Norman Manea - Compulsory Happiness

“And him, him … old flabby … the Kid … What am I getting into? Shit, he couldn’t stomach her. He said the most disgusting things about her, he couldn’t bear the sight of her. And suddenly, wham! There’s something wrong here! What the hell has gotten into him?”

“Why are you getting so worked up? It’s an act of great kindness, that’s what it is! And great patience, obviously. It can’t be much fun, as you can imagine. He has to spend a lot of time going on all those walks. He’s being very understanding and attentive, if you want to know … It’s an admirable thing for him to do.”

“Hey! No, now, really, I’m going batty! Patient, attentive, admirable! You think I’m a half-wit or a nut case. That’s it, you must think I’m either retarded or hysterical … That’s why you never told me a thing about what happened and what’s still going on. An admirable thing to do, right, listen to him … There’s something else, something else, I’m sure of it. I just can’t see the Little Mouse leaving his cage full of books to play lady-in-waiting out of pure charity. And the trenchcoat, I mean the raincoats … What is this farce, they’re playing ghosts, or what? No, no, there’s something going on, something!” screamed Ioana Stoian, pale and haggard. “There’s something going on! There’s always something under the surface, obviously. Obviously! Nothing is what it seems, nothing or no one, not even your own husband, no one! Anyone can become anything! Anyone, anytime, anything? … Come on, answer. Charity? Don’t be ridiculous! Research, yes … that’s the best-case scenario. A subject for study, yes, I can see that, obviously. A kind of experiment … scientific research, a project, if you like, choose your own term. An exercise in pure research, an extra experiment, an ex, okay? And that’s the best possible interpretation! He can’t stand her, I’m sure of it,” shouted Ioana Stoian, holding her arms out in front of her as though to ward off any reply contemplated by her husband, Alexandru I. Stoian.

She no longer needed to pause to catch her breath, no, she couldn’t bear any interruption now — the flood was unstoppable.

“He can’t stand her, he never could stand her! Even now, he can’t stand her, I’m certain of it, absolutely certain! What good does it do to wear a raincoat like that! Unless it was his idea to have her wear a raincoat just like the other one? Simulation, right? Setting up an experiment? Conditions for study and research, that’s what the Guileless One is after, that Simpleton, that ex, that hypocrite! Who’s he trying to put one over on? Me? You, perhaps … all of us. Himself? … What’s he trying to prove? Anytime, anyone, that’s it? That’s the point? Who knows … Wouldn’t surprise me, no, no, not anymore, obviously. He wants to observe, right, to probe around under the surface, get past appearances! Appearances … and then what? Appearances, those trenchcoats of theirs, appearances, come on! Scientific cynicism, yes, and that’s the nicest way of putting it. I’m telling you, the nicest way. There could be something behind it, who knows, something else entirely …”

There were, in fact, many hypotheses. The two also discussed them, the old friends from childhood, the war generation. Not just the war generation, a new term had to be found that applies more accurately to that which was and that which followed.

Yes, they also pondered the same possibilities during their long weekly walks. They had animated, passionate discussions beneath the stony, inscrutable sky. They reconsidered the question, each time from a new angle. And this was what brightened up the sick woman, it seems, and steadied her nerves. She’d take an intense interest in their talks. About her life, their lives, the lives of their friends, their acquaintances, the lives of all the Martians they passed on the street or remembered from the past.

She seemed finally free, liberated. An absolute, cosmic, intangible assurance. A focused, steady voice, and a happy laugh, incognito.

Time was as though sharpened, glassy, feverish, glinting with sarcasm. A sarcastic, happy, broken laugh, with cutting black shards.

The time of absence suddenly heard as sound. Sharpened, shattered. A glassy, guileless, ancient laugh.

* A “multilaterally developed socialist society” was a favorite propaganda phrase under Ceau escu.

* In a context of poor-quality products and widespread shortages, imported cigarettes became a standard bribe necessary to obtain the slightest service. Purchased on the black market at the cost of an entire day’s salary, a pack of Kents acquired so much cachet that it became a cultural symbol of both Western comfort and a moment of relaxation stolen from the system.

* January 26, Ceau escu’s birthday, was celebrated in the 1980s as a national holiday in Romania.

* When Composite Biography was first published in Romania in 1981, Ceau escu could be identified only by allusions, and even that was risky.