore. But case like this, in which
infestation of place be confirmed (just
by its source) are rare exceptions. Commonly, the cause is unknown, so that
investigations, interpretations of appeared symptoms are necessary. And just as
a photosensitive film must be developed if one wants to see what particularly
has impressed it, so also for discovering a malefic pattern one needs a
revelator. Perception of the occultist.
Emphatic and sure on self. That means, his
introductory modesty had been a parade. “The initial of father”, unmerited
advertising due to unicorn and so on.
-So, you insist that I stay apart. To abstain
from penetrating in the room by the time being, until you will diagnose and
clean it by zgripsors and iazme . A sort
of purgatory…
The unicorn twisted uncontent.
-Let call it, better, quarantine.
-And how do you propose, then, to proceed
concretely? Struba pretended to be naiv.
-Letting everything with me. You will have the
privilege to wait silently, pure and simple, for results of tests the
undersigned will effectuate on the spot. It would be desirable that these start
as soon as possible, having in view approaching of holidays. I, for one, am
disposed even this evening; my colleague, I hope, will accept to trust her to
you until I come back, letting you here in an enviable company.
Pose of guarding angel, with wings of hatching
hen – Struba thought. An impotent and a half.
-Mr. Tarus, I appreciate the solicitude. But
you lose from sight that the door of room is sealed and the only authorized to
open it is me. Permitting you to penetrate there unaccompanied, giving you
simply the keys in your hand, that would mean to risk my job.
The length played negligently with his giant
scissors, chopping the air at right and at left side.
-Then, you risk your skin. You enter there
together with me and that’s it, if this spares your pride to patronize the
operation.
-I have sensation that you want by all means
frighten me, to keep me on touch line. You are disturbed to be assisted, isn’t
so?
-Enter together with me, I tell you.
No, it will be too simple to solve dilemma at
once, being rush to chose now one solution or another. It was worth to keep him
in chess some time longer, in order to cut from his upsurge. Struba amused
himself imagining the game of chess in a new variant, with horses replaced by
unicorns. So that he made one move more:
-If it
is not disturbance, then perhaps I am antipathetic to you. Come on, show your
cards.
-Mr. Struba you didn’t come here to woo. The
dilemma is to enter or not together in a room, not in a church. And I believe
that small protocol obstacles merit to be sacrificed, when the stake is so
important.
-It is not the question only of “small protocol
obstacles”. Questionable is just the stake. Because radiesthetic examination
isn’t recognized by law as mean of proof, as conclusive as it be. Therefore,
being not regular, it has only value of orientation. The same story as at
detector of lies.
-You see? When the law itself stops the finding
of truth, it must be encroached upon.
What the law says to soldier about guards of night? To don’t stay perched in
watch tower, to patrol, not keeping his gun non assured, have not bullet on
barrel. Where did you serve motherland?
-At Rimnic. But I don’t see what has to do…
-Me, at Marghita. Thirty kilometers to border.
In a winter night, the alarm was given. What happened? Going at three o’clock
to change sentinels in posts, the patrol found in tower a soldier stabbed in
heart, still warm. Immediately they pulled out of beds and sent us to rummage
the neighborhoods. There were some quarries of clay for factories of bricks and
pottery, to go down in one’s boots out of fright. No any result. Military
procurator comes, forensic comes, C.I.-st (counter-information man) comes, morning
comes. Sentinels are questioned, corporal of shift, commander of guard. Nobody
knew anything. How soldier left him attacked up there without shutting at least
a fire? Either he was surprised dozing in post because of cold, or he knew well
the killer and left him approach. Like fated, in the next night, just at three,
alarm sounded again: another sentinel found with knife stick in heart, in the
same post of guard…This time, much ado is done. Tracks with special troops,
with technicians, with medical orderlies arrive all in a heap to barrack. Then
big bosses from great general staff appear, with red stripe on pants and peaked
cap as big as water closet lid. At daybreak the unit swarms with generals,
couriers, orderlies, drivers. Such a panic didn’t happen since mobilization
from ’68 when Russians had entered with tanks in Prague. Ensembles are sounded. Meetings take
place. Raids are sent. Orders are hurled. Maps are drawn. Traps are installed.
The guard is doubled. Officers spoke coded at telephone, in an alphanumeric
gobbledygook, like the Japanese of Yamamoto before the attack of Pearl Harbor. All sorts of scenarios are fabricated but
not solution is found yet. Soldiers refuse to make guard in the tower of death,
even menaced with cell and martial court. And so on until evening fall, when,
at once, a mountain of conscript with a moustache like shoes brush and
volunteers:” No, is me going. Only with machine-gun instead of Tommy, and with
bullet on barrel, and to stay up in tower full night, otherwise no”. Conditions
whose satisfaction means to encroach flagrant upon rules isn’t so? In the
beginning, the officials jumped like burnt, but as they hadn’t choice, did him
the favor. So required arsenal was given to the shepherd, as well as a flute
with which to announce mioritic (ballad
like) any suspect move. And midnight comes. Elder brother enters the post,
climbs in the little tower, fastens his bayonet with hilt between two slats
with pick toward belly to prick him in case some sleep would steal him, and start
waiting. An hour passes. Nothing. Two pass. Again nothing. It had remain only
half of an hour before the shift to come, when, at once, a movement in the
dark. To freeze the blood in one’s veins, no other thing. Just when elder
brother believed he had had passed the jerk! But it was only a dog. The
scoundrel turns bellow, urinates at the foot of tower and goes. After some five
minutes, the dog appears again. And what to see, comes to sniff the little
stair and tries to climb on it. Suddenly it rises a paw and…exactly in that
second it seemed to the shepherd that the cur has the head too big…And shoots! Shoots in volley of shots, shoots in a tantrum
until he has not with what, that valley resounds and wakes from sleep seven
villages. If they would have given a canon he would shoot also with that. Out
of fright. Immediately projectors of watch get alighted, the zone is encircled,
people gather as for the ours. At the basis of the tower they find the beast
made Swiss cheese. A yip is pulled from top head to belly and from the fur of
dog is drawn out the corpse of a dwarf. With a dagger prepared in chest packet.
A fraction of a second should hesitate the elder brother, and he would thunder
him from a throw of knife, similarly like the other two. Some days later, the
mystery has been cleared. One year ago, the wife of dwarf had been violated by
some soldiers whose identity had remain unknown. Moral of fable? Friend with me
is colonel Plato, but more friend is the truth. Such big colonels, look at them
beating their heels in front of a conscript and encroaching the rules. For you,
Mr. Struba, what is more important: the respect for rules, or respect for
truth? You noticed, I hope, the analogy between the history of tower and case
of killing room.
-I’ve noticed in any case that you were the
conscript.
But how malice didn’t spared him from due
answer, he added:
-When murders are a certitude, like in the
example you gave me, the encroaching of rules in the name of truth has however
a justification. But when the murder is only a simple suspicion, like in case
of room, then that can’t serve you as an excuse.
The giant watched him confused, like a beetle
of unknown species one doesn’t know where to classify it.
-May I understand that you are searching, in
fact, traces of a murderer in flesh and bones?…I believed that you are
preoccupied by killing capacity of room itself.
-Actually the potential of room should be an
ideal camouflage.
For some moments, the unicorn chewed this new
idea, trying to get accustomed with its strange taste
-Interesting. But then, I quiet don’t see what
use would have for you the testing of ill-fated influence of room. Energetic
residues which I expect to find there can belong equally from previous suicides
or to the supposed murder committed after them. How will you distinguish
between these two sources without mistake?
-Risks of profession! Struba aped him
ironically. As you said early, someone has to do also this, isn’t so?
The coin with which he paid now arrogance had
clanged enough strong to be heard. But the wizard had no time any more to
digest the dumpling. The bell sounded exactly in that moment, like a horologe
of a pendulum. He risen imposing from the armchair, making steps of ostrich for
waiting hall.
Jubilant, Struba extracted from waistcoat
packet his old fashioned watch, a Paul Garnier of silver with chain and lit
with monogram, personal souvenir. He tried to guess if outside was dark. When
he felt in nostrils a penetrating smell of pharmacy, he knew that Rut had
arrived.
5
Cairo, 5th December
Dear Struba,
Look at me arrived in Levant,
where you fry the seeds on towers, near the sun, and in the sea-ports you make
storms with a single sneeze.
The nature is lazy hereby, wind mixes up flags,
sea is wrinkled and hag. In revenge, at suk
by bistros , worming as nowhere.
Variegated people. Genovese sailors grinding the peeper in eyes of Muslim
women. Nubians with face like a sun eclipse. OUNs militaries returned from Sinai, chewing their
gum. Tourists with kerchief on head purchasing nougat and pistachio. Bedouins
with rosary playing their camel at party of backgammon. For the hazard was born at El Azar, where
crusaders invented the die with white face of angel and small black eyes of
devil.
I stay in a second hand hotel in Cairo, where I have no
sleep under the songs of those in opposite tower of jamya. It seem to be a
general problem here, because I heard many of delegates to congress snoring
during the works. I’ve visited yesterday in the lunch break Blue Mosque and, of
course, Museum of
Egyptian Antiquities.
Being announced for second day free program, I say to wife: Let’s have a ran up
to Valley of Kings, to get rid of some cellulite! And
look at us arrived at Luxor
, where we have the luck to meet a professor of medieval studies at university
Al-Azhar, old acquaintance, who offers to be our guide. Without him we would
lose precious time stuttering through archaeological perimeter from
Biban-el-Moluk and, probably, we would miss occasion of visiting the grave of
Tutankhamon , where is a queue like at finance circa. Because, recently,
Egyptian authorities have reduced drastically daily number of tourists
admitted, in order to diminish the risk of contamination with bacteria or
spores of mushroom. More, other compulsory measures of precaution have been
taken. At entrance you put on some slippers of linen and protect your mug with
a paper mask, to don’t scare the mummy.
Is it any need to tell you that this celebrate
room of young pharaoh, with its tens of victims, remembered me strikingly the
case of your killing room? I will try in those bellow a parallel. Take it,
please, as a compensation for crisis of time which had forced me to refuse your
invitation to a discussion day before yesterday, in the eve of departure.
The rave of Nepkheperu-Re, better known by you
under name Tutankhamon, is the unique in the Valley of Kings
preserving today its mummy. The lad slept here untroubled near 33 centuries, in
spite of several attempts of location and profaning of grave, started already a
decade after burying. It is a first mark of question this intangibility, unique in whole Egyptian necropolis, systematically
rummaged and plundered during ages. Otherwise, do you think would it remain
anything from treasure buried there together with mummy, five thousand pieces
of gold? For only sarcophagus, the small one, weights 145 kg of gold! The
second mark of question, which shake hands with first, is inscription of
warning on the little plaque of clay in mortuary anteroom found by Howard
Carter, chief of archaeological workshop in 1922:”The death will tend its wings
over that who will enter this sacred grave”. A kind of ancestor of red cartoon
of type Do not disturb hanged by
hotel door handle. Of course, nobody has taken, in beginning, seriously the
menace. Can’t be question of curse here – Steindorff calmed the superstitious
ones, with arguments of type “negation of giraffe”(you know the anecdote, one
with peasant in visit at zoo) as if inscription in cause would have been only
an unsalted joke, dietetic humor. But what pharaohs care for Steindorff views.
Fact is that, short tome after opening of grave, a true massacre started. First
victim was lord Carnarvon, who had approved the breaking of regal seals and
penetration into funerary complex at 26th November 1922. And really
could this honor have been granted to other than patron of archaeological
workshop? He made, poor one, a gallopping pneumonia from the prick of a
mosquito and departed at 5th April 1923 in hotel Continental in Cairo. In the moment of
death, an unaccountable power failure left the city in darkness, which British
services of technical assistance couldn’t remedy, and the dog of deceased,
remained home at castle Highclare, in England, started hurling like a ghost,
until he gave his soul. All victims who followed to Sir Carnarvon had been in a manner or another involved (retain,
please, the nuance), in Tutankhamon affaire. Sir Archibald Reed had taken
radiography of mummy and touched it. Arthur Mace, deputy director of Egyptian
antiquities department of Metropolitan Museum in New York, had helped Carnarvon
to open the main way of access to grave. Pecky Callender, likewise. Professor
Jean Dumichem, who had copied and translated inscriptions, died mentally ill.
Lady Carnarvon, lord’s widow, died because“ prick of an unknown insect”.
Richard Bethell, secretary of workshop chief, had been found home deceased in
bed, after he went to sleep perfectly sound. Lord Wetsbury, father of this
Richard Bethell, threw himself from the seventh floor, like your suicides in room.
On way to cemetery, his hearse hits mortally an eight years old kid. Emery have
been stroke by amnesia, then by paralysis, dying also him. Dies colonel
Herbert, step brother of lord Carnarvon. Dies tycoon of railways George Gould,
next day after he visited grave. Dies British industrialist Joel Woolf. Dies
also Benedite, chief of Egyptian antiquities department from Louvre.
Egyptologist Weingall has a mortal attack by “unknown fever”. There came then
Frederick Raleigh, a few responsible people in management of Cairo Museum
where the treasure of pharaoh is preserved, etc. Director of Egyptian
antiquities dreamt that he will die if he will approve getting out from country
of pharaoh treasure for exhibition in London, what he had three months later in
a car accident. And by measure that black list continues, at Cairo you red on first page of newspapers
titles like Pharaoh’s Curse Avenges King
Tut or A New Victim of Tutankhamon’s
Curse, or Pharaoh Hits Again.
It is understood that positivists didn’t delay
to react, starting a energetic campaign against this superstition. The story
goes that it was put in circulation by Egyptian journalists for avenge, after
what lord Carnarvon had sold exclusivity to Time
journal. I’ve procured from here in English some journals of specialty which
could interest in your own researches, following to bring them to you at my
return to country, as well as two-three excerpts from older issues of World Medicine Magazine. For instance,
Dr. Dean declares that decease would be effect of infection provoked by mould
from funerary crypt, extremely nocuous. Luis Alvarez also subscribes to the
same theory of air fouled by bacteria.
Indeed, our companion from the University Al-Azhar, I said you about, confirmed
me that a colleague of him, professoe of microbiology, counted more than
100.000 minuscule black spots on interior walls of grave. Consequently, use of
a detergent was recommended, to knock mushrooms and bacteria. Only that Mr.
Nakhla, restorer at Superior Council of
Antiquities, has demonstrated later on that spots are not of organic nature.
But better I read to you directly from statement of this expert some two-three
lines in my shepherd translation: "They make common corps with grave, so
that, if we wipe them, empty places will remain in paintings. And, in any case,
it is an irresponsible act to change aspect of a grave. Since we found it
together with these spots, that means we have no any right to clean them”. And
isn’t he right? What would mean, for instance, that Michelangelo’s David,
exposed stark naked in Tribune of Academia, Florence people to cut his little
cock for reason that it vitiate young girls tourists? Anyhow, theory of
infection with mould doesn’t convince me. What connection has, for instance,
jump from seventh floor of lord Wetsbury with infect air in an Egyptian grave?
And after he has in hands poor cards, he wants also to cheat us, this Irish,
Dr. Dean. He gives the guilt on bacteria, but in fact he clarifies only agent of transportation of a hypothetical curse, but not curse
itself. Or, the true question isn’t if mould in graves could attack
discoverers, but why just the mould of this
grave attacked discoverers. In point of fact, invasion of lungs by spores of a
mushroom has been confirmed only in case
of American student Sheryl Munson (who touched painting of grave), only that
her immunity system was down after
Hodgkin illness.
To don’t tell you, too, beyond toxicological
objection, some pick holes also to statistics. It is said that, however, some
members of archaeological team, starting with its chief Howard Carter, have
survived, and this would deny superstition of curse. For example, in interval
of a year passed from penetration in grave and up to opening of sarcophagus, 12
out of 15 persons who opened grave had died. Sophism is evident, being based on
false premise that all those involved
would indispensably have to die. It is as if you’d say that, since shipwreck of
Titanic didn’t kill just all passengers,
that means clash with iceberg is only a
legend. Don’t saying that objection is a boomerang, for one can question as
well: Good, they didn’t die cursed, but they died poisoned with mould. But
Carte and others from team survived: why then didn’t they die also poisoned?
That is data of problem remain absolutely the same.
As matter of fact, what happened in July 1939
dismantles completely these guess findings. At ceremonies of Muslim New Year
organized then, Egyptian authorities had loony idea to use war trumpets from
funerary requisite of Tutankhamon, whose resound was scheduled to be broadcast
by radio allover the country in direct. For this premiere, it was approved be
taken out the two silver trumpets from window of Cairo Museum
of Antiquities and putting them at disposal of organizers. From initiative of some
scatter-brains, it was chosen as place of developing ceremony just pharaoh’s
grave, where, consequently, microphones have been installed. They embarked then
in two tracks with destination
Valley of Kings
technicians, journaists, radio commentators, as well as two trumpet players
from regal guard. But on the way, soon after departure, small convoy begins to
be thick-headed with a vengeance. A peasant on edge of road, who meditated
peacefully to greatness of Allah, is mortally accident. Elsewhere, one of
tracks upsets in a steep ravine. Driver and one of technicians are killed on
spot. Finally, procession arrives in Valley
of Kings, just when radio studios in Cairo rang by bells
arrival of New Year and prepared to connect the reportage car from the face of
place. How glad and proud might have been then the two trumpet players from
regal guard, chosen from among the best in order to be at the high of such
event! But first of them only managed to adjust his trumpet in front of
microphone that, before pulling out some sound, he fallen to earth, dead
instantly. You imagine what panic broke out, mon cher, that you could say that
barrage from Assuan crumbled. Hurry up, climb on podium second bugler, that
blows off on pipe from all his lights, but in vain, only a croak gushes out.
Losing any hope, the two technicians let to devil the trumpets and play a
record. Getting down from podium, the second trumpet player falls and break a
leg. But the worst had to come only then after, because signal of pharaoh’s
trumpets of war had been a ill-fated
prevision. It was, I remind you, July 1939…
As story goes, don’t believe in superstitions,
these mummies of thinking!
But when probabilistic play of “coincidences”
satisfies you as expanation, why complicate yourself with other uncomfortable
hypotheses? Why put your neck into the noose and to get pains on sarcophagus?
And so, we are further content with “naiv idea of hazard”, word of
Merleau-Ponty.
Honest, dear Struba, I feel pity for this
child! They made out of him a scarecrow, attributing him unjustly paternity of
curse. In reality, neither warning from entrance nor inscription on golden lit
of sarcophagus (“Be it that who lies here be not touched”) could be his opera
but both must be posthumous. Tutankhamon had died prematurely in 1344 b.Chr.,
therefore unexpectedly, at the age of only 20 years, when the lad only to
preparation of his place for eternity didn’t think. He had died after a long
agony, losing gradually his consciousness because of a blood clot which pressed
progressively his brain: follow up of a closed occipital fracture. Dr. Harrison
has discovered it when he treated the mummy with rays X. It proves that young
prince had been hit at the basis of head probably when sleeping. The
radiography has been afterward reexamined also by Dr. Irvin who confirmed this
scenario. Conclusions from your field, Struba: the pharaoh had been basely assassinated after a complot. Poor lad,
what an unhappy destiny! Successor of most rejected pharaoh, famous Ekhnaton
(declared heretic by proclamation from Karnak), orphan at 11 little years,
killed from back seven years later…More, they killed also his little widow,
superb Ankhesenamen (big love had been between them) after head of conjuration
forced her to remarry him. More, in mortuary room there were found also two
small coffins of gold with a five months old fetus, and another, female, 8
months old. Who didn’t let them to get born and inherit the throne?
Official chronicles don’t give any explanation.
No complot, no assassinate, nothing, as if you’d read report of Commission Warren. Of course, these
findings benefited by advantage of modern medical technique. But even without
him, anyhow hieroglyphic inscriptions swarmed already with anomalies. And when
you want to discover assassin of a king, method is play of children: you watch
to see, pure and simply, who was his successor.
Or, great vizier Ay followed to the young at throne. This
hadn’t in veins blue blood, and no red, and no brown. A parvenu who had gain
his ranks through a clever servility toward Tutankhamon’s father, gathering
from him for years in succession, jewelry and other generous gifts. This
servant with spine more flexible than of cheetah had arrived from lay man, gradually, great vizier,
minister of army and right hand of young prince remained orphan.
Great miscreant may have been also this Ay! I
watched attentively the painting of grave: there are 12 men with white ribbons
wrapped up on head(sign of mourning) who are getting down Tutankhamon in the
coffin after embalming, but Ay isn’t among them. He is represented somewhere
else
separately, dressed in fur of leopard – sign of
great priest – and wearying a crown of pharaoh.
Isn’t that the top of pluck? And more, his name is written in a regal carton to
which he was entitled. But wait to listen amazing letter sent to Hittite king
(that is to traditional enemy of Egyptians) by poor widow Ankhesenamen: “My
kingly husband died. I remained now alone. I pray you, give my one of your sons
as husband. How could I, otherwise, to chose husband from my subjects? I am very much afraid…”etc. The Hittite king remained perplex reading such a
thing. To chose a husband of foreign kin , and even from the peoples enemy to
your own people, that was an unheard think. That means that something threatened
young princess, forcing her to resort to this desperate solution. Well now, the
Hittite king accepts the request and sends one of his sons; but on the way,
somewhere just at the borders of Egypt, the lad is assassinated…
Therefore, someone pretended to
window to take as husband a lay man and had hindered the attempt of regal union
with Hittite youngster: isn’t it true that it begins to make sense? Solution of
enigma had been found by professor Percy Newberry, an Egyptologist. A ring with
a pair of regal cartons (and only cartons of regal couple were engraved side by
side) carrying the names of young widow and old vizier Ay. Conclusion is like
riddle with mushroom. After he had liquidated his master, the old bandit
compelled Ankhesenamen to take him as husband and so to become king. Then he
had killed also her for making queen of Egypt his own consort, madam Ty.
Prove the fresco in the grave of usurper: although queen’s name in carton is erased, anybody can observe that it is a
carton too small that name of Ankhesenamen enter it, by comparison with
monosyllabic name of Mrs. Ay.
As a man of law, you ask yourself probably how
could remain unpunished a rascal of Ay kidney after all these crimes. It is
very simple, dear Struba. According to procedures and rules of that epoch, the
greatveizir couldn’t be judged by anybody else than pharaoh himself.
Consequently, the usurper planned his assassinates for period of pharaoh’s last
months of life, when he could profit fully by Tutankhamon’s agony, provoked
also by him.
But veiyir Ay couldn’t enjoy fruits of his
murders. He died himself after only three years of kingdom, and his grave has
been exemplary plundered.
And after so many injustices and sufferings,
one to not find his peace even in sarcophagus? Mummy just merits a revenge, no
matter who wrote that anonymous curse. In fact, inscription is a false problem,
because at entrance of graves you found frequently curses of genre “If anyone who ate lawless meat (pork, fish) or committed
adultery enters here, he will be punished in this world or on the other
world.”. That is no formula represents real danger, but the dead buried there.
So much by now about this unhappy child-king,
who liked so much magic toys and dry wine; rest, after my return in country,
when we will discuss your case. Which should be therefore moral of fable? That
indifferently what we believe about these occurrences, is wiser however to keep
ourselves far away from them for not getting into a nice hobble. See above
expression used by me, upon which I was drawing your attention: ”involved in a
manner or another one”. So that, guard yourself from cursed room to don’t find
also yourself, god-forbid, with some “fever of unknown origin”! Take example
from these poltroons, with their jokes on account of pharaoh’s curse: they have
taken all mummies from Valley
of Kings and housed them
in museums, with exception of
Tutankhamon’s mummy. Why so?
But strangest thing is that these occurrences
had been forebode even before Howard Carter made his life’s discovery. Living
alone during excavations in Valley
of Kings, the man had
purchased a canary. In a good day, the bird was eaten by a cobra, and Egyptian
servant of archaeologist has interpreted incident as a bad omen. But Carter
laughed of him. ”Don’t be stupid. See only snake be taken out of house.” Cobra
being just the sign on the forehead of pharaohs, mon cher...
I wait with impatience to see you again, dear
Struba, but for the time being I have
still to put into hump some reserves of heat for home winter (started however a
little too English). So that I close, telling Allah give you health, appetite
for food and, saying of Bedouin,
Salam-a-la-Alecu (Salami like to Alecu)
Prof. S. Turbala
P.S. Slanderous tongues say yet Lee Harvey
Oswald would have shoot Tutankhamon.
6
6
A dwarf coffee house hidden in a passage with
high vaults of yellow-saffron glass, with the ambient of a railway station from
Belle Epoque, somwhere in the former quarter of traders, today aggressively
invaded by buildings of banking societies. Here, in the peace of those only ten
square metres on which thronged a few ottomans and little tables, Struba found,
especially during winter evenings, intimacy refused by sordid outside world.
Any time was the same. With his savage beard of
hermit and spectacles with thick glasses, almost fascinating, the host welcomed
him with same friendly shake of hand, as one of home, offering ideal sit near
by terracotta stove. Knowing his tastes by heart, he retired then beyond meter
of bar to prepare consumption. Red Campari with a black little coffee. Thought
never changed too many words, both being content to keep under control a kind
of reciprocal and recomforting discretion, however Struba new about him
something what a common customer wouldn’t suspect. He wasn’t only a patron
among many others; he was a passionate musicologist, working hardly since many
years to a jazz dictionary, after only one existing by then on market – Mihai
Berindei’s from ’76 – would be a premiere of last two decades.
He only had arranged his back in ottoman with
long exercised moves, when Rut entered coffee house. With her usual tired air,
spiced with an almost imperceptible irony, with relief of cheek bones reddened
by cold, taller now in topcoat with simple cut nut without fault, Struba couldn’t
abstain to admire her in secret, as if they were at first meeting. He could
swear also the host made exactly same think when greeted her with impeccable discretion.
-It is last time I put my cheek in your favor,
Al. What, for god, made you to doctor Tarus last evening?
Struba stood innocently, with tended arms, like
two lightning rods greeting storm.
-Me? I swear on my metro permit I never made
him anyting. Do you order same thing like me?…
She even didn’t hear him. And fact she sat
without undressing her cloak didn’t fore tell anything good.
-You treated him as tribe chief.
-He treated me as a pale-face.
-So you recognize?! Bravo, Al, man offers his
services with kindness, and you gratify him in exchange with offenses.
Struba seemed to detect a slight signal of
compassion in her voice. Or perhaps his radar over challenged by sleepless last
nights went out of order. He snarled with little crocodile teeth:
-Madam, it is something between you…
-Come on , Al, don’t play jealous with me! she
irritated. I offered you chance of collaboration with an expert, and you kick
aside. I don’t understand you at all. Do or don’t you what you want?
-I want to do it at me.
-If Tarus is somehow antipathetic, this is your
business. But don’t put me, as intermediary, in an unpleasant posture because
of your blunders. Not to say that our meeting was hosted just by him.
-What a good hosting. He didn’t serve us at
least with sink water. More stingy like a Getty. It is seen that he didn’t
receive ever, like that one, an ear by post.
Ashtray in which only a cigarette had been put
out disappeared as if by magic. Instead of it, on the little table, another one
appeared, virgin. Struga thanked vaguely, by sigh, to host.
-Let me tell you what was it. He tried to play
with me as elder brother. He wanted to convince me to let him in room by his
head, to clean alone there with his aspirator of ghosts. Reason? I should
endanger , as it were, my health assisting him to energetic test. I explained
him friendly legal procedures hinder me to give my agreement , but he didn’t
take me seriously, convinced incorrigible I refuse it only out of pride and
bravery.
-But seemingly you took him seriously? I wonder
you didn’t arrest him under suspicion of quackery .
Struba risen his shoulders, robbing his orbits
under spectacles.
-It’s not my guilt law doesn’t recognize to
radiesthesy the value of judicial expertise. That regulates it nowhere. Or, he
wants me to speculate just this normative gap. If insufficiency itself of law
hinders artificially finding of truth in an investigation, then it is worth to
be surpassed: see the theory. But I contradicted him: the only insufficiency in
the way of truth is cerebral insufficiency. Of which I (yes, I) will be accused
if I will motivate my final conclusions of investigation by quoting, in absence
of something else, opinion of an occultist. When I’ve told this, he got
annoyed. It is as if an Englishman would get aggrieved when being told he lives
on an island.
-Normally he got annoyed. No parapsychologist
likes to be taken as juggler in fair. Don’t you know The Magician of Hieronymus Bosch?
-I know that of Fowles…
-You alone said obscurantist superstitions are
one and totally other ting are scientific controversies. And I hope you don’t
classify somehow doctor Tarus in first category.
-To be sincere, I thing he is unclassifiable…
Rut started counting by fingers.
-Reader at Faculty of cognitive sciences and
parapsychology. Graduated in medicine. Bio-energo-therapeutician diplomat.
Doctor in psychology. Certified as master practitioner in bio-detection. Member
in two-three international associations. Collaborator to a legion of
publications. He reads two books every day. And this is an obscurantist?
-Oh, our priest Victorash red 32 books daily!
Greatest poker player in village…
Rut watched him supported by little table with
crossed arms, in a neuter expectancy. She reminded him:
-I’ve asked you something.
-Let me first remind you how arrived we up to
here. I had asked you to recommend me someone for a scientific test. You told
me you know an expert in the field and we came to a common agreement to arrange
an appointment. Instead, in place of radiesthetic test, your mysticoid starts
to speak me about cursed houses and malefic patterns. Total deception. In rest,
nothing to say: politeness, skin armchairs, cuckoo clock. And, while I was for
you there to come from hospital, he tries to frighten me with killing room, how
I’d risk becoming myself possessed by suicide idea. Seemingly it was question
some demons possessed me!
After her custom, Rut had fish from glass her
piece of lemon reddened and started to crunch separate of drink.
-It is the same thing, she said. So was spoken
also about collective hysteria in Morzine. That they weren’t possessed by any
demon, but only by “the idea they
were possessed by it”. But just idea, autosuggestion you’d be enslaved to demon
it is itself that enslavement! You
can’t only “autosuggestion” yourself that you are damned, without really be so,
unless you don’t suffer somehow by syndrome Cotard.
-What’s that?
-Let it drop, Al, coffee house may be closed
before I end explaining to you
-Well, but today demonology doesn’t present
more than a historical interest, you must recognize it.
