Old Leo sharpened his razor and turned his mind elsewhere. He’d been making the same mechanical movements for a good five minutes, as he had done a hundred thousand times before. There was one customer in the shop, who was having his hair cut by Mihalache. It was hot. The driver hadn’t stopped, it was past midnight, only a couple of streetlights were on, the others were broken. Old Leo couldn’t refrain from shouting a curse, although the car was already out of sight. It was quiet — unusually, preternaturally quiet — not even the dogs were making a sound. A man entered the shop and asked if he was free. Yes, here we are, sit yourself down, then he tested the razor on his thumb, he still had to finish shaving the other customer. You’ll drive your razor mad, Lic
called out, laughing like an imbecile. Leo didn’t answer. The new customer sat in the chair and stretched his legs; he was tired. He looked in the mirror for a few moments: large head with thin reddish hair, round youthful face, many days’ spiky growth of beard; then he pressed his neck back against the leather headrest and closed his eyes with a faint sigh. A shave, yes? The young man nodded a few times, dropping his chin onto his chest, and crossed his hands on his belly. The dogs weren’t barking, there wasn’t a soul in the street, the car had vanished.
Poor old Leo! Mihalache felt sorry for him as he noticed a little round blood stain just beneath his grimy shirt collar. He said nothing and rolled the dice: double six, you’re lucky, Leo murmured dreamily, realizing he’d lost another game. The bedcover was worn and frayed by Misha’s claws, a whistling snore was now coming from out of his mouth. Your turn, Mihalache said, and Leo took the dice, shook them, and hurled them onto the table; one rolled onto the carpet, Mihalache bent down to pick it up and accidentally knocked his head against the board so that the pieces moved out of place and became mixed up. Mihalache was red in the face from the effort and annoyance, after all, he’d been on the point of winning. I’m not going to play anymore if you don’t pay attention! But Leo remained calm, still with a faraway look in his eyes. They began playing again. It was hot and the drojdie had made them a little tipsy. Now they both made mistakes, one after another. The car had passed at high speed and disappeared round a corner — or, who knows, maybe it hadn’t been a car, what could he have done about it? He looked at Mihalache, at his slightly bulbous nose, what would he have done in my place? The car had been going like the devil, making all the windows shake, and its lights had lit up the whole room. Car lights, for sure.
He had just finished shaving one cheek when he heard the plane. To hell with it! But the droning grew louder and louder and he couldn’t stop himself, he said sorry, just a second, bending over the ear of the customer, who seemed asleep, and dashed to the window, one hand holding his razor, the other smeared with lather. The plane wasn’t visible. He hesitated for a moment, then pressed on the door handle, went down the three steps, and hurried across the yard, almost losing his slippers in the process, there was no one in the street, the car had turned onto a side road — no sign of it any longer. He noticed a body lying still in the middle of the road. Leo took a few steps in the direction he thought the car had taken, he had seen its headlights shine right into the room and let out a curse. What would Mihalache have done in his place?
Why are you looking at me, it’s your move! Come on, you’ll win this one. Old Leo was out of sorts — in fact, for some time he hadn’t been feeling his usual self. . Mihalache stopped working too, raised his scissors to ear level and pretended to tap his forehead a few times: the guy’s crazy. Lic laughed, and the others did too, a big joke. The droning of the plane grew fainter and old Leo came back, puffing slightly, razor in one hand, lather covering the other, everyone remained silent and looked at him. Did you see it, Leo? Lic asked, because the silence was becoming awkward. Yes, I saw it, and he wiped his hand with a towel, then began to sharpen the razor on the leather strap. They all knew how much old Leo liked planes, but this was a bit much, they thought. What’s up, have you stopped playing? And Mihalache rattled the dice in the hollow of his hand.
Leo lived somewhere on the outskirts of town, in a long low house where he had two rooms and a kitchen, the rest was occupied by other tenants. The backyard was unpaved, and when his wife was alive they grew some flowers there. There was a pump in the back, and next to it an old apricot tree that was beginning to wither. Some ducks waddled around quacking, and a few geese that weren’t his gaggled away; maybe they belonged to the other tenants, or maybe to the neighbors, because they passed freely enough through the hole in the fence between the two yards. On Sundays, especially in summer, Mihalache came round and they played backgammon. Mihalache was younger and had incredible luck with the dice, I bet you’ve loaded them — loaded them? like hell I have, get on with it, it’s your turn, do you think it’s just a game of chance? Leo took another gulp, straight from the bottle, Mihalache pretended not to notice and rolled the dice, they took a long time to settle, droning like a plane in the sky, way up where it’s blue and silent, above those snowy, icy peaks more beautiful than real mountains, or giant sheep as white as foam, or maybe the hair of a graybeard suspended between heaven and earth. . But haven’t you ever felt dizzy? He shook his head and looked at Mihalache with a gentle smile. Why don’t you give a try? It’s so good to fly through the air, knowing there are countless little ant-like creatures down below, and you’re up there and you close your eyes and you have wings. — But I thought you said you hardly feel anything in a plane. — That’s true, it’s only in small planes that you. . and even in them. Then Mihalache lost his temper and said he didn’t understand: the devil take him if he could see any point in running risks when there are plenty of trains that are cheaper and more practical, and you can look out the window and admire the countryside, the mountains and plains. . What’s the big rush?
He lathered the customer’s cheek again. . Motionless, hands across his belly like a dead man, he seemed to be asleep. Leo shuffled up hesitantly, dragging his slippers along the ground. He saw that the victim was young, almost a child, and that he had wings — large white wings. He bent over and couldn’t see a drop of blood, not the slightest trace. Maybe they’d tossed him from the car after killing him with a blow to the head, or maybe no car had been involved at all, he’d simply crashed down from exhaustion onto the darkened tarmac. Been flying anywhere this month, Mister Leo? He didn’t answer. Why do they pester him so, what’s their game? Under the chin, near the Adam’s apple, the beard was even rougher and sprouting all over. He had to be careful. What would Mihalache have done in his place? Probably not gone into the street, in his shirt and slippers, after midnight, but turned over and gone back to sleep. But he didn’t sleep, that’s it, he couldn’t get to sleep, period. He’d played backgammon with Mihalache all afternoon, and those wretched dice kept buzzing in his ears. He wriggled on the bedsheet, unintentionally kicking Misha, who miaowed and shifted position, though not enough to escape another blow. He couldn’t get to sleep. He tried everything: thought of the day he flew for the first time, of the night before takeoff, of his fear that they wouldn’t let him on the plane, what are you doing here? — it was a small pleasure aircraft; it’s best with small planes, in those big ones you don’t feel you’re flying, you sit strapped to your seat with a safety-belt (though he mostly forgot to put his on) and look through the window at clouds as motionless as mountains covered with snow and ice, and if you didn’t hear the dull noise of the engines. . And haven’t you ever thrown up? No, never dizzy and never nauseous, a born flyer! He smiled. Then Mihalache lost his temper, went red in the face: it makes no sense, it’s absurd.