Gregor von Rezzori - An Ermine in Czernopol

Even Turturiuk was so taken aback that he didn’t embrace Tildy and seal the reconciliation with a brotherly kiss. “The embarrassed silence that followed,” said Herr Alexianu, “was felt by all.”

This awkward scene was interrupted by a fortunate coincidence that allowed for a saving exit, as Gyorgyovich Ianku finished his tango at that very moment, and Madame Turturiuk, wearing her very cosmopolitan dress, left her dancing partner, walked over to the two officers, and said: “What’s going on with you two? Is this a fight or a declaration of love?”

Turturiuk (his conciliatory inclination was reemerging, under the influence of the wine): “Look here, my little woman, by all the Easter votives of the Metropolitan!” (To Tildy) “Isn’t she a sweet one! You should see her when she’s all undressed!” (Again to Madame Turturiuk) “Permit me, Alexandra, to introduce my comrade, Major Niculaie Tildy.”

Madame Turturiuk (with a cosmopolitan smile): “We know each other from sight, I believe. I’m very sad, Major, that your wife was unable to grace us with the pleasure of her company.”

Tildy: “No one regrets that more than Tamara herself, Madame. She is ailing and hasn’t been able to go out for some time.”

Madame Turturiuk: “So I hear. Please give her my best regards. Unfortunately I haven’t had the privilege of meeting her, but I admire her greatly. Elle est très élégante .”

Tildy gave a curt bow, and Madame Turturiuk burst out in hearty laughter. “You can see right away you’re not from the capital. Otherwise you would have slapped me.”

At that point, according to Herr Alexianu, a clear look of bewilderment registered on Tildy’s otherwise expressionless face, and in a very wooden voice he asked: “Madame?”

Madame Turturiuk: “In the capital, if you tell an officer his wife is elegant, it is an insult. Because it means either that she steals her clothes or that she has a lover who pays for them. An officer never makes enough money to buy fancy clothes.”

The colonel roared with laughter at the well-played joke. Still catching his breath, he gave his wife a slap on the ass and added: “Or else he has a mistress who gives him enough money.”

Madame Turturiuk didn’t spare her husband her own look of astonishment at his unexpected riposte. Only Tildy didn’t laugh, as was to be expected.

Just then Gyorgyovich Ianku started up the tango “Drive on, Coachman.” Madame Turturiuk stood there a few moments, fully expecting that Tildy would ask her to dance, as propriety demanded. But Tildy, once again master of his “English” demeanor, made no move to do so, and the situation would have become embarrassing all over, if Lieutenant Boldur hadn’t saved the day by jumping up from the couch and leading the colonel’s wife away. Even the colonel just stared off pensively for a moment, gave a deep sigh, and then walked off without saying another word to Tildy.

Herr Alexianu, seemingly worn out from his report, asked Fräulein Iliuţ to remoisten the cloth on the side of his head. While she went to get some fresh water, he lit a cigarette, but after carefully inhaling one time he stubbed it out, with a look of torment. He took pains to avoid noticing us, and made a point of elaborately cleaning the charred tip of the cigarette before returning it to the pack. We thought we saw in his gestures a certain worldliness that he had gleaned from his exposure to wider horizons — they no longer seemed so brutally fidgety. But that could also be ascribed to his suffering. We kept quiet and remained inconspicuous until Fräulein Iliuţ returned with the newly dampened soothing cloth, which she applied with motherly tenderness on Herr Alexianu’s forehead. The sight of this hunchbacked Samaritan was moving, and reminded us of the fairy tales with bewitched characters who can only regain their form after long and laborious trials. We always expected that one fine day Fräulein Iliuţ would be transformed into a radiant princess, and I was fearful that this might happen before I was old enough to declare my love to her. I often dreamt of this moment, and though there was nothing I wished more than to see it come to pass, I wondered how much she would retain of the strong and somewhat pitiable charm that naturally and effortlessly emanated from her deformity.

Incidentally, my secret love for Fräulein Iliuţ soon brought a bitter disappointment, whose source was none other than Fräulein Iliuţ herself. It had to do with a certain turn of phrase that she explained to us, and although her definition was perfectly correct, it did not satisfy our curiosity. So while we remained devoted to her with all our heart, we no longer believed she was a princess who had been bewitched.

Herr Alexianu spent several minutes regaining his composure under the moist cloth before continuing his report, at which point he uttered the phrase that immediately captured our fantasy: he lost face.

But first I want to recount the events that led up to that:

After the colonel had left him standing there, Tildy himself was about to turn around and leave the room. But then Năstase spoke to him, as Herr Alexianu related—

“Permit me to introduce myself, Herr Major,” he said. “My name is Năstase, Vintilă Năstase, student of human nature, if you will. I come from a good family, and so may take the liberty of addressing you without incurring your immediate displeasure …”

“How may I be of service?” asked Tildy, without the slightest sign of impatience.

Năstase smiled. “You are very polite, Herr Major. Uncommonly and exceptionally polite. You know our saying: One can choke a guest with curds. By that I mean to say, that your politeness, your perfect manners, your aura of gallantry — it’s all like a great arsenal of weapons. You are a knight, Herr Major, armed and prepared. They say that street curs step aside for a born cavalier: they can smell his presence. Do they step aside for you, Herr Major?

Tildy: “Up to now they have.”

“Up to now. And suddenly they’ve stopped, Herr Major? That’s a bad sign. In fact, that justifies the question I would like pose to you, if I may. You are a person of character, Herr Major. I would be insulting you if I asked whether you knew that the concept of persona originally comes from the masks worn by actors.”

Tildy: “What would you like to ask?”

Năstase, who had earlier risen from the sofa and approached Tildy to address him, gestured around the room. “We were all witness to your conversation with our esteemed colonel, whose birthday we are celebrating. We were impressed with the elegant way you had of dealing with a truly embarrassing situation. Chapeau bas , Herr Major! Without diminishing your own stature in any way, you did not spare the colonel anything either — truly well played. Very well played indeed. The ladies were particularly impressed. Because even if we do love our little father Mitică, we can both agree that he is peasant through and through, can we not?”

Tildy: “Surely you don’t wish to speak with me about my superior officer, who happens also to be our host, do you?”

Năstase: “Of course not, Herr Major. I simply wanted to compliment you on behalf of all of us. I only mentioned the colonel in order to convey to you the depth of our understanding and the extent of our regard for the way you comported yourself. My own interests are literary, consequently I don’t stint on words, which must irritate a military man. I beg your pardon. I admire you, Herr Major — you will permit me to be so frank. There is something saintly about you. A saintliness devoid of kindness. I find that extraordinarily interesting …”

Tildy: “You wanted to ask me a question.”

Năstase: “Yes, of course — presuming that you are so willing. You have a face worthy of admiration, Herr Major. I wanted to ask you: When will you lose it? ”