-You want to say its caricature vision in
fashion during Middle Age, with teeth less dams taking off on besom handle and
devils perched on jambs. Yes, of course, today we don’t say devil any more, but
“malefic pattern”. We don’t have black spells, but “paranormal”. Philosophers
don’t think any more, they “process”. You don’t here now about mass Satanism,
but about “imitative suggestion”. And, what? Phenomena remain same: Orleans in 1972, Guyana in 1978, etc. They don’t
care a fiddlestick about our moony terminology. Neither cultural explanations
nor those clinical succeed yet to elucidate their true nature
-But simulation? As technique of calumny, as it
had happened in Salem…
-Don’t say, do you really believe diabolic
possession can be simulated by a man
normal at head? Such sortileges outrun even resources of most pervert
psychopaths.
-Sortileges?
-Diabolic uses of imagination.
Supported relaxed with his back by stove,
Struba thought to extravagant reconstitution experienced by Lastaru with the
room
-But even your friend Tarus told me last
evening about a worker at gold mines in Johannesburg,
who had died unexpectedly receiving a message of threat from part of a wizard voodoo, autopsy couldn’t find to death
any other explanation than fear. As proof how deep can fall in autosuggestion’s
trap.
-And your tenants in barrier of Vergului of
whose fear to kill themselves: voodoo witches
in Johannesburg?
Kahuna priests in Hawaii?
-Precisely, it is not need to be cursed by
someone for jumping balcony out of fear. A small earthquake is enough, a fire,
a paranoia. But even a scene of jealousy, as happened in past September or
August, when at return from delegation a
X-scu surprised his consort in flagrant de-relish. Her bibic-lover,
seized by panic jumps window from fourth floor. Horned husband calls by phone
the morgue for undertakers. But when hearse arrive, take the corpse from
nowhere!…After landing, bibic-lover ran like blazes nimble (he was professor of
sport) in suit of nudist. Judge Thomas Troward said fear is a fruit you sow
yourself when recognizing existence of a power outside yoy. As peaceful as
could it be. From what you fear you don’t escape, just because you fear: this is essence of this victimology.
-False, Rut cut it without carousal. True Solomon
saying sound like this: “Of what fears the
miscreant, he doesn’t escape”, just because
is a miscreant. You boasted you
read a lot of Scripture, but I see you didn’t reach yet Proverbs. It is not, therefore, a psychological but ethical
question. Otherwise, all honest people, day by day unjustly harassed and
threatened would fill in hospitals and morgue , for they fear more than
miscreants. Don’t sell me cucumbers, my lover, psycho-analysis guesses. That
judge of you better would look after his wig and little hammer…
Amused, Struba remembered factory Hammer from Nadrag(Pants). To be a young
woman employed there and “work to hammer in pants”.
-He has other cares now, for in between he also
received subpoena for Last Judgment. As about saint Scriptures, learn you that
I already reached Facts. And what do
you think I find there? Exactly what I was telling you just now. Exposed as
liars and greedy in front of all community, Anania and his wife Safira die on
spot by fright. Here is example. For
Peter only had pulled comradely their ears, he didn’t curse them at all to die.
So their own fear itself for God’s curse killed them.
-Rubbish, not exposure in front of God put them
in fear, but exposure in front of community – Rut contradicted him. For God
didn’t need Peter’s finding to know truth about them. We all know we can lie
each other but alone we can’t indulge in illusions. If the couple was so afraid
of divine curse, then they wouldn’t deceive. Only honest man is afraid of God’s
punishment.
-But fear of demonic energies? Struba didn’t
give up. Your Stake made my head swim with so/called malefic pattern of room.
-It is not “my Stake” she snarled. He was only
a colleague of faculty, seemingly I’ve already told you.
She never said “Unicorn”- Struba noticed, and
this seemed strange to him. Really, how did she address this GUGUSTIUC in four eyes.
She, “our common friend”…
-I see we remained the last around.
Struba noticed only now alight lights in window
of spectacles shop on passage. It had made already closing hour, but host of
coffee house, with perfect good sense, didn’t react yet.
A diffuse jazz was heard from somewhere,
meditative.
-Let us draw at once a conclusion, she said
exhausted.Need you, or don’t need any more his collaboration?
-I hope you don’t wait somehow from me, in
exchange, to apologize on knees to the paranormal…
-You could make, at least, some concessions.
-Concessions mean already love.
It sound strange, as trying to convince self.
He pulled on him jacket as quick as a
soldier
-Do you hear?…John Coltrane.
They came out on door as two actors after a
repetition.
On their back, someone kneaded the saxophone
long time, wounding his fingers. A sorrowful and fulsome jazz, sadness of
metals.
As two actors for who knows what time.
And any time, at departure, it was absolutely
same.
An empty coffee house, abandoned chairs
cracking under weight of absences.
Outside, in night, city twinkling like an eye
of owl.
Far away, a groan of tramways on death bed in
depot.
7
“The undersigned Iozefin Zeno, resided in Aleea
Hanovra no.10, acrobat of Circus Globus in the staff of troop Zeno, in
connection with aspects I was asked about I declare on oath the following: I
came to know master David Ovidian in 1990, soon after my entrance in the
make-up of troop, with occasion of a tour effectuated in Italy, where we were
partners in a few performances. In respective period, Ovidian was still titular
of snakes training items, practiced without assistants, being appreciated as
one circus’s most experienced veterans. After closing of above-reminded tour,
in the evening of eve of returning to country, being in Calcutta we have been invited to a banquet.
There, master Ovidian betted with some Punjab Hindus that he will exceed them
at number of portions of Tandoori with rice saffron in spicy souce; and
succeeding indeed, he gain as award a cobra and a small Tibetan Buddha. After
returning home, giving me statuette as souvenir, he kept for him reptile. I
specify that had already extracted purse of venom. He brought it to residence,
where he acclimatized in a balcony closed by glass, in intention to prepare with
it an item of training. At short time after, his wife started to intervene at
direction of circus and at impressariat , complaining she couldn’t live with
him any more and she was terrorized by cohabitation with snake in own
household. .Ovidian was called and asked to find urgently a reasonable solution
offering to him in alternative a trailer of menagerie with necessary
facilities. However, Master couldn’t let him convinced to renounce to snake, of
whom he attached uncommonly strong. After two-three weeks, he was notified he
could have nuisances due to his stubbornness, because management of circus
cannot afford a scandal which would diminish its cash, even so insufficient.
But he maintained unchanged his
attitude. More, as a rebuff to sanitary-veterinary controls, repeated
convocations to police and administrative conflicts harassing him, Ovidian
refused to come to one of representations, threatening at same time he will
make known in press encroach of his elementary right to respect of private life. His unexpected absence (and of
boa serpents) from the said performance turned topsy-turvy all evening program,
the tigers training having to be replaced by hens training. Management of
circus pretended him, of course, damages. Later on however, they renounce to
call him in justice, learning his wife had sued him at law for divorce. In exchange,
it was refused to him prolongation of
contract, offering him a post of janitor at menagerie. Due to lack of money, he
was compelled to accept it temporarily, until emigration to USA for which
he had asked already visa, but soon after post was eliminated following
reduction of scheme. Personally, I knew master Ovidian sufficiently close to be
able to convince myself he was a n individual in completeness of his mental faculties,
in spite of extravagances with which shocked. He was recognized as maniac of
snakes, from where also mangle of his name in Ofidianu by some slier journalists, but this obsession was pure
professional. Frequent gossips and calumnies circulated on his account,
especially after divorce, but he didn’t react to them, being preoccupied
exclusively by emigation. He hadn’t recognized enmities or big debts. He
complained sometimes he had prostituted his talent for little or nothing, that
he considers himself a sold one, but I was never witness to some depressive
crisis. He didn’t use to drink much, or at least nobody have seen him in state
of intoxication. I never visited him personally at home, I only know he was
living somewhere about barrier of Vergului, with rent at state. When I learnt
from troop colleagues news he had thrown from floor, I thought it was refused
emigration visa, what however later on, to my sirprise, didn’t confirm. That
much I know, declare and sign hereby.”
8
You skim throuh a juicy onion thin leaf by thin
leaf and read in it as in a calendar. First you string on table twelve leaves,
one for each month of year. You crush then in fist a ball of salt and let it
snow over them. And thin leaf will absorb first the salt, that month will be
the rainiest.
Calendar of onion.
With a fist blow full of fury, Struba broke
onion in front of him, sullying the desk.
-Rape!!
He snatched file from hands of archive keeper,
who remained standing in front of him, undecided. And after he traversed feverishly first pages, he forgotten
suddenly unbearable rain outside, for
first time since a week.
Suspicion germinated in mind then, listening to
Unicorn how he was telling him about dwarf’s revenge for consort violated by
soldiers. Next day, he asked verification of criminal record of Aurel Bau, last
victim of the room. And see it. Condemned fourteen years ago for participation
to a group rape. It couldn’t be a better mobile of crime than vendetta, in
scenario of premeditation based on occasionalism.
Now he knew he was on good road. Exalted, he
felt need to drink a concentration.
-Be good and chew your gum-ciunga in your
office,O.K.?
-You didn’t sign for receipt, archive keeper
reminded him.
He almost dropped gum among words. Impertinent,
titivated, with ring in little ear. Probably he hardly finished his lyceum, and
already pretended to be someone. And you may think that “free” access to
justice of lay mortal is throttled , in overfull tribunals, by some little
cocks like him.
He put his hieroglyph on expedition register
and aired him. Then took the file and buried in reading.
He hardly perceived noise of a door closing
somewhere.
Alone again, till late evening, there in mid
city.
On roofs, same drums rattling of rain
announcing new executions.
9
-I am late because of a small incident occurred
on way, Lastaru excused himself pulling to him an ottoman to sit on.
-Mr. procurator Lastaru from Criminology, Mr.
professor Turbala from University – Struba made presentations summarily.
They shaken cordially the hands, with much
interest.
-Sever Turbala in person, fright of Balkan
archaeologists and ethnographers?
Professor laughed, full of good will.
-You exaggerate. Let say, at most, fright of
studenthood.
-But of what incident is question? Struba
asked.
-The taxi driver who brought me up here was
stopped by a platoon
Sergeant, to control his tax apparatus.
Policeman stares at meter, suspicious, shakes it, more he also blows a fist to
see if it doesn’t change somehow figures, as at mechanic games when you get
irritated for didn’t come out more than two plums out of three. Driver put hand
on radio station and asks dispatcher to communicate loudly, to listen also the organs, how much is kilometer at them.
From loudspeaker, a tenebrous voice answers plainly:”Do transmit to Mr.
policeman at us kilometer is 1000 meters”. Normally I mada on spot a crisis of
laughing close to madness. Highly astonished, sergeant turned toward me. For it
is just known, who laughs is suspect. He makes solemn: “I don’t know what is so
amusing…”. “How, you just don’t know?” No, he just didn’t know, poor he! And
start again laughing, that lever pained. Why making it longer, I’ve lost a
quarter of hour haggling with him
Lastaru and professor ordered vodka and tomato
juice, and Struba dry Campari.
-Actually such an incident deserved the delay!
Professor spoke well disposed. Otherwise, Mr. Lastaru . you even didn’t lose
big thing till now, except some banal impressions of journey I shared with my
friend.
-Mr. professor just returned from Egypt, Struba explained,
rising his glass. How it is said in Arabian “noroc” (good luck, cheers),
profssor?
-“Fatality”!
They laughed and drunk. The coffe house,
unusually agglomerated for that early hour, seemed to have become a refuge at
once with intensification of miserable sleet outside. Even shops in passage,
rarely visited by passers-by, had been taken now by assault.
-At them everything is fatality also Allah,
professor resumed. By ’81, when I had opened archaeological workshop in
Sulemania, I ate according to appetite of heart in houses of Iraqi peasants.
Traditional menu was composed from rice instead of bread, mutton meat, and at
dessert milk of she buffalo made thin
with iced water , as a substitute of wine. Without silver plate, only
with naked hand. Wondering for such goodies, I asked them from where such a
luck on their had. “From Allah”, they goaded ceiling by finger. If ceiling
exists. For village schools, for instance, hadn’t roof, but only four wals, and
between children learned staying
barefooted on sand. This in contrast with sumptuous villas of Assyrians in the
North, kin of aristocrats. But as rudimentary as habitat would been, it ate
one’s fill. Even in precincts of village were we made excavations, built out of
two meters high earth wall, commerce flourished. But also in full desert,
between villages at more than fifty kilometers each other, you found always
some modernized halt: electricity,
refrigerating installation, Pepsi-Cola at ice.
-Honest, I wouldn’t imagine, Struba wondered.
-Me neither. First weeks I had so much fat
fish, that we could have open, on the place of archaeological camp, a CHERHANA.
War wit Iran
had provoked a terrible penury of engine oil. Whereof, for a can of oil they
fish you immediately from EufratEUFRAT a huge sheath-fish or a basket with
anguillas that door of freezer didn’t close any more. You ate like home at
mother. You could ask them anything, only toward their woman don’t stare
somehow, that you found yourself full with some bullet, also “from Allah”, it
is understood.
-I, for one, better miss their hospitality,
instead of letting me pushesd in ribs with gun! Lastaru splashed with eyes
ready polished by vodka.
-It is right they threatened us sometimes,
professor agreed. Especially young Muslims recruited too early for troops.
According to work division at them, men would be “warriors” from Dumezil’s
scheme, bellatores…
-And then,
laboratores? Lastaru asked, erudite.
-“Workers” are women. When a boy is born to
them, is big joy: for male children family receives substantial allowances from
state, having all interest to thicken ranks of troops. Therefore, you aren’t
surprise, seeing today in hands of kids a Kalashnikov, ideal toy, with which
they frightened us just to give themselves importance. Only Russian there, they
were afraid to threaten for had from them a beat sister with death. In rest,
gun has been introduced even in sacred rituals. After they prayed on banks of
river Tipis, kneeled on their mat, they shoot three fires of revolver in water,
“to die Shaitan”, that is devil.
-Shaitan, Satan…Struba remarked. Interesting!
-But let us come back to our ships, Struba,
that road is long up to sheepfold. I suppose also Mr. colleague is as well
preoccupied by your wolf…
-The wolf? Lastaru made.
-Wolf searched by friend Struba, who eats
always sheep in room from eighth floor…Is there, indeed, a wolf or not? He
asked himself. But I should ask, first, something else: Do we know, indeed,
what wolf is, or not? For, to demonstrate logically if curses exist or not,
that means to join some definitions end to end. Leibniz’ chain of definitions,
“demonstratio est catena definitionum”,
a jewel of history of Logics. That is chain of demonstration, if you remember
from school…
Lastaru excused himself with simplicity:
-I don’t remember other than golden chain from
my mother, lost on the stadium at match UTA-Petrol.
-As jurists, you practice currently
argumentation as working method, isn’t so? And arguments “of iron “signify
chains with resistant links. Let’s take, therefore, if you agree, first link.
What curse is, in fact, Struba?
Taken unprepared by didactic turn of
discussion, Struba seemed embarassed.
-Come on, draw a lot.
-A magic attack, I believe.
-Unlucky! Common confusion between curse and
black magic. The curse is invocation by words of some supernatural powers and
orientation of these against someone. But, independently from man’s
intervention, supernatural justice can also manifest from own initiative.
Classic example – divine curse fallen over entire Creation due to original sin.
Analogy with a judiciary trial, as risky as it be, comes almost from itself.
For, formulating his accusations in front of supernatural court and asking it
RITOS to give a sentence, the one who curses acts just like a procurator in
front of supreme instance. From where also difference: while requisition character is of essence of
human curse, sentence character is of
essence of divine curse. As meritorious procurators you will easily operate
with this analogy.
In sign of gratitude for flattery, Struba and Lastaru
toasted theatrically with glass toward dean of table, like some boyars at a
regal table.
-Supernatural justice you said…That is, God
justice?
-Not necessarily. Sometimes it is called
intervention of malefic forces. Babylonians believed that illness would belong
to imprecations addressed to devil by malevolent man, who asks his help against
fellows And addressees should be more.
You will find mentioned in some editions Longman
even the spirits among
supernatural instances to whom that who curses can address. It seems to
legitimate. For example, in Roman antiquity, that set against enemy was the
spirit of person prematurely deceased, in whose grave was buried a little plate
of lead called defixio, with curses
written on it. Only taking seriously Lex Cornelia , which punished “killing” of
someone by this procedure, you can understand why have been put under
accusation Pisones for death of emperor Germanicus. In fact, true assassin, one
Plancinus, had used some poisoned prefumes but as Tacitus was poor at
chemistry, he was less impressed by killer’s ingenuousness than bones, mortuary
ashes and lead inscription discovered then in precincts of regal palace.
-In conclusion, today are in circulation more
lexicographical variants, Struba summed up.
-It is just difficult to conciliate economy of
definition with diversity of curse species met in practice. However,
definitions concord, generally, at least concerning some key-terms: as nature,
curse is an “invocation”, and as means it realizes “by words”. Exactly what
differentiate it from magic!
For unlike who curses – who invokes by prayer supernatural help, the
magician orders supernatural to
manifest it, making from it executor of his own sentence. Medieval magician,
already schooled in Kabbala, in
scholarly alchemy recipes became a fashion, couldn’t by any more satisfied by
pathetic step about supernatural authorities. He doesn’t any more implore to
not intervene, but himself intervenes commending to demons like to some
subalterns. Trade union of section with continuous fire of Inferno was convened
by exorcist either by goetic cries, or by verbal alchemy formulas, palindromes,
cryptograms, caimateCAIMATE like Judaic Shabriri,
briri, riri,ri.
-Sounds like a refrain of Dolanescu, Struba
giggled.
-Or like Latin Amore, more, ore, re – Lastaru added.
-Yes, but with another function. As you see,
dear Struba, these exorcists proceeded alternatively, just like militia man at
investigation: either pulled out devils from you with cross words, or hurled.
-But how answered with so much docility His
Darkness to these calls? For they weren’t appeals on “hot and humid” line.
-It was obliged, for he concluded a preliminary
pact signed by exorcist with own blood. Then, magic rituals accompanying
usually thee convocations: another element of differentiation. Gestures. In
curse, no gesture is essential, nut word.
-If you permit me, Lastaru intervened. There
exist however curses which respect some normative, after a fix ritual. At us in
Vilcea it cursed in older time by making
cross and kissing earth. Or hags: did you see them how accurse keeping a candle
with flame downward? Or in some compulsory context, like in the curse of
“substituted godfathers”, uttered in church during wedding. That is don’t these
practice enter category of curse?
-As an ethnological category, yes!. But as a
theological category, these naïve procedure invented by people are pure
facultative. With what could help pious kissing of mother-earth to relent of
Heaven? It is as if you would believe the judge can’t condemn a guilty if
procurator comes to trial with spots of sauce on sleeves.
-Are you, then, convinced efficiency of curse
never depends on procedure?
-On procedure, never. Hand works are for
requisite of black magic. There charm doesn’t succeed to you if you don’t
respect strictly the ritual. Majority of spells are based on homology principle
from Table of emerald or on other
didactic writings of Hermes Trismegistus. Destruction of objects belonging to
enemy or which symbolize him, isn’t so? Old Egyptians wrote names of enemies on
pots which then crushed – custom disappeared, more than sure, with today
prices.
-If by inattention I would broke somehow pot
from Ming period, my aunt would crack on spot even without I write her name on
it!
Lastaru stared at them, agitating tomato juice
in glass.
-It was a true magic execution, professor
completed. Even gods were exposed to this dangerous charm.
-Really then, why why didn’t they use this
question with pots also in class battle? Lastaru made waggish.
-Yes, of course. Breasted quotes a complot by
which it was tried assassination of Pharaoh Ramses III through black magic.
-Failed complot? Perhaps they didn’t write
legibly name on pot.
-There were cases also in later epochs. Death
of catholic Carol IXth, at age of only 24 years, had been put as well on
account of some spells of Protestants who melted daily masks of wax with king’s
shape within some funeral ministries. Protestants, on the contrary, had
interpreted agony of king as a sign of divine curse for massacre in the night
of St. Bartholomew. Similar rituals, like pricking a puppet with needles or
breaking a little statue, are still practiced today by wizards voodoo.
Perspired, Struba took out with pain his Tyrol coat, like a shed snake, because of crowd renounced
to take it to back door peg , and kept it on knees. Atmosphere in coffee house
became suffocating. Bluish smoke of cigarette, voices, jazz, spoons tinkling,
lady perfume, all together composed a stifling mixture in too narrow space.
Among overfull little tables, the host slinked with difficulty piloting his
little tray. He followed him by sight. Eternally walking, bowed over heads,
with beard as long as night. Apostle shepherding his small flock.
Professor arranged on nose his thick
spectacles, close relative of theatre binoculars.
-There should be however some retouches to be
made to judicial analogy applicable to this transcendent process called
curse…Look, this supernatural interventionism. Mistakenly it is believed
commonly it should be always a justice act. Because directing intervention
forces toward somebody doesn’t mean necessarily application of some sanctions. On the contrary, sometimes,
divine intervention is invoked as a therapeutic act, by exorcisms against demon
considered responsible for a illness or some “making”, the aim followed being
thus obtaining of a protection or a remedy. As you know, up to invention of
aspirin, old women healed with exorcisms. Their therapy was based on
traditional faith in moral causes of illnesses unleashing, etiology called by
Babinski “psychiatism”. Consequently, remedy had to be required from divinity,
from where also stereotype formula:”From me the exorcism, from god the heal”.
But only roughly speaking God, for otherwise, nominal, maladies were
distributed among different saints in calendar, exactly like at my dispensary
in the quarter. For example, at dermatology cabinet, St. Toader gave
consultations to orthodox Christians, solicited specially by bald-headed men.
We have also St. Sisoe, specialist in infectious illnesses (malaria), St.
Martsi at neuropsychiatry:
And I came to
clean me
And wash me of
hate
and Macedonians from Krushova consulted for
LINGOARE an anonymous white Fairy, ideal as medical overall
suggestion. Catholics had their own polyclinic, much more endowed, but also
with doctors more pretentious than those of Orthodox. But even avenging, it is
said, that they were capable to fill you with boils if no properly honored.
Thus they had at dermatology St. Anton, orthopedics St. Pius, urology St.Damian,
epidemiology Sebatian and Rochus (probably in shifts), stomatology St.Apolonia
(to this martyr woman teeth had been taken out), venereal diseases St. Denis.
Venerated were specially 14 so-called Helpers, compact group of therapeutic
saints, competent in treating any kind of internal diseases. They had
privatized in such a degree toward end of Middle Age, that their direct
invocation arrived to not depend any more by God, danger which determined
Church to prohibit at last the cult, became almost idolatry.
Lastaru risen school like two fingers:
-Excuse me, but seemingly you said distinction
between magic and curse…I want say, exorcisms are magic remedies, are they not?…
-In their content, yes. But as form, exorcisms
can be presented not only as prayer, commend, or threat, but also as curse. But
unlike occasional curses, whose form is free, here verbal formulas are free,
effect itself of exorcism depending by strictness with which text recipes were
respected.
-Then, exorcism is only compulsory conduct for
a curse to be dressed in?
-Very plastic said. Indeed. Without it, curse
wouldn’t be permitted to enter popular medicine which, in fact, as rudimentary
and fanciful should have been, had same rigor of prescription as actual therapy in scientific medicine. So is explain
also why popular theurgy, different from daily accurses, wasn’t at anybody’s
hand, presupposing from side of practitioner thorough knowledge of traditions,
of green pharmacy, a prolonged exercise and a strong memory. Really, take a
thought: an exorcism of white eye in Marian’s collection counts, alone, 137
verses. Complexity, but particularly specialization of curses (corresponding to
hundred of maladies and infirmities) made out of this empirical old women’s
medicine a true iatrogeny .
-What theurgy means? Struba asked.
-White magic. Good fairy in tale, possibly
blond.
-Therefore, when packed up in scholarly packing
of an exorcism, the curse serves as medicine, this is idea…summarized Struba,
compelling himself to keep the step.
-The medicine administrated commonly
recuperative (let call it curse-remedy) or, more rear, preventive (apotropaic
curse, isn’t it?). If illness with which is fighting is itself consequence of a
curse, then exorcism make itseld echo of this, turning it from trajectory against
that who threw it, commonly an anonymous. Look, Indian exorcisms in Atharva-veda. They prayed god Indra to
conquer “reply” of enemy, to beat him in “battle of words”. Isn’t so that
expression has virtues of a true definition? Or Babylon exorcisms used as antidote against
mortal spells. Lenormant commented them as a boomerang. A curse in the mirror..
-And our old women?
-At us, curses-remedy have maxim frequency
against those who hoodoo. The guilty, almost always anonymous, is accursed to
burst his skin, to wipe his children of hunger, etc. Also with curses Arabian
women heal those jinxed,only they accurse with the breaking of eyes. Hungarian
women accurse men their ass to break. Others wish you to fall your hair or
teeth.
-Well at least don’t wish more to fall other
thing, these women! Lastaru observed. Or you omitted it out of pudibundity.
-As foul-mouthed they are, it is not excluded.
For neither sun nor moon escape. To hoodoo someone, they wish “to fall his
rays, to perish his light, the darkness remain”.
-That is for the seek of jinxed, all of us to
remain in darkness, just now when kilowatt grew dearer.
But Struba, who reflected apart, seemed rather
tangled up than amused.
-And yet, these examples of “therapeutic” curse
Have not, really, a justiciary character? Be dead X-scu for living X-it.
-No, for not death of X-scu is the aim, but
healing of X-it. Guilty is only offensive aspect of definition, which gives us
illusion that aim of curse should be, invariably, making justice. Totally
false. Many times, appeal to heavenly justice is nothing else than a necessary
mean to obtain some positive effects. Really, weren’t thrown curses over escape
goat with aim of saving community? Was not the oath sanctioned with curse for
granting a solemn promise in front of Supreme Judge? Hadn’t Job cursed own birth, in shape of
abandon, of renouncing to divine judgment? See then a diversity of scopes
proving that claim of supernatural intervention doesn't’ aim always at
condemning.
-In other words, varieties of curse devolve
just from diversity of scopes which can be followed by who curses? Lastaru
concluded, interested by the newness of this notice.
Listening him, Struba felt almost envious. He
didn’t succeed to understand, how, hell, was functioning this distillery of him
in which you thrust vodka and get out pure thinking
-Justly! professor approved. Definition tells
you only what is curse – an appeal to
intervention of supernatural powers – but doesn’t say also why the appeal is made. And wouldn’t make sense to do it, because,
otherwise, if all species of curse be enumerated there, it would be not any
more a definition but a classification.
-And in total, about how many species of curse
would be?
The university man stayed a few seconds in
balance. A kind of prayer with head in chest.
-It would be easier to see them put on paper,
he opted.Have we something of writing?
Lastaru extracted from bag a few white sheets
covered in a blue cover of a file. They pushed glasses apart, giving off table
as much as they could.
-Therefore, a classification according to
criterion of scope followed…
In an attitude of a laboratory worker bowed
over microscope, professor hesitated in front of white desert. Writers’ “fright
of paper”. But before two-three minutes have passed, page had already bean
onquered by a small and nervous writing.
JUSTICIARY
CURSE
|
EXPIATORY
CURSE
|
JOB’S
CURSE
|
KEREM
CURSE
|
APOTROPAIC
CURSE
|
REMEDY
CURSE
|
accusation
|
sacrifice (for
saving community)
|
recuse (renouncing
to divine justice)
|
granting (sanction of an
oath)
|
repair
|
protection
|
hetero-curse
|
auto-curse
|
||||
against man
|
against other beings,
objects, places, phenomena
|
against demon
|
|||
DIVIN
(sentence)
|
HUMAN
(requisitory)
|
||||
CURSE
|
-I reserve however my right to some
hesitations, having in view that it is a premiere… professor grumbled, with
head shoved in scheme was just
finalizing.
They saw him then examining some more time,
preoccupied.
-That is, there are not precedents in study of
this phenomenon? Struba wondered.
-Taxonomic precedents, no, as far as I know,
professor answered twisting about on his chair. So, denominations given here to
varieties of curses are pure conventional, you understand.
-A classification of arbor type, Lastaru
noticed.
-It shouldn’t be just that little tree full of fruits
shaken by your uncle Adam? Struba laughed.
-Well you said! professor confirmed. Can be
just “tree of death” in Kabbala, of
whose leaves first people had been punished to make attires, instead of
paradise light covering initially their nudity. A mortal, thanatognomonic tree.
-Well, but prohibited fruit grew in “knowledge
tree” and not in “death tree”…
-Is one and same think, didn’t get it? That you
can not make knowledge with old Lady
without being definitively overlapped by her. Could you really know biblically
Lucrece Borgia without being mortally poisoned by her lipstick? And in order to
sell these sticks, you hire as salesman a flippant snake. But not like those in
Baneasa zoo, in windows with thermometer in mouth like malaria patients. I
don’t know if that ophis primigeniu looked just like Temptation of a Rembrandt or of a Hugo van der Goes, but it is
certain at origin it hadn’t today handicap, since punishment thrown by Creator
over him has been just a teratogen
curse: ”Because you did this, cursed be you among all animals…on belly
to drag…”, to turn into handbag and shoes, etc. Otherwise, Islamic legends
confirm that, at origin, ophidians were most beautiful animals, feared and
respected for their clever intelligence, admired and envied for jewel skin they
had been endowed. Therefore devil had all chances to be seducer in his suit of
“pretty” serpent, specially in front of a woman, being weaker of…angel.
-What is a teratogen curse? Struba inquired.
-One which cripples you, leaving you infirm on life.
Or mimes you like fists of Cassius Clay.
-Anyhow, if something tempted trainer Dan
Ovidian to jump from balcony, that wasn’t his Indian cobra. This is something
as clear as fact the fable with first serpent and with loose of immortality
represent a pure Hebraic allegory.
-Don’t be so sure, dear Struba. Tradition
tree-serpent-cheating exists all over the earth, even in consciousness of
tribes most isolated from the rest of world. Even in Bismark archipelago, devil
knows where, indigenous say today how their ancestors had been warned by
Kono-Kono-I-don’t-know-how over danger of losing immortality and how he cursed
them then to become mortal for disobeying. Scheme of man cheated by a reptile
is repeated everywhere, from Africa to New Guinea, from Indo-chine and to
Orinocco basin. Where from this universality? To don’t speak about rests
remained from Adamic universal language, spoken by archaic generations. See,
prohibited fruit: where from this negative symbolism of apples?…
-Well, since Snow White has been taken with
that poisoned apple.
-…In Latin “wrong” is said malum, but first Latin called so the apple. Time after it was said pomum, preserved today by French in pomme and pomme de terre, and by us in terms like pom (tree),poama
(fruit),pomina (fame). Poama (vicious) Lucrece Borgia, for instance, isn’t so?
