We measure the water level. Both Eva and I look at the stick we’ve pulled out of the cauldron. I don’t like it. She doesn’t like it either.
“What date is it today?” the girl asks thoughtfully.
“February 12th. Give or take a day.”
“This is bad,” she says with an incredibly serious face. “The water is dropping too fast.”
“Maybe the cauldron is leaking somewhere.”
We both lean in and inspect it closely. The cauldron is intact. It’s not leaking anywhere.
Based on my measurements and Eva’s meticulous calculations, what’s left in the cauldron will last us another month.
“If we ration it a bit, maybe a month and a week,” the girl says calmly.
I’d bet her calmness is a bluff. It’s well known that Germans are stoic and don’t often show what they’re thinking. Why would German women be any different?
The water tastes metallic anyway, like rust and mustiness. I don’t drink it with pleasure, so it won’t be hard for me to ration it.
The boredom and heat of the day are literally killing us, but by evening the temperature becomes more bearable.
Eva and I check the traps. In one of them, we find a good fish but also a damn four-colored fish. They’re together, like brothers from the same swamp.
I try to separate them. I chase the damned four-colored fish out with a stick. I manage to lose both of them.
There goes dinner!
***
I don’t know what time it is. We’re lying back-to-back on the sand.
“You know what would be nice right now?” Eva asks from behind me.
“Mmm? What?”
“A steaming cup of cappuccino. With lots of foam. And it should be sweet, of course. Sweet, sweet. And after I drink it, I want the foam to stay on the tip of my nose.”
“A cappuccino with three teaspoons of sugar?”
“Yes,” she sighs. I hear her licking her lips.
“Alright, girl. Noted. Anything else?”
“Nothing. But what do you want?”
“To sleep.”
“Besides that. Come on, Tiberiu, work with me! It takes two to have a conversation.”
“It only takes one to take a nap. Anyway. What do I want? I think I’d like a cigarette.”
“Aha,” Eva responded, a little disappointed. “That’s what you want right now?”
“Yes, but not just any cigarette. One of those with cherry wood aroma. And cherry blossoms. And leaves.”
“Wouldn’t it be simpler to smoke the cherry tree directly? Why mix it with tobacco?”
“You’re talking nonsense.”
“Do such cigarettes exist? Cherry-flavored ones?”
“Sure! I haven’t found them yet, but someone once told me they exist.”
“Hey… how was it?” Eva asks suddenly, out of the blue. “Your first real date with Irina. Was it as you imagined it would be?”
“Damned woman,” I lament. “I was almost falling asleep. You had to bring up cigarettes.”
“Forget the cigarettes!” Eva says, exasperated. “Tell me about Irina. She was the first woman in your life, right? Is it true that you never forget your first love?”
I open an eye and look at her a little surprised and a little scandalized.
“Listen,” I growl, “you haven’t told me anything about yourself. It’s not fair! We’re not in ‘One Thousand and One Nights’ and – for sure – you’re not Caliph Harun al-Rashid. And I’m not your concubine.”
“Come on, Scheherazade!” Eva giggles, poking me in the ribs. “Tell me a story!”
I sigh. My sleep is gone.
Maybe if I tell her, my craving for cigarettes will pass.
***
After my visit to the second-hand clothing shops, I decided I had to talk to Irina.
So I washed, dressed carefully, and put the money I had left in the pocket of my “new” jacket. Then I left the house and, walking down the street, I caught my reflection in the first shop window.
There I saw the disaster.
At home, I couldn’t see myself from head to toe, but in that window, I saw myself perfectly and I didn’t like my new appearance at all.
Damn! These clothes… they change me. This isn’t me. Who is this clown? The pants, the shirt, the jacket looked like they were thrown on me with a pitchfork.
“Jesus, these are rags!” I said to myself, disgusted. “What was I thinking?”
I went back home, put on my old clothes, and went out again. The shop window was still there. This time I recognized myself. It was me, the real me.
“That’s better!” I said, satisfied. “That’s better, son!”
Then I went to intrude into Irina’s life.
***
“Why are you following me?” Irina asked me a quarter of an hour later.
She had worked the night shift, and it showed in the way she walked. She was tired.
And gorgeous!
That time, she was wearing a lovely blue dress. Her dress was really cute and reached almost to her ankles. I was starting to fall in love with her dresses. My beloved had good taste.
Anyway. Irina had walked out of the factory gate and crossed to my side of the street.
“But I’m not following you,” I protested, choking on emotion.
“Yes, you are,” she said, laughing. “I know it. You know it. My colleagues know it. They always tease me whenever you show up here. They always say: ‘Look, your shadow has arrived again.’ So? What do you want from me?”
I swallowed hard.
“Now or never, boy!” I told myself. “Either you take the reins, or you’ll die a bachelor in the bathroom! Your choice.”
“I… I… I want to… invite you for a cake, Irina.”
“Aha,” she looked at me, surprised. “And you still have the nerve to say you’re not following me? How do you know my name is Irina?”
“I’ve known for a long time that your name is Irina,” I answered bravely in my mind. “And I know other things too. I know where you live, I know your schedule by heart.
I know the wonderful way you look at your watch every time you leave work.
I know you carefully avoid every stray dog, I know you have a little phobia about them, and I know your hair sometimes looks black and other times blue. It depends on the light. Now, when it hits you from your left, your hair is dark blue.
And you have wonderful curls, and I’d like to twist them around my finger and play with them.
And now, as you stand before me, I know you have such beautiful brown eyes that it’s not at all obvious you worked the night shift.
And one more thing: I know I like, I love eating bread made by your hands.”
But instead, I raised a finger and awkwardly said:
“You have a bit of flour on your left ear. There. A bit more to the left. Right on the lobe, near the earring.”
Irina wiped her ear and then said simply, with her enchanting voice:
“Okay. I’ll go with you for a cake.”
I was left gaping. Was it that simple?
“Look at that!” I told myself. “I thought she was inaccessible and untouchable. What a fool I am! If I had known it was this simple, I would have made my move long ago.”
“And where shall we have that cake?” she asked.
“Wherever you want,” I replied, smiling, and quickly offered her my arm.
We headed to the only patisserie in the area. Irina’s route to the tram stop passed right by there.
I felt her warm little hand resting lightly on my arm.
Should I hold her hand? Impossible. It seemed completely inappropriate to hold her hand. We had to walk arm in arm. She wasn’t just any girl; she was my beloved, the woman I was going to marry and have children with. She just didn’t know it yet.
So we walked together, arm in arm, in silence. Normally, I should have chatted with her a bit, but her hand on my arm tied my tongue in ten knots. I felt shy but also very happy.
The patisserie was a clean and pretty place. Everything was bright, and the room was cool. It smelled of burnt sugar and cookies. That awakened the child in me, and I looked around with a playful air.
A very nice woman approached our table and took our order. She was all smiles, and her apron was immaculately white. I thought her face radiated nothing but kindness. Nothing but kindness and a clean smile.
While taking our order, I noticed her eyes resting for a moment in mine, and I felt something electric. Irina was also somewhere around, probably.
And that woman had a badge with large blue letters: MIA
“So her name is Mia,” I told myself. “How lovely! Nice name.”
NEXT