Ioana Pârvulescu - Life Begins on Friday

Better I see to the preparations. Decorating the tree takes me the longest; I do it all by myself. I am very happy that the mysterious stranger will be coming, Mr Dan Crețu, which is to say, I hope he will be coming, but we shall send Papa to fetch him, if he does not come, especially given that in the end Mr Costache will be visiting them , and will not be coming to see us until tomorrow. I would like to fall in love with him, with the stranger, I mean. I would like to forget Alexandru. No, I would not like to. In fact, yes, I would like to. Yes, I want to. This evening I will write what happened and whether I fell in love. But the swelling in my jaw has not subsided completely, so any chance of love is compromized.

No sooner had Mr Costache lifted the thick knocker held in the muzzle of a gilded lion than the door opened and on the threshold appeared a rather irritated young man, who made to leave, while between his legs a striped tomcat slipped outside with a mouse in its teeth. The young man’s chest collided with that of the policeman. After they both apologized, simultaneously, the guest stated the purpose of his visit, and the young man quickly went back inside. He had a very strange walk. In the salon it smelled of hot tiles, from the tall stoves that rose almost to the ceiling. Costache regarded the young man with professional interest: he was a man who could not keep still for one moment, rather like a young child, and kept moving first his hands, then his feet. Then he started opening and closing his fist, as if trying to hold something that kept slipping from his grasp.

‘The lawyer is not at home, he is out on business, he…’ and lowering his voice, he added: ‘he… well, he has a mistress. Since you work for the Police and are tight-lipped by the very nature of your profession, I will not lie to you. He spends a fortune on her. Madam suspects, but does not know for sure. The gentleman is away every day, and madam constantly has headaches and makes the servants’ lives a misery. But please sit down, forgive me once again, but I was in a hurry, I am the lawyer’s right-hand-man, I want to study the law at university, and I was on my way to settle some urgent business.’

Costache asked him about the announcement and what the wallet contained to warrant such a large reward. At that moment, the door to the salon opened with a creak and the master of the house entered. He was quite an imposing figure, with a potbelly, probably furnished by his wife, and a young smile on his smooth face, probably furnished by his mistress. He walked straight up to Mr Costache and stretched out his hand in a friendly manner, even before discovering who he was. When he found out, he became even more amiable. He dismissed the young man with a gesture and then immediately provided the information required.

‘It is a wallet with a key to a safe. It was entrusted to me by a friend.’

‘Who is the friend? What is his name?’

But before the lawyer could reply, the mistress of the house entered. She was small and bien en chair , scowling, furious even, her face all red. When she saw there was a visitor, her anger seemed to melt away, and she extended to Costache a chubby, dimpled hand, which he raised to his lips without touching it, and then the lady asked the maid for two cups of coffee. But the lawyer probably could not bear her presence, for after two minutes of conversation about street vendors, even now, in December, and after inquiring in a neutral tone about her migraines, he asked her to leave them alone to discuss some matters that did not concern her and would only bore her. The anger once more appeared on the lady’s face and Costache was afraid lest there be a scene. Nothing irked him more than to be forced by circumstances to witness conjugal quarrels. Fortunately, the lady withdrew, insulted, without saying another word, not even to the guest.

‘And so who is the friend who entrusted you with the key?’ said Costache hastily, trying to dispel the awkwardness.

The lawyer was curt: ‘You know, Mr Boerescu, by the nature of my profession I come into contact with all kinds of people, whom I do not know well, but whom I must grant my trust and the guarantee that I shall keep the secrets they entrust to me. But for you, sir, I can make an exception,’ he hastened to add, on seeing how Costache’s velvety eyes became flinty and menacing. He stood up and gasping slightly, said: ‘It was Rareș Ochiu-Zănoagă, you know, the young man who was shot, as I read in Monday’s newspapers. It seems that the poor man died near here, at the House of Health, but I had no idea.’

The policeman concealed his surprise. He had not been expecting anything so important and could only wonder yet again at the perfect mechanism that guided the reasoning of his former head of department.

‘Where did you meet him?’

‘He came to our house, he had found out from the newspapers that I am a lawyer, I have an advertisement in Adevĕrul , although I do not agree with their orientation and methods, but that is a different story: lawyer Movileanu, Strada Teilor, the new houses. He said it was an affair ‘of the greatest importance, perhaps even dangerous,’ and told me he was going to reveal everything to me soon, before the New Year. He seemed an honest man, and we lawyers know a thing or two about people, perhaps not as much as yourself, of course. He was to come here this morning, before leaving for Giurgiu, if I recall rightly. I found out from the papers that he would not be coming and that he had not yet reached the age of twenty-two. I do not know what is happening, it is as if the whole world has gone mad, nothing goes smoothly any more and everything is askew. I am afraid that the twentieth century will be very difficult and I think of my children, if I ever have any.’

His face darkened and Costache could see that he was not acting a part, although he did not understand exactly what the lawyer was thinking at that moment.

‘But what about the wallet? What did he tell you about it? How did you come to lose it?’

I do not know, I cannot understand how it disappeared. It was here, on the table. He asked me whether it would disturb me if I kept it here for a few days, because he was afraid lest he lose it, and it was a precious item. He told me that it was the key to the safe, but he did not tell me what the safe contained, money or other valuables. I had no reason to ask him any further questions, or to refuse him. I went out to post something urgent, and on my return, wishing to lock the wallet in my own safe, I found it was no longer on the table.’

The lawyer’s amazement could be read on his face with surprising clarity. He looked at the lyre-shaped table, dumfounded, shook himself, and then said: ‘The young Trajan, who just left, was not at home. My wife was upstairs with the curtains drawn, with a headache. The servants had the afternoon off, and the two who did not were working in the yard; I know them and trust them. I thought perhaps I had taken it without me without realizing — because I am rather distrait — and that maybe I had dropped it on the street, hence the announcement, but between ourselves this explanation was for the want of anything better; it is true that I am distrait, but not irresponsible. It is more likely a thief entered the house after I left…’

‘Was the front door unlocked?’ asked Costache, merely doing his duty. He knew what the answer would be. When he entered, he had seen that the door had a Yale lock.

As he left, his host wished him a Happy Christmas, and it was only then that Costache remembered that he had accepted the Livezeanu family’s invitation to visit them that evening, and that tomorrow, in order not to disappoint his friends, he would be having lunch in Strada Fântânei. Curiously, he too was distrait, but maybe for the same reason as the lawyer, une jeune femme , except that when you worked in the Police such a thing had unpredictable consequences. And the young woman was not a suitable choice, that he knew.