Therefore, with pejorative value! And when you plunge into difficulty, don’t
you say even today “I am in pom (tree)”? Or the English: up a tree. You tell, now, Struba: what else are all these rests if
not traces of adventure de pomina (of
repute) of offender Adam? For you are criminology procurator, a specialist in
traces left, isn’t so, by offenders. From his guilt, today you are mortal..
Instead of leaving you as heritage a villa in Breaza, he left you the gene of
death for his eternal pomenire
(mentioning)! You get amused, Struba, but even most fanatic atheist in world
reproduces in subconscious manner paradigm of prohibited tree, when he advises
his little children in the morning, before leaving for ministry: Little hares,
play nicely until I’ll be back and don’t eat petards in Christmas tree that you surely will die!
Struba started to examine more attentively
scheme drawn by professor.
-Curses against demon, that is…Scope: either
protection or repair. Curse-remedy I saw already what means. Well. But
curse…”apotropaic”? spelled Struba in difficulty.
-Protector against bad spirits. Preventive
medicine. Because just like medical therapy, exorcism is ambivalent, both
recuperative and prophylactic. Contrary to prejudice exorcisms would be
exclusively repairing, in practice you find phylacters “at bearer” made out of
shortened prayers hanged on neck as general prophylaxis against malefic forces.
During Middle Age, amulets Abracadabra were
as banal as are today condoms. Now, formula is met only through fairs, at
jugglery with rabbits pulled out from huts, used as funny children mumbling,
like euphonies of type babble.
-Wasn’t it, in fact, a talisman?
-But yes, a defensive curse, imagined by
contraction of Hebraic Abreg ad habra,
a kind of “thunder on him”. It was written by repetition in a triangle with top
downward, like route indicator for priority “Give up passing”, so that you can
read it in thousands kinds. At sight of this sign of circulation, devils were
compelled to stop and concede free passing to bearer of this talisman, because
its geometry oriented from up down divine benevolent energies. And so you could
escape eventually some convulsive coughing, some scab or some influenza. We
also had prayers filled with curses. Didn’t they bring you in childhood, when
coughing, to village old ladies to make you notes for “the ague”?
-About me, when coughing, father was killing me
in beating and searching for cigarettes – Lastaru remembered.
-How filled with curses? Struba didn’t
understand.
-Same as you fill in with garlic lamb stew. For
example ancient Prayer of taking out
devil, attributed to saint Sisoe, of Bogomilic origin; we borrowed it from
Bulgarians as recipe against fever, but with time, by successive processing, it
arrived to be good at everything. It ends with a curse of archangel Michael. It
says: “I swear you have no power of
approaching Struba’s house, slave of God and of Fisc, neither his salary, nor
his work carnet, and you go into desert mountains, when no one lives, there be
your lodge. Amen!”
-If my chief hears you, he moves also me with
service “into desert mountains”! Struba laughed.
-The use ante
factum of exorcisms sanctioned with curses can make completely inoffensive
the horned if one utters his name. You only pass in review, necessarily, all
devilish nomenclature. What isn’t easy at all, for look, Avestitsa has a birth
certificate with 19 names, and that Greek woman scapegrace Ghilou has 12 names
"an“ half"! ”n fact, is nothing more than enumeration of Satanic
names. Like Faust's ’mprecations against prejudices and illusions, conceit,
greed, laziness and other Mephistopheles’ boons. “Cursed be Mammon, with his
treaures…”, et caetera, isn’t so? Or,
mammona means in Aramaic “richness”. Constaint of demons by threat with
disclosing their occult names, known only ti initiates, is an old story.
Cherichebs, Egyptian priests reading papyrus rolls, threatened their malefic
gods with onomastic exposures. Especially against dangerous god Seth, assassin
of Osiris, curses were daily recited, for protection of other deities more kind
and helpless.
-Pharaoh how many names carried, professor?
-Only five. Allah should havealso him 99 names,
adding to these the Great unknown Name. If you try and guess correctly the 99
out of hundred, you gain, it is said, the paradise.
-But at lottery, you gain paradise only with 6
out of 49- Lastaru made.
-And if guess the Great Name?…Lastaru asked.
-Then you become Solomon like and make wonders.
Only that for guessing it, as story goes, a Koran
has to be burnt, out of it remaining untouched only this name. And isn’t really
a pity to make ashes a goodness of Koran
after you spent on it even allowances for children in order to have it in
library?
Lastaru rinsed well his mouth with rest of
vodka remained on glass bottom, before speaking again:
-That means from here may come custom of big
bosses to hide their real nam. For everybody knows of historical dialog at high
level from Horeb to Palestine.
-Between Yasser Arafat and Itzak Shamir? Struba
asked.
-Oh, noh! Between God and Moses, dear
colleague,on Horeb mountain. When Moses had asked his illustrious interlocutor
what his name is, Yahweh recommended himself as: ”I am That Who is”…
Professor nodded, still with rests of laughing
at mouth corners. He told them:
-Literally, tautology Ehie asher Ehie is translated in fact “I will become what I will
become”. Wurmbrand is right to say God is
not but happens. Why peoples totally
different like Jews, Russians or Chinese avoid in their languages the word
“is”? Because you have no right to use “is” as a predicate. Kant recognized it
honestly to satisfaction of Chinese and Russian comrades who have put in
discussion Self-criticism of Impure
Reason of this bourgeois in decomposition. Because under pseudonym “Is” was
hidden true name of Yahweh. But great priest had permission to pronounce it ,
in day of Yom Kippur, in altar of Jerusalem
temple, and only whispered.
-Similarly how brave Russian whispered, closed
in closet, Djugashvili instead of Stalin.
-Oh, an Egyptian even in closet wouldn’t dare
pronounce secret name of supreme god Ra! Professor exclaimed.
-In conclusion, this onomastic taboo is
explained by magic powers of divine names?
-Any proper name meant, at origin, something in
connection with divinity.
-For instance, Rutinia or Rut signifies
something? Struba asked.
Professor reflected a moment, looking in gap
with dilated eyes.. Two blue universes in expansion.
-Some five-six different things. About “friend”
and “willow”, I am sure. And it seems to me also means “satisfied”.
Lastaru grinned toward Struba meaningfully.
-And Alexandru?
-“Decided defender against wrongs”. An ideal
name for born justiciar like you, Struba, isn’t so? Absolutely any name
signified, at origin, something divine. Such is explained why, initially, a
name already adjudged wasn’t borrowed by the others, being of unique use.
Today, only to indigenous Tiwi you may meet something like that, being
prohibited to new-born all names carried ever by deceased. You realize what a
crisis of proper names may be there!
-Like government crises to us.
-But also not vice-versa, with today onomastic
inflation you don’t get on easily- professor retaken cheerful. I red the other
day about a girl in Chesterfield,
with 139 names! What poor priest suffered to the baptismal of that isn’t hard
to imagine: if he started ministry Sunday morning at first hour, that means he
finished it only Monday, that is good-by week-end and matches of stage.
-She may have Freemason parents. 139 is but a
13 with more faces. Doesn’t it mean 39 by 13? Then, 1 plus 3 plus 9 make again
13 – Lastaru explained.
-Anyhow, a clinic case.
Discussion was interrupted by bringing coffees
ordered in between. Struba profited to evaluate in a look notices made in
personal agenda till then.
-With these curses from empirical pharmacy,
prescribed against demons, I am cleared – he declared. But as victims of
killing room were men, I propose to pass now to the curse against own fellows.
I see in classification from here “kerem”. It has an Ottoman sonority.
-The kerem
was warning for keeping an oath or a promise, under sanction of divine curse in
case of their encroaching.
-Such as?
-Joshua Navi at siege of Jerihon. He prevent
fighters to abstain from plunders after conquering of citadel and deposit in
temple gold and silver captured, under sanction of cursing and execution on
spot of those guilty. And when city fallen, he interdicted under curse any try
of its reconstruction. By kerem has
also been granted limitation of proliferation of Veniamin relation in The Chronicle of Judges.
-Something in genre of birth limitation to
Chinese, under sanction to not allot from state family necessary rice ratio. A
Maoist law, it seems to me.
-Consolidating the vow by curse, professor
nodded. Similarly with sanctioning of exorcisms. Only here you accurse you
alone. As Peter accursed self when disavowed three times swearing he didn’t
know him, by fear of tribunal. Association of oath with curse, today almost out
of use, was by then at order of day. Romans called fact of self cursing just jurare in se. But curse and oath
affinity doesn’t reduce to a pure linguistic aspect. It’s a mystic grasp, a
passionate bent. Think only to the forty fanatics in Facts who combined at dawn to plot assassination of Paul in jail…
-I know it, they tied with curse will not eat
and drink anything before conspiracy will succeed, Struba interrupted him. But
I wouldn’t say that from fanaticism. They were afraid of betrayal.
-A vow and a curse were made also on peaks of
mountain Djebel-el-sheik, in Syria.
Semyaza clique of 200. Close to enigmatic terrace Baalbek, “The Gate of Gods”.
-Baalbek,
famous plateau of von Daniken extraterrestrial navies landing?!
Lastaru risen in air saucer from under coffee
cup and, from over head, made it
descend softly on little table,
parodying an UFO landing.
-Bzzzz! Bing! Respected passengers, please
fasten your belt and pistol Kalashnikov…Spasiva.
Isn’t so that pumpkin of some ones is ideal plateau for extraterrestrial navies
landing?
-Carl Sagan is indulgent when says about The Book of gods that is an absolute
horrible book. The nomenclator of Sumerian kings imprinted on “seals and
coins”, instead of clay little tables! Incas in Peru five millenaries ago!
Cosmonaut antenna instead of Maya hairdo! Racket fuses instead of bi-cephalous
serpent! In comparison with such cheap jokes, circus buffoons get bankrupt.
-And when you think that, in “70s, you found on
market Memories about future harder
than Marlboro. Everything only due to
cover. Daniken says about engraving of that stone that it is image of a racket…
-He can say anything. But guilty isn’t he, but
GUGUSTIUCII who listened in ecstasy to a Swiss businessman speaking to them
about Amerindian cultures. The bas-relief in question doesn’t date “from immemorial
times”, but from 683 AD, and so-called god-pilot Kukulkan is in reality a
deceased by name Pascal a dignitary Maya, whom skeleton was found in sarcophagus.
Racket? Is throne or couch in which were carried their big bosses. Apparatuses
on board? Typical funerary symbolist arsenal of Maya culture, tied with
veneration of maize and of god Cinteotl, vegetal representations author is
surprised didn’t find them in Mexic. As if you could find something like that
when you even have no idea how it looks like. But he doesn’t wonder, in
exchange, that pilot is barefoot and his had comes out of racket.
-Perhaps they didn’t have air-conditioned,
Lastaru said
-Country burns and old woman combs with racket!
Like in socialist-fiction novels of A.N.Tolstoi. Be not mixed up with Lev
Nikolaevich. Read Aelita. Reached on
Mars, some Soviet cosmonauts address warmly to Martians: “Well find you,
comrades Martians! We came to bring the greeting of Soviet Republics…in
order to establish relations of good neighborhood”. And they start chatting
with those green-creatures, inviting them: ”Let’s smoke, comrades!” One of
Martians was wearing, is said, ”a peaked cap in form of egg, heaving a long
peak.”…
-He may have been secretary with interplanetary
problems.
-…And after offering them to drink “half liter
of spirits”, like bush people, they start to smuggling.
-It is clear that they washed type’s brains.
-Let’s come back now to vow under curse. Had it
fix formulas, prescriptions, similarly to exorcism under curse?
-No, but they sound very theatrical. David’s
oath for black fast in The second
Chronicle of Kings has Arabian rigor of a Ramadhan: “That and that let God
make to me and even more, if I will taste bread or other thing before sunset!”
Form, you notice, was simplest and vulgar. How did Creon answered Oedipus’
accusations?
I call my death
and under my curse may die
If I committed
anything you charge on me
And the Messenger, bringing the news that dying
king of Corinth,
Polybos, just had delivered management, swears:
On my life! Let
me die if I said an untruth!
However, sealing with oath of external treaties
of ancient Rome
were wearing more pretentious solemnities. At Jupiter temple, priest was
sacrificing a pork with stone axe and cursed: “If my Roman people breaks this contract,
let Jupiter strike him as I strike this pork with stone”. And only after this
official ceremony, pork could be served grilled treaty signatories.
-Since then it eats so well to peace
conferences? Lastaru swallowed hard.
-Not only. Look, for oaths before Olympic
games, old Greeks had Horkos (“oath”) as protector, who punished terribly the distortion.
Pausanias describes a horrifying statue of this Zeus Horkios, keeping a
lightning in each hand, in front of which athletes were obliged to swear on viscera
of a boar that they had rehearsed beforehand for ten months uninterruptedly and
will respect competition rules.
-Without anti-doping control, no use at all.
-At their turn, the referees swore they will
judge rightly, will not let be bribed and will keep secrete the reasons of
decisions will adopt. At the feet of statue it was engraved on a bronze plaque
an inscription in elegiac verse destined to inspire horror to possible amateurs
of perjury. Also above a boar Agamemnon had swore as well how Brisis had remain
virgin. From there also custom of medieval knights to swear at table on some
living boar. It was likewise swore on pheasant, especially Burgundy people, or
on some heron.
-Is oath under curse still practiced today?
-Somewhere in East Africa,
it was traced there by Sir Frazer. A goat and a rope are cut ritually in two by
only one strike, and in occasion those who will encroach upon oath made are
cursed to be cleaved in same way by gods, and above it also to remain without
successors.
-Ah, something like “rock cracks goat head in
four, let goat head crack in four”…
-But not goat is essential here, Mr.Lastaru,
but rock. Why wish to bridegrooms “rock house”?…
-What else to whish, prefab house?!
-…For, as Moses uttered ritually his curse
keeping in hand rock tables of Law, so swore Romans later on Jupiter keeping
stone in palm. Jove lapidem jurare.
-Well, this concerning ritual, form. What about
content, is something surviving today from former affinity between curse and
oath, or not?
-A vulgar remain: in-juratura (oath,curse), pocket curse of modern man. Frenchmen,
otherwise, married morganatic the young and churlish Injuratura (curse) with
the noble and little old Juramint
(oath), pairing them in the unique verb
jurer. Of course, the ancient knew also them this miniature technology,
only they used it much more nuanced. For Latin, for instance, injuria meant not only an insult, but
also an injustice, damage, or harm, and injuriosus
was something “unjust”, translatable figuratively also by “harmful, bringing
misfortune “.
-Exact family name of curse! Shall we take more
antifreeze of this?…Lastaru proposed.
He hit from fingers over head, toward counter.
-But how came oath degenerated up to a rudiment
of ordinary curse? Struba made.
-Gradually, it desecrated, loosing its taste of
prohibited fruit. Fear for self punishment disappeared. Solemn initially, with
time the old court oaths caricatured, degenerating in a sort of society game or
just parody. And how from frivolity to triviality was only one step, the nobles
ended by preferring commode miniature of curse, abandoning pompous and heavy
armour of pathetic oaths from other time. In the XIVth century, in West Europe
a catastrophic epidemics of curses had broke, especially in France where
the Burgund s were recognized as most contagious. Two baalad were composed with
entire repertory of this national festival of swearing. Against alarming
proliferation of sacrilege, a few regal ordinances were emitted interdicting it
under punishment of cutting of tongue. But noble class found immediately the
trick for eluding interdiction, replacing in formulas of curses the names of
god by different paravans. For instance, codification of Dieu by innocent Bleu, or
replacement of denying “I disavow God” with harmless “I disavow boots”.
They stopped talking, making place with
satisfaction to host brought them on little tray much coveted vodka. Lastaru
seized his glass with both hands and rose it over head, triumphant, like a
trophy.
-Something here, however, stinks…he grumbled hoardely.
I agree prohibition of curses wanted to prevent offending divinity. Only today
swears don’t seem to have anything in common with curses of old time, but are
rather some simple blasphemies. When
you curse, it is right you take in desert God’s name, but don’t do it with
intention to disavow of him. Dou you really make guilty the divinity by saying
“your eucharist of lepers” when you don’t support any more, years in
succession, decibels, crying and claxons of guttersnipes subscribers to house Carioca which holiday under your
windows? For indeed not God is guilty, but policeman who let hooligan moke a
full quarter (at New York you come out with 1050 dollars if you put aloud
television, and at Germans you may be broken in beating if don’t let them sleep.).
So, not with the Old One you have what you have, but with a gang of roughs with
no God. That is, cursing, you disavow of Him only with mouth, but with heart
you actually convoke him. For only
from him you wait justice in a country left to mercy of vagabond, whose only
moral code is the BMW and non-worked money. And really you couldn’t, by
swearing, to curse God. For you just
said before, Mr. professor, curse is a judicial process in front of a
transcendent instance: therefore, if God himself would be accused, then who
would be the juge?
-Paradoxically. Then, even devil can not curse, but only backbite God – Struba
noticed.
And listening to Lastaru’s perorations, he was
asking himself for tenth time that evening how can one washes so well a brain
with so much vodka. Professor answered:
-You are right to criticize improper use of
terms “curse” and “blasphemy”. Confusion of the two concepts may have come from
Romans who have taken with both senses blasphemo
from Greeks, though Greeks used this verb with only a sense, that of
backbiting, for “cursing” they had a distinct verb, katarome. So, absent in original, pretended synonymy between curse
and blasphemy is a Latin invention. At second hand, we acquired blasphemare from cultured Latin , and blastimare (blestema/curse) we have
already from popular Latin, from where our preference for this last term.
Anyhow, I find you right, not injury *as manner of expression) is that which
counts, but intention. Some curse specially to drive away bad spirits.
Miniature apotropaic curse. To see scriptorial fellows (zapisari) from Viseul
de Sus how they curse black cats but not
for they would bring bad luck in obtaining German emigration visa. They say
only so you can free wandering souls, prisoners in cat.
Visibly exhausted, Struba was busy whipping
spectacles with handkerchief, before to conclude:
-From as much as I understand, it has fallen
also hypothesis that suicides in the room would have fallen victims to a…kerem. Sorry for it, I liked the word.
-In any case, with curses weren’t assassinated,
professor pretended to be serious.
-They would encroach upon solemn vows, for
instance engagement to overpass the plan – Lastaru made cleverly.
-Or swore awry, under curse, who
knows…professor continued the game.
-Oh, then, three quarters of eternity places
may by leased to witnesses in divorce
trials!
-But what, your witnesses swear under curse?
They swear under threat of a year, two of prison.
-Five, Lastaru corrected.
-Doesn’t matter, yet human justice apply them.
And really does it compare with divine justice?
-Penal or divine justice, doesn’t matter. Not
of them is afraid the witness, but of revenge of those he may denounce.
-Then, he might receive a guard to residence,
may he? Or even name, address, profession, all false. To you, the law doesn’t
foresee such questions for protection of witnesses?
-It foresee fine for non presentation of
witness.
-The fine!…I have seen once professor Tomulescu
fined by a sergeant when he came out of Law Faculty. Militia man whistles after
he had crossed by impermissible place and burns him with 50 lei. At which the
old man, shrilly: “Dear you, take 100 lei, for I, when come back from lunch,
also by here I cross back”.
-That means his health wasn’t well, if didn’t
tell him in Latin.
With closed eyes, leaned against stove, Struba
heard their laughs as if in sleep, more and more blurred. Worn out, he would
want to get asleep there, in coffee house intimacy. Now, when rumor around had
soothed.
Listening jazz
and nothing else.
Burying in
oblivion the wet outside city, dark horizons, deaf noise of history.
Getting asleep…
The piano drip
dropped rarely, delicately. A transplant of fingertips.
10
“Under signed Genoveva
Luminitsa Nae, she resident in Str. Papusa pet no.55-59, block Q-18-A,
apart.102, declare the following things: I knew me with the called Aurel Bau at
restaurant of station, where I was function like waitress before I remained
gravid, living in konkybinage (with no papers) with him to my address actual
but telling lie to mummy that we engaged troglodyte but that I lost in sub bus ring London , till back with some
year, when he traveled to Barrier of Wergului, after re-velion, telling me at
the beginning that he be chief to a cooperative of repairing umbrellas of dams
harlot, but he deceived me to give him big tool right that I have believed him
on word that he had parrot and manner , but more late learning how he had put
out for beverage (shlibovitsa), from where also came home stone consuming in
railway station restaurant on duty said he in my account but without I was
knowing who I was staying home in pre natal arriving to call me big belly at
service and to summon me Mr. book-keeper with engagement of paying 850 lei, for
which I had to bag to my mother for borrow old woman to don’t put me out like
him, but at last time has put me too for my belly swollen and some clients
laughed, of what I quarreled with him wrong that I palmed him that he made me
pieces in beating coming Police and attention giving him that will introduce to
tsuhaus as recidivist , I at all knowing until then that he had made pirnaie
before and when I heard I told him go from house I manage with that small also
alone better without him than to have a trouble because of him and didn’t pass
two or three days that he taken service at pipes Republic where they and found
a flat room I don’t know who from there a big biggest garcon room free alone in
block, express to be close to factory and not travel brambura topsy-turvy in
town specialy at station where he had made fellows of glass some vagabonds,
after what he didn’t search me only once in the day I gave birth to bring
present to maternity a pair of shoes in skin of dam believing new but truth was
he taken from junk shop wear by another woman because were old, and I didn’t know after nothing about himself, and neither
least how he made his kind who I heard onlu now called at interrogator, fact
what I can’t explain to me because he didn’t tell me big cheese what he was
doing on his head in town, with who he travel or if he wear enemy with some
body but perhaps can know more there at pipes where he worked, this being my
declaration what I declare and I sign here by free and unforced by nobody.”
11
The train was running in the night, ran so
hardly that Al. Struba’s memories jumped out of rails. He started, at same time
with neon lamps shattered under ceiling. He watched through dirty window.
Outside, swarms of red and mauve signals rambled in the emptiness.
As a child, getting asleep, was dreaming at
trains in Balkans. He left himself carried far away by them, towards southern
seas, there where paradise resides. To travel. To stay at window and watch as
in an album with old photographs. Always the same, like a fairy tale listened
every evening, without which you can not asleep. Telegraph pillars with stork
nests on peak. Herds sleeping at silos shadow. Wagons abandoned in marshalling.
Station chiefs presenting the honor stiff in their worn-out uniforms.
Scavengers of platforms became admirals of melons skin. Melancholy at second hand
bought in kiosks. Infirm inscription. Verbs ill of non conjugation.
But now, Struba didn’t see any more in the dark
anything from these. Only the night, obscure room in which you develop your
memories, one by one.
The night and that pressing on the right
shoulder. The unknown woman by. She had lulled with heart propped up by him,
with mouth halh-open, inhabited by angel of salt.
He blinked eyes in anemic, almost sorrowful
light in interior. The light of Van Gogh’s coffee house. The few passengers
around dosed on banquets dizzy by speed, drugged by wheels rumbling. Nothing
happened and it seemed never will. Soldier was in his sit, slept doggedly in
wagon corner, with brain furrowed by trench, with dreams gone in permission.
Struba watched him with compassion how he was making guard near wooden
suitcase. Poor anonymous soldier leaving himself brought toward his distant
village, home, on cracking counter in back furnace, to make there peace with
the cold, to undress distances, from swallowed feet to pull out boots with all
with fingers, and his mother to boil brandy in cast-iron kettle breaking words
from her like from a bread. Child ran home to his good mother, to warm up. Ran
from "“school of life", where they are taught to shoot in polygon
over target nicknamed Mother and child…Judging
after thick cloth cloak, he came from some mountain hunters unit in
Carpathians, where winter didn’t left yet unarmed. Watching him, Struba was
shattered again by his old shiver. Since he made army twenty years ago, he
never escaped of cold horror.
To feel cold, to sleep huddled in a night train
and don’t care for anything. To let you brought far away, somewhere in Balkans,
toward Southern seas. There where paradise resides.
Afraid to don’t be stolen by sleep, he started
to put end to end events of last weeks, like a domino. First piece, file of
1978. A revelation. Tenebrous past of Aurel Bau confirmed his suspicions. This
rascal could have been really ideal target of a revenge. He had been not only
one of the guilty but just director of that beastly rape which couldn’t remain
without echo. His derisory sentence to only three years and half of prison
couldn’t satisfy anybody. But throwing from the eighth floor?…JIGODIA
merited indeed to crack. By hand of
victim’s father, brothers, or a possible lover. If not just by hand of a hired
killer. As about pay of other promissory notes, rest of world should stay in
line. Consequently, relatives and entourage had to be verified with priority.
As said as done. But, even from first steps, he got stuck. After what five
years ago poor young woman put and end to her days with super dose of
sedatives, the mourned family left for good the town with an unknown
destination. Three quarters of former friends of colleagues in years of lyceum
worked now, after revolution, abroad. Smattering of witnesses he hardly managed
to gather didn’t remember big deal after fourteen years. Retired and enigmatic
nature, victim had never been an open book for someone of them; and lesser so
therefore after misfortune stricken her, maiming her psychically irremediably.
It had heard vaguely about an ideal and durable tie with an anonymous, subject
taboo in vain breaking out speculations. Certain is that he had abandoned
career of architect and even drawing and painting. Though talent with which he
practiced them opened to him great perspectives, however he limited to
collaboration to two-three publishing houses for illustrating and drawing up
book covers. Nobody could assist to trial of violators because access in hall was
stopped, judging with close doors. About rest, Struba knew already or could
deduct from medical legal acts, clinic register of observation and the rest of
documentation over hospitalisation of victim, remained at file. Suffered trauma
being too strong, all medical remedies tried then, including hypnotherapy,
failed. Then, after multiple unsuccessful attempts of suicide, affective
anesthesia and robot aspect had gradually installed. At the end of hearings,
from all these evidences of third hand Struba didn’t obtain at least an end oh
thread. In absence of something better, he tried his luck visiting some
publishing houses and disturbing some fussy publishers. His luck smiled to him
first at Ion Creanga, where he found
an illustration of fairy tales book; it was exactly necessary impulse to
convince him to knock at doors in continuation. And indeed, bomb waited for him
only at Litera (The Letter), where
was lying from about 1985-1986. There, a failed contract of publishing had
squandered, together the chance of publishing the book, also occasion of an
exceptional cover illustration, realized by Bau’s victim. But not the author of
it was surprise, but author of manuscript:
name Aba Strul
– the first lodger of room – was for Struba a bullet shoot directly in the ear.
And details obtained in completion of incredible coincidence were, either them,
with nothing less deafening. The book in case, rejected categorically by
censorship, had been however generously recommended to a few publishers by
writer Titel Popescu. So being, next step came almost by itself: he searched
personally for the master. It followed a discussion full of fruits. Subject of
book was rendered from memory with such minuteness, that on basis of evocation
you could reconstitute the manuscript, otherwise lost. By same exact
description benefited also cover illustration, whose project disappeared itself
or have been destroyed. But the true attraction point of discussion was
evocation of black forecasts made on the edge of book by some Bart Lasu; among others,
exact dating of author’s death and of censors who refused to advise
publication. Who was the prophet? Rather a phantom. Former condemned to writing
salt mine himself, retired, it is said, to a monastery of monks from beyond
Danube, from about 1986 his trace was lost.. And how accomplishment of so
gloomy oracles couldn’t make you suspicious? Extremely incited, Struba passed
immediately to steps and correspondences, requiring an updated confirmation.
Which, after two or three weeks of expectancy, he received indeed. From
official communication of Patriarchy, signed by an exarch, resulted indeed that
named Bartolomeu Lasu “functions as ieromonach in degree of protosinghel”, but
the monastery where he serves had been abolished from administrative point o
view. Actual hermitage of Martyrs was only a remaining joining a restraint
number of monks who ensured management of church resources, being supplied by
good offices of Low Danube bishopric. Reading
this ambiguous answer, he had given all a rest on desk taking Olympic start
tickets agency. Time arrived “occasion”
theory , so ridiculed by Lastaru, be at last put to proof. Struba was jubilant.
Yes, pieces of domino started to set in. It remained a single hesitation: lack
of any experience in interrogation of a church face. How was, thus, to approach
a bearer of monkish frock?
Just when meditated to this question, packs of
wheels threw out lugubrious howls, throttled by sabots of brakes, foretelling
station approaching. Train stopped unexpectedly quickly, crawling now in a
lazy, misleading turning
To bring you a night train up here, far away,
on sea shore. Nobody to know you coming. Wind to swallow your lungs like mails
of ship. Here, where paradise begun. From a jerk, he opened ankylosed door.
Outside, serene. Smell of stars burnt alive.
Somber façade of opposite canton, with its dark
windows, was only witness to his arrival. Were people were? He scanned by sight
along wagons, but didn’t see anyone. Only jets of warm steam wrapping him in
passage, pleasantly. At the end of deserted platform , mouth of an underground
passage yawned in front of him like a grave..
Suddenly, hearing his steps, Struba felt loner
as ever. Rightly speaking, just strangely alone.
By the way, didn’t he died?
12
Neither now, at an hour since he arrived to
office, his socks hadn’t yet dry. After pouring rains until yesterday, the town
looked Venice
like. At steering-wheel, on way to job, you cross yourself on each road in
order to get somehow wet, God forbid, the lid of DELCOU. Our every day boat,
give it to us, our father…
Irritating typewriter rattling with which new
typist demonstrated her zeal stopped only after half hour.
-Aba
Strul is written with two “b” like group ABBA, or with one single?
After last sip of coffee, Lastaru seemed to
search answer in thick lees on cup bottom. Judging after purses under eyes,
portion of drug wasn’t sufficient to him.
-Write you with many, to have from where cut.
He skimmed farther through newspaper, absently.
More for not seeing her staring at him than out of interest for morning news.
Her expression of rouged frog made him allergy.
Rattling didn’t restart yet.
-Don’t yawn your eyes like that at me, can make
some conjunctivitis.
-I don’t now how to beat to typewriter…he heard
her sighing with affectation.
Monkey full of airs and graces. Last evening he
saw her at Majestic with a
pithecanthropus pecking each other, dressed rock, full of gewgaws and haircut
broom.
-Perhaps at police it “beats” at typewriter,
Miss. Here is “writing” at typewriter.
Who the hell hired these rainmakers in the last
time? Only because of them it rained in such a bad plight since a week in
chain.. It would be also this some grandniece of sister of brother-in-law of
some wife of a deputy. Pulled out a lazy RAGAIT. Voice of ulcer.
The typewriter retook at last its monotonous
jingling.
