Ioana Pârvulescu - Life Begins on Friday

Costache nodded, he was of the same opinion, and Mrs Movileanu smiled, looking at Liza, who had come up to her and was sniffing the hem of her skirt.

‘But it is not true that the wallet disappeared. If I have been bold enough to take advantage of my husband’s absence from home — he did not even stay home with me yesterday, on Christmas day — and to come here to you, it is because I have the wallet and I am determined to give it to you. I got your address from the Prefecture, where I went first. Mr Caton Lecca was also there, and he too asked where you were.’

‘But that is impossible,’ said Costache, leaping to his feet, ignoring her final remark with a shrug. ‘Do you have any connection with Petre, the coachman from Inger’s confectionary shop?’

‘No. Who is Petre? Who is Inger? Forgive me, but I do not see how it could be impossible, and nor is it, as proof of which, let me give the wallet to you.’

And thereupon she handed him an deer-skin wallet. As he took it, Costache kissed her hand, to make up for the kiss he had denied her earlier. Then he opened the wallet and rummaged in its numerous compartments. In it he found nothing but a gilded key with elaborately cut extensions like lacy wings on each side of the shank.

‘There was nothing in it except this key. I think it is from a safe. I took the wallet from the table because I believed it had some connection with her . When I discovered that it did not, I would have given it back to the young man in person, as I intended, but I did not have the opportunity. I found out what had happened to him before my husband did, also through the servants. You should know that it is not true that I vent my nerves on them, as the young Trajan told you — I found out everything from the maid — on the contrary, they take my side, even if they pity me, and that is very hard for me.’

‘Madam, I cannot thank you enough, forgive me for having received you in this state. I thought that Petre had stolen the wallet, but it would seem that the man who gave me the information was lying or mistaken, and in any case he is not a man I trust.’

Costache took her hands and felt their softness and warmth in his. He tensed slightly, as if remembering something, and then he told the lady with the same naturalness as she had spoken to him: ‘I would like you to remain. Your presence has done me good, it does me good.’

Mrs Movileanu smiled. It had done her good too. The proposal itself did her good; it was obvious from her smile.

‘I have nothing left to lose. I could remain. But I shall not do so: I do not wish you to judge me later… as men do in such… in situations such as this. And there is something else: I sense that I would yet again take second place. I am tired of being second. But who knows? It is possible that we shall meet again… after the divorce, because in this very moment I have decided. Come what may! Do you know a good lawyer, one who is not a friend of my husband?’

Costache spoke for another hour with the woman who was still Mrs Movileanu, he spoke as he had never spoken to a woman before, and afterwards, the blackness having lifted from his soul somewhat, he went to bed, warning his adjutant: ‘Until tomorrow I do not exist! Not for anybody. Do not dare to disturb me. And take Liza for a walk!’

The soldier clock at L’Indépendance Roumaine showed four o’clock, and Alexandru did not know what to do. He had left home driving the horse by himself, and as always had left sufficient time for any eventuality, but he did not have the courage to go to the Margulis house. Rather, he ought to find the little errand boy, but he had no idea where to look and no red caps were to be seen in the usual places; it was as if they had vanished into thin air. The one who had answers to such questions and knew the addresses was Nicu, but he could not ask Nicu where to find Nicu, and if he found him, he would have no reason to ask him where he was. How stupid! It was as if he were going out of his mind. ‘Five o’clock; green and red.’ What could it mean? A meeting, of course, but where? He pulled on the reins and slowed the horse to a walk. Was there a place of green and red in the centre of the capital? Perhaps a park, perhaps a shop, or a confectioner’s? He looked at the shop signs but none were green and red. And on which day? That damned child had not told him a thing.

Victory Avenue was quiet except for a few coupés, people dressed elegantly and warmly, since it was a cold day: they were going on visits or coming back from long lunches, and they all looked carefree. But the smiling people just made Alexandru feel all the more, unhappy. It was as if somebody had put the evil eye on him, as if somebody had wished him ill. Everything started well and turned out dreadfully, things evolved du mal en pis . In front of him on the pavement he saw a comical man in an over-large overcoat, walking along with his gaze in the air, and he remembered the overcoat aria. He had seen La Bohème in Italy, and when he thought of Italy he smiled unwittingly; for him it was heaven on earth. The overcoat aria was an aria of poverty, but Alexandru in that moment would have rather been a philosopher forced to sell him an overcoat than a Livezeanu in the mood he was in today. The man was certainly a starving philosopher or poet, all his clothes were too large for him, like cast-offs, and his head was in the clouds as he walked along slowly, looking in wonderment at the long thick icicles that hung from the eaves. It was the way people walk when nobody is waiting for them. Before he overtook him, the man slipped on a patch of ice, for an instant seemed to regain his balance, but then he fell flat on the pavement. Alexandru stopped the horses and jumped down, immediately reaching the man, who was having difficulty getting to his feet. He tried to pull him by his arm, but the man cried out and then bit his lips in pain: ‘I think I have sprained my shoulder,’ he said with clenched teeth.

Alexandru hesitated: he would have liked to help him, but at the same time he did not want to miss the opportunity, no matter how slight, of meeting Iulia Margulis. But then, seeing the fright on the face of the man lying on the ground, he took hold of his other arm, and almost lifting him off the ground, he helped him climb into his carriage.

‘I think it is dislocated, I have seen something similar before. I will take you home, if you agree: my brother is a medical student and he will help you, unless he is out.’

The man said nothing. He was groaning and kept biting his lower lip. Silence signalled assent, and so Alexandru mounted the box.

‘I will drive slowly, but please hold the handle with your other hand, lest you come to any more grief!’

In less than half an hour they reached the entrance, beneath the marquise. The house was lit both outside and inside. Toader came out, as cheerful as always, although now was not the time, and with his master he helped the man out of the carriage. Toader said not a word, although he was not surprised, and made no suppositions. He was used to Alexandru getting into all kinds of scrapes.

‘Run and fetch my brother, tell him to come to my room, please.’

Mișu arrived immediately and because Toader had delightedly told him that there was a man knocked to pieces, he brought his medical bag with him. The man was sitting in an armchair, beneath the two portraits of Alexandru’s great-grandparents. Toader removed his galoshes, and Alexandru helped him off with his coat, which was a highly delicate operation. In the end, Toader fetched some scissors and cut open the coat. The physician immediately saw that it was a dislocated shoulder.

‘What have you done’ he asked Alexandru severely, but received such a pained look in response that he hastened to add: ‘You are lucky, sir…’