 |
| A true story imagined by Wilfred |
Was I tired? Or was I out of my minds?
Was I me, or was I nothing at all?
Imagine a building, located in a remote location. A three story building, not too old, not too dirty and just the right amount of shady. Don't overuse your imagination, you'll need it for later - imagine a simple block, three big windows on each side, no light coming from the inside.
Now, it's impossible for me to see this building, as I'm six feet under it. No, I'm not dead and buried, though at this point I'd wish I was. No time to narrate, though, you're going to have to catch up. The door opens wide and, along with way too much light for me at that moment, a familiar figure flings inside. He must have noticed how I closed my eyes half-way, my cheeks going up and my upper lip forming a triangle, pointing towards my nose, because he placed a sadistic smile upon his face and looked at mine with evil-evil eyes:
"Should I dim the lights?" he asks me in a very special sarcastic way.
I maintain my expression, I close my leather jacket until the zipper touches my chin, I insert both hands into the pockets of my jacket - I refuse communication. As calmly as he could be, only with short bursts of nervous eye-twitch to betray him, he sits down in front of me.
"It has been twenty-four hours. Congratulations! Only twenty-four more to go." he utters with satisfaction then takes a bite out of a...
"Is that a kebab in your hands?" I ask, inhaling the tasty smell of garlic.
"Why, yes it is! Would you like a bite?" he asks while wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.
"Do I?" I answer giving up all the resistance I had gathered.
"I'm sorry." he takes another bite, looking at his kebab with tormented eyes.
"Man, this is inhumane!"
"I won't stay at the hand of a twenty-four years old who had too much time on his hand! You want to eat, you want to drink, you better start giving something!"
Silence. A silence that lasted.
"Have you got my drawings?" I ask, submitting myself to my stomach.
"We do! Jean-Pierre, apportez les dessins!" he shouts somewhere towards the opened door.
"Let them be for the while. I'll start from the beginning if you wanna understand anything. Just hand me that kebab and have Jean-Pierre there bring me some water."
"Now we're talkin'!" he hands me the kebab, carefully wrapped in foil and napkins.
"Aaa, fooker! It's THAT good! Give me some time here, Inspecteur!"
I am devouring the kebab like a savage. I forgot all my manners, all my education, I become a beast. The call of the wild raises in me with every bite I take, tasting all the ingredients like individual sublime pleasures.
This wasn't enough to satisfy my hunger, but little did I knew that behind me, behind the wall, across the corridor, Jean-Pierre was unfoiling another kebab. The french, expert chefs... of the human submission. By now, they already knew that the kebab would be the fuel of my recalling. They knew that after all that food I would certainly be thirsty, another ace in they're baggy sleeves. Too soon to give in? Probably, but I certainly love eating! Unaware of all this, I begin:
"I had just finished my studies and I was looking forward to spending time with my fiancee, an unfortunate wish for a graduate, I know, but, for the first time, a most sincere one.
I was constantly separating myself between my friends, the parties, the many projects and this fiancee of mine. I never wanted to know her friends and I never introduced mine to her. We were lonely, just the two of us, in all the places we would go together. I barely knew her and she took the interest of knowing everything about me. As well as she knew anything about my life, she knew absolutely nothing. She saw an unpolished empty shell.
The one thing I loved about the engagement was that I had my very own apartment, in the center of Bucharest, which I had to share with her. That was a nice feeling. I told her that day that I would come home early from a party and we could start planning the vacation. I hated planning. The door was unlocked. The bedroom door was ajar, and I could see her through the space between the wall and the door. She was bare naked, reading a woman's magazine, with her feet folded, sustaining herself with her elbows. She looked very inviting. She didn't notice me. I made my way into the kitchen, enjoying the last moments of silence. As I was unzipping my leather jacket, I rolled my sleeves and opened the refrigerator.
<<N-ai cumpărat şi lapte de-al meu?>>
<<M-ai şi speriat! Când ai ajuns?>>
<<Acum. Lapte ai luat?>>
<<Nu e în frigider?>>
<<Nu. E doar lapte de-al tău aici.>>
<<Atunci n-am luat.>>
Petty. I really had a lust for milk just then. I removed my jacket and went back to the front door, next to which a rack laid. I resisted taking another peek into the bedroom. Two coats. Had she bought another coat? I place mine over hers... one of hers.
<<Ce-ai făcut astăzi?>>
<<Curat.>>
The apartment was in a bigger disorder then ever. I was tired, I had forgotten why I came home early and I was starting to feel bored. I pushed opened the bedroom door. Next to the fiancee, a bare naked guy, very fit, was standing and trimming his mustache in the window reflection, opposite to my bed."
"Wait, wait, wait! You told me that your motive was love. How can this be true after what you just told me?" my interviewer asks me.
"Will you let me finish? I'll get to that."
"Nevermind, go on!"
"So anyways, there I was, astonished. What could I have done? I acted as natural as possible. I removed my T-shirt, I changed it with a new one and ran my fingers through my hair a bit while watching my reflection over the guy's shoulder.
<<Ies să-mi cumpăr lapte. Mai vrea cineva ceva?>>
<<Nu.>> she answers without even taking her eyes out of the magazine.
I go out on the corridor and, as fast as possible, I take the tube with my projects, I take my instruments, I take my leather jacket and I empty their coat's pockets. I knew her credit card security code, she told me once that it was her birthdate, and I knew his. I knew his because I knew him. I saw him many times with her before we got engaged. The arrogant fools both had each other's birthdate, for sure, a fact which was later confirmed while pulling all their money from the ATM. I threw the IDs, and the credit cards. Later I threw the leather wallets also. I had enough money to go on a long train trip to France, just me and my bike. I was also careful to take another valuable thing from the pocket of her coat. A thing I called the Rock."
"The Rock? And why France? And why steal and leave."
"You asked me where is the love part. Here it comes!"
To be continued...