-What name would be also this… he heard her
nagging for self.
At radio were just broadcast last damages
brought by the catastrophic floods. Since the beginning of this year, all news
started, invariably, with same alarming meteorological and hydrologic bulletin.
Lastaru learned them by heart, as advertisements with detergents. Millimeters
column of mercury. Celsius degrees. Liters on square head. The earliest spring
since French revolution onwards. The biggest volume of rainfall since revolt of
Horea, Closca and Crisan. Biggest level of Neajlov after battle of Calugareni.
Grave climatic anomalies. Catastrophic sera effect. New cardiac accidents.
New drowning. Decree of emergency state.
End of world.. Ring now to 666, incredible discounts to price of hydro
bycycles!
-Let it more in mute, please, that my mind
enters at water – Lastaru grumbled.
A yawning of a hippopotamus. An aspirin with a
sip of soda water. A reflex control of wrist watch. Then he stood from chair
cracking from all vertebras and went to collate already first pages of typed
material.
“…From discussions had with writer Titel
Popescu, director of Alphabet Publishing House resulted that during years
1985-1986, when he was working as editor to review Theatre, it was proposed to him the reading of a manuscript signed
by prose writer Abba Strul, by agency of literary secretary of Theatre…”
Door opened suddenly interrupted him from
reading. Amanda with her celebrate mini gone. Classic argument in antiquity.
Earth is round because from woman appear at horizon, first of all, masts.
Did you make also to me that ordinance and
appeal? Amanda asked the new typist.
-I am sorry, I didn’t type more than two-three
pages. Mr.Struba left me a material very thick and has to find it ready when he
gets back from province.
-Again Struba, of course! From the beginning of
year I hear only oh him!…
Exasperation intensified aroma of her soap.
Eating her by eyes, Lastaru said to self, collection of report can wait. He
offered her gallantly upholstered chair brought from his home living room.
-I have no so much time, jewel. In a quarter of
hour, my POTERA arrives with a proposal of arrest.
-A, the smuggler. But why are you wearing red:
some one hoodoo you… last night?
Sitting with crossed legs, she measured him
with princely pity, but not from head to heels, only on length of SLITS.
-Leave the red, little bull… Is any more coffee
in the pot?
-I am not Bull, I am Scorpio.
-Really! I wonder, for needle isn’t quiet visible…
She pronounced “really” (zau) pouting, as
Germans would pronounce So. He bowed
over her to answer her at ear.
-By the way with seeing. Don’t wear so short,
that your gun is seen.
-Sictir you sick
The typist came with a thimble of little cup as
bib as Greek coffee. At least protocol she was made as required. Amanda pushed
aside Lastaru’s soda which embarrassed her.
-How long I drink it, give also me to read what
you had time to write from my materials.
-Only three pages from motivation of appeal,
you know…rainmaker excused herself once again, giving the guilt on heap of
drafts close by.
Lastaru walked from there to there, then opened
the cardboard to take his purse with breakfast. Full shelves full with
conserves and juices like a shop-window.
-What do you have there, somehow pickles?
Amanda pointed.
-Little cucumbers in vinegar. Against hangover.
-Give one also to me, for you make appetite to
me.
Lastaru rummaged in glass jar. He chosen the
biggest he could fish.
-What do you say, will this be good for you?
A jet of soda whistled in air over desk.
Lastaru stepped aside giggling. Luck with newspaper opened over files, like a
coverlet.
Amanda received required papers and started
reading. For parallelism he retook also his interrupted reading.
“…labels of pestiferous and fool author,
avoided by publishers only because of censorship of those years. His
repudiation had been brought by subject of story inspired by a real incident in
which had been involved a county cultural activist. The writer had refused with
stubbornness to present his character under another name, motivating that such
a concession would be tantamount to abolishing of book in its whole. However,
in opinion expressed by Mr. Titel Popescu, the true provocation wouldn’t be
represented by name of respective party activist (obscure, otherwise), but
“oracular and symbolist co-notations of occurrence evoked there, rising work in
ensemble to another scale, surpassing both level of diverse fact and of
political allusion.” In brief, it was question of a bet made by cultural
propagandist St.Balaur with mayor of a commune and a group of local people
“having as stake superstition”. Set to put end to aggressive obscurantism of
peasants from there frightened by supposed in-ghost turning of deceased by name
Gheorghe Militaru, tovul (comrade)
had moved to face of place for convoking a meeting of “atheist-scientific”
education with responsible factors and didactic staff from commune. In that
occasion he learned about supposed haunting of deceased’s house invoked by his
relatives (phenomena of type Poltergeist) and traditional practices of that
responsible for such manifestations, respectively passing by hoarse over
graves, etc. Services of hallowing of house made repeatedly by priest didn’t
give results, either because unfaithfulness of beneficiaries, or from other
causes. Still worse, priest had adventured to do Prayers of Saint Vasile the
Great (most dangerous exorcisms) an got seriously ill. In clerical media is
well known that this service of demons pulling out involves assuming of
unaccountable risks from side of practicing priests, against whom provoked
satanic forces are not late to react violently, offering to witnesses true
performances of horror. Such experiences can be seen especially at Cernica,
where hierurgy is officiated by team of redoubtable father Argatu, or at
monastery Dervent, where abbot Andrei practice it currently. Procedure requires
a long preliminary preparation both of ill ones suspect of possession came in pilgrimage (some sent just by psychiatric
doctor) and of reading priests or monks, as a measure of prevention of dangers
brought by this exorcism extremely strong. But villagers interpreted occurrence
of their imprudent priest as a confirmation of in-ghost turning of deceased
GR.M. Neither old women’s exorcisms from village didn’t help at all.
Cemetery was situated at end of village,
isolated on peak of hill completely uninhabited, in a place nobody would
adventured after dark falling even accompanied by own dogs. Pulling hosts’ leg
and criticizing the mayor for encouraging retrograde attitudes of “fundamental
mysticism,” St. Balaur has bet with them he will go alone at midnight on peak
of that hill and will thrust a knife in the grave of called Gheorghe Militaru,
in order to demonstrate lack of fundament of any superstition. If he will
succeed, then local authorities will take a solemn engagement to put
definitively an end to those states of things, under threat of rough political
sanctions. As a material proof of action, it will serve, of course, the knife
left to “place of crime”. After protocol diner offered to guest by judetseana (county management), at
which…”
-It swarms with mistakes!…he heard Amanda
reproaching with typist. Here had to be principle non reformatio in peius – cause it is in Latin – not “non
reformatsio in pennis”…Then, on page 3 are “monozygotic twins” and not at all
“vizigoth” twins. And farther on, in place of “Supreme Court has quashed
decision of instance”, you written to me “castrated decision”.
Lastaru laughed hidden. He was right with the
new typist. Stupid that stumble over carpet.
“…Seeing that it had made one o’clock after
midnight and comrade from county was late to return, the remained to mayor
siege begun to make all kinds of suppositions. Either that he was a coward and
at the end of village, instead of getting down from car and climbing hill to
cemetery, he had changed his mind, keeping strait away. Or that bet was done
only as bluff and he return to town pure and simple. Or that he would got lost
by there, that torch remain without battery. That merited: devil had put him to
play peacock with them? Anyhow it was clear they were by now waiting for
nothing. And when clock rang by two, they had worried for good, that mayor and
chief of police post advised is better to undertake something instead of
overtaking them morning staying there keeping hands in pockets. They gathered
with moil and toil a troop from some shepherds and foresters more courageous,
took a flock of hounds with them and started by walk toward village end with
rope of garlic around neck and little axe on back, making crosses as big as
cross Caraiman. They had also taken with them one called Mitica Cutsulachi, who
knew two-three psalms and had a knife of silver. Firs they found man’s car near
bridge, drawn on right and locked. Then, from village fireplace, people could
see them, on peak of hill, groping about with gas and battery lamps. And they
found him. Fallen just on grave of Gheorghe Militaru, in which he had stroke
indeed the knife fully. He was dead, but hadn’t any bite of beast, neither
cuts, nor at least a bump. What had happen? Out of fear, St. Balaur didn’t
strike the knife by face but by back; and you can'’ do such thing other than
bowing. And as he hadn’t dare then neither to watch over shoulder the grave he
couldn’t know he had pierced his coat. And so, when stood to go, blade stroke
in hard dust pulled him suddenly downward. To feel the dead pull you back,
that’s a good frightening! On spot had broke his heart then of fright, as autopsy
had to confirm later on. Though a simple story with this subject almost cries
alone its title, however author’s option contradicted this anticipation,
preferring to The Bet another title,
entirely foreign to substance and signification of opera, the bizarre
monochrome Blue (Albastru). From
evocation of writer Titel Popescu it appeared also, though he didn’t know
personally the author, that he could learn from literary media about reactions
of Abba Strul about rejection of proposal of manuscript for publication, in
spite of good offices deposited in his favor. Two different versions circulated
in this regard. According to one, the above named had recourse to a unusual
form of protest by mural transcription of manuscript in space of own
accommodation (as well as correspondence destined to Monica Lovinescu on
address Free Europe at Munchen – but
stopped from expedition – and a few
contacts with some foreign journalists). According to another version, mural
transcription had been only a precaution author had taken against risk of
intellectual theft after “straying” of the original by some censors. In any
case, this extravagance – to don’t say differently – opened free way to gradual
accreditation of prose writer Abba Strul as an individual with doubtful diplomas
of graduating mental faculties. In other order of ideas, from verifications of
Romanian Service of Information resulted that archives of former Securitate
certifies supervision of Abba Strul in years 1986-1988, but without
investigations or coercive measures undertook ever against him. To be seen in
this sense communication deposited at…”
Rrring!
A strident bell like a claxon thrummed
somewhere so closely, that Lastaru jumped frightened, throwing on carpet the
purse with rests from breakfast. He had forgotten totally about existence of
telephone.
-Step aside, tram passes! Amanada amused
herself copiously.
He profited by gathering garbage from down from
spying from new perspective. Bowed over desk to rise receiver, supported by
elbows, with little back in wind. Yes, ideal position. To be tried sometime,
here, after program hours.
-They already arrived, Amanda explained. I go
to me. Merci for coffee.
A red spot disappearing in horizon. The earth
curb.
-In the after-noon, if you haven’t boat, I
offer myself to row you up to home- Lastaru cried after her, rattling.
Swallowing dryly he returned to Struba’s
report. A groan slipped from mouth of wet glass the typist was rubbing brutally
with a towel.
13
“…and
like a shield His truth will surround you. You will be not afraid of night
fear, of arrow flying like the day, of thing running in darkness, of epidemic
haunting at noon…Over serpent-aspida and basilisk you will pass, and over lion
and dragon-balaur will walk. Ha-li-luuu-i-aaah…”
Image had appeared suddenly on monitor, without
any generic or warning. Amateur movie. In first plan, in entourage of deacons
singing shilly-shally at head of dead in the church porch.
-Let’s see what have we here, young operator
said from desk.
Young. Swarthy, with a tar of moustache. Black
vest of skin beaten with spikes. Unsuccessful reincarnation of a Freddie
Mercury.
“…God, do
rest soul of Your sleeping slave Vicentsiu in lighted place, in place with
greenery, in place of rest, from where all pain gone, sadness and sighing. And
any mistake made by him with word, with thing or with thought, as good God and
loving people, forgive to him…”.
Those present at service answered in choir:
“God forgive him.”
You would expect he will feel disgusted
visioning that record which didn’t say him anything. A little film, vapid, from
a family archive, with anonymous faces of mourning relatives. But,
surprisingly, the rocker from desk seemed to like what he was doing. At most,
under appearance of his tense expression, you could guess him listening to
monotonous psalmody of priest only with an ear, the other pricking it up toward
noise of own thoughts.
“…Where
is illusion of those transient? Where gold and silver? All are now dust, all
ash, all shadow…”
From the back of Freddie’s ghost, two more guys
watched screen with same interest. Masked by montage studio penumbra, they had
remained standing without undressing their coats. A third one, with beard Rimski-Korsakov and
spectacles fasten with a golden chain, relaxed cross-legged along with
operator, leaning with elbow against desk. This indulged in a monologue without
address , following image:
-Look, that is me, keeping myself from candle.
I was sleepless for three nights.
By the time being, interior shot they assisted
to yet didn’t let foresee anything suspect. Only rosary and old women crouched
at feet of AXIONITEI crossing themselves quickly. Crosses made also young
operator, by eyes. He was watching in all sides, seemingly hunting some
trickery or anomaly.
“…And if this slave of You has fallen under the
curse of his father, or of his mother, or under his curse, if he embittered
some priest and took from him some untied tie, if he fallen in heavy accurse
from archbishop and from indifference or laziness he didn’t gain forgivness,
forgive this through me the sinner and unworthy servant of You…”
Psalms had passed, Teofan’s canon had passed,
also eight verse of Damaschin, then Happiness Verse. Now PROHOD was ending and
priest uttered prayers of forgiving.
“…forgive to Your slave Vicentsiu everything he mistaken as a man in this life, and forgive to
him as many as sinned with word, or with thing, untie him also by tie put in
any shape over him, with which himself out of anger or other cause tied self,
or from archbishop or from somebody else suffered a slipping like this, by envy
and by work of devil…”.
Priest kissed little icon put on chest of
deceased. Then he addressed those present, according to rite of service:
“Come, brothers, to give to dead the last kiss…”
And exactly in that moment, in a perfect
synchronization, a first plan of camera profaned wax cheek of deceased. Some
petrified and ruby lips, a barrier of corals by which flowing silences stroke.
In front of it, tens of kisses of relatives were as many shipwrecks.
“…Seeing
the man laying, let all think to last hour, for man passes like smoke on earth…”
Now they gravitated with torches around dead,
one by one. A miniature solar system.
When do you say was this? One of men remained
standing asked, vaguely impatient.
-1988, mm…in Arminden (first May) day.
-The two guys in coats changed among them a
indecipherable look. One turned his head toward Rimski-Korsakov with a doubtful
air as if his spectacles of a grandmother hanged on neck would make him hard to
be taken seriously.
“When the
soul is ravished with strength from body by frightening angels, he forgets of
all relatives and acquaintances and
takes care of those in future to be over vanity and much tormented body…”
Service was practically over. Gathering started
singing rarely “Eternal memory”, while
relatives kept at deceased head coliva (boiled wheat).
-Go farther, Tommy – barbed one urged the young
operator. For we don’t really stay until they pull out the dead and mount him
in hearse.
The other one started to handle apparatuses
from around with dexterity of a disk-jockey. Image succeeded accelerated, with
few interruptions for testing..
-From here on?…
-Until you see pomp reaching cemetery. So…About
here.
Image of a holiday in last years of
dictatorship. Day of praise to labour, day of solidarity in beer shops and swimming
pools. A military fanfare was just turning street corner. On its steps a full
procession buzzed around booths with
beer and grilled minced meat balls. Pants with red stripe, supreme triumph over
imperialist hoodoo of everywhere. Men issued to defilement carrying boastfully
their decorations. Women from house of culture masquerading in peasant skirts
and row silk headdress received on inventory. Kids agitating little flags.
Stiff colonels in parade uniform. From door of a pub, a cook gives honor
dressed in festive smells. Red placards with slogans are bandages imbibed by
hemorrhage of a deadly wounded epoch.
By an irony of fate, funerary cortege crossed
brass music of fanfare at entance of cemetery.
-Jump before a little more, the barbed
indicated again.
Cassette was unrolled quickly other few
seconds, then it retook suddenly its normal rhythm.
Red fund of street had disappeared. Now, they
saw themselves under high vaults of a cemetery. Procession of burying just
arrived toward end. Priest sprinkled in cross the inanimate body with wine
mixed with edible oil.
-Now. Attention to distant plan!…Rimski-Korakov
said, pulling his chair with a jerk close to monitor.
The two men in shadow approached, too, for
watching from near over shoulder of young milksop who was answering at name of
Tommy.
-Here. Look backward, behind alley…
All four bowed instinctively their heads ahead.
In first plan, ropes were letting down the coffin on hole bottom, accompanied
by wailing of some women. In décor, some benumbed pensioners on benches,
conspiring autumns and plots for killing of time.
-Did you see him? In the right of fountain, in
perspective.
They concentrated over given landmark,
searching in green profoundness of vegetation.
-There, yes.
Spine of a man sitting in front of a grave.
-Now, attention, he will stand to go…barbed
anticipated with spectacles put now on nose.
And indeed, very soon the unknown risen slowly
from down, tarrying one moment more with bowed head. Then he turned on heels
and started toward alley with chestnut trees, discovering his face. Suddenly,
Lastaru’s face appeared clearly in the beating of May sun rays.
Carriers of coats followed him tensed at
maximum. Two cheetahs at watch. One murmured:
-Is he.
-Be attentive, Tommy, give here slowly until I
tell you – continued little grandmother with spectacles and barb.
Something started immediately to rattle like a
metronome and movement of image was
decomposed. They followed silhouette of Lastaru filtered by branches, walking
slowly in leek like light, as through a sera. At a given moment, he disappeared
behind priest from closed plan, while this was taking earth with shovel
throwing it crossways over dead saying:
-“Of God is
earth and its fruits, world and all living in it”…
And after he versed in grave the ash from
censer, father pulled back, making room to gravediggers for starting to fill
up.
-Stop! the barbed from close by grasped exactly
in that moment.
Instantly, image turned to stone, reduced to a
photograph only.
-So, now you focalize place from where he had
started and approach up.
The teenager clapped rapidly keyboard in front
of him. He watched from so close the images, that you could follow them
directly on his face.
The small funerary monument from depth of
perspective, at feet of which they had seen Lastaru sitting, begun to grow
dizzily.
-Process it a little, Tommy. As clear as you
can.
A few other technical procedures followed,
executed with a faultless rapidity. Suddenly, on white marble it profiled
readable an inscription with black capitals knee- high to a grasshopper. Over
it, in an oval medallion, the photograph of a young woman.
Triumphant, the barbed pivoted on chair toward
the two spectators in coats and watched them professorially by over his
flattened spectacles. Stupefied, they still stared to fresh bouquet of white
lilac from that grave.
They have forgotten even to breath.
14
The envelope didn’t carry stamps and nor tag,
proof it was not sent by post, but left
in box by professor Turbala personally,
or by some errand boy. Probably, this had searched Struba home immediately
after his departure to Dobroudja and, not finding him, he left some urgent
message. After she unlocked and entered apartment, Rut hesitated long time with
envelope in hand. She used since years the key received from Al. But never
risen correspondence in his absence. But this time, it was question about an
unusual envelope, left open and introduced by under door, which tempted almost
irresistible. She decided at last to see the content, solacing with speculation
that, after all, non indicating explicitly of addressee made her curiosity
almost excusable. More, if it was somehow question about an important
communication which didn’t suffered postponement, she could ring Al just now to
hotel reception, as they had convened. But immediately after, interior of
envelope disappointed her in same measure as had tempted. It was no letter
there, only a newspaper article with microscopic letters, cut at sizes of a
banknote. Nothing, in rest. It wasn’t accompanied by any explaining note.
However, a laconic annotation drawn attention. Below article a hand had written
calligraphic with violet ink: “Extremely
strange”.
HOP-STEP-AND-JUMP
Yesterday evening, Circus Globus hosted a new
representation of celebrate company Zeno whose acrobats became in last three
years one of most appreciated items by public. Unfortunately, the program of
spectacle was interrupted by a tragic accident during execution of traditional
hop-step-and-jump, most dangerous proof in repertory of company. A launching
mistakenly calculated which should lead to coupling of the three brothers in a
human chain suspended under cupola of circus, cost life of young Iozefin Zeno,
youngest in troop, putting prematurely an end to a career and a talent of great
future. The absence of protecting net made out athlete’s fall in gap his last
flight, all efforts deposed by medicines for his rescue proving vain. From
unconfirmed sources, it resulted among those close to victim circulates strange
speculation according to which his death would coincide surprisingly to destiny
of Tibetan little statue which had belonged to him, personal souvenir from a
tour at Calcutta. The deceased had preserved it permanently in his cabin as a porte-bonheur until yesterday evening
when, in the eve of spectacle, statue had fallen accidentally on flooring and
had broken. The unexpected and irreparable loss of Iozefin Zeno gave a heavy
stikr to members of troop, as well as to hopes connected by future of this. As
it is well known, the brothers Zeno had the merit to have succeeded, by
successes obtained in tours abroad, to impose recognition of artistic level of
ensemble of Romanian circus, contributing thus to raising of prestige of our
national values and to development of cultural exchanges.
Reflex, she remembered discussion she had with
Al at coffee house about magic breaking of puppets and statues practiced by
wizards voodoo That evening when they
quarreled because of doctor Tarus. Indian tour, mentioned in article, told her
also something unclear. Something in connection with one of victims of
celebrate killing room, a type who grew a cobra in balcony from home… Of
course, trainer of snacks at circus. He had gained cobra at a bet just there,
at Calcutta.
And how both of them. Trainer and acrobat, were employed in circus troop, it
means very probably they made that tour together. But what particularly seemed to professor Turbala “extremely strange” in
accident happened under circus cupola? Rut didn’t succeed to understand. From
game it seemed to lack some pieces, only Al and professor had them.
So she hanged up her ax and entered directly
under shower. Anything would have awaken suspicions of professor in that
article, certainly respective news could wait for Al’s return, a day or two.
One who seemed couldn’t wait any more had been, so, just the sender, judging
after procedure used. Probably professor hurried himself to leave for province,
at some archaeological workshop, in accordance with custom.
Then she opened mechanically television and,
condemned to tiredness, left herself crucified on bed. Soporific effect of a
television left going in an undertone was sweetest drug in world. Last
intelligible sounds she caught perceive came from a report about popular
customs on way of disappearance. A blond mayor, with obsolescent bang a la Titus from about 1800, explained
to woman reporter why in their commune police took measure to prohibit ancient
custom of crying couplets in the night of Easter fast beginning. “Why, after
all, two groups of lads, mounted on two hills face to face, not dialog in big
mouth, gossiping marriageable girls in village in virtue of constitutional
rights?” “Because they exaggerated too much, madam, with piggy calumnies at
shelter of darkness, hurling in hearing of all village how someone is lazy and
some other whore, that some had to issue certificate they are virgins, and in
vain, that authors couldn’t be anyhow identified…”
15
The spring rushed in town like a bull.
Rummaged by wind, young noises arise everywhere.
Whitewashed trees. Roofs clanging under hammers. Newspapers cried in street.
Beatings of carpets. Fresh painted boats drying with belly at sun. From sea
port, echo of heavy metals resound: groan of pulleys, bells of cranes, deaf
thuds of ships repaired in docs. Weakened, the town creaks from all joints,
shaken by breeze.
Early morning, Struba got down from hotel with
hesitant steps, as if he was wearing someone else’s shoes. He went first up to
dikes, to see the sea licking its wounds after storm of last night. He felt
fresh smell of roused leviathan. He looked for long there to blinding sparkling
in the offing, getting drunk by light. He thought he and this exhausted sea had
something in common. After thirteen weeks of claustration in mystery of killing
room, the horizons seemed at last to open in front of him. He started slowly on
inclined little roads of old port quarter in search of Turkish coffee. Sailors,
dockers, office workers navigated to and fro restlessly. Arms of passer-byes
hanged like some anchors to short over a sunk continent.
He found in a little market a deserted pub and
established there. He preferred outside terrace in the beating of soft sun of a
abnormal early spring. He hadn’t slightest idea how to reach from here to
Hermitage of Martyrs. Hotel receptionist wasn’t of any help to him. About a
hour of way on road, toward North judging after map. Isn’t strange that there,
in a sector of 30 square kilometers, most of monachal establishments were
concentrated on this side of Danube, as a flock gathers from instinct before an
imminent cataclysm? Cilic, Dere, Cocosh, Saun, names with curious resonance.
Struba thought repeatedly to them and watched
absently the coach just stopped in square. Some group of foreign tourists
arrived prematurely, perhaps misinformed about data when seacoast season
started at us.
But to his surprise, some seconds later he saw
a numerous group of monks or priests getting down from couch. Coincidence
amused him. Some of them remained in parking discussing or working at luggage,
but the rest spread slowly on little roads from neighborhood, seeming to have
not a precise target. Judging after red or purple belt some were girded with
over surplice, distinctive sign for some prelates of superior order, it may be
question rather of some delegation to a local synod, than to a ritual
procession.
A small group of canons approached pub terrace.
It couldn’t be more adequate occasion to get information about some
monasteries. Since clerics came and sat at one of close tables, he had
disappointment to hear them speaking in an unknown language. They sent to
buffet inside one of them who seemed to be their guide. Struba hesitated.
Perhaps was more indicated to sound couch’s driver. He saw him smoking in
parking, remained apparently in expectance. Perhaps it was question only of a
halt, towards other destination. In any case, they just arrived and nobody gave
any sign of hurry, so that he decided to wait for the time being before taking
a initiative.
-Let me give you in ghioc-conch, boyar, of
luck, of love…
A Gypsy chivutsa with baby-puradel in arms.
-Circulate! Struba sent her away, making him
busy with map.
Escape scab. You can’t.
-Oh my, what lot of cares you have at heart,
boyar, put only a coin here and the Gypsy unties now of them, of charm, of
spell-making shall I eat your cock!
Imprudent , he threw on table a banknote rather
to get rid of her mouth.
-Take, for the little one, and now go away.
As she was standing near him with ghioc-conch
put at ear, he saw Rut arranging her stethoscope. “I am ill of heart Mrs.
Doctor…” “Don’t say, since when?” “Since I met you. Is something heard in
funnel?…” “It is heard a lie. Let take now also your tension”. ”Take it, but
then give it back to me.
-You have cares like hell. A woman blue at eyes
is in tears after you, one you are in house with her, widow or separated. Some
men gathered in a place want wrong to you, seemingly they would give you hard
charm, know you. You have a journey now but you don’t make you any more.
-Why not make it, what ghioc-conch says? Struba
left him caught in game.
-I don’t know, your mouth I shall eat, yes, it
sounds so, as way which closes. And avoid falling…
-And you, woman, keep from bottle beyond stove!
A voice was heard so close that Struba started.
He pivoted on chair, blinking eyes toward sun
rising at dark silhouette in his back, which perspective contre-jour made it almost impossible to watch. Only after shape
moved from sun direction, he recognized the monk sent to buffet by his brothers
after edibles. Surprised by this apparition, Strub forgotten to enjoy hearing a
so maternal language. Big woman disappeared from there like a ghost, as if she
saw Saint Peter.
Cordial, Struba made a gesture of ease:
-You dropped on the dot, pious! This Piranda
was foretelling me only misfortunes. I am grateful you got me rid of such a
croaker…
He could well may be some five years more than
him, if beard and deep eye circles didn’t exaggerate disparity. Monk received
gratitude with a wag bow, but full of good will.
-If I don’t commit a disrespect concerning your
brothers, I should offer my company at this table. Are you by the way fasting?
-The true fast is not knowing another you fast,
monk answered abiguously.
He sat however, thanking, on chair offered
insistently by Struba. Who asked:
-What did you want to say, in fact, with bottle
behind stove? Is it a saying?
-It is a bottle with diesel oil.
Struba seemed with no compass.
For lighting fire wood, canonic added.
-So, you know that chivutsa-Gypsy?
-Until a while before I didn’t know at least
she existed.
-And yet you know she has home a bottle with
diesel oil behind stove...
-Now, yes. In Lazarus’ Saturday, awaken by
overnight cold, woman will put in stove an arm of brushwood which, being wet by
rain, will not fire. Then she will take bottle and will throw over them diesel
oil in plenty. The flame will light kerchiefs around neck and skirts and her
mad running through household will intensify stronger the fire. She will end
burnt alive, and house a lighted torch will be only her candle. The diesel oil
had been once robbed from reservoir of ambulance service van, cause of which
driver couldn’t intervene at an emergency case and a woman had deceased.
Shivers crossed Struba’s spine. The monk explained all these with a perfect
calm. Was he just a prophet, or only some lunatic? Lazarus’ Saturday. He tried
to remember quickly when Easter was falling, but he got entangled in
calculation.
-Therefore, she is followed by a god curse.
-Talion, not curse. Divine repair is talion.
Curse is sanction
Indeed, Struba thought. Punishment given for an
injustice isn’t same with repair of
that injustice. You may be sometime forgiven of punishment, but damage has
always be paid. Even if judges would condemned Aurel Bau, in head of his gang
of rascals, at maximum sentence, would this really compensate victim? At most,
would solaced her, likely. It is just argument her potential avengers would
invoke.
-Confusion is frequent, his interlocutor
continued. People think talion law is a procedure of divine punishment, from
where also formulas Greeks designated it by in old tine: “the punishment” of
Neoptolemos, other time “the curse” of Buzygos. Some anonymous hand wrote
usually on funerary monument of victim of a killing the following epitaph: “The
man who killed me buried me here to hide his crime: if he presented me with a
grave, then let him receive same present!” That is, cursing his killer, the
deceased didn’t pray anyhow to gods for punishing him, but wished to the guilty
to receive the talion, the only just equivalent
of murder. Otherwise, what punishment would really resurrect a dead?
The unexpected turn their words exchange took
awaken thoroughly Struba from sweet slumber of that marine morning.
-This Buzygos you mentioned, who was? he asked.
-The first plough man in Attica.
Yoke of bulls, it is said, would have been his invention, from where also name,
for in Greek zygos means yoke.. Also
to him are due the first norms in regulating agricultural works, whose
encroachment was punished by putting at yoke those guilty.
-And the other one? With name as of medicine,
Neo…
-Neoptolem.
-Exactly!
-He was Achile’s son. Killed just near Delphi altar. What has been interpreted as divine
punishment. By symmetry, Neoptolem had killed Priam also near an altar, that
from Troy.
-Strange symmetry, indeed…Struba thought
loudly.
-Always happened like that. Declension of
Corinthian wars itself was considered a “punishment of Neoptolem” applied to
Spartans for their trick by which they had destroyed Athenian fleet.
Struba felt acutely handicap of having not
close by professor Turbala. It became more and more evidently that, by himself
alone, he will not cope for continuation of a dialog in direction it had take
now. And however, subject was irresistible. It was worth to be scratched to blood.
-Tell me, is it true Salomea would have pay
with her own head for Baptizer’s head? he asked.
-She was beheaded ice edge when ice pack broken
at crossing a lack.
-Fantastic, Struba exclaimed.
-Like morals, it would suit here a word of
Stefan Tomsha. He had a tragic-comical curse in rhymes he addressed to any
sentenced to death, before execution:
“Be not forgiven by God
with that your big head”.
