Norman Manea - The Lair

Ga par gets up. Big, massive. He is awake, as if no longer afraid to be awake.

“A sullen March evening. A sullen professor, a sullen lecture about a sullen labyrinth. The labyrinth as a game? It’s a game for innocents. An innocent audience. A complicit audience, nonetheless.”

“Complicit? Yes, I am here. The student is present.”

“It’s the present.”

“And the professor is also present.”

“Maybe. He’s not convinced. He should be convinced.”

They clink glasses, in a good humor both of them. The game prepares for the crime or for the solving of the crime. The killing of the Minotaur or the key to its action.

“Under what sign were you born?”

“What do you mean? I don’t know. I don’t bother with that nonsense.”

“Me, neither, but. . Taurus means vitality. Spring. But I don’t think …”

“But what.. ?”

“My cousin Lu is obsessed with signs, zodiac, astrology, fortune-telling. Some things even seem true, naturally. The rule of probability. I’m hopeless at this stuff. I am amused and then I forget.”

“Horoscopes are another joke. Any game is good. You don’t know how to play games, I suspect.”

“I haven’t for a while. Short amusement, that’s all. When were you born?”

“You want to know how old I am?”

“You couldn’t be young enough for an old man like me. It’s the month that interests me, not the year.”

“April.”

“And the day?”

“You said just the month, that’s all.”

“There are two signs for every month.”

“Okay, I’ll take them both. Whatever they may be. Both of them.”

“All right. A solar promise. Rebirth. The sun punished Icarus by melting his wings. Punished him for his arrogance in defying predetermination, for his faith in freedom, in options. For the ego’s ambition. The modern self-made man. That’s what you Americans say.”

“Imposture! Mimetics.”

“The first step to change. Some change, anyway.”

“The wine isn’t American, this time. The subject is Greek, the Old Man, Eastern European. The same as the host, an improvised professor, impostor. Targeted in the shadows by the phantom-killing ray.”

A moment of exhaustion. Ga par doesn’t know how to go on. He should probably consult Patrick, Larry Eight and the special agent, on how to manipulate the evening of the revelation. The stages, the pace, the surprises, the traps, the decisive moment when the coy and cunning fox will twist in the silk snare, unable to escape.

“Could you sleep here tonight?”

“Why? Do you have insomnia? Is it the rustling in the woods? Does the solitary city dweller feel the Minotaur close by? Bull, badger, owl. The night itself is a dark being. It seduces or kills. Do you have insomnia?”

“Last night I didn’t sleep at all,” the professor lies. That’s why I’m delivering speeches. To stay awake.”

“Take a sleeping pill. The wine is going to help, as well. You’ll sleep after drinking Eastern European wine. Old habits help. They pacify.”

The professor is waiting for an answer.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Why? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the sexuality of the elderly. And you don’t need to be afraid of yourself, either. As for me, I can fend for myself, if youth attacks. I’ll get by. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t report you.”

“You want me to sleep here? Here, on the couch?”

“Why not? I’d feel better.”

“No, absolutely not. My roommate is waiting for me. It’s a small college, everything gets out.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do. And you need your salary.”

“We’ll tell Patrick that we spent all night talking about the labyrinth. It took all night. We drank wine, you were tired, you stayed. We’ll see how he takes on the new cards, what hypotheses he offers.”

“We could tell him that, even if it’s not true. I like the game, I told you. The game, as a labyrinth.”

“Games with Dracula?”

“The professor is an eccentric, not a monster.”

Tara continues to prod him, like a policeman. Professor Ga par does the same. She smiles, he smiles.

“The game, as a labyrinth. That’s what Gilbert says.”

“Gilbert, which Gilbert?”

“Anteos. You don’t know Gilbert Anteos?”

“The guy with the shaved head?”

“Yes, professor of Greek, Latin, and ancient literature.”

“You’re in his class?”

“Yes, I took Greek Mythology and Modern Life. An eccentric type.”

“Like me?”

“He took refuge in America from the colonial dictatorship in Greece. He’s an exile, too. A nomad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“About Anteos? You never asked what classes I’m taking.”

“You just let me go on and on, like a dilettante, about the Minotaur and Ariadne and Daedalus.”

“I don’t look down on dilettantes. America is full of dilettantes. They respect all hobbies. Among dilettantes, you discover clairvoyants and unexpected suggestions.”

“So, then, the expert with the shaved head talked to you about the labyrinth. Did he also quote Dima?”

“I don’t remember. Otherwise, yes, all the references, the entire inventory. The invisible fire transforms the bodies arrived in Hades in the underground dwelling. . the labyrinthine dwelling of the dead. The transition from the spiral to the cross. Christ, like Theseus, descending into the Inferno. Descensus ad infernos. The red thread of Ariadne, the bloodied memory.”

The professor is silent, gazing at his postal woman who didn’t bring the mail.

“I should check my notes. I didn’t retain that name, Dima. When you were talking about these Balkanic, sinister things, I didn’t make the connection. But Anteos, yes, Gilbert talked about the labyrinth and the rest. I took notes, I’m sure. What I didn’t write, I remember.”

“Meaning?”

“Gilbert told me, at some point, about the eccentricities of the refugee Peter Ga par.”

“Aha, you mean Dracula’s eccentricities.”

“Not quite. Maybe Gilbert didn’t have all the information. He was talking about childish, endearing eccentricities.”

“For example?”

“You eat every day in the faculty lounge, I understand.”

“Where else?”

“Greeted with happiness. There are amicable signs from all the tables, they call you over. They want you among them.”

“The advantage of the exotic stranger. He rouses curiosity. They want to hear stories from the Stone Age.”

“Especially when the stranger is generous. He tells stories, but he also brings gifts.”

Ga par doesn’t ask any more questions. He understands what she’s talking about.

“You bring them all kinds of wonderful things. The Belgian chocolate and Swiss chocolate impressed everyone.”

“That’s what I was after. The stranger is curious, too, wants to understand the robots of the postmodern millennium. I brought first-class chocolate. To see how diets and discipline and Protestant austerity get swept under the rug.”

“And did it get swept under the rug?”

“Yes. Truffles are magic. Demonic. I’m a fat foodie, as you can see. I wanted to see how the fitness fanatics would react. I watched deliriously to see the first truffle in the mouths of the ascetics. Just one, that’s all. After that, the drug takes its effect. Ir-re-sis-ti-ble. You want another and another, as many as you can, to fill you with happiness, until you choke.”