Mihail Sebastian - The Accident

Gunther was the first to approach the tree. He’s still enough of a child that it makes him happy , Nora thought. She saw a flicker of curiosity return to his pallid cheeks. His eyes recovered their beautiful ironic clarity.

“Won’t you come and stand next to our Christmas tree, Paul?” Nora risked asking.

Over the lighted tree, she saw his old hazy expression of indifference betray a timidity, an insecurity.

Hagen joined them with more difficulty, not even approaching the tree. He stood a few steps away from it, as dark and severe as ever.

They gathered around the fir tree as if gathering around a campfire in the woods.

ON THE MORNING OF THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS, the ski run resembled a peasant festival. Some devoted skiers were setting out through the morning light for Predeal, descending the slope from Timiş to watch the official competitions. Many more, however, had stayed put, while groups of boys and girls who struggled against the blizzard to reach the top of the hill continued to arrive from Braşov. The forest resounded with the din of people as though it were a holiday town. At the Touring Club, a committee that had been improvised overnight was organizing a few “trials” for downhill racing and the slalom. It was only a game, but they all agreed to play it seriously. Distances were measured, blue pennants were set out, contestants were given numbers, a system of points and classification was established. The judges and site commissioners, with armbands and whistles, walked back and forth among the skiers to give orders and get the teams into formation. A young doctor was setting up a medical station and, to complete the scene, someone had made a small white flag with a red cross that fluttered in the wind. In front of the chalet a rostrum of wooden planks had been hastily constructed for the public and a long table for the jury. The “trophies,” crowns of pine boughs, tin cups, a few bottles of wine and beer, an electric flashlight with batteries and — the first prize! — an alarm clock, had been lined up on the table.

The entire competition was organized half-jokingly, as a parody of the real competitions in Predeal, but it was a joke which drew everyone in with excessive conviction. Above all, the Saxons from the SKV, who arrived in a compact group, were as grave and resolute as if they were preparing for a great battle. They had put together a five-man team and had sent a written challenge to the students from the Touring Club, stating that the upcoming downhill race would be the “final test” of the day, the culmination of the struggle between the SKV and Touring Club. The whole mountain echoed with shouts and songs. When the wind dropped, the noise carried as far as Gunther’s cabin. Hagen, who had returned from his customary morning walk in the woods, told them all that was happening.

“Let’s go, too!” Nora suggested.

Paul, as grey-faced as the previous evening, neither accepted nor refused. He couldn’t care less whether they went or not. For him, the night had passed in a kind of numbed peace, as though he were under anaesthetic.

More difficult to persuade was Gunther, who didn’t want to leave the cabin at any price. “There are too many people. I don’t want to see them. I don’t want them to see me. I know them too well.”

Even so, Nora prepared his skis, which the boy hadn’t yet put on this winter. She was certain that he would resist this temptation. I have to get them outside , she thought, looking at the two men.

Hagen, who was alone in the cabin, whispered worriedly to Nora: “Be careful. Gunther doesn’t have the will or the energy to go fast.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be right beside him.”

The program hadn’t yet started at the Touring Club. They were still doing maintenance work on the ski run, especially on the mound for the ski jump, where several volunteers were digging with shovels. All the accordion players from the two chalets were brought together with their instruments into a kind of village orchestra that was set up next to the jurors’ table to play “Long Live the Winner!” in Romanian and German when the prizes were handed out. Meanwhile, to soothe the audience’s impatience, they played various hymns and “ouvert-ures.”

Gunther’s arrival caused astonishment among the Saxons on the rostrum. The news passed from person to person by way of signs and whispers: ”Der junge Grodeck, der junge Grodeck…” 25Intrigued stares turned from him to his companions. For a moment, all attention was diverted from what was happening on the ski run. Gunther became the highlight of the show, like a crown prince who makes an appearance on the balcony at a concert. Nora felt herself to be the object of dozens of questions. Gunther, invigorated by the cold morning air, held her arm and made lively conversation with her.

“Tomorrow the whole Grodeck family will know that we came out together. They’ll open an inquiry to find out who you are, where you’re from and what your intentions are. A young woman in the Grodeck family is an affront. The Grodecks don’t tolerate young women. There was one once, and they never forgave her, even after her death.”

Nora enjoyed facing the wave of surprise and curiosity that rose up around them. Only Paul remained indifferent to the pointing and the stares, not even noticing them.

The first event was the relay race. The route went from the Touring Club to the SKV chalet and, from there, through the Glade of the Three Maidens back to the Touring Club. The starting signal was given amid a general silence blasted by the report of a pistol that resounded through the mountains. The rostrum broke out in applause, while the teams, bearing large numbers on their backs, visible from the start, set off; friends and supporters shouted out their names. Gunther, too, took sides openly in the battle and began passionately shouting out the number of one of the pack of racers. “Two-oh-three! Two-oh-three!”

“Why two-oh-three?” Nora asked in surprise.

“I don’t know. I chose it by accident, like in roulette.”

He looked up with a bright face, a child once again, while he clung to her left arm with all his force.

“What number are you betting on, Paul?” Nora asked. She turned her head to the right, where he had been walking silently beside her, but she didn’t find him.

Had he left? It was certainly possible. The whole time she had felt him there on her right, locked in his oppressive silence like a piece of stone. She didn’t know at what point he might have slipped away without telling her.

So he’s left without a word , she thought bitterly.

Paul’s first thought, on leaving the scene, was to return to the cabin. He wanted to be alone. The throng of noisy people made him ill. Nora was irritating him with her exaggerated insistence on including him in a game that had no charm for him this morning. Standing between Gunther and him, attentive to all of their movements, Nora gave the impression of being a governess who was supervising two convalescents. He felt oppressed by her fixed gaze, even when it wasn’t directed at him. In the second’s swirl of confusion produced by the firing of the starting pistol, he had found the opportunity to break away unnoticed.

Everybody’s a patient for her , he thought as he walked away. I’m wrong, I’m being unfair to her , he added in his customarily intimate voice of a reasonable man, without being able to feel the slightest penitence. Words, thoughts, passed through him bleakly. He felt like an instrument with snapped chords, lacking warmth or resonance. Nothing elicited a response in him, neither thoughts nor memories.

He knew one name that in the past had made him feel nervous aches, unavoidable reflexes: Ann. He spoke it now in a loud voice, out of curiosity, as if pushing a button to see whether there was a response: “Ann, Ann, Ann.” The name fell from his lips, as inert as a stone.