For he was out of way avenging
and pitiless. Cruel voievod born in sign of bloody Aquarius.
-As if the others were more domestic? For many
of them, anger and quick reflexes were almost hereditary. Draculas,
Mushatins…Tsepesh and Stephen the Great were cousin brothers, isn’t so? Most
dangerous. Quick at hands as some Texan pistoleers.
With arms crossed on chest, the monk relaxed on
chair back. He hesitated a few moments, sign he prepared to bring a small
corrective to Struba’s generalization. He answered:
-I don’t think it was something congenital.
Radu the Great, for instance: a remarkable exception. To schoolboys hardly it
is remembered about him. The, not all executions were barbarian, without
preliminary trial. Not even in pathological cases. An aunt from Priboieni of
Muscel brought me in one village of them by name Albutele, to show me the place
of house in which Draculea judged when passing by there. As story goes, he had
in big villages his house of judgment like that, with table, stake and gallows,
all plate.
-Of course, he put a barrage question, like
Sphinx, and judgement ready! Struba snorted. If didn’t answer something
original to tickle his whims, he would skin you alive and up in stake! At least
at Russian roulette your chance is decided by fate.
-What I was telling you? Just for that arrived,
at last, also his head in peak of a stake, at Istambul. Talion law. In battle
from Balteni, he disguised in Turk for diversion (old trick), but just out of
confusion, he was killed with spear just by his soldiers. History is a delice,
with condition be not learnt from school handbooks, where it is written only what
is convenient to us. No crimes, no beastliness, no demented. All is
rose-bonbon, like bulls’ tongue. Or, talion repairs were so frequent that they
became an obsession for chroniclers. Wherever you open the chronicle, you find
some justice comment. You open Costin – you see usurper Razvan paying with same
currency for Aron-voda. You open Neculce – meet despot Duca-voda paying with
same currency for boyar Ursachi.
-To me, writing of chroniclers gave pains of
eyes. You know, that unique color of old language, that unredeemable…
-Blue of chronicle.
-It make them today almost inaccessible, isn’t
so?
-Not at all. “Then, learning Duca-voda, bad
news cataroia stroke him and died on the spot”.It’s game of children.
-That is apoplexy, isn’t it? Struba translated.
Funny, indeed.
-Also a “head for head” may have been also that
of Michel, beheaded in his tent by two German captains, just as he proceeded
with Andrei Bathory when he had caught him lost in a forest.
-But in painting by Lecca didn’t they thrust
him with javelin?…
-It doesn’t correspond to facts. When they
rushed over him, Michel in fact didn’t have time even to rise from bedcloth.
A lad with apron by neck came to bring edibles.
For all people, a sort of Calabrese salad, only tomato in olive oil and basil. A
poverty.
One of monks from close by table, stout, you
could mix him up with Demis Roussos, cried after piccolo:
-Kiapoenan kafe,
aparetitos!
-Of course, some little coffees, son – the
unusual Struba’s invitee translated for waiter.
The character just fascinated him. Still from
childhood, monks, disguised under their POTCAPURI and CULIOANE, seemed to him
ridiculous. Guilty were probably Rabelaisian parodies. But now, Struba felt
dominated: an enthralling which, acme, produced to him a hidden pleasure. He
discovered his cup or coffee was already emptied. To pull more from time, he
proposed to himself to encore. As about hermitage itinerary he had forgotten
totally.
-From as much as I understand now, what we
accustomed to call “immanent justice” is just this law of providential repair –
he said conclusively, waiting for a confirmation.
The monk was chewing rarely, with dark eyes
remained fixed at shining in the large of sea. To black sparkles making guard
to gates of light.
-We accustomed badly, he answered. Once it is
natural law, it can’t be “justice” any more,, for really creation laws work by
themselves, as automatic mechanism, without any intervention. You hear
commenting: Ah, see God paid that after his doings!…Mistaken. People don’t
read. Avdie had written clearly: “As you did, so will be done to you, your
doing will return over you”. Same also Osea. Idem also in Paralipomena. Ultra banal saying “as deed, so pay” reproduces
literally Isaiah words. For no cause remains without effects: immanence law.
Or, “justice” is just opposed to immanence, for punishments don’t apply single,
but they need a judge to intervene.
-By curse.
-But only provisory, as a preparatory coercion
before true posthumous judgement. Only then we do see definitive justice! As
long as he lives, in earthly body, part of man is the immanence, the natural laws. After what, post mortem, good-bye nature and natural laws, that landscape
changes!…
A few seagulls yelled stridently passing over
their heads, in search of some eaves. Roofs of shining tin plate cut a sky so
strongly colored that Struba couldn’t watch it. A blue pain.
-To me, your piety, something isn’t clear here…
Why was it prescribed to archaic man “tooth for tooth”, if talion is an
automatism which works anyhow?
-Just because he was “archaic”. In order to
learn the world is governed by laws which don’t forgive.
-Then Christ, more recently, why did he preach
the turn of other cheek?
-Just because man was “more recent”, more
mature. To learn that judge can however forgive him, as pity less as laws can
be. That true power is to forgive, not to punish. Otherwise, with cudgel knows
striking any good-for-nothing. “And forgive us our mistakes, as well as we forgive those mistaking to
us”. It is only possible issue from vicious circle of “tooth for tooth”.
-Struba blinked eyes, seeming to see a light
through a half-open door.
-That is, there are not two contradictory
rules, but different perspectives on one and same rule? he said on an unsure
voice.
-When child is still small and stupid, you
punish him when he pies in bed, in order to learn him with little pot. But when
he becomes mature man and you see he makes still in pants, then you realize he
is sick and feel pity for him, and instead of punishing him you forgive and
bring him to a doctor. For any time also our turn to get ill can come. “As you
want people to do for you, so do you for people.” And is this hypate law,
really, other than just talion?
-Indeed, Struba recognized. Only that it is as
a glove turned up-side-down.
-One and same glove, not something else, but somehow else.
-Divine curses would be, so, a sort of…
education of “good manners” in wearing these gloves?
-Now you convinced is not so complicated? monk
agreed. Unfortunately, lays don’t see in them other thing than revenges. From
where also their process-mania. Day by day they knock at door of Judge with
accurse and curses, asking him imperiously to make them justice, as if divine
justice would need claims for mobilizing it.
Struba profited promptly by return of boy with
coffees and asked him to prepare one more for himself. He returned then again
to his companion:
-Inutility of human appeal to divine justice,
you were saying. This was, so, reason for it was recommended to us to abstain
from curses?
-One of reasons was perilousness of proceeding.
-Danger of “judicial errors”?
-Excluded. The judge of world doesn’t make
errors.
-Then?
-Not that accursed is exposed to danger, but
just the one who gives accurse. Isn’t just that paradox put by Aeskylus in
verse?
“Even when you ask from heavens your help,
The misfortune stays on your tongue!”
Because accurse involves revolt and anger and
fury, indifferent of circumstances. Really, is it not an icon also television
in front of which you kneel pathetically shouting when referee cancels a perfectly valid goal of your favored team?
-I am not a microbe-fan, Struba shrugged his
shoulders. Evaluation of man after legs makes me sick. His interlocutor laughed
with tooth of saw:
-But evaluation of woman?… I was saying, thus,
that true shape of human curses is interior, be it exteriorized or not. As also
psalmist noticed when saying:” with heart they were cursing me”. It’s right
that it says “Give God” that train cut someone or I don’t know what else, but
expressing in words is but only phenomenological aspect, secondary. Essential
is, in fact, the attitude. Fire which crumbles you until finishes you “of bad
heart”, or loses your minds like Anton Pann’s aphorism “If you want to make
foolishness, do ask advice from anger” And if would be only falling to bad,
still would be nothing. But current practicing of accurse equalizes a slow
spiritual suicide, as suffered Judah,
“who dressed in own curse like in a coat”…
-Psalm 108, Struba hit the target, with heavy
armament of recent readings.
He may have looked ridiculous so, puffing
himself up like hotel janitor mixed up with a marshal. However, occasion was
too rare to not sell his ware, deposited with so much effort in last thirteen
weeks.
The canonic stared him with a penetrating
sight, reading him as a radiography.
-But I see we have in common more than a simple
subject of conversation, if you permit me a remark. Judging after your
preoccupation for our soul medicine, I suppose you represent one from two its
close relatives: body medicine or social medicine.
-Very perspicacious! Struba risen the sleeve,
amazed. But why close relatives?
-Surplice, white overall and black robe: look
single fashion saloon nobody will ever visit with pleasure.
-You guessed, we have in common vestimentary
black, Struba left himself unarmed.
In front of such man, didn’t make sense to
hide. Actually, the monk didn’t seem surprised at all by confession he had
provoked. He used with delicacy the napkin and then spoke again:
-If so, then, as man of law, you know probably
about that law of emperor Teodosie who had declared as deprived of power and
value ”the decisions took at anger” by some judges.
He hadn’t idea. But he was too much overwhelmed
now to be able to control anymore his professional vanity or sensation of
unpleasant.
-I didn’t know this, Struba recognized his
ignorance.
-Proposed by bishop Ambrozie and promulgated by
emperor with an exposition of reasons in genre “because you permit anger to judge, in stead that mind to
make judicial investigation”
-But how did they ensure of its effective
application?
-With a presumption. According to that law, it
was compulsory a term of 30 days to pass after pronouncing of sentence, for calming the nerves, after what the
file was reexamined “at cold”, as a grant of solidity of pronounced sentence.
How do you find it?
-Absolutely sensational. Do continue.
-It is an unquestionable proof of seriousness
with which they approaced by then the problem of nerves, as responsible as
would be today verification of pilots state before flight. Anger is a quake
which dismembers entire being, burying it alive under own ruins. Paul has
metaphor that cut your breath: “Open grave is their throat…Their mouth is full
of curse and bitterness”.
-Therefore, curses thrown by people are a
boomerang?
-As any other sin.
-But the thrown boomerang returns in your nose
on its lawful trajectory, exactly to point of departure, only if you didn’t hit
upon kangaroo – Struba noticed.
-But you don’t even hit it. Kangaroos don’t die
when dogs want it. But everybody dies after how it was written to him.
-Then, how do you explain that characters from
among most pious in The Old Testament
were heard cursing of all beauty, and their curses just took shape? The
venerable Elisei, for instance. When those guttersnipes from Bethel accosted
him, at issue from citadel, mocking him and crying at him “Bald one!”, the old man cursed them with
name of God, isn’t so? And immediately appeared from forest judicial
executioners, two ours which tore them as some vagabond dogs.
-You forget Elisei wasn’t lay man, he was “man
Of God”- monk answered. The Chronicle of
Kings designates him by this phrase no less than 22 times. Formule with
which, actually, contemporaries addressed also Ilie Tesviteanul. They were
people full of charisma, by whom mouth divine justice announced its sentences,
as it was warning over future by mouth of prophets. Curses of these saints were
therefore only apparent: they weren’t accusers, but messengers of Judge
himself.
-That is, there were, in fact, some divine curses communicated to lay
mortals?
-Similarly to how radio communicates are
transmitted by mouth of speakers.
-But when a saint wants to complaint to his
chief, how does he address concretely? Struba was surprised.
-They pray for straightening of evil without
asking punishment of guilty ones. For vainly are you saint and your complaint
just, if you have no right to accuse.
Not claim of divine justice will be stimulation, but its doxology.
-Doxology…
-Its glorification. Isn’t it logical? Who
claims divine justice, pretending with pluck to show it, that in fact doubts
about it. Like Thomas.
-Paradoxical…Struba remained embarrassed.
-Because of universality. For accuser may say
his individual grief, but providence is not his private justice, it is of all.
What would mean to give him satisfaction with prize of ignoring of billions of
complaints of other sighing ones? Their prejudicial, what would be
unconceivable for a Judge who grants justice with his own Name. For just
archive is packed with files! To don’t say any wronged is, at his turn, guilty
in front of others. Imagine ultra complicated solutions given to this jungle of
individual responsibilities! In this anthill, no wonder act of God justice
becomes almost impossible to recognize it. From also doubt of many he wouldn’t
exist indeed. For blind believe only what he touches.
-And yet some believers pay ACATISTE at church
for punishment of their personal enemies, is it true?
-I don’t deny some pass them in POMELNICE at
column “enemies”. But priest, in fact, prays for those, to be brought on good
way, for orthodoxy is not anyone’s cudgel. It would contravene to universal
plan of rescue of Man.
Struba reflected a few seconds to this new
concept. It wasn’t easy at all to accommodate. Until three years ago, you
didn’t hear else than of “five-year plans”.
-But… monk
curses? he played his last card. Two examples, if you permit me. First, famous Tie of curse of Saint Calinic. For just
I saw it with my eyes written under his photograph there, on that iron cross,
when I climbed on mountain to monastery Frasinei.. I was in holiday at
Olaneshti, once. And if would be only that misogynous inscription, with
interdiction for fair sex to enter monastery, let it be. But tragedies happened
there as many times as it was encroached upon entered already legend: wagons
slipped in precipices, people thundered on way, tore by beasts, etcaetera,
stories absolutely sensational.
-That fore women did also arrange a shrine for
worship in the valley, separately – monk confirmed.
-The second case I know from hermits in Vorona,
about a rogue boyar who with false acts had monopolized the estate of Coshula
hermitage. This was somewhere nearby, at half our walking. Chased from there,
the monks cursed the Harpagon and in a good day, during some works on the land,
family of that has fallen victim to an accident.
-It may be so. Only that in case of these
charismatics not their own curse enters in game, but just the divine one. For
they, I already told you, were only some ushers of heavenly trials. Otherwise,
God doesn’r wait claims from us, but prayers. Doesn’t Epifaniu say in Panarion“… Any blasphemer with his
curse, any monk with his prayer?
-And doesn’t priest pray at burials for untying
the deceased from likely parents or confessing curses, or somehow “if he has
fallen in heavy accurse from archbishop”? Struba insisted.
-But also he untie then him “of tie put in any
shape over him…from archbishop, or from someone else he suffered a slip like this, through envy and work of devil…” Read Panihida. For through mouth of man, be he even archbishop, both God
and devil can utter, but unbinding of words only God can give him. Cause the
other one has no interest: “If devils could be pulled out of man with help of
Satan, that means Satan would split within self: and then how would last his
power?” Celebrate paradox in Mathew 12.26.
-Conclusion should be our curses are not only
injurious, but also useless. A double reason to get rid of them. Like of
cigarettes! Struba laughed.
And he lighted a cigarette, sighing smoke with
satisfaction.
-Treble. You omitted main reason:
inadmissibility of procedure. Think, as man of law, what would happen with
penal justice if it would be left in hands of the harmed or of his relatives.
-But, up to Philip the Handsome, penal pursuit
had been just like that, private – Struba remarked.
-His interlocutor counted rarely on fingers:
-Numberless are differences between divine
judge and accuser with human face. First of all, fundament of punishment: for
judge, the fundament is the sin, a deed committed against God, while accuser
invokes injustice suffered by him, a deed committed against man. In the second
turn –the scope of punishment: providential justice pursuits correcting and
recuperating the guilty, while accuser wants his reprimanding. In the third
turn – criterion of punishment: judge weights guilt after divine norms, while
accuser evaluates it after personal criteria and interests. In the fourth turn
– nature of punishment: judge chooses adequately the punishment according to
personality and destiny of the guilty, while accuser asks arbitrary
punishments. In the fifth turn – granting of punishment: in case of judge
punishment is result of a infallible deliberation, while at accuser is result
of affective combustion. In the sixth turn – benefit of punishment: judge
punishes for the good of guilty, while accuser wants satisfaction for himself.
In the seventh turn – pronouncing of sentence: sentence is already decided
before being required, so that accusation is anyhow late and, consequently,
useless.
-Already decided? Struba didn’t understand.
-Just like that. “That your Father knows what
you need before you ask Him”. That for I told you the curse thrown by man is a
boomerang.
Siren of a ship resounded baritone like from
port, in curious association with last words quoted by monk
Struba joked, with air he enlightened himself
at last:
-Hunting season at kangaroos, therefore,
finished!…
-But not also for poachers! The other kept
accompanying him.
He had remarked superiors from close by table
raising one after another, without much hurry. They prepared to go. His
interlocutor raised as well for meeting the pot-bellied twin of Demis Roussos,
who approached with steps by penguin, addressing to the “prophet”:
-O agatipsihe!
Sikonome anghira. Kanis kamia episkepsi stinpoli?
Struba saw his compatriot making by had a
negative sign before answering.
-Ohi.
Sasperimeno edo.
-Are you going?… Struba asked, visibly
disappointed.
-Me, not yet. Only some of brothers want to
have a look around neighborhoods, before embarking.
He controlled his watch. Then again toward
fattish, who was consulting now with rest of group:
-Prosohi,
adelfos! Naghirisete grigora. Mehri tisdeftera parusia.
They all broke out in a peal of laughter. Ill-at-ease, Struba
pulled out from chain his prehistoric watch, pretending to be preoccupied. He
didn’t see at least what time indicated. He started turning it uselessly, until
small procession put in movement, making for diagonal of square.
-You said something about embarking. At what time will you mount on ship?
-Embarking in generic manner, otherwise we
travel by coach. That over there, you see it…Time? See just advantage of coach,
it waits for those belated. For what I was also joking with ICONOM STAVROFOR,
when I just drawn their attention to return quickly, and not be overtaken by
Last Judgement.
-A pilgrimage?
-Visit of monasteries on Mountain Athos.
Majority of group is but composed of
brothers from Meteoara and from Pireu who return now home. Here it was made
only a halt for collecting on way local bishops.
Struba smiled in mind, remembering he had
discovered Greece
not by eyes, but by mouth. Chewing-gum in first years of school, sent to Oreste
by his grandmother from Athenes, during military dictatorship. In that time, a
delicacy and a rarity. Cohliades family had established here at a time with
weave of refugees. To initiate with Oreste in Greek mysteries, cramming with
that mentholated gum, to be far from campuses in islands and to be young!…What
did they care then for student battles at propylaea of Politechnics?
-It seems a real piece of museum. May I have a
look? he heard the monk.
He pointed toward his watch of silver, with
some interest.
-Please, Struba agreed proudly. It is a Paul Garnier authentical. Personal
souvenir.
He saw him touching monogram engraved on lid
with sensitivity of reader of a text in Braille. Only the he remembered
suddenly. The hermitage. Nearly to miss occasion. He attacked therefore the
subject:
-By a happy coincidence, I prepare myself now
for visiting a saint house, just like you do…I say happy, because being not
from part of place I will profit of this interesting conversation, asking you
to recommend me a mean for arriving up to hermitage of Martyrs. Of course, in
case the establishment is known to you.
And pulled out again from pocket the map to
unfold it. Since he got rid of Gypsy-chivutsa with cowrieshell, he didn’t put
hand on it. The monk approved by head examining from distance the watch. He
said:
-I know the place, but I am afraid you would
tire for nothing up to there.
-Because of abandon?
-A, you are at current. That’s it, former
monastery was abandoned as consequence of church reorganization. It remained
only crypt of six martyrs and a small museum with Roman coins dug up at
archaeological workshops in region. Great pity. Old church became silo of
grains and potato, swarming of rats. Arhondaric is a ruin.
-And it is still living in such a dereliction?
Struba asked, impressed.
-As on Mountain Athos. Without electricity,
only with kerosene lamps, with fish from Danube
and red melons.
Struba picked his memory in search of exact
text of communication received from Patriarchy.
-Most pious, what means “ieromonah”?
-A monk who fulfill also attributions of priest
.
-And “ieromonah in rank of protosinghel”?
-Protosinghel is the smallest among monks
hierarchs. Inferior in rank to igumen and arhimandrit, but superior to singhel.
I see, something like major – Struba reflected.
Smaller than lieutenant-colonel, but bigger than captain. He felt oblige to
formalize:
-You know, by us by justice, especially those
we are working in field of penal law, we deal, usually, only with military
degrees.
-Learn that also in canonic law is the same.
Church administration is based also on hierarchy and discipline, from patriarch
up to last deacon of unction. And just like clergy of unction, that is priests,
we have also our ranks of monk clergy, in top with archimandritii mitrofori, we
have order of chinovie, an exarh of monasteries of monks and so on. I undrstand
now, after question you put me, that you don’t go hermitage of Martyrs in
villegiatura, but with problems of service…
-I search there “a ieromonah in rank of
protosinghel”, Struba said.
-So? Who namely? I know quiet well brothers...
Struba was to laugh. They were both, now, as
couple in train, that African student and an old woman from our lands
travelling in the same compartment. Prize of two-three stations, godmother
stared thoroughly to nigro near she up to Ghergani, when worm of tongue doesn’t
bear any more and says: “My eyes tell me you are from our lands…” And curled:
“I… Congolese”. “That is how do you gongolezi?” “I am from Brazzaville”.”So, from about Brazzaville, you say! An of whom, oh whom,
mother from Brazaville?”
-Here you are, to see how small is world! he
exclaimed. This is just my lucky day! Name Bartolomeu Lasu tells you something?
Monk kept silent. Seemingly waiting a fruit to
ripe.
-It tells…he confirmed at last.
-Seriously? Struba got enthusiast.
This man was a true celestial manna.. With no
any doubt, today meeting of them had been providential.
-Shell I understand that Bartolomeu is only
reason of efforts of your honor in order to reach up to that desolating
hermitage?…it came monk’s turn to ask.
Struba hesitated a moment. Something sounded a
bit strident. But he didn’t succeed to realize what namely.
-A reason too serious, yet, for not being
enough – he confirmed sibylline.
The monk fretted between fingers silver chain
of his watch like a rosary. He spoke rarely, listening to own words, as if
would stay alone at table:
-A reason really serious will give you only the
owner of this pocket watch. His days are numbered. A road equipment with Polish
name will put an end to them close by a bridge, and you will convince alone
when your watch will spoil.
Struba looked at him bewildered. Uncle
Petrishor Hagiu!? He didn’t know anything about him since more than a decade…
But what connection could have been with him protosinghel Bartolomeu, with
investigation and all others?…He forced from all his powers to think logically.
But his thinking pained him.
-Seemingly you are column of funerary
announcements! he laughed from stomach, yellow at face. What game is this: a
chess with only black pieces?...
-An oracle.
-That is, bottle with diesel oil behind stove
wasn’t a simple fantesy…But how can you see from far everybody’s future?!
-Not distance is hiding future, but horizon. It
is a question of perspective.
The monk returned watch. With an idiotic
expression, Struba examined it at his turn on all faces, suspiciously, as if he
wouldn’t recognize it. What future to hear in dilly-dallying of this silver
cowrie, which you put at your ear only to learn if it is not case to bring it
to repairing.
Suddenly, he was electrocuted by touch of
thought in darkness.
Come what might. He gave up to temptation,
releasing his hold of words, as you release on you your necessities when you
can’t keep them any more.:
-But this means , isn’t so, you can see also my
own denouement.
Prophet denied by head, preventing:
-It’s not worth talking about. You do accustom
already with idea you can’t force me to disclose it to you, as much as would
insist.
-And however, fate of Gypsy-chivutsa have
disclosed…Struba protested without energy.
-Yes, but I disclosed it to you, prophet pressed.
It was evident would have been useless to
insist. With such an adversary you couldn’t measure. It didn’t remain anything
else than be content with an answer to his initial preoccupation.
-Then, perhaps you will give me a hand of help
to my actual plans. I want to reach today that hermitage and still I don’t know
how.
The very pious shaken head as for doubting. The
answer wrinkled Struba’s forehead:
-It will mean to bring owls to Athens.
-I don’t guess…Is it some joke in ancient
meter?
-It would be, tht is, of no use.
-Why, did he leave in between the monastery?
Struba rushed.
-Brother Bartolomeu is just now on the way to
Athos.
-You wouldn’t really tell me that he is in your
group…
-But I tell you.
Suddenly, Struba felt in nostrils a penetrating
smell of shells.
-How, here?!
The monk pressed him with a sight of lead.
Then, the words, bursting as a screw too tight.
-Here, in front of you.
16
Baia de Ariesh, 6 martie
Dear Struba,
You may have been very surprised, finding in
post box the envelope with cutting from newspaper. I owe you an explaination.
Receiving news my diggers discovered some
potsherds on valley
of Ariesh, I said to
myself – as dromoman as I am – to come urgently here before some ne’er-do-well
cuts with them. On way to station I diverted to you, ony for signaling article,
which I red at lunch, by chance, coming out from University. The accident from
circus had remembered me a striking detail in your file, giving me a suspicion
I have necessarily share with you.
I didn’t arrived yet, and, look, a terrible rain
giving respite I needed write present letter, with hope it will reach
you before my return at Easter, with help of God and St. Censorship. So that,
my diggings being momentarilly interrupted, let’s pass to your diggings,
Struba, for about them I had in mind to tell you.
Tibetan statuette.
Therefore, young athlete, peace to his ashes,
had received it from trainer of snakes, and trainer had it from some Hindus
Punjab met in Calcutta,
yes? In other words it passed through hands of both, after what one and another
fallen from high and died. Was it verified somehow what kind of statuette was
that? From things I remember, never in our discussions you didn’t mention
anything about its origin. It is known but surely trainer had received it as a
trophy at bet gain, with footballer's word, change of place. Defeat a little
humiliating for hosts, isn’t it? Wouldn’t be so out of way exaggerated if we
would suppose defeated, to dell dear their skin, thought to pay laureate with a
little joke. But not something gross like trick practiced by our dodgers when
they cavil at you in front of currency exchange houses, but a trick
incomparable subtler and more difficult to find out: a miniature Tibetan
Buddha.
And if it would be question only about a banal
swindle regarding quality of ware, it would mean to waste your time for nothing
with letter. That today SHTIFTS and kitsch are wore already on all roads and,
otherwise, with an imitation is worth cheating an art collector, not a circus
trainer. What cares in fact snake tamer if it was question of a bronze or a
plaster? Any how he didn’t pay one rupee in exchange of this souvenir, but hag
gained it as trophy. Therefore, not to a false I think here. No, what I imagine
is infinitely worse. A little Buddha of fabrication Dung-pa.
For accommodating you rapidly with this new
notion, you may know Dung-pa is a sect of Tibetan monks, who fallen into bad
habit to “load” statuettes of Buddha with charms, as well as uncle Multsescu
from behind Tunari gas station, father of footballer, batteries auto
with sulfuric acid. After ritual, statuettes become so harmful, that you can’t
become owner of them without saying good-bye to life. They are considered by
initiates most dangerous magic objects existent on earth at actual hour. From
these don’t rid you neither blue beads hallowed at Epiphany, nor doctor Roshca
from “Gh. Marinescu” hospital. When soldiers of Mao invaded Tibet and
plundered monasteries, among other objects of cult have been robbed also such
statuette, which Chinese sold then on Eastern coast, specially in Shanhai, from
where they took way occidental world. Today they are so spread, that their
situation came definitively out of control. What experienced their thieves and
sellers is not difficult to imagine. See, then an ideal trophy for our happy
champion from Calcutta!
Of course, is only a hypothesis. But anyhow,
much less hazardous than superstition with breaking of statuette in the eve of
fatal representation, about which journalist wrote in article. Of course, that
strange coincidence is all salt and peeper of report. But journalist, hurrying
to publish it before others, contented with a superficial documenting and, so,
didn’t grasp there was one more coincidence, which intrigues at least as much.
Statuette had been successively property of two members of circus ensemble and
both gave up in violent conditions soon after entering in its possession.
I know my scenario will seem to you a
hallucination provoked by vapors of palinca inhaled here, in Valea Arieshului.
But if by the way the small Tibetan Buddha was somehow from “series” Dung-pa,
then absolutely nothing may surprise you. For in this case it is not any more
question of naïve superstitions, but of empirical realities. These aren’t
souvenirs, Struba, but weapons conceived for killing one’s masters. A kind of
grenade, to say so, with slow down explosion.
Sincerely speaking, I don’t know by what means
could, possibly, verify now “trade mark” of statuette gained in Calcutta by deceased
charmer of snakes. It would be needed eye of an expert to identify it, if
wasn’t thrown to garbage after breaking, what is however quiet unlikely. But in
no case, if it can be any more recuperated, don’t let devil push you to deposit
its fragments at your home or on the desk!
And if there were only statuettes Dung-pa, mon
cher. Do you still know Sadi Carnot, president of French Republic,
that assassinated by anarchist Caserio? With eight years before attempt, that
is in 1886, he had received gift from Gustav le Bon, the physicist, a statuette
brought by this from India.
But at once with souvenir, Carnot had received also advise to relieve it after
sometime, circulating superstition respective statue brought success to owner
but also a violent death. At origin, statuette had been filched from a temple Kadjuros
(theft from a cult house, exactly like Maoists in Tibet: you notice how history
repeats itself?). Of course, president, taken with works,forgotten statuette
and following is known.
Conclusion would be that possession, direct
contact with an object malefic loaded can be as pernicious as prolonged stay in
a ill-fated, if not much more harmful, because of big concentration in small
volume, for instance a jewel, unlike diffuse “contamination” from a room or an
entire building. I say jewel, because metals and precious stones have been
traditionally suspected most frequently of storing some hidden powers. You
never know on what you put hand and what you are left with buying from an
antiquity shop some old thing of silver or bronze, which had belonged sometime
to who knows who. Exactly as with bank notes, which we like so much to stroke
on bottom of own pocket and to count them spitting in our fingers, ignoring
completely their circulation on market, which make of them a paradise of
microbes.
Tradition of risks brought by jewels is
archaic, what would may offer food for thought. Earrings, necklaces and all
other tins we disinter today in archaeological workshops hadn’t at origins
actual function of ornaments, but magic functions of auto protection. Since not
long ago, still persisted also at us custom to attach an earring to one of
twins, for not dying somehow both of them. Because metals, generally, even
ordinary ones, were credited with banishment of malefic energies. Look, I saw
how women from here, from Apuseni
Mountains proceed, with
babies. They make a cradle in cords from little rods, hanged on mother spine
with four threads knitted from red wool, against hoodoo. They smuggle between
rods leaves of allheal and wild rose, and on bottom of basket they put flowers
of hay, seeds from magic pharmacy, and, necessarily, some objects of metal. And if you can defend with them, it means, as
well, you can, by symmetry, damage yourself, for the magic is ambivalent, just
like electricity of home use, isn’t so?
