Ioana Pârvulescu - Life Begins on Friday

‘Good people,’ said Fane by way of introduction, ‘I want to take a bath!’

The lad said they were closed and that he was there merely to guard the cash box, which had vanished on previous occasions.

‘Jean, let me take a bath and I’ll put some money in the cash box and in your pocket too,’ pleaded Fane in his most civil voice.

The lad would have been willing, but there was hot water only on working days and he wasn’t allowed to light the fire for the boilers.

‘Then at least let me use the latrine, since you don’t have to light that,’ said Fane and started hopping from one leg to the other, clenching his buttocks.

Knowing that a tip was obligatory if you did somebody such an urgent favour, the lad allowed him to enter.

‘Down there, turn left and then straight ahead!’

‘Thank you very much, Jean!’

When he returned two minutes later, Fane had an indecisive air, as if he did not know whether he should give up the bird in his hand for the two in the bush or abandon all thought of feathered creatures. He entered the small room in which the tousled lad was lazing with his elbows on the table and asked after the bath attendant. He was away in Sinaia for the whole of the holidays, said the watchman.

‘Did he leave anything here for me — me name’s Fane — because I left a large case here with him?’

The lad didn’t know anything about any case and started to get annoyed.

‘Let’s have a quick look, Jean, maybe we’ll find it, it’s silver-coloured, I’m in great need of it,’ said Fane in his holiday voice and gave him his most persuasive facial expression.

Although the lad looked more and more bad-tempered, and it was obvious he couldn’t wait to get rid of him, Fane didn’t give up. He dominated him until willy-nilly he had opened all the doors. They looked everywhere, behind the cast-iron bathtubs, in the broom closet. Fane was emanating a sort of cold breeze. The lad wouldn’t let him enter the room where the cash box was and assured him that there wasn’t anything in there. As he said it, Fane gave him a very strange look, and the lad sensed rather than understood that he was in danger and so from the doorway he cast a quick look inside.

‘Are you afraid, Jean? You’re afraid, aren’t you Jean? What if I clout you over the head right now and steal the money from the cash box?’

Then he slapped him on the shoulders in encouragement, laughed, turned on his heel and left.

Behind him he heard the key turn twice in the lock and he laughed again. It was obvious the watchman was a greenhorn: he was one of those innocents who think a sliver of metal could protect him from harm. Fane looked behind him and then headed towards his woman, taking his tail with him. He had sent word that she should wait for him. After they had eaten and drank, and after he penetrated her twice, with all the mad desire that had accumulated during his days in the cell (she yelled so loud that you could hear it outside, and even more loudly the second time, before groaning gutturally like a pigeon) they both fell fast asleep. The next day, Fane interrogated her about everything that had happened in his absence, and she chirped like any bint when the master returns. As for Jean’s case: ‘To hell with it. There was nothing but some horrible clothes in it, nothing valuable. Not that I examined it closely, which is why I wanted it, but it didn’t seem to have anything that would be of interest to Fane the Ringster!’

They both laughed, happy and carefree. Outside the man from the Police shivered as he waited to be relieved.

The two street lamps at the entrance to the Prefecture were lit when I arrived, although it was the middle of the day, and under each street lamp stood a sentinel. In the carriage, which Papa drove by himself, because Nelu was still ill, I asked him why he thought Mr Costache had invited me to his office and why he could not have spoken to me at our house, and Papa told me that his friend never mixed business and private life, and that in his youth he had promised him that he would leave his profession at the door alongside his cane. And indeed, I think that he kept his word, at least up until yesterday, with Dan Crețu. Papa added that there would be nobody at the Prefecture today, since it was the day after Christmas. I have known Mr Costache ever since I can remember. When I grew up and we had to start calling each other vous instead of toi , I was sorry, because it alienated the person closest to me, for sometimes he was closer to me than my own parents and I could speak to him more freely than I could to them. I remember one summer, when I found a beetle in a book and I screamed, he came to me in alarm, saw the insect and gently said: ‘Can you really be afraid of this small and book-loving creature?’ And he threw it out of the window.

Papa told me that he probably wanted to ask for some information. He was very calm about the whole thing, since he has been Mr Costache’s friend since before I was born. And it was true that there was nobody at the Prefecture this morning. Papa took me upstairs to the first floor. A little old man knocked on the door and opened it wide to allow me to enter. Papa said bonjour and then left. Mr Costache quickly got up from his desk and came to greet me. He apologized for having smoked before I arrived, but I smelled only a faint waft of fine tobacco. He looked tired and hid his hazel eyes, which to me have always seemed too normal for my idea of what a policeman should be like. He bade me sit down by the fire and he sat at his desk. I think he must not have slept all night. He told me he had two very difficult cases, which he thought I could help him with, and that he had sat up all night thinking about it.

‘About it ?’ I asked.

‘About you,’ he said. ‘I often think about you before I go to sleep.’

He said it without looking at me. He spoke softly, as if he were alone, although he had a deep, firm voice. I sensed how hard it must be for him. His words sounded gentle. For the first time I thought of him as a single man. For the first time I thought of him as a man. For the first time I saw that he had a handsome face, a handsomeness that came from within. I tried to make light of it, sensing a kind of danger to my joy in always seeing him at our house:

‘You mean to say that thinking of me always sends you to sleep and that is how interesting I seem to you? I ought to feel offended, but I forgive you. You can use me as a medicament. Papa is the doctor, I the medicament.’

He did not smile, not even from politeness. He got up and stood behind my chair, so that I would not be able to see him.

‘You, Miss Iulia, are like a little spider which, when it senses somebody near or when you touch it, ever so slightly, immediately retracts its little legs, and curls up in a ball, so that you might mistake it for a little black speck. In that way it thinks itself safe from intruders. Whenever I have come close to you, whenever I have touched you, you have acted like the spider, you have curled yourself into a ball. And you do so now, except that I do not have time to wait until you uncurl yourself.’

I remained silent and stubbornly gazed at my boots. One had a mud stain.

‘Yesterday you praised my voice when I sang from La Bohème . Do you know how many times you have praised me since you grew up? Three times — I went over them in my mind last night. And yesterday you seemed amazed that I could sing. I have the feeling that you are amazed whenever you see that I am a man like any other. I thought of these hands when I learned the aria. They are always cold,’ continued the voice behind me.