Norman Manea - The Black Envelope

“Improvisation operates as salvation, as I said. More than a diversion — as salvation. Hmm, slippers, yes. Improvisation — like the Argentinians. Uniforms, stripes, circus. As I was saying, they’re impulsive and shrewd; they catch on quickly. Weak and garrulous. Foolish pride, solemnity, demagogy, but also artful manliness. Your football, Gic , old man, your improvisation is just right to discharge the load.”

Old Gic did not react; the others kept silent, surprised at what they had just heard.

“By the way, have you seen that wrinkle of the eyes? That winking. I mean the scar. A little mark, by the eyebrow. Did you recognize your mark, old Gic ? Have you ever touched that almost invisible mark with your finger?”

But Gic , left speechless, did not have time to pull himself together; the words scampered off in another direction. The speaker was becoming extremely worked up. “Where is Vasilica? I’ve been trying to get hold of her for three days. I mean, not her exactly, but my bag of coffee. Maybe the baksheesh no longer interests her. Doesn’t she line her bottom anymore with twenty-five-lei notes? Has she decided to show it bare in front of the Holy Virgin? While I’m stuck without any coffee. Is the lazy layabout suddenly afraid of being reported? Mmm, stealing also has its risks and its code of practice. It calls for respect and a certain seriousness. Can you still believe in people’s word, in honor among thieves. The world’s heading for the brink, that must be it. God, where can that parasite have got to?”

The professor really would not let his audience go. When he saw their attention flagging, he’d come up with another round of abuse to liven them up. Humiliating her like that, poor Vasilica. Not even Comrade Gic Teodosiu had let loose so shamelessly. They all knew and all pretended they didn’t notice the little business like so many others. After all, Vasilica was a human being, too, and had to wangle her way in life. Ill at ease, she would take the provocatively large baksheesh that the scatterbrain tossed to her in sight of everybody. Vasilica took her coffee ration, a few teaspoons a day, from the communal bag, even though she was not among those who drank coffee. In this way she collected the weekly bagful for Tolea, who paid her for it separately. But to say it openly, just like that?! To throw the slops around, so that at least you see their mugs shaken by the poseur’s nerve. Just take him by the nose and spin him on his heels until he can’t take any more. He’s got someone protecting him up there — otherwise he couldn’t possibly … So many bad marks in his file and so much impudence, always shooting his mouth off. And the bullet never hits him: he can gulp down some poison and then go straight off to dance the Charleston. Best keep out of his way; spit over your shoulder to keep the devil away.

If only poor Vasilica hadn’t passed by reception at that very moment! The audience froze with expectation. You’ve found what you were looking for! Here she is, carried on the Old Serpent’s invisible black wire; here she is, opening the door.

“Dear madam, you forgot to give me my bag on Wednesday. I’m right out of fuel! Energy crisis! So, about turn, bring it here! Make up your little bag.” Little baggie, little baggie, who are you leaving me to? the odd fish begins to hum. And suddenly you see how different he is: he’s forgotten everything, he’s gallant and polite, as if he’s really lost his marbles.

He jumps fresh from the springboard and lands in front of the fortune-teller. The beauty is hiding the cowrie between her breasts, warming it up as the gypsy wanderers taught her to.

“So, sweetheart, you live at Buliba a Square, is that right?”

The odalisque is not angry at the playful allusion to the legendary gypsy captain. The honor of the ancient tribe has taught her never to be angry; queens cannot be offended. She lifts her black locks from the accounts and offers her colleague at the Tranzit reception a faint, archaic smile. Red lips, enamel keyboard, perfect, snow-white. Her slender hand slides down the crease in the middle of her work coat. Long delicate fingers, small fragile bones, deep eyes, night without end. Slim bird, torrid crease. No, she had no reason to feel ashamed. The tribe could be proud of how she raised her shiny copper neck, of how the nocturnal leaves fluttered.

“Will you pay me a visit, then, dulcissime? ”

“There’s a special school around there. You know it, don’t you?”

“Maybe. I don’t pay much attention to schools.”

“Between the blocks of flats. It runs down from the crossroads to a kind of square. An unpaved road, still a building site, they told me. A big supermarket, a soda-bottling center. Then on the right, as far as the electricity transformer. From there a tree-lined drive, with the school at the end.”

“Well, I see you know it. A big supermarket that’s shut all the time. Then the soda-bottling center. You’ll see it straightaway. The line always stretches to the corner of the street. Then you cross over and take the first on the left, down to the end of the blocks. The cranes can still be seen. Piles of bricks, concrete casing. You pass through the mud until you come to the next-to-last block, with four floors. You can’t miss it. The balconies are full of flowers. They’ve even painted flowers on the façade, because it’s pockmarked where the plaster’s fallen off. My wanderers have always loved flowers. That’s where I live, on the second floor. No need to ask. There’s a whole lot of them in front of the block. They’ll ask you who you’re looking for. They’ll escort you to the door with a show of pomp. Or, if it’s one of their good days, they’ll shout up from the entrance: ‘Heh, Gino! Ginooo, come to the window! Your prince has come.’ You won’t lose your way, don’t worry.”

Mr. Vancea, the great jester, did not understand the joke. He wanted to have a serious conversation; he needed some advice.

“You know, out there by the school. In one of those older blocks. It’s a friend. Or no, not a friend. An acquaintance, an old acquaintance of my brother’s.” The professor leaned for days on end toward gaudy Gina’s ear of jade. She came from an old community, with long experience of adaptation. You could get some useful advice from her, no? And indeed, his colleague did not seem surprised at the improbable change in the buffoon; she wasn’t surprised at anything. She immediately accepted the new role in which he placed her, as confidante giving advice in a murky way-out story. They suddenly began to seem like a couple in a shady sect, whispering and murmuring to each other all day long, quite delightful … dulcissima , long blue eel-like fingers streaming around the button on her closed open work coat, and the frater pedagogue constantly pulling new pieces of magic paper from his pocket, which he has brought to be deciphered.

“Retarded development of the psyche. Reduced and superficial criteria of judgment. The language of mime and gesture sets up walls. The defects of the language accentuate inflexibility and negative manifestations — envy, jealousy, rigid behavior. However, when grouped together in an organization with strict and simple rules, the disabled may display excellent qualities of subordination.”