As you notice, question of risk connected with
origin of statuette from circus even doesn’t depend to my scenario of revenge
of Hindus from Calcutta,
for risk existed anyhow, indifferent of their intentions. That is, isn’t
excluded at all to have given it as award, without having themselves idea that
was question of an exemplary Dung-pa. For also to Gustave le Bon statuette
Khadjuras had been presented by Indians with best intentions, otherwise they
wouldn’t prevent over risks.
Similarly also Andvare had prevent that humbug
of Loki in Scandinavian myth. Compelled to compensate some Reidmar to whom he
had killed by mistake one of the three boys, Loki had procured from dwarf
Andvare a treasure including also a ring, which, out of greed, he put on finger
with thought to keep for himself. Manufacturer advised him to renounce at ring,
because will bring big misfortunes to those who will own. “Trifles!” Loki gives
with fly-tox, and put treasure on dwarf’s back to carry it up to residence of
Reidmar and jus with no any commission. But Reidmar, equally greedy, don’t
declare himself content with compensation received; he wants over it also the
ring in opposite case threatening with application of talion. Loki makes figure
of rogue businessman, trying to convince him the ring would be a poor business
being cursed. “Then, you take it
immediately out of finger before you contaminate from it! "Reidmar makes
(other charlatan) and so obtain big ring. Palm is beaten, they drink a brandy
and Loki goes back to his works. But soon after, Reidmar is killed by his elder
son Fafner, who rans away from home with jewels and hide them in a pit, where
he remain to guard them. But his brother, gives as good as he gets. He hires killer one apprentice in his workshop,
one Sigurd, and together with him goes to grotto. There, Fafner is plundered by
treasure and killed. But brother of dead, normally, has no mind to share
treasury with Sigurd. So he try to get rid of him. And he put hand on dagger
and wants to fall on his back by surprise. But Sigurd, a better knife player,
avoids and shorts him of head with strike type Stephan-voda. Then he deposits
his gold in bank, preserving over him only ill-fated ring. Travelling, he
arrives in a city where his heels get hot after one Brunhilda, and they engage
on spot, after an exchange of pathetic oaths, putting on her finger the ring in
cause in sign of fidelity. Afterward, he leaves city toward home, promising to
sweetheart he will return soon. I omitted to specify you, dear Struba, this
Sigurd was adoptive son of Danish prince Alf, and events take place on time of
king Hjlaprek. Now, let resume. So, lad doesn’t reach fully home, that his
mother sends him to war, somewhere South of Rhine.
There, Sigurd obtains victory and let to fireplace. At return, he make a halt
at court of foreign sovereign. At table, he gets drunk with exorcised wine and,
forgetting he was freshly engaged, falls at bed with a blond and contagious
illness, not other than daughter of king. He falls head over ears in love with
her and marry her soon. As about left fiancee – total amnesia. Seemingly his
brain was washed with that wine at table. And as proof, when he meets by
chance, Brunhilda, he doesn’t recognize her absolutely at all and sleeps with
her a night in same room like two Swedish at hotel. And when he awakens,
instead of pettings, he steals her ring, not knowing that just he had given to
her sometime ago. But he doesn’t preserve long, for he will have to give it up
for his young wife, in order to escape of her mouth. Abandoned fiancee will
solace marrying brother in law of Sigurd. Not from love, from revenge: sighing
one stories him how had she been cheated by Sigurd and pretend him to wash her
honor with blood of gay old dog. Brother-in-law, is understood, makes a crisis
of jealousy Italian still, but yet hasn’t courage to accomplish crime. In
exchange, his brothers will have it, and they stab from back the hero. An well,
in place of satisfaction, guess what aunt Brunhilda does? She jumps
unexplainable from walls of citadel…SINDROMUL “GARSONIEREI”!
You’ll tell me, probably, it is a funny little
Scandinavian mythology. But similarly was said about crown of king Moctezuma,
which Austrians continue to preserve illegitimate, in spite of steps made for
its restitution. It is right isn’t question of an official claim from side of
Mexican government, but of yearly delegations of Amerindian tribes with Aztec
descent. Something in genre of treasure asked back from Russians, only not
about gold is question her, but of a sheaf of feathers with gewgaws, you know
the pattern. As story goes, estrangement of this ornament brings big troubles
and catastrophes on globe, exchange of climate, etc. As for instance, diluvium
and floods from last three months, isn’t so? But guilt wasn’t of Cortes and his
coquistadors, but researchers who brought it a century ago in Europe,
from American continent. Well, mon cher, all found their death soon after
fulfilling of this operation, and victims multiplied at the same time with
exposure of crown at Art Museum in Vienna.
For instance, that in charge with arrangement of window, at only three days
after completion of his responsibilities, mad liver coma and deceased. The
author of first monograph about crown of Aztec king was mortally wounded in an
accident on street just in the day of editorial launching, and his sponsor,
businessman Viener, drowned some years ago in Salzach. Also kicked the bucket
priests co-authors of another monograph published only three years ago, Bild
and Kreitz, two known Viennese university professors. Dr, Kreitz for example,
although wasn’t cardiac, made an attack immediately after apparition of work.
Conclusions? Details at first sight lacked of
importance, as would be a personal object of defunct, can hide gloomy
histories. Who would think to statuette-souvenir, if didn’t happen this
accident with item of mortal hop, step and jump. Not even you, Struba, as
redoubtable detective as you’d be. Until occurrence from circus, case of
defunct trainer had had as point de mire,
of course, captive cobra in balcony. That only a fool can keep such thing home.
It’s right that in Morocco,
it was given to me to see indigenous Hassanas hypnotizing cobras and making
them house animals, not harmful, by I don’t know what magic formulas; but those
were some initiated sectarians. You didn’t see in television that Thailander,
cohabiting since little child with hundreds of ultra venomous snakes and
scorpions , but even imperial cobras and taipans, most dangerous reptiles in
the world? Well, dear Sturba, you may know a statuette Dung-pa is more
dangerous even than a imperial cobra!
In rest, by here everything is savagely
beautiful. We make periegesis and diggings in parts of Trascau, somewhere near
a sawmill on Ariesh, where time before floating logs were gathered from river,
beams and “meters of fire” came from upstream, from hearths of rafts. There, up
in mountain, they tied rafts from by dozens of trunks, either drui-logs not carved, or carved “cubics” ,put
to them a palette called helm with lopisca, and they guided them on valley with
laggers, up to here, where they pulled out at road of cart and were taken
farther by horses at double carriage-pole. Sorry you are not here as well, dear
Struba, you would have what to see. At least you should have seen our last true
shepherds-Mohicans from part of place, how they carry still now wooden pail
with cocarla-yoke. They brought in our camp provisions as for an expedition to
pole. Merindars-for –victuals with cheese of shepherd. Tioc-baskets of birch
bark with ruits. Kegs-mineiuri from staves of fir tree hermetically closed,
they keep ice-cold water with resin aroma, worked by Romanian-Motsi, and sold
in markets. And women in village make for us also a concoction brought in
cast-iron kettle. As about palinca-brandy, what shall I tell you, compared with
it, occidental whisky is crab wine like smoked maize brandy. Ever to dig by
neighborhoods!
At good sight, word of eye doctor!
Prof. S. Turbala
P.S. If you need the undersigned, you can write
me on address of fam. Ioan Petra, Ludush, Bd. 1 December 1918 no. 144 bis
postal code 4350,jud.-county Muresh, with mention “for prof. S.Turbala”.
17
With water streaming on wind screen, like a
submarine in ocean darkness. Barely city lights distinguished outside.
-You know, March amulet received from you has
spoilt already.
Sarcophagus miniature. It was sure mechanism
will not last even a week. These vampers don’t know else than taking your
money.
-What has it, is lid arc broken?
-No, the other arc. When you open lid, mummy
has no erection, you understand?
-What do you want, hardly you’ll find virile
pharaohs now a days – Lastaru excused himself. I’ll give everything our
Pharaoh’s arc to break tomorrow morning
-Did Sphinx convoked you? Brrr!…Amanda made.
-Personally. He wants to put me a few barrage
questions on case “Bachelor Room”. Just now when Struba is gone on field. He
would have answer to any question, for he just works to death day and night to
this file since beginning of year.
-Day and night…And his girl friend, the doctor,
what says about this?
-Anyhow they quiet didn’t see in last time,
being always in counter time. Fancy that she enters guard just when he comes out of office. She
has there a chief who wants insistently to sleep with her. And because she gave
to that with fly-tox, guy avenges planning her at guards with priority, under
pretext other doctors (with an exception or two, they have there only female
doctors) would be unavailable.
-Pig. And Struba stays so, with folded arms?
Amanda wondered.
-What you want him to do!
-Give him a lesson. Some cunning, a trap. A
flagrant of bribe or at list abuse in service, he finds something…Amanda
fabled.
-But I just told you he isn’t interested in
anything else than the file. He is pure and simple obsessed, like great tragic.
He has that sickly consequence of heroes of Corneille. He is made for
investigation, not like me.
-Jewel, I know people who live without a
kidney, without a lung, or without spleen. And you want to convince me Struba
can’t live any more without a file?!
-It’s knick-knack. I know people who live even
without brain!
-But who cares, after all, for that bachelor
room and its suicides?
She was fussing in chair, obviously incommoded.
-Can’t you fold the chair more?…
-Stay a little…Sure, if the room would be a
singular case, probably nobody would care and it remained a simply curiosity.
But same syndrome has been signaled in the world in different epochs. Some
cataclysm, some epidemic or some war which depopulated entire settlements were
considered in some cases as exterior manifestations of a curse, making that
affected places be avoided – sometimes centuries in succession – because of
superstition of contagion danger. As example, ruins of former Babylon, avoided by Bedouins. Look, I knew on
holidays Struba’s friend, professor Sever Turbala from University, you heard of
him. And one evening, driving him by car up to home, professor was recounting
us about archaeological workshops in Iraq. Among others, story goes,
ruins of Babylon
are called by Bedouins Mudjelibe,
that is “The Reversed”, for in those deserts even camels make on them out of
fear…
-Mudjelibe. Sounds so…a bit lewd, don’t you think? Amanda commented chuckling.
-Professor said phobia of natives seemed to him
as authoritative as Koran’s verse. It
says, Arabians hired for diggings in 1913 at ruins of palace of Nabucodonosor
had settled their camp at few kilometers distance from valley of former
citadel, complaining it is haunted. Tel you, too, isn’t amazing persistence of
a superstition across many millennia? But he told us that still more durable
seems to him resentment of Egyptians towards an arm of Nile’s
delta called “The Cursed”. There might have been, according to tradition,
thrown in waves the chest in which had been closed Ossyrys by his assassins.
-From what I see, this places you speak on owe
their renown rather to fact deceased were some big bugs – she shown
disappointed.
-Not necessarily. Look, superstition that
seagulls would be souls of sailors disappeared in wrecks: no matter drown been
admiral or cook on ship? The only article I succeeded to publish when I was a
student at foreign languages was about folklore of sailors in version Merrien
Era…
-You, foreign languages!? Amanda interrupted
him.
-Two years, without attendance, but I quarreled
with a cretin from there and abandoned faculty. A Jdanovist, he had a name,
so…with clanking of balalaika, big tool at A.S.C., one nicknamed “Nihaciu”.
-You beaten, or what?
-Apple of discord was just article I want to
tell you about. The cephalopod criticized it to me as lacked of patriotism,
reproaching with me that I limited to Occidental folklore, instead of making a
comparative study capitalizing also our sailor’s folklore. I replied to him
it’s not possible his wanting, only sailor’s folklore I know about us are “Leana’s
legs”.
-Songs of sailors?
-Flip-flap! Nickname of bridge from Agigea,
dear, that with legs wide apart, you may say it makes SPAGAT over Channel.
Consecrated at inauguration.
Amanda was shaken by a violent access of
laughs. The car begun balancing like a boat in pitching. Lastaru continued:
-…But let tell you what is about. At the end of
last century, Bretons refused offers of hiring for building lighthouses on
desert islands in Sleeve Channel. According to explanations of Merrien, guilty
were colonies of seagulls inhabiting on islands. Poor superstitious were
frightened by their sinister shrills, thinking they warned them over curse they
expose to by walking through those haunted places and troubling the rest of
sailors buried in grave of waters. They decoded also language of ravens, of
cuckoos, etcaetera, in a word they were passionate oneiromancers. But another
thing preoccupied me at them in my article. It’s interesting in Breton dialect gwelan (seagull) makes part from same family of words
as gwemon, term by which Bretons and
Normands designate brown alga pulled out by waves on shore. Or, French
correspondent for gwemon is varech with origin detected in old
Scandinavian vagrek, meaning “wreck”
(“epava”), though for me personal English “epava” wreck seems to me still closer to Breton dialect. Do you follow me?
-Harder and harder…
-Well, etymological avatars “wreck”…”alga
pulled out to bank”…..”seagull” seem to indicate just ascending and
resuscitating meaning of circuit from death to resurrection. Do you notice
symbolism of the three stages? Water,
that is drowning…earth, that is issue
to shore…..sky, that is flight. From
drowned sailor to stage of seagull: exact logical skeleton of Bretons
superstition! Isn’t strong the question?
-And how much!…
-What else, my article had monster success. And
I had one more on barrel then, but they didn’t accept it any more, because of
same mental constipate. I would have make some career, if not arrived to suck
fountain pens through these offices from us and to rob files…I liked since
small foreign languages and travels. While with these of ours, only a single
time had also I occasion to make guide. With that delegation from Scotland
Yard, if you still know, by ’85 or ’86. They sent me with them to make tour of
monasteries in Northern Moldavia, classic
route, paradise of foreign tourists, so frequently well-worn, that our nuns
came to repeat, instead of book of hours, from Longman Dictionary and Paris Match. One from that delegation of
Englishmen seeing divine all-seeing eye painted on church vault, starts
boasting with emblem of Scotland Yard, exactly an eye like that, with device
“We always stay watching”. Watch for we can sleep, you see! He explained pathetic to me. This is trifle, baby – I tell him.. At us, watch for
not somehow get we awake!…
Aaaaah!!!
A prolonged shout interrupted suddenly his
memories.
-What’s with you?! Lastaru made alarmed, lack
of perspiration.
-How what, stupid?…It is called orgasm.
18
They were keeping their horse called Bica in
dining room, and themselves, a huge family of nine persons, dwelled crowded in
a single room. Those coppersmiths from Racari.
About same, as quadruped Bica, was Lastaru now feeling staying alone in
comfort of immense working cabinet of Leon Toth, while beyond, in anteroom,
chiefs of directions, advisers and other bosses treaded on the toes of each
other waiting powerlessly to be invited inside, with bales of files under arm,
perspiring impatiently.
But “Lion” was late to make his apparition.
To remove stiffness of his heart, he made a few steps along and across
imposing saloon, whose massive oak furniture he imagined was packed with
“bugs”. An entire wall was covered by monumental library, with solemnities of
Roman temple. In a corner, two armchairs reigned on both sides of a round and
thickset table destined to more famous guests. At middle a sumptuous council
table lengthened kilometric with upholstered chairs, parody of a Secrete Diner with twelve Judas. At its
end Gulliverian desk rose, a white mountain of old papers. On other little
table, more secluded, four telephones stayed at watch, looking at him with
their numbered eyes. Lamp on desk with shade as an umbrella remained lighted,
sign its master wasn’t gone too far. He use to work at lamp light at any hour
of day, preferring it to chandeliers hanged from ceiling, what made that room,
by contrast, seem still darker than it was. Indeed, windows uselessly large
looked toward sunset, where opposite high buildings closed completely the
perspective, leaving market at confluence of boulevards in a gray and sordid
semi-obscurity. Somber and cold ambient of cabinet was perfectly assorted with
its tituary. As if it was made specially for him, as rackets of great tennis
champions are ordered specially on size and weight of everybody’s hand.
It was a silence as at Rishca, at monastery.
Squeak oh horologe in the wall signaled pains in articulations of time.
At once, double upholstered doors opened largely and Leon Toth made his
entry in all grandeur accompanied by a full procession. All chiefs of
directions and advisers came there. A general assembly of dinosaurs before a
imminent cosmic cataclysm. With file underarm, Lastaru remained on place,
stoned like Indra under curse of Vedic rishiss With exception of big guns he
saluted now as deferential and humble as possible anybody in that multi-stored
building would give an year of life in exchange of avoiding such meeting.
Absorbed by a discussion which hadn’t yet finished, ”The Lion” didn’t
give him attention.
-…and would got since long rid of him, if
hadn’t been his wife who she was. Because this little professor of geography,
dubious and with extravagances who kept, it is said, indicating stick quiet
obscenely, had been not for reason nicknamed “eggs of Columbus”. He had had other
denunciations, galore. Only that his wife was a huge inspector in education,
with a irreproachable reputation which might by all means be saved, isn’t so,
from such a scandal. I accepted thus the request of minister and convoked the
professor personally to scare him a little and make to confess truth. A bluff,
of course, otherwise couldn’t be question of infraction of seducing, as long as
minor wasn’t tempted with promises of marriage. He swore to me in office on
head of his three children that not he left gravid lyceum’s nymph. Then I told
him plainly: Little rabbit, if you refuse to make paternity test, you’ll teach
geography at school of correction from Tichileshti! Out of fear, he made his
test. Result categorically negative: Nymph’s progeny couldn’t be of him, for
simple reason guy was absolutely sterile. And he learned this, ninny, only now,
when already he had with his wife three
children…!
Laughs of assistance made windows of library to
vibrate gently.
Only now, arrived near his desk, Leon Toth shut
Lastaru with a steel sight. Others didn’t need any explicit invitation for
knowing what to do; all took than sit along council table. So that indication
which came addressed directly Lastaru, single one remained standing.
-Take sit.
Sitting down like at an examination, this
thought electric chair is more comfortable. With an invisible movement he
controlled his tie knot. Leon Toth deposited himself the quintal on throne
behind desk, regulating his lamp with articulated arm in such way light cone
not disturb him. Deaf words which followed were addressed to chief of direction
of criminology:
-Where is Struba?
Lastaru heard his own chief answering from his
left:
-In Dobroudja. I sent him on field to
investigate a monk at a hermitage there...
-Monk! Leon Toth exclaimed, dumb, as if he
heard about investigating a giraffe.
-Procedure of informing metropolitan seat for
his temporary availability in interest of researches being not yet released,
for the time being Mr. Struba will hear there, on the spot.
But interest of Leon Toth for other
supplementary explanations seemed already exhausted. He heard them with half
ear, busy with rummaging heap of papers on desk Then he started making some
notes on cover of a file. Didn’t finished yet when he approached Lastaru, lightening
with a sight in passage:
-You, therefore, collaborate with Struba at
case “Bachelor room”. In which stage are you (dumneata) with investigation?
For him, “dumneata” was lesser intimate among
all formulas. Exactly vice-versa than at Nichita Stanescu.
-At this hour, we both continue verification of
elaborated versions, Lastaru abridged.
-“At this hour” you-dumneata are here, as I see
– “Lion” bantered him.
-Lastaru felt his mouth full of glue. He
rearranged his answer with help of an explanation:
-As titular of file, of course, Mr. Struba
conducts now investigation. Which he took over at the third consecutive
suicide. But first two I had investigated, at their time. Auto-propulsion of
victims being out of any doubt, I classified then both cases. Although same
negative conclusions resulted also third time, however, Mr. Struba proceeded to
reexamining of trilogy in its ensemble. His theory is that repetition of
phenomenon offers itself doubts.
-Details.
-He rely on occasionalism. Precedent suicides,
which attracted for bachelor room fatal fame, would occasion dissimulation of a
likely killing under appearance of “tradition”. A true transfer of aggressor’s
guilt over “killing” room, speculating the puzzling already in circulation on
its account. Analog to parasite which profit of fame of series criminal yet
uncaught, imitating manner of operation in order to be confounded with him.
Struba is of opinion that can not be accepted closing of investigation without
evaluating first the chances of a hypothetical killing.
“Chances of a killing”. It sounds grotesquely,
like “chances of rain” announced by
that dull from meteorological bulletin in full season of floods.
-And what is your opinion?
-To me, the theory of occasion seems demagogic.
We speak of crimes in series on which can parasite sometime some intruders,
when in fact just we parasite on antecedents of file, profiting of them to
introduce in scenario an imaginary killing.. Single real “occasion” in this
theory is void of motivations left behind victims, ideal for a stopgap of
speculations. Or, according to “Ockam’s razor”, number of hypotheses must be
limited to no more than is necessary just for such speculations to…some barbers – Leon Toth interrupted him.
One of telephones on little auxiliary table buzzed
beside. But “Lion”, instead answering, lifted receiver from fork and threw it
back with a lightening movement, making it dumb immediately. He didn’t care being disturbed
by anybody. It was wonder how guessed him so quickly which from the four phones
was ringing. Lastaru remembered of those outside making anteroom at audiences,
receiving from cabinet chief order numbers as at lines for forms for taxes. He
was about to laugh.
-Further on.
-In consequence, I told my colleague his
hypothesis is redundant, that investigation is dead and after three days dead
are buried. He replied me custom is valid only for lay mortals and the an
Egyptian from the fourth dynasty had been buried only after 272 days.
-More explicitly, please. This sibylline
language produces me cramps in thinking.
Obstructed, Lastaru stumbled a moment before
reformulating:
-…He considers it the biggest enigma in
judicial annals since Kennedy’s death; and in such cases, factor time doesn’t
matter any more.
The chief of criminology made a partisan
intervention, addressing Leon Toth.
-It’s right, in case don’t exist either
material proves or testimonies putting problem of perishing or disappearance of
traces of some infractions. Consequently I gave free hand to Mr. Struba to
prolong investigation sine diae,
specially that scientific documentation of versions supposed a huge volume of
work and consulting of some scholars hard to be founded.
“Lion” raised bushy eyebrows.
-Scholars. But what does Struba with them at
place of deed: collects proves of fly feces?!
Director of criminology explained:
-The case “Bachelor room” raises problems of
expertise just as in any other case, therefore doesn’t deserve a discriminatory
treatment. It hasn’t importance if the real killer is room itself, or someone
who knew to profit after it’s fame: whatever aggressor identity would be,
enigma is same and must solve it. You start therefore working and begin to
document, adapting to circumstances. Did one fallen from scaffolding? Then you
learn about cranes and buildings. Did fallen at plant in a bath of acid? You
put on study chemistry. Did fallen from a room for the third time in five
years? You initiate in para-psychology.
-You draw water to mill of some exalted
journalists, who eat sensational with bread through buffets of editorial
offices…spoke from opposite end of council table an aged bulldog.
-On the contrary! director of criminology
contradicted him. Working in a slapdash way investigation and leaving unsolved
enigma of this triple suicide, we establish legend of so-called cursed bachelor
room and so we open largely the gates of superstition. With or without folklore
put in circulation on its account by press, the victim-saga of bachelor room
represents however a real enigma for scientific community. Doesn’t matter what
interpretation you give to this epidemic, it matters phenomenon exists. From
where also Struba’s reasoning: if experts can’t ignore phenomenon, then justice
all the less – and so neither its adversaries.
A murderer wouldn’t profit of phenomenon if this wouldn’t camouflage him
credibly: for you can’t hide beyond a simple legend. And to differentiate a
scientific controversy from a legend and then to imitate the unconfused modus operandi of bachelor room, he needed
(excepting ability not to leave traces) a high level of culture and
information: here are already first features in psychological portrait of such
a initiate.
-In this duration, Leon Toth was noting
something. When they saw him holding left arm over desk, they thought he was
making signs for directors to stop speaking. Probably he just had remembered
something important. But no. His palm stopped with face upward, weighing
seemingly the heavy silence in air. Palm of beggar in expectancy.
-The file.
Lastaru had anticipated this yet since he had
been convoked to cabinet. That fore, he had cared to arrange materials from
between covers in a particular order, which to illustrate coherently his
personal conception over case. After all, also Struba would make the same if he
would have been in his place.
But to his disappointment, “Lion” didn’t take
file from beginning. He turned over noisily materials, stopping only to some
pages, after criteria known only by him.
-Humph!…Listen here to this, official report…”I report we didn’t succeed to evacuate from
balcony the trained snake of named Dan Ovidian, neither luring it with balls of
bread crumb and neither with jets of soda water. Therefore, we proceeded to use
of stick in endowment with which I stunned it, introducing it in a sack of
plastic and removing it from zone of research”…Who is, messrs, this
sluggard and his mioritic-lamb sack?! Let us see it…Seargent-major Pitsilica, from…” etc., etc. Well, if I were on the
spot, I would have arrested this Pitsilica for illegal detaining of brains! But
neither deceased was better. Listen, to keep a cobra in balcony (be it even
with extracted canines), like that with pig in bath tub: no wonder wife left
him. Big is your garden, God, yet some still jump over fence! World filled up
with fools. It groans!
Directors chuckled. Accompanied by rumor around
council table, “Lion” continued mutely reading by jumps, under eaves of eyes,
in a hardly decipherable attitude, expressing rather a salad of sentiments.
-Drrrring! Again phones. This time a different
bell. Twisting promptly, “Lion” blocked it nonetheless, with reflexes of a
champion of jiu-jitsu.
At one time, he broke again the silence, giving
reading loudly to following fragment:
-…”Endemic phenomena. Similar cases. National
road no. 5, at kilometer 88,4 between Ponte-sur-Yonne and Paris. Two mortal accidents by hitting the
same plan tree. In both cases victims were original from Laurmarin, department
Vaucluse, situated at opposite extremity of French territory. There, about
1920, a Gypsy camp settled there among ruins of castle in Laurmarin had been
removed for restoring of this. Then the Gypsies had cursed restorers.
Following: death in unexplainable circumstances, between 1925 and 1960, of a
number of 13 persons, among them also lodgers of castle Among victims – illustrious
Albert Camus, crushed by fatidic plane ,day 4 January 1960, hours 14.15
together with no less celebrate Michel Gallimard”…” What’s this?!
Stupor of Leon Toth was so big that, in spite
of final exclamation, still didn’t raised head from file. Even more, he
continued immediately reading without waiting
for any answering:
-…”Another ill-fated place on highway N-7
between Briare and Montargis, with more than 10 victims in a decade,
respectively 1939-1949, among them known industrialist Jean-Luc Michelin, whom
motorcar was in moment of accident alone on rectilinear and large road.
Numerous members or friends of Michelin family had perished anterior also in
road accidents, for instance Pierre Michelin in 1937 together with four
passengers, or Pierre Boulanger, president of society Michelin in 1947”…
Listening quotations, chief of criminology was
asking by eyes explanations to Lastaru,
who prepared to intervene. But “Lion” didn’t finish yet.
-…”Similarly also in Germany, on road Breme-Bremexhafen,
where kilometer borne 23,9 provoked so many mortal accidents, that it was taken
measure of its abolishment. With all these, even ulterior auto vehicles
continued to crush in the same place
by trees on edge of road”… What’s with these examples? Road bulletin of week?
He only had raised perplex sight toward
Lastaru, who answered pressed:
-There are some personal notes annexed to works
in the file… A casuistry which can explain sufficiently the void of motivations
of the three suicides, pleading in consequence for classifying of affair.
Examples of negative influence of some places over human psychic, where are
produced periodically reactions of panic, spatial disorientation,
claustrophobia, ended with accidents, suicides, acute sicknesses.
Leon Toth looked at him as if he found annexed
a pair of dam bloomers.
-Documentation about I informed you a little
while ago, director of criminology explained. Only that it, paradoxically,
justified as well also continuation of investigation in direction of Struba’s
version. An art expert doesn’t falsifies or steal from a museum mediocre
paintings, but only great masters; so, if you want to recognize the maker, then
take yourself lessons of art history. For you can’t catch a clever and
cultivated guy, if you are tapering head and not well-read.
Transparent allusion to old bulldog in opposite
extremity of council table, nicknamed “Oblio”. Who reacted with thickly irony:
-And what to read Mr. Struba, please: The Teachings of Teodosie toward his son
Neagoe Basarab ?…
-Vice-versa, director of criminology corrected
him.
Rumor brought about again among members of
council was stopped by a hammering. “Lion” beaten on desk wood with golden head
of his fountain pen, preoccupied by reading of a new fragment discovered in the
file. Reading
was continued now loudly:
-…”Case Horia Marinescu. Short time after this
Bucharester bought an auto tourism Audi with papers in order from a Gypsy, the
car has suffered five identical accidents in duration of lee than two months.
At any time, it was rammed by some auto vehicle of red color in neighborhood of
a church in the Capital: first time, near Cashin, second near Elefterie and so
on. Consulted by exasperated owner, old woman Ghiocica in Balotesti diagnosed
the car as being cursed in church by
former holders and charmed it with heavy
spells on reddened iron”…
Here he stopped to take in a sight whole
council in front of him, exclaiming theatrically:
-Old woman Ghiocica in Balotesti!
Even Lastaru burst out laughing, no matter how
much tried to abstain.
-And then, why not regret really golden
generation of Maigret? Tell also you! Leon Toth concluded.
One of councilors commented, half in jest and
half serious:
-The truth is we have experts accountants,
technical, banking, psychiatrists, lawyers, biologists, chemists; but who,
bother, to hire for expertise of curses and devils of bachelor room?!…
-I propose old woman Lica from Ploesti, another answered cheerfully.
-Isn’t old woman Bratsara (Bracelet) the best?
Leon Toth made. So I heard.
With a sudden movement, he closed the file and
restituted it to chief of criminology, addressing him apart, with
condescension, like to humble petitioner came in audience:
-I don’t say, there may be still enough
mysterious phenomena on this world, but their deciphering isn’t our job,
director. You conduct a direction of criminologists not of mystagogues. I don’t
admit this institution become subject of razzing for some blockheads, who, in a
good day, might read in newspapers some confession of genre: “The undersigned
recognize and regret sincerely committed deeds. I killed indeed with curse from
endowment (caliber 7,62) the said Aurel Bau in night of 3 December. Please,
humbly, arrest me on the spot”.
When his baritone timbre became more energetic,
cabinet had acoustics of an opera hall.
-I think it is a misunderstanding, riposted the
director. Mr. Struba doesn’t search someone capable to attack magically without
raising a finger, only making a fist out of thinking. He searches an aggressor
who, in flesh and bones, physically I want to say, would have propelled Aurel Bau over balcony jamb. Something in
genre of couple Mc. Ginnis, you know, with that young woman thrown from the
cliff, both condemned in September ’89. And enough people would be find, thank
God, who to bear spleen against him, because the deceased (with his moral
profile) had a true vocation of target of revenges, for instance of an Arabian
revenge…
-“Arabian revenge”. “Lion” interrupted him with
a grimace. These are lints in thinking, mister.
