In the next room, Aunt Luiza is pacing lightly over the floor. She’d be better off reading tarot cards. The window creaks under the pressure of the wind. The streetlamp casts a dirty, yellowish light. The fish is probably still turning. I try to glue my knees to my belly. The blood-red window is no longer visible. Yes, there must be a mechanism, however small, however simple! I reach out to feel the rough cold wall. Lower down, near the floor, there are patches of damp.
In Our Backyard
Very early in the morning, Ion would help Mrs. Ign
tescu to put the carpets onto the frame in the yard and beat them with a switch or a stick. The dust rose and spread through the yard like mist. The rabbits took fright and scattered, while the chickens withdrew indignantly to their coops at the far end. Mrs. Igntescu’s dogs barked. The racket woke up all the tenants. Mrs. Nstase brought her carpets as well. A window opened, and a shrill voice inside maintained that a pregnant woman needed peace and quiet. This made Mrs. Igntescu see red: Berta had no husband, but she still thought she could get on her high horse. Ion beat the carpets fiercely and laughed, his face sticky with dust and sweat. The neighbors cursed as they breathed in the dust and sneezed. Mrs. Igntescu fixed her hands on her hips. Then the milkmaid appeared, hugging her milk canister protectively, as if it were a baby. What a cloud of dust! Old man Cpri
came out of his little room with a bottle; he coughed (demonstratively) until he started to choke. The other tenants also came out to buy some milk. Ion didn’t care: he struck the carpets with even more gusto. Mrs. Igntescu’s voice trumpeted above the others. On some occasions, the dustman would arrive at the same time and ring his bell so that everyone knew they could bring their rubbish out; they made a terrible noise as they dragged their bins across the yard. Another quarrel flared up, since Mrs. Igntescu wasn’t going to be the only one to give him a tip. In the end she took her carpets back indoors. Mrs. Nstase only had two, and Ion, now feeling tired, did a superficial job on them. Little by little the din subsided. The chickens crept back, after many a detour, and the rabbits started nibbling again at the slightly rotten wood of the carpet frame. A hen busily led her chicks around, clearing a way for them by striking to left and right with her beak. It was quiet once more: all that could be heard was the cackling of hens and the sizzling of pots and pans in the kitchen. One day Mrs. Nstase also bought a rooster. Mrs. Igntescu’s hens would benefit from it too, but nothing could be done about that. It was a splendid cock! The hens shuddered with pleasure when they first heard its voice and saw its big flame-red crest. As for the rabbits, they were downright servile in the way they welcomed it. It was brought over by a tall, rather strangely dressed young man, who released it in the yard and then, instead of leaving, went timidly up to the carpet frame and began to examine it. Together with his tight-fitting black trousers, like those traditionally worn by peasants, his matching black top gave him the appearance of a gymnast. He had rough fair hair, with a pale oval face. He raised his arm and touched the horizontal bar. He seemed unhappy about something. A bold rabbit prodded his bare foot with its moist, sticky snout. The kid jumped, but looked down and smiled, and stroked the rabbit’s gray fur with his heel. Then he stood on tiptoe to see if his head reached the bar, which caused him to bang right into it. He stepped back with a shake of his head and trod on the rabbit, which went scurrying beneath the walnut tree by the fence. Mrs. Igntescu’s voice rang out from somewhere, and the boy ran off. The very next day, though, I saw him prowling around the house and trying to peek through the boards in the fence. Maybe he missed the rooster. In the late evening, he came back with two other boys dressed in the same way and walked into the yard with an air of determination. There they wormed their way over to the carpet frame, and after looking at it for a few moments made some signs to one another. One of them hung onto the bar as in a gym and lifted himself up straight as a candle. The second twisted himself round it like a snake and did a few somersaults. Meanwhile the third stood guard. Silvery in the moonlight, they took turns to frolic on the bar. I never tired of looking at them. What skill, what strength and agility! But their routine ended badly, when the bar began to creak and crackle under the stress and finally broke into pieces. Nothing happened to them; they all landed on their feet like cats, then made a run for it.
When Mrs. Igntescu discovered the deed, she raised a hue and cry all over the building. She was both indignant and puzzled. Who could have broken the bar? It wasn’t just a piece of rope, after all. She took it out on everyone. Where would she beat her carpets now? Although I was questioned too, I kept my mouth shut. I looked understandingly into her protruding eyes but felt overjoyed at this turn of events. I’d be able to sleep longer in the morning from now on. Soon Ion’s turn came to be hauled over the coals, but he had no way of knowing anything. May his hand drop off, whoever it was who did it! And, completely unflustered, he picked at his nose with his rough fingers. No need to get so angry, it wasn’t such a big deal. He was no joiner himself, of course, but any joiner would immediately know what to do. The rooster tried to climb onto the broken bar, which now hung almost to the ground, but it lost its balance and fell awkwardly among the hens.
I felt calmer for a few days. Nor was I the only one. The hens cackled happily around the carpet frame, hunting for beetles in the rotten wood; the rabbits ran all over the yard, chased by the rooster; and Mrs. Igntescu’s yelping cur got into the habit of watering one leg of the frame.
The gymnasts reappeared one morning. They carried freshly planed planks of wood on their sturdy shoulders, along with axes, hammers, pincers, and a box of nails — as if their task was to erect a scaffold, not to repair an ordinary carpet frame. They had clear blue eyes, and their movements were precise and coordinated as they cheerfully set to work. The whole yard echoed with their hammering. Their solemn labor gave the impression of a dance. Now and then they smiled in mutual understanding, but no words ever passed between them. We soon grew used to them, and no one, not even Mrs. Igntescu, interfered in any way. The rabbits scurried fearlessly among their bare feet; the hens jumped onto their shoulders and pecked at their food when they took a break under the walnut tree. The days passed, but the work didn’t progress much. No one said anything to them, although maybe someone should have. For example, why did they move the legs of the carpet frame closer to each other, and raise them a meter or more higher than before? How would Mrs. Igntescu’s Persian carpet fit on it now? Some stairs would be needed to reach the horizontal bar, once it was in place. What puzzled me most was that Mrs. Igntescu made no attempt to hurry them. When she came back from the market with a full shopping bag, she stopped and looked at them for a few moments, then went indoors without saying a word. Sometimes Berta came out with her big belly, and as far as I could tell there was a certain attraction in the way she looked at the joiners. Indeed, you might say that everyone not only got used to them but actually took a liking to them. Or anyway that’s how it seemed to me; it wouldn’t be the first time I was mistaken about such things. The work went slowly. After some time, they seemed to be playing more than working. They performed cartwheels and mid-air somersaults, walked on their hands, and leapfrogged over one another. Or else they had fun teasing the rooster on one of the poles of the carpet frame. For all its pride, it looked more like a painted crow on the end of a stake, without the courage to jump down and only just keeping its balance by spreading its wings. No one said anything to them. I saw Mrs. N