-…But yes, Algerians! chief of criminology
insisted. Having in view that the deceased had threatened a petty clerk from
embassy of Algeria,
with whom he entangled for a work visa.
He had pinched his sensitive chord. The
foreigners. When learned about complications with foreigners, Leon Toth became
hypersensitive. It was already a problem “of state”. But this time his reaction
was under expectancy of director:
-Maxim mark for artistic impression, but it is
rejected. Mister, these are scenarios from epoch De Gaulle. Let me tell you how
things stay in reality. While procurator Struba makes the tour of monasteries
in Dobroudja playing at bo-peep, I receive flicks in press that encourage
superstition and mouth of people with useless dally of this investigation. And
with good reason. This “killing” room became today a public scarecrow more like
on time of Sirca, Rimaru or Romca! Mayoralty complains it can’t be rented to
anyone; even more, it is assaulted now with tens of requests for exchange of
accommodation due to happy find of “haunting”! Must stop this circus. And
convocation of today will be first step.
Voice was now blunt like rubber stick of
sergeant in official report. Lastaru’s ears were whizzing and chief of
criminology looked also him enough rumpled. And perhaps discourse would continue
crescendo. If telephones didn’t buzz
again. Now, two at once. Quick at hand, “Lion” crippled them throwing receivers
in fork, one after other, irritated. A technical version of game hot cockles.
Pushed then a button and something cheeped sharply. Double doors were set ajar
and they behold cabinet chief
penetrating agilely inside for receiving orders.
-Don’t make me any connection here, “lion”
cried at him from the other end of saloon. I am not here even for Michel
Jackson, is it clear? I don’t exist.
Chief of cabinet confirmed from head with
obedience and withdrawn discretely. Lowering his voice by an octave, Leon Toth
resumed with a fluctuant calm.
-Therefore, from organizing point of view,
situation of file no.2718 is the following: Investigation has been distributed
three months ago to Mr. Struba, who participated also at research of third of
events happened in the last five years in “killing” bachelor room. In what
concerns his collaborator Lastaru, he works pro
hac vice, effectuating personally some activities in measure they are given
up to him by titular. Hierarchic decision in sense of this collaboration was
justified by circumstance that Mr. Lastaru ha participated to research of
precedent events and, accordingly, he already knew the file. Only that in time,
due to divergences of opinion between the two, collaboration became
paradoxical, getting to manifest rather as a brake in good going of
investigation, what shows it not only as unproductive but just
counter-indicated. And as if ideological divergences weren’t enough, they
appeared also pyromaniacs to put straw on fire. I convoked you in consequence
today to lay the cards on the table and put an end without delay to these
states of things.
He made a sign by head somewhere.
-The cadres.
At the other end of council table, “Oblio” put
tactfully his spectacles and opened a tattered file with rail, and started
turning over passionately like a tax gatherer, spiting in his fingers. It was
sufficient to follow this bulldog from old school to convince that you may
easier put in movement a solar system than a bureaucrat. At last, he was heard
clearing his hoarse voice.
-It is question, hem, of a anonymous letter
addressed to head of personnel direction, in which a series of imputations are
brought to Mr. Lastaru…Among others, consummation of alcohol during program of
work…immoral relations with Mrs. Amanda Raicu… mysticoid and obscurant i tendencies in investigation
of case “Bachelor room”…personal interests in sabotaging partnership with Mr.
Struba…
-Let’s limit to so-called sabotage, Leon Toth
stopped him. Concretely in what concerns it? For Mr. Lastaru, present here, to
learn also him and profit of occasion to defend from those calumnies.
-First of all, in years of dictatorship he
would have been constraint to denounce colleague Struba, being blackmailed with
the tin from personal file, respectively his grandfather from mother side, the
said Radu Nicolae. Condemned politically in November 1949 at five years forced
work for conspiracy against social order. Denouncement which makes him
incompatible with his designation as partner of Struba in inves…
Leon Toth interrupted him again, for addressing
to Lastaru:
-Do you know something about this history?
-He was condemned for a joke, as far as know.
Meeting my grandfather on street dressed in rag of coat eaten by moths, he had
asked an acquaintance:”Mr. Nae, when you’ll buy
some proper coat, fellow?”. “When Americans will come!” he makes. This
had been everything, from what I was told… At that time, I even wasn’t yet
born.
Here, “Oblio” hurried to recuperate:
-But constraints would have aim, it is said,
also to giving up of some information over evolution of investigation in case
of first suicide, in 1988, that of dissident writer Aba Strul, encroaching so
confidentiality principle in criminal
pursuit. In plus, he would have been asked to accredit within judicial medium
idea that deceased had been sick of paranoid schizophrenia.
-It is not true, Lastaru riposted without
breath.
-But in the investigation of other two
suicides, did you give course to some interventions from outside? Leon Toth
asked.
-Neither.
-Are you sure you acted only out of own
initiative?
-Absolutely.
-So, you recognize, just you, that only from
own initiative have obstruct investigation of Struba, tergiversating the
obtaining of Aurel Bau’s criminal record and drawing out from archives of his
file from 1978. Why did you misinformed him pretending the file was not found?
Target of all sights. Lastaru looked as if he
would have seen too late a train coming from front.
-The truth is that also it wasn’t found…he
exculpated himself.
“The Lion” fixed him with Atlantic eyes. He
said coldly:
-Similarly as also Sbat family wasn’t found,
isn’t so? Stelian and Stelutsa Sbat, you noticed about through official report
deposed in the file, that they can not be heard because would have removed
definitively in province at an unknown address. When, in fact, they didn’t go
anywhere.
Lastaru’s stammering was an ending siphon.
-It means I was myself misinformed by
neighbors…
-Ah. In exchange, the same diversion neighbors
informed you perfectly, look alive, over couple Sbat’s daughter death! You told
Struba that the said Ralu Sbat had deceased in between: from where did you
know, if even searched her?
-But so I was told…
Here, Leon Toth worked himself up, ready
irritated.
-They told, that is, exact date of death and
eternity place of the respective? Estimated Mr. procurator, don’t confound me
with another one. I am Toth, I know tot, I pretend tot!!!
Imposing, with his allure of opera singer,
baritone and emphatic. In front of him, you were a nobody. Lastaru guarded
himself as from a fist hit.
-With all respect, please, however consider
that initiative of searching and hearing family Sbat did belong just to me, not
at all to Struba.
-Precisely! “Lion” cut his little wings,
ambiguously.
-Perhaps you even haven’t interest to find it,
“Oblio”s voice was heard like from another world. Because Sbat family hated to
death Aurel Bau. Or, in December 1991, according to anonymous received by us,
you would intervene discretely to mayoralty in favor of technician Aurel Bau
from factories Republica to be
distributed to him with priority from state locative fund remained free after
death of former tenant Dan Ovidian. Profiting by advantage you had learnt first
“the point”, as one who made personal the research there.
Lastaru, whose complexion got color of
furniture in cabinet, hardly could murmur a negation:
-It is a staging…
-Of course, it is a staging, Leon Toth imitated
him. And just genial one.
The rumor signaled obscure points among
participants. And indeed, one of advisers called upon the bulldog from
personnel:
-It is not clear for us what is with enmity
between respective family and this Aurel Bau… Not all members of council are
acquainted with the case. If you want to explain a little…
-It’s true, they are right –“The Lion”
approved, taking from desk the material and passing it to chief of criminology.
Read, please, the draft of this abstract of personal use rendered in 1978 on
basis of examination of Aurel Bau’s file. You will understand yourselves why
wasn’t it given to typist to transcribe it at typewriter. Do you know my
writing, don’t you?
Some of council members lighted their
cigarettes, in a neutral expectance. From manner in which criminology chief
examined the draft, without any doubt he was taking now contact with it for the
first time.
From the first words heard, Lastaru became pale
as a dead.
-“File number…etc. January 1978, Friday
evening…A deserted lyceum. Obscure halls, stares walked by nobody, frozen
windows. Silence after departure at home. Only echoes of an electric-technical
workshop are still haunting. There, remained without master, the tramps from
evening-seral courses vociferate at their large, heating themselves with a
little drink. Do not return from way, superstition says. Raluca Sbat returned,
because she had forgotten something, telling therefore to her accompanying
colleague to go on, that she will reach her from behind. But she never reached
her again. On a corridor, four-five seralists a bit on rise in her way, with
trivial provocations, jubilating. They
have no time for cares. The flapper is alone, a pray without escape. They drag
her with brutality in their workshop, where tear out her cloths and footwear.
Terror which makes you vomit, despair, tears and pity imploring are in vain.
First of all, they hide her cloths, playing, with mocking laughs. Then, locking
the door, they divert beating her up amidst work stalls and pulling her hair.
The privilege to unbutton first his pants is given to Aurel Bau, as leader of
gang. He orders them to crucify her naked on floor, hitting her over face to
blood for making her silent. His flunkeys seize her well stopping up her mouth,
and he deflowers her. The shouts make workshop windows to shake. Then, one
after another, long time, all violate her savagely, until the uterus is torn.
When they seem satiated at last, freedom is again begged to them, but the
beasts even don’t think to leave their pray from claws. The feast is only at
beginning, girl is sweet and participants have liking to play. They transmit
brandy bottle from one to another, amused, searching new stimulants. With a
penknife, buttocks of victim are notched with sadism, and her hair is cut into
pieces in mockery. They pinch her, bite her. As new tortures are invented, the
cheerfulness intensifies. There are brought some ties of thread and wrap up
straightly her ankles. Supreme occasion of amusement, a LETCON from endowment
of workshop is plugged in to heat it. And so, with legs bound fast, they burn
her with red iron on bottom and on thighs, after what they sodomy her beastly.
Howls, writhing. Horror don’t succeed else than excite them still more.
Accompanied by hits, the orgy is restarted again, and again, until the anus is
torn up. Tortures will take end only later on, with departure of scoundrels and
abandoning of inert body, full of wounds, on the floor soiled by blood and sperm”…
When finished reading, completely exhausted,
director breathed with an immense relief, of a woman lately confined.
Perspiration flown on white collar of his shirt.
Beside, sallow at face, with head between
elbows, Lastaru was crushing his fountain pen with such fury, that this broke
with a crack.
It fallen a silence with heavy smell of
tobacco.
-Here is an abstract which exempts me from
reading you here the horrible file from fifteen years ago, which happened to be
resolved just by me…Leon Toth concluded with gravity dominating again the
gathering. You know already what you would find there. Surgical operations,
narcosis, lifelong sequels, tortures, despair, obsession of suicide. What one
can wait from a life already crippled from the age of 17 years? Americans were
presenting to me in 1988 the case of the black Timothy Spencer, series criminal
sentenced to death, as an Everest of cruelty; he tied his victims with thread
by neck and had at back, with a particular knot, imobilizing them with face
downward on a table, after what strangled them slowly during rape until they
died. Among victims enumerated also known lawyer Carolyn Hamm. But that Spencer of them was a little lamb near beast
Aurel Bau! In all my career I never had to do again with another similar thing.
Tortures for hours in succession, mutilations, perversions, made post… Sexual
bestialities and torments of this torturer are so revolting, that in comparison
with them horrors described by marquis De Sade in Justine turn pale. So, any timeit was expected that such a monster
to fall victim to a radical riposte, on his measure. But had it been really the
bachelor room executor of capital sentence of an immanent justice, or somehow in the back of immanent justice it hides
a disguised revenge? Struba is perfectly right to ask this. And just the fact
Struba is obsessed of this question proves him ideal for investigation of
present case. Only that he, I don’t know for what reason, rambles in country
just now, when moment arrive to confirm his version.
-He is verifying suspect anticipation of
suicides in bachelor room by a monk with gift of predicting, chief of
criminology informed.
-Better the prophet would anticipate the
justiciar whom Aurel Bau had to receive in the house! I say “to receive”
because absence of any traces of forcing door proves that bandit had receive inside hypothetical
justiciar, of course without suspecting his intentions. And who would have
access to one like him, except some fellow of glass or some public authority?
For you don’t invite home at wine the enemies to shoot them with stoppers of
champagne.
-But Struba…
-Call him back from pilgrimage! “Lion” put a
point to any insistences. Let’s finish with circus and solve the file just now,
once for ever. For I come back to what I was saying before: the ideal
investigator for this case. Investigator with vocation. Just like him, by
symmetry, it exists also a suspect with
vocation. One who cumulates all qualities necessary to his role: (1)
personal vindicative motivation (2) free access to den of beast, in virtue of
professional quality (3) intelligent, hypocritical and clever (4) perfect
connoisseur of bachelor room and of its legend (5) expert in wiping of own
traces (6) profession chosen only out of revenge (7) became a drunkard and a
deranged (8) faithful to past and incapable for present… Now tell, Mr. Lastaru:
to whom is fit Cinderella’s shoe?
Seemingly he was the old man with puzzles in Fort Boyard.
Crushed by sights from all sides, Lastaru was
silent like a grave.
-I was about to forget: …and (9) hidden and
silent like a grave. A grave of young woman, with lilac flowers, like in this
photograph from May 1988.
Launched over desk, a photograph big format
floated in dense air landed gently on council table.
Knocked down, buried in palms, Lastaru hadn’t
the power to raise head to look at it.
-Isn’t the top of irony, gentlemen? To be
procurator and participate, in the night of 3 December, at research of place of
your own deed!…
Stroke by thunder, Lastaru didn’t react any
more.
Leon Toth was fixing him with insistence. In
his sight like a bullet, you perceived thought pushed on trigger.
19
“Struba, for my last words, I will take you as
father confessor. That rest, word of Danish prince, “is silence”.
Do you remember the vendor of textiles those
Durrenmatt’s old people played tribunal with him? When he had asked innocently
what crime will attribute to him for trial simulacrum, the retired procurator
answered him: “A, but a crime can be found any time”. The following? Judges
condemn him to death in play, but the accused takes his guilt seriously,
hanging himself. At Kafka is inversely: the accused takes his guilt in play,
but judges sentence him to death seriously, stabbing him. But denouement is
same, in both variants, proof that moral justice is more complete and
constructive than that penal.
Yes, in moral justice, in a process of
consciousness, “ it is pure and simple madness to sustain you are not guilty”.
I, door of church? Neither at least a squeak of a door of church I never
pretend have been. Looser, alcoholic, falsified, deranged and sycophant: It was
thrown in me there, in meeting, with all stones from road and I didn’t say
anything. For also their turn will come. Yes, I was blackmailed under
dictatorship with my “unsound” origin, with “pro American” grandfather
condemned politically and with other tin plates hanged by tail. Yes, they
compelled me to denounce in faculty, with my file from species of snake with
bells. So I also dinned their ears how I was up with all kind of stupidities:
how you are a model-student, that you don’t puff at closet in pauses like others,
you don’t go to harlots, combative utecist (member of the Romanian Union of Communist Youth) at harvesting of tomato,
etcaetera, when you in fact were fucking Mrs.prof. of scientific socialism and
red under benches at seminars from Orwell and from Nietszche.. For if they
would learn it, you wouldn’t kiss today “Nietszche (neither) table, Nietszche
home, Nietszche splendid lady”. So it is, I was since ever vulnerable and I
chosen the Law only out of fear of abuses. Yes, I asked asylum to Bachus, as any
infirm to whom the half was pulled
out still from youth (tin). All this sins I confess. But were they really
enough to them? They put on my shoulders also burden of crime, making from me scapegoat. And on who to fall she-ass if not
on lastar (twig) of people’s enemy
like me?
These wooden heads will never be capable to
understand what happened in reality. Because a thinking fastened with nails is
a parody of Crucifying. They will not be able to believe it because they won’t
it. But I believed, or better said I hoped. I convinced myself of powers of
bachelor room still since 1991, at death of trainer Dan Ovidian. Then, when
phenomenon happened for the second time, I suspected that history will repeat
also in the future. That place is as bad as palace from Ruginoasa was for
family of Cuza. From what reason, probably never will be known. And what other
executioner more of trust than a bachelor room for execution of one like Aurel
Bau, this Noicapitecus came on world
only to destroy our lives? Man of Noica. “A brute, a sex, a curiosity which
walks through world”. And neither at least from common species, domestic and
silly, of those killing their time by quarter yawning mouth from balconies,
with knotty elbows leaned on balustrade, with pot-belly swinging in hammock of
undershirt , burning daylight and dying of bore. So that in December 1991 I
made an anonymous “good” to the fresh
employed of plant Republica putting
for him a good word to inspectors from locative space who tergiversated his
application for accommodation. Nothing can be worse for an enemy than to make
him a good. Otherwise, wrong returned with wrong doesn’t annul it, but you amplify it. If you don’t believe it, take
a pencil and add –2 with –2, to convince also you that don’t give zero, Struba.
That much, and nothing more, the rest was done by bachelor room alone. But if I
would revenge with my own hand, you just think I would wait fifteen years until doing it?! But they,
with their heads curved by ax, don’t wont to put questions to self. For them it
is enough that they discovered America on film of a burial in 1988, at whose
recent vision Leon Toth recognized me by chance there, near the woman who had
been destined to me.
Based only on arrangements of indices and
presumptions, they didn’t dare yet to arrest me. But harassing of yesterday and
humiliation (as if 15 years of frustrations wouldn’t been enough to me)
finished me anyhow, definitively.
You can felicitate now that you were right with
your occasionalist theory, Struba. Only that you have been in a scrap like
fellow Lefter Popescu in Two lots. Not
bachelor room offered to me occasion of revenge, but I offered it to that.
I write here only to you for I know, at least,
you don’t label me “obscurantist”, as told me these boots for hats when they
found casuistic of endemic curses annexed to documents of file. You still know
that waste-maidan dog condemned to death on time of Convention, in full “reign
of Reason”, under official accusation of plot
against French Revolution and executed by shooting by an inspector of
police (that is another bloodhound)? There is true obscurantism. And “the
rationalists” still had impudence to throw this unjust blame to deceased Middle
Age! And if that Soviet hound launched with the satellite, the bitch Laika,
fallen somehow in hands of imperialist flayers, wouldn’t they really condemn
doggie-dogov at death for spying? “The obscurantism” in my documentation in the
field of curses, listen! Obscurantism doesn’t mean to affirm obscurities, but
to deny them. As these today deny it was coup d’etat, followed by diversion.
Obscurantism means to close eyes instead of watching be window in street to
mucks and packs of which you can’t go out of house. I refer to these mucks with
eyes, to belching of biped making his century through casinos and night clubs
of type Carioca, where taxies gather like flies at manure, waiting hours
incessantly. “At night, all animals come out in the street” (Taxi Driver). You do open windows,
Struba, and look at these comings and goings of nonentities, to see how they
arrive here at midnight one after other with jeeps, walking their atrophied
little brain by not using and rivaling minced-meat ball. The feast-bairam until
down, shouts on maidan and last type of
limousine, according to principle of separation of horse powers in state! To be
robbed by your rest and health, to go next day at work after less than four
hours of sleep, to swallow mockery authorized
by mayoralty and to pretend that you don’t see what happens in this
country: this the true obscurantism!
And how else could we be than obscurantists,
when “all is poltroonery “!? (guess who said it when they condemn him to
death).
I feel sick, Struba, to scratch any more files
searching truths for a world which draws profits just from lie and boorishness.
With you, of course, is something else. You are predestined to searching in
darkness. Leon Toth is right when says that the unique standard of professional
evaluation is obsession. But if you want indeed to find what you search, then
do respect for bachelor room no.113 the
right to enigma.
You don’t believe in hell, you said? Look at a
loser-model like me and you will believe. In fact, what is the man? A pain with
hands and legs. And it is too much sorrow and injustice on this earth that
haven’t any sense. It’s a causal impossibility, Struba, that hell not exist.
You show as big skeptic? Then be skeptical
first of all facing yourself.
Now I go to search my half of banknote, like
Greek of old days. Pour also to me on carpet a drop of vodka if you uncork some
bottle. You find as many you want in refrigerator, be my guest.
If I wouldn’t abandon philology and foreign
languages, now I harvested without cares folklore in spring campaign. As
shepherd saying brought to bankruptcy by no loyal competition of a wolf:
Green leaf like the grass
Badly my mother cursed me,
Or in joke or by purpose
For the curse caught me badly…
Chief-loser,
B. Lastaru
P.S. Don’t let that dude to autopsy me, with
his bow tie from species of butterflies head-of-dead. You know he was always
antipathetic to me. You do arrange to be done by somebody else. Please.
P.P.S.(I was about to write S.P.P.) For Amanda
Raicu, textual: breaking of mummy’s arc had been a prediction.
P.P.P.S. Roman law. Successions. At drawing up
of testament, they used the balance, the coin of a decima, touching with rod
and seizing by ears. Justice, value, responsiveness and listening. How much
decayed Rome’s
successors, isn’t so?
*
Paralysed on chair, Struba folded the letter of
good-bye and introduced it softly in bosom packet. Without rising sight any
more he continue to see them. His shoes. Hanging in air. Still balancing
imperceptibly.
His senses were returning little by little.
Silent bustling of a few men through room, like to a vigil. Whiz of a
photographic camera. Monotonous fizzle of television left open, with screen
worming of lightning and obscure fleas.
Then, supreme profaning, uproar of close by
merry makers, with their choir of howls and deaf bangs of boxes given at
maximum, penetrating from outside the walls like a dampness. What a sewer! From
street, a demented claxon just sounded with insistence after some whore who was
late to come out from pub.
He took out from pocket of vest his watch.
Three past midnight.
Caught suddenly by fury, he seized the started
bottle of Ruskaia, opened with
lightning speed the windows and threw it in street with a crack of petard.
-Your Communion of curs!!!
Spited drown by disgust. Cut off, his head
fallen heavy in palms.
Later on, when he drew back at last from jamb,
he saw his palms wet.
20
Sweetish buzz of neon tubes had a hypnotic
effect. He dozed off on chair, with eyelashes of lead fallen over him as two
lids of grave. Undecipherable voices. Hurried steps. Clanking of perambulator
for invalids. Clinking of trays with syringes. Weak crack of doors. Echoes
wandering through labyrinth of hospital. All mixed tickling pleasantly the ear,
luring him slowly like an anesthetic…
When he recovered his senses, a hand was
stretching him softly by shoulder. He saw first his agenda, fallen on the
floor. He inclined hardly after it to recuperate and, raising his sight,
recognized her knees.
-We are going, Rut said. We have nothing to do
any more here.
Her eye circles deepened as after a vigil. She
hanged her white allover by palm-peg and
put in sink her head to wash her face, forgetting her stethoscope hanged from
both sides of neck. Struba, though remained dressed in raincoat, was shaken by
a shiver
-Is he alive? he asked.
-Is in coma, at intensive therapy – he heard
her answer covered by towel. And has a poor score.
-What means poor score?
-Seven on Glasgow
scale. Better you would splash a little cold water on face. Do you feel able to
drive in this sad plight?
He had forgotten completely about car, as much
absurd seemed to him the question. It was lying now in the back of hospital,
where had parked an hour ago.
-And minim score is zero?
-Three. Don’t open eyes any more, don’t speak,
don’t react at pain, at any stimulus.
-And up to where climb this scale?
-Up to 15. Let’s come out once from here.
He didn’t ever see her so scattered even in
those morning she came out from guard. But, over tiredness, she was pray of a
smouldering agitation. And as proof that he wasn’t wrong, Rut came out the
first, buttoning up in walk her coat, with so fast steps that Struba, still
drowsy, hardly could follow her. At the end of corridor, suddenly, sliding
doors of lift opened straight in front of them, with crash of a mammoth jaws,
showing them an empty cabin which seemed to have waited until then specially
for them. But both, instinctively, passed farther preferring to get down the
three floors be stares. At grand floor, they clashed with a stretcher bearer,
staying with crossed legs in a forecarriage, joked letting him pushed with big
speed by a colleague. Struba however hardly noticed them. He resumed in mind
the events of last three days, since he came back from the sea. He endeavored with
torment to order them logically, putting
them end to end in a syntax so long, that articulations of thoughts pained him.
-You were afraid of lift – he heard Rut.
-You, too.
When her former husband, interned urgently this
evening, had been mounted with stretcher, the lift had blocked between floors
in an unexplainable manner and light extinguished, provoking an indescribable
flurry among sanitary attendants who, seized by hysteria, made blue their fists
by knocking in the walls of cabin and calling for help. Their evacuation had
been a true stunt, and incident was without precedent.
The doorman dozed in his lukewarm lodge, baking
his booths on some electric range remained from last winter, invulnerable to
cold rain from outside. In the street, Struba felt the cold hooking him up with
all claws, passing through cloths. Thin water sheets waved in air. At last, door
of car, with handler attacked by rust.
-Don’t you come out to put screen wipers? Rut
asked, shrinking in her too thin coat.
-Let motor get more heated, he growled. Do you
more rememberif this February has been somehow of 29 days?
-What? Rut didn’t understood.
-Nothing…
First, Lastaru’s hanging. Next day, quarrel
from office with that hyena of reporter. In the after-noon, fright with car
which smelt Rut on way home. Now, Gelu’s heart attack.
And Glasgow
scale. From 3 to 15.
You can’t separate completely by someone.
Divorce is similar to a coma.
Flooded roads hidden everywhere traps. Channels
without lid, sinks, broken bottles, masked borders. His tumbledown car winded
in a deceptive dance of boat.
-Look, about from here he has taken after me,
Rut has shown to him with half mouth.
-Are you sure you weren’t hallucinated? he
asked her skeptical.
-Black, with sea blue border.
-May have been your colleague of faculty, how
you said is called…With allure of chief of wine cellar, who invited you to
Panciu.
-Pantazescu, the libidinous.
-Didn’t you say he wanted to waylay you?…
-Be serious, that has eyes in top of fingers, I
just narrated you what happened with him
in emergency room. One like him doesn’t make espionage, but massage.
Struba searched the button of radio. Greenish
sparkling of board watches reminded him that night fallen since long.
At St.
Louis, it rains from January without interruption.
Pluviometers indicate 950 mm after only ten weeks. Inhabitants of little
agrarian town Quincy from Illinois
rise in despair barrages of sacks. It is waited a high flood of 9 meters on river Mississippi. National Guard has been
mobilized too late. Paradox of dams: as you rise more, as much pressure of
collected water and risk of barrages breaking are bigger. It is anticipated
continuation of rains on a duration which could reach even 9 months.
“It is a weather, you wouldn’t let even militia
man outside!” Lastaru had said to a major then, at research of bachelor room.
He had found in his house the letters he had
received in army. He planned in secret to engage after a year…
To be in forced march with armament in
endowment on back in full blizzard, at an end of country, heating your heart at
thought to that who will be your woman. And just in that time, somewhere far
away, others to dishonor and mutilate her.
In a winter evening , darkness to fall over all
your life. To hate from then on the coming of each night, with the worse it
could bring. ”In the night, all animals come out on street…In a good day, it
will come at last a true rain which will clean all this garbage”. Lastaru
repeated it frequently. Taxi Driver
was his favored movie.
A true rain.
Wipers were heard scratching the screen with
torment.
-…Or perhaps chief-suitor from your section
changed his tactics. At beginning, he made advances to you, then he keeps you
in night emergency guards, then he follows you to catch you with something with
which to blackmail you.
Struba wanted to add something, but stumbled
his words over ruts on road. Otherwise, after reexamining own scenario, he had
to admit that version of blackmail was, however, a little far-fetched. A
blackmail on theme of love with Struba only now, after her divorce from Gelu,
would have been of course anachronistic.
-If you are afraid, indeed, I will come these
days to take you from hospital by car.
Why did he overbid stupidly? He had promised so
many times same thing and as many he defied his word. Tomorrow, for instance.
After lunch, it followed to go from office, an entire group, directly to burial
of Lastaru.
Black car with sea blue border. Some
hallucination, fruit of her somnambulism in the last time.
-But just you can move to me.
And abused among teeth a hollow which had made
him to bite his tongue.
She didn’t answer anything also this time. She
was watching mutely the town prepared to pass the night. He turned toward her
to see better.
-Rut?
Her eyes shined of tears.
Scale Glasgow.
From 3 to 15.
21
Notes. 5.03.1993, Constanta. Meeting with protosinghel Bartolomeu.
Subject: suspect of connections with case “Bachelor room”. He anticipated exactly the death of writer Abu Strul and of his censors. “Many will die because of it” (of book of A.S.). Did he know personally?
Bartolomeu: name taken at turning monk. Civil name: Bart Lasu.
In the way to Athos. Discussion
circa two hours. Reporto-phone out of order (why?).
Bart. It sounds nice. Jean
Bart.
St. Bartolomeu, one of the 12
apostles. Crucified. In orthodox calendar appears at 11 June. And then after,
at 25 August “bringing of relics of St. Ap. Vartolomeu”. Brought, where?
(To be searched in
synaxarion. They have it at Kretzulescu.)
Turned monk, why? Before 1986
he was writer. “Was”: that is, he is, isn’t he? How that to be not any more writer! You are born and die writer. You are and
that’s all. No retirement, no dismissal, not fired from writing. The
protosinghel expressed however somehow different. “I wrote once”.
(Did he published? omission)
Problem: can be writer
without writing anything?
Not to write poetry. To be poetry. Was not Nichita Stanescu poetry?
Then, to that meeting. “How
would you sum up Eminescu in only seven words, Mr. Nichita Stanescu?” The
answer: “Not believing he will ever learn dying” (“Nu credeam sa invetse a muri
vreodata”}.(!!!!!!!)
Seven words. The first verse
in Ode in ancient metre. To change
subjunctive form I person to III person, and nothing more. Eminescu auto
identifying by your mouth. First verse of Ode…,
and yet not of it. But a new one, created by you.
Genial. Paralysing.
N.S. could not write ever
anything and still would have been poet, isn’t so?
“Et quod tentabam dicere, versus erat”.
Acquaintance Titel Popescu:
confirms. They discussed once about manuscript of Aba Strul. The story entitled Blue (Albastru)
About the bet with the ghost.
If the title is not however
strange:”On the contrary, it was only possible. The baby cried alone own
name”.(???)
Obscure.
What namely had in view
writer Titel Popescu telling me then, at meeting from Alphabet P.H.: “Oracular
connotations and symbolism of occurrence evoked there raised opera to other
scale, passing beyond both descriptive level of news item and political
allusion”etc.
Explanation of B.L.: “The
story is a parable. The confrontation of communist activist St.Balaur with
deceased Gheorghe Militaru is just the battle of Satanic dragon (balaur) with
Saint George. That from the icons. Because St. George had been military. And
while comrade Balaur was an atheist propagandist, the dead had been a good
Christian”.
Details.
The military side of
St.George’s career was refuted since then by specialists of Vatican (Bart
called it “St. Chair with forecarriage”). But according to tradition, he had
been official. It is certain that he died in Palestine during prosecutions from IV century
with little time before the reign of emperor Constantine. Refusing apostasy ,
he was tortured for seven years before cutting his head. He was buried at the
place of martyrdom, former citadel Lidda (today, airport Lod near by Tel Aviv).
The grave is still visible.
Two-three little bones from
his relics were brought in France
in XIV cent.
Equestrian posture of knight?
medieval adaptation.
Legends on his account:
During his long martyrdom, he would have died and resurrected three times.
(coincidence with the three deaths in
bachelor room…). He would have freed a virgin from slavery of a dragon (balaur)
which terrorised Lydian citadel Silena. Psycho analytical interpretation at
J.P. Clebert: The Dragon being associated usually with a cave or cavern, it
means that he guards treasure of little girl; so, the spear of hero is nothing
else than a pennis, and woman-cavern should be the vagina. From where, the
defeat of dragon = seducing of virgin. See the popular French expression dragon de vertue. But then, the horse?
What can mean? That Georgica is mounted on situation?…
Same obsession also to Jung
and Moraze, who see everywhere only erections and allegories. Anyhow, the
apocryphal literature about gallant deeds of knight Gh .has been prohibited by
popes. John XXIII just wiped him from calendar of saints.
More important: the dragon as
guardian of occult sciences at esoteric schools.
The fall of activist St.
Balaur in the dust of cemetery = “…the big balaur-dragon, the snake from old
called devil and Satan, that who cheats everybody, has been thrown on earth” in confrontation with
Archangel Michael (The Apocalypse 12.7).
“That who cheats everybody”.
The communist propagandist.
“The lie is saint, and
cheating will be our main arm”.(Lenin).
Satanocracy versus Democracy (demos = people). Official ideology of
Power against popular traditions. The bet against villagers.
Dragon, drac, from Sanskrit
root drk “sight”. Also my monk: One
Leisegang, a German, had noticed rightly that Greek ophis (“snake”) precedes ophtalmos
(“eye”). Hypnotic sight of snake. Persuasion = key of cleverness.
Heart attack suffered by St.
Balaur in that night at cemetery had been the following of careless use of own
arm (the knife). Therefore, tovul
(comrade) is not killed, but dies by own hand. It corresponds with piercing of
demonic dragon with spear by the saint.
The climbing on top of hill,
at cemetery with knife in hand = provoking of Heaven. Icarus syndrome. The
haughtiness, cause of Man’s fall. As you climb higher, so your fall will be
more destroying
Iconography of dragon:
red-green, in opposition with blue-white at St. Gicu. Red, political colour of
tov (comrade) from county management. The apocalyptic dragon is also red. The
blood of martyrs. Flesh in blood of animals for sacrifice. Fast of meat, etc.
What meant, in fact, the
ambition of the activist to demonstrate to natives that the deceased couldn’t
resurrect (by turning into ghost)? It meant negation of Resurrection. But just
when he believed to have succeeded, the dead manifests himself.
Not the dead had troubled the
rest of superstitious villagers.
“Oracular connotations”(Titel
Popescu)? The fall of communism. Nota
bene: the novelette written in 1985, prophetic.
This Bart is abysmal. He
seems arrived from other world. Has answer to all questions.
Two coffees Espresso and a
Campari small: 18.000 lei. Ticket of refounding.
Hotel Palace,
room 317. Bulletin to be taken back from receptionist. She resembles Gabrielle
Anwar.
(She looks a bit languid.
“You look and gain”.)
Form. Column “Scope of
visit”??!! Good joke. Perhaps microphones are out of fashion.
Filthy onanists: to hear in
cask how tourists fuck in rooms.
Bart predicts the near end of
uncle Petrisor Hagiu. The gunner. Road accident close to a bridge. To pursuit
my pocket watch. As if then it will get spoilt. Made present at Capsa, August
1977 (?)
Psycho-metry. Memory of
objects about their former owners. Like at Franz Bardon.
We have a Romanian taxi
driver to New York
who collaborates with N.Y.P.D. at finding disappeared persons. He found by
hyper-lucidity I don’t know how many hidden corpses including cut heads placed
in dumping carts. Brrrr!
Taken holograph declaration.
After return of B.L from Athos, re-hearing.
Aghiu orous “saint mountain”(Greek).
Serene and 20 degrees here,
comp. With 14 degrees in capital. Storm on sea last night.
“Better with 5 degrees in the
house than one degree at door”
(Lastaru).
Bart: Ghiorghios in Greek means “agriculturist”. Indeed, Gh. Militaru had
been at his life worker of land. Any name on earth has an etymological
connection with foundation of world and its Creator. Etymology = history.
This receptionist just wants.
The war of beneficial angelic
forces with infernal powers in Apocalypse
12.7 will be ran “in heaven”. It corresponds with the peaks of hill where
village cemetery was (under sky) and to absolute isolation of that place in
relation with village fireplace.
Bart also says: The stake of bet hadn’t been of material
order (money, brandy of plums, cheese, etc.) but spiritual. If villagers would
have lose, they obliged to renounce to their convictions, to liberty of
consciousness, adopting the official ideology of Power. That is to worship the Balaur (dragon). Exactly
the aim of the Beast in Apocalypse of
St.John. Discouragement and abandon of waiting for Life of the Last (from
beyond grave). Leaving that who promised this.
Rapid 684. Dep. 14 hour –
arr. 16.47 (tickets for accountancy).
Or with Rapid 582 Tomis. Dep.
15.30 – arr.17.58 (?)
The deceased Dan Ovidian trained a cobra, that is a small dragon-balaur, isn’t
so? As well as the deceased Gh. Militaru who dominates tov.(comr.) St.Balaur. Interesting!
The bet and occurrence
described by writer Aba
Strul in novelette have been real, but Bart doesn’t remember in which county in
the country. Anyhow, not important.
Question: Transcribing of
manuscript on the walls of own bachelor room was an act of protest against
censorship?” Answer: “It was strike of
hunger of paper”.
(!!!!!)
Salad Waldorff, a Turkish
coffee and 50 grams Black & White (Lastaru called it “Harap-Alb”) 53.100
lei.
Hieromonach Bartolomeu says
that the story of Aba Strul is a kabbala, and the text is thanatogenous, from
where also unexpected deaths which followed. “Not the writing had been the
product of a mad author, but inversely, the madness of author was produced by
the writing”.
A complete author exceeded by
his own opera.
Aba
Strul – an obscure writer. Paradoxical.
But without a Maiorescu, it
would have heard ever of Eminescu? The authority of Alecsandri was by then
absolute (see his photograph in the picture of Junimea (Youth), in central medallion, bigger than of the others).
Without Jebeleanu, would it have been heard of Stelaru?
“Poet, today you are the
martyr
Of a world of idiots”
D. Karnabatt, The Poems of Dream (Macedonski’s
cenacle).
The daily allowance and
accommodation, rest 81.000 lei. Net monthly 383.000 lei, plus the merit. Total
431.000 lei.
To be drawn up a list with
all applications of the “blue” (albastru).
The manuscript (that on
paper, the original) was lost at censors then, in 1985-86. Or destroyed? Mural
manuscript: destroyed at painting of bachelor room in Oct.1988.
Judicial photographs?
(Verify to Lastaru)
Monogram of uncle Petrisor
Hagiu on lid of watch. A “H” and a “P” glued on it. Exactly how Henry Kissinger
signed, with capital “H” and “K” forming
common corp.
Will it stop soon?…It never
spoilt in 16 years.
It doesn’t bring year what
brings the watch.
(What?)
Description made by monk
Bartolomeu to the project of cover realised by Ralu (Raluca?) Sbat for
publishing house Litera: illustration “divinely inspired, in perfect concordance
with subject of book”. The icon of St .George in battle with Balaur-Dragon but inverted! This time, mounted is the
Balaur-Dragon, who thrust military saint with a spear. The horse isn’t white
any more, Uranian, but is black horse, infernal. In fact, a monstrous,
polymorph equideic creature, with
balaur-dragon grown just from its spine, with claws instead of hoofs and
reptile tail, having at top a small head of beast, ferocious, ready to bite.
Uah!
So, Ralu Sbat had read the manuscript? Bart says the
text was dangerous. Problem: why the text of Aba Strul has affected only some of his
readers. Suspect deaths: censors, author, painter R.S. (all until 1989).
The coach leaves at noon. Mark Ikarus. Exceptional weather here.
Hygienic paper absent – see the housekeeper.
How to “lose” a manuscript!? Amanda in Lastaru’s
office: “I’ve lost, dear, when they removed our desks, the libido. Didn’t you
find it somehow?”
22
A silence, that you heard microbes multiplying.
They had to be many there,
billions, in that space not aired by full months, purloined from sun light.
Then, at once, deaf rattle of
the winch.
A stifled crack. The lift
doors.
Struba stood stone-still in
vestibule, only ears. Some steps were approaching on stair head. He extinguished
lantern with a weak noise, which he deadened in hollow of his fist. The steps
stopped exactly against the door, as he had intuited from the beginning. He
touched carefully the darkness, avoiding to strike hard surfaces until he
succeeded to localise the visor. The hall of the eighth floor was totally
obscure. Beyond door, he perceived a rustle, at only few centimetres from him.
Suddenly, staying with eye glued on lentil, he had awful sensation that someone
watches him from outside by visor. Without breath, with straining of a savage
cat, he remained so until the steps stirred at last from place, moving off. A
bunch of keys jingled somewhere, unlocking the door of one of neighbouring apartments, which then he heard
it closing back. Nocturnal silence invaded again on block stairs, deafening.
Some late lodger, or returned
from work in night shift. Spying by passing, pushed by curiosity, abandoned
bachelor room. They might have been many simpletons in block who gave rounds
yet, specially the children. What other better entertainment in a sordid
quarter, than a terrifying place like this which feeds your imagination and
nightmares?
-The only terrifying place is the man, my dear –
Struba heard from his back.
The fright was so terrible, that suddenly his legs
benumbed. Disjointed, he exerted to bring back his equilibrium under control,
on the point of falling on floor.
Someone was in the balcony.
Attracted as by a magnet, Struba approached by
half-open door of balcony, shaking as drunk man.
The balcony. But it is impossible!…
-So had said also Simon Newcomb. That flight of an
apparatus heavier than air is impossible. Dogmas imposed by your new god,
Science, valide from today up tomorrow!
The voice laughed relieved. He was reading his
thoughts, it’s clear. Answered them like an echo.
From the glass door, Struba looked at right. At the
end of balcony, propped up with elbows on jamb, a man watched in night the city
lights galaxy.
-How did you enter the bachelor room?… Struba mumbled,
lightening the lantern in direction of the intruder.
The unknown laughed again lightly. When recognised him
in the beat of lantern, Struba felt a wave of hotness and his knees softened.
He moulded slowly like a piton on the lounge chair in the corner.
The man in uniform of cadet of military school wasn’t anybody
else than…him!!!
-Your uniform of sixteen years ago, yes. You did well
putting it down from you then. Didn’t suit you at all. The uniform
de-personalise.
Struba was incapable to articulate a word. He filled
all cavity of lounge chair, liquefied by horror.
-Look, what I was telling you? The only place of
horror is the man. A dwelling of dark. Man is like this bachelor room offered
by rent. Two interested clients come to him: one wants to pay cash, in advance;
the other only promises that will give him sometime a luxurious villa. Who is
chosen by owner? Of course that with money down. Really isn’t fool to believe
the other one, with his villa of tale still not given in use. And so, he
receives in house the paying tenant, concluding a contract with him. He
receives the price, spends joyfully the money, time passes and, look, the
contract reaching the term. In point of fact, tenant won’t go from house. The
owner tells him that duration of contract exhausted and he must evacuate him.
But the lodger opposes: I renovated in the meantime your house, I furnished it
first class, I put to you television by cable, I installed central heating,
closet with pedal, etc., all on my expenses, for your personal comfort, and you
agreed. Consequently, I leave if you
restore expenses up to last coin invested. Correct? Did I compel you to prefer
the luxury? And, hoe the owner has no from where reimburse the investments, he
found himself obliged to recognise himself in-solvable and give up definitively
own house to the stranger who deceived him. That is the devil. Useless to
precise, now, who was the other, the offerer rejected by man. In conclusion,
the only one who chooses who to live in man is man himself. In vain he
complains afterwards and give the guilt on others. It is as if you would cast
the blame on a whore because she infected you with HIV. You told just here,
three months ago, to Lastaru that you don’t believe in hell. A hell, of course,
somewhere outside you, topologic speaking. Only that something like that doesn’t
exist anywhere. The hell isn’t a place somewhere,
but a state of things. The state of in-solvability of own soul. Any soul with
its hell, as any owner with his house. Each builds with his hand a labyrinth
more and more complicated from which he risks to be not able coming out. Didn’t
you dream so many times winding and sombre houses, by which you lose yourself
without issue? Didn’t you see how lively your sadness and terror are there? You
shout in sleep, weep, toss, until you can’t any more, and, suddenly, you awake,
with an infinite ease. Then you wash, drink calmly your coffee, read newspapers
and forget. Awakening from sleep is your saving issue. But if wouldn’t have where
to awake? If it wouldn’t exist issue from nightmares? Remember that occurrence
with that crane which was ever rising a block all around : only after finish of
construction, the imbecile craner found himself closed there, that had to come
a brigade of bulldozers and heavy equipment for taking out idiot’s crane… Man
has a dedalian appeal. You say commode “I don’t believe”only because you don’t
care for me. If you would care indeed, you would believe. For you know well
that, without me, your fantastic brain doesn’t mean more than three pounds of
gelatine.
-Who are you?…
Struba heard own stammering.
Now, the other looked again to city lights, stooping
little over balcony jamb, leaving to sight only pale, cyanosed profile.
-You no me very well to ask me like for a stranger.
All life we two have been together, everywhere. But it will be not so ever, you
just know. In a good day, my time will arrive to go in a journey in which I
will be not able to take you with me, any much I would like to. Of course yes,
my dear, is just me, your Soul.
His Soul!!!
Only now, touching the arms of lounge chair and convincing he was lying in it
in flesh and bones, Struba conscientized halving. He felt the disquiet as noose
a around neck.
-This lounge chair, yes, there is your empirical
criterion –the other laughed toward Struba with a sight-blitz. You are much easier
convinced by what you feel under your ass than by what stays over your head.
You have total trust in your deceptive senses, but in us, who are over senses
you have not… This foolishness will cost you dear sometime. You were told since
two millenaries ago that Another one paid entrance ticket for you obstinate
stupidly to believe that you don’t need ticket, that you will go without
paying. Let me explain to you how it is with your forgiving to pay this ticket.
At the end of centuries, it will be just as you red recently, you know where;
“a new heaven and a new earth”. And entrance in this new house of Life is like
entrance to the premiere of the best spectacle in the world. You find in a good
day in your mail box an invitation from the director of theatre, with the good
news that he has paid instead of you the exorbitant price of
tickets (only he knows hour, poor he!), knowing you are in-solvable since world
and earth. Outside however it is a blizzard of all beauty, the wife mumbles: I
am not just crazy to come out on this hurricane, to spoil my loop and to die of cold up to theatre! But if we
don’t come out, how do you want to see the spectacle? you cry from bathroom,
while shaving. And it is not a pity
to don’t go gratis? But madam: Leave
it, dear, that was said will transmit also to television. And indeed, a liar
speaker with a face of snake with
spectacles had announced at “Actualities” how that spectacle will be anyhow
transmit in live by Romanian free
television. So you let yourself convinced, abandon all preparations and wait
the program. When in fact, instead of much promised transmission, look that is
broadcast again, ”at request of tele-spectators” the tele-novelette Poor Maria!…Easters and gods, crises of
nerves, punches, slammed doors etc., but all in vain, now is too late. What
for, next day, early morning, full of bitterness, you start again: go out
shrinking in the hell from outside
and die anyhow of cold on endless
long way up to the cursed job…Now,
you got it, my dear? Remember how happy have you been last week there, on the
sea shore, of drunkenness of light you guzzled, and seagulls flight over roofs,
and breeze smelling of fish…It didn’t passed then through your mind, at least
for a second, how that marine paradise is in fact the remembering of a world
wide drowning in which perished sometime billion like you. The coal you heat
with are the forests buried in earth then. Oil you transport with are animals
rotten then. Vestiges of cataclysm from a curse thrown over entire planet.
Well, after restoring of Creation you spoilt, when “not a curse will be
anymore”, all these awful memories will be whipped from the face of world.
Don’t get you drunk, thus, with marine illusions, my dear, but better read once
again invitation to the premiere I told about: “That sky ahead and earth ahead
have passed; and the sea isn’t any more”…Good bye, Romanian
littoral, dream of winter nights! And really isn’t better so? No you mosquito,
no you cholera, no you tickets through syndicate, no you sero-positive nudists,
no you derails at Dragos-voda…
The same laugh extremely retained, as if out of
respect for the presence of a dead. Or, perhaps, for the sleep of concrete and
conducts of the block. After what, Struba saw him arising his elbows from the
jamb and straightening his spine.
-Now is but the time to undo my wings, my dear Dedal,
leaving you to continue untroubled the research through the labyrinth of
bachelor room. By the way, did you know that Dedal has ended bitten by a
snake?…
Laughing, he open suddenly his arms and scampered
away, launching in void over jamb.
A lightning passed then through Struba’s mind. He saw
at its light, for a millionth of a second, all. He was dreaming. He dreams how the soul leaves him!… Great God, he was
sleeping, and now he dies in sleep!!!
Invaded by panic, he pushed downward with might and
main the arms of lounge chair, searching to raise from it. His body was heavy
as the lead.
He was dying! Will not awake from sleep ever!
He suffocate. Lungs hardened as a cement..
It ended.
He felt all block shaking with him. Reversed, the city
slipped at valley on inclined streets.
He struggled with despair, to pull out of lounge
chair. Or of a coffin?…
They had buried him!!! was his last thought.
An animal fright jumped at his throat.
Howled dreadfully, with cut tendons of crying.
23
He awaken from sleep shouting from mouth of snake.
Fallen from bed, writhing with legs tangled in bed cloths. Something from night
stand reversed with noise.
-What’s with you?! Rut frightened.
She lighted the lamp. Struba panted at feet of bad,
lack of perspiration.
-My Gog, how you frightened me,Al!…she made dumb. What
are you searching by down?
But Struba wasn’t yet capable to answer. He heard his
heart pumping in him accelerated at maximum, with cracks. A short circuit in
the blood net.
-You had a nightmare, hadn’t you?
Overwhelmed, he caught the edge of mattress, searching
to recover his breath. A deaf pain pressed him in the basket of chest, like
after a fist blow.
-I think I had a pre infarct …mumbled , holding his
chest.
Rut searched prostrated the watch. Then she got down
to bring her bag. The milky fog beyond windows shown that soon the day will
break.
-Stay on bottom so. Little mother, you’re fountain!…
Rubber switch of tension-meter fizzled a few times.
-You tickle me with that stethoscope, and at least not
where it must… Struba burst out , exhausted.
-You have nothing, I’m blessed, you drew a fear and
that’s all. I give you a drug.
He saw her relieving of tools and rummaging through
her bag as big as a knapsack.
-You make excess of coffee, that’s. Since with that
cursed bachelor room of you. If you’ll keep always so, you’ll give in
hallucinations, Al.
-How good is a doctor at man’s house.
-Take off hand…
-Why, are you at periods?
She pulled from him and went at window to see if it
was raining. She found then her watch, with a sullen expression.
-Oh, isn’t at least six! We catch one more hour of
sleep.
He heard her soles scrapping on corridor toward
bathroom.
He risen himself, now distended at last. He had still
only a painful shadow at nape of the neck. He lighted with greed a cigarette.
He was asking what can mean such a dream. In the first year of studentship,
when they had sent them to state farm from Nazarcea to collect the harvest with
patriotic ardour, in a night the hut of boys resounded by shouts of one of
them. He had had a nightmare: a group of unknown have haunted him on stair up
to a blind alley, where they caught him from a leg. Some weeks later, the same
type, at the wheel of his father’s car engaged himself in an exceeding on a
county road and clashed in mist a vehicle appeared from opposite sense. The
impact crushed him exactly the leg in question… Happily however for N.P., the
accident left him entire and had soon been forgotten; now he professes well-merci
as lawyer and dean of bar, healthy as gun.
Hearing the shower at bathroom, Struba remembered of
rains. Then he remembered something more. He went to window to throw a sight
from beyond curtains, with eyelashes still not well unglued.
It was there. Exactly as he supposed.
At the street corner. Though light of daybreak was
still much too pale, he guessed however its colours. The same of yeasterday.
Black, with sea blue border.
This question was starting to annoy him. It wasn’t any
more only about Rut, about a male trailing. Now it was an established watch
just at his residence. The joke gets
hot.
He started to scheme a plan of measures when,
unexpectedly, heard the ring of phone. Some morning mistake, no doubt. Again
Mediafax, Bancorex or other stupidity like this with “x” in tail. How much
amused poor Lastaru on their account! Once, one rang him confounding him with
own chief: ”Hallo, long live, Mr. director, I’m Mizga, the driver. Now you that
train has a delay of half hour. May I wait here in station for inspectors, or
return to minister?” To which Lastaru, in banter: “Let them to hell, go to
garage!” Other time, a conspiring voice hits him: “Fane, it’s me, Giani. Tell
me, did your wife went out, may I come with pussies?” “Come, man!”
He brought the receiver at ear, incapable to pull out
more than a guttural sound. On the fond of the rattle of industrial machines,
an alert male voice. From the first words heard, Struba fired up.
-Hello, dear Ducu, listen to me with attention and
don’t ask anything. You are in big danger. Come at eleven sharp at the statue
of soldier, you know it, that of old times, see the album photo. It’s to your
good. In problem of bachelor room. Its key is with me.
A releasing gear put suddenly an end to message.
Receiver wasn’t now more than a piece of plastic.
Conversation lasted maximum fifteen seconds.
Bewildered, Struba found himself assaulted by tens of
questions. His mind had been filled with bruises.
In the last moments, exhausted, he felt how his
thought falls in gap, without brake.
24
Here, just at this table drawn last autumn with
Lastaru. Shabby and discoloured by sun, umbrella may have been also the same.
He remembered him how, on measure of miserable services of the local, he had
blown pure and simple his nose in ice bucket from beside.
He felt his absence in the quarter of hour passed
until he was at last observed. The terrace was rushed, and so was the park. The
alleys were walked softly by wanderers , in a sort of solar procession
dedicated to vernal resurrection. Children. Dogs of race. Pensioners. Vendors
of sugar wadding on stick and ice-cream. Officials. Passengers changed among
them through green labyrinth of mulberry-trees and chestnut-trees, botany
confused greetings.
-What you desire to order?
A waiter out of spirits, with apron, and pencil on
ear.
-Me, a platoon of execution!… Struba grinned unveiling his eye teeth.
The music of fanfare in kiosk fermented in him like an
enzyme. He hadn’t with whom knock this time. Solitary, the beer-mug
left herself kissed on mouth.
Then after, he started surveying quietly the monument
of soldier, toward which an ideal perspective was opened. Time for a beer and a
coffee had in plenty; he had come with nearly half hour earlier for being able
to chose a suitable place of observation.
“Ducu, dear…” He had know to make himself recognised
from first words. After more than a decade. In childhood, they called him in
many kinds, now “Sanducu”, then “Alexutsa”, and even the unpleasant “Alecu” But
with “Ducu”, nobody else than him had petted, as well as nobody loved him in
his manner. In the years of gymnasium, the first lived by Struba in city, uncle
Petrisor Hagiu had been mother and father to him. He had given him a roof,
nourished , clothed, schooled him. Having not children, he wanted to adopt him,
but old Struba hadn’t agree. He tired a full year, with iron patience , to
prepare him for cadets school, in order to make him a respectable and sure
future. He had ambition to make him an artillery officer, likewise himself. He
had been professor of mathematics, but because came to die of hunger he dressed
military uniform. He rubbed him at trigonometry any evening. The ritual was the
same. First of all, he went down to buy from debit in street corner a dozen of
packs of Nationale. He smoked like
Turk, otherwise couldn’t work. Then, he threw his jacket of captain on back of
chair, rolled up his sleeves like a laundress and put his watch with silver
chain on table, at sight, to time his apprentice at calculations. He had the
speed of a Ramanujan, and in childhood his only toys had been algebraic
equations. A genius. By 1950-51, he had create a furore at Caransebesh, when he
received the command of a division of howitzer, in full war with Tito. The
gunners were shooting over mountain in invisible targets, calculated
trigonometric with such a precision, that they introduced the shell, after a
trajectory of thirty kilometres, exactly on the window of casemate. Art, not
ballistics. Due to cannonades, he was about to remain without tympanums there.
At last, after a year of torture, the young Struba gave him satisfaction to see
him cadet a military school. In the great day, he brought him at Capsha, in
uniform of parade to rinse his heart with beer at mug. So proud was him then of
his young recruit, that he had presented him with his silver watch with lid and
monogram, mark Paul Garnier, with which he had terrorised him so long time. The
watch and a family album full of dead, in which he glued also the photograph
made together with Al.Struba in that memorable day.
“…at the statue of soldier, you know, that of old
time, see the album photo”. It just couldn’t be a better landmark for an
appointment after ages. On the terrace, Struba controlled visually his
objective once again, lighting his cigarette. The fanfare in kiosk just had
attacked peace of park with a new noisy march.
In his young eyes of then, Petrisor Hagiu was not only
a mentor, but also the embodiment of victory itself. Parental refusal by which
the captain came against in his repeated attempts of adoption was, probably,
the only military defeat in his career. But not so much power of example had
convinced Struba to accept military career, as temptation of decorations, which
in those grey years fascinated him. He remembered conu (Mr.) Petrisor in his uniform of artillerist, with black
epaulets and braids, garnished with medals. Seemingly he saw them also now. Soldierly Virtue, with red, simple
strap. On Guard to Motherland, with
its star hanging from a bleu linen furrowed by leek-coloured stripes. The Military Merit, with azure fond
flanked by sea blue stripes. Tudor
Vladimirescu, with portrait of pandour in a silvery medallion hanged by a
blue band with white girdle and metal laurels. Surrounded by fal-lals and of
perspective of a pretty good pay, the young Struba believed he will escape, at
last, of material cares, and he will be able to stay on his own feet. But
euphoria of triumph he begun already to prevision was to pass quickly. He
didn’t yet get out from photograph, grinning artistically by under moustache
with peaked cap on a ear, that his uncle Petrisor had been convoked urgently at
garrison He had been transferred unexpectedly to a special military unit in
province. He had to pack up his traps, and to move over night, in double-time
pace, giving all a rest. Even the fresh cadet. Struba was despaired. Remained
without protector, he didn’t resist morally to instruction in school, with its
Prussian hardness. It is right, before going out of city, the captain found him
a host, leaving also a pretty nice sum; he wandered with money at him day and
night, sewed in cloth lining, as the gunner taught him, to be not pillaged. But
the dies had been thrown. Struba renounced immediately to arms career, to
which, otherwise, didn’t seem to be predestined. The tens of note books of
trigonometry blotted evening by evening, ballistic calculations, school of
cadets, uniforms of parade, all had gone thus on the water of Saturday.
However, the strike of grace will be given to you not by his unexpected abandon,
but by interdiction to visit his mentor there where this shifted. From
shortened explanations left then by Petrisor Hagiu resulted that it was not
permitted to this to disclose to anybody his new address, for reasons which
remained obscure to Struba. Could he been taken over by services of
counter-information? Struba never succeeded to decipher the obscure
significance of that compelled breaking off. And he would tell he more? The
four brothers of the officer had deceased between time, leaving him as unique
survivor of an extinguished kin, sometime ago numerous, well known to Struba in
childhood. Today, the monumental watch in pocket and the family album were the
single rests of that common biography prematurely interrupted.
Methodical, Struba took out from the waistcoat pocket
his silver watch and opened the lid. Five to eleven. He stared again by sight
the monument of soldier near by. His emotion was growing as moment of meeting
approached.
Over the precipice of so many years yawning in
between, an unexpected bridge had been built only in a few seconds. The
surprise of phone call from early morning had been so big, that almost eclipsed
the alarming message. But the warning had to be taken seriously. Struba had
remembered it tens of times, word by word, to convince himself that in spite of
shock he registered it with accuracy of a magnetic band. “You are in big
danger…It is toward your good”. Was his life, therefore, threatened? By whom?
The answers he should know soon. In any case, the threatening must have been
imminent. Otherwise, why the hurry of Petrisor Hagiu to meet him in the course
of same morning? And if so serious a danger was announced only now, when it
knocked at the door, it means it had appeared only recently. Or may by the
gunner had learnt tardy about its existence? It was, probably, question of a
long story, as long as he didn’t disclose it then, on the spot, at phone. It
necessitate a meeting. Or somehow the phone was heard? Then the disclosure of danger was itself a
danger. And, indeed, all went toward this Rome. First way: the anonymity. You
don’t present yourself, but use in-confounding marks for your interlocutor.
(“Dear Ducu…see the album photo”, etc.), only by him known. The second way: the
monologue. You impose your monologue to your interlocutor as grant (“listen to
me with attention and don’t ask anything”), eliminating thus any risk of
de-conspiring to thirds. The three way: rapidity. A message-blitz, after so
many years of silence, couldn’t be anything else than a measure of precaution
against location of post from where the appeal was made. The fourth way:
un-locating. Only Struba could know where was it the statue of soldier chosen
as place of appointment (you know, that of old times”). The fifth way: the
ambiguity. “In problem of bachelor room. The key is with me”. The key of
bachelor room, or the key of problem? Anybody other than Struba would have
remain in doubt. Or, here was just the heart of message: decoding of a danger
tied directly with enigma of bachelor room, decoding reserved exclusively to
his former protected of yore. It is
clear that Petrisor Peiu was acquainted with the file and even with his
titular. But what connection could have an artillery officer with case of
bachelor room and investigations to which Struba obstinate to not renounce? In
fact, this question wasn’t else than origin of real chain reaction. From where
learnt uncle Petrisor his actual address? But his phone not-to-be-informed?
Would he really rang him until then in absence? Why didn’t visit him better
home in intimacy? And how found out one like him, from exterior of judicial
system, nominal distribution of investigation file? If the danger was so
serious, how comes that nobody else prevented him? This conspiracy air was, for
Struba, the most upsetting. Would it be a