It’s a habitual gesture. Let’s say Yes.”

“So come in.”

Next to the door was a small, metal plate: Nora Munteanu. He asked the question with his eyes and she confirmed: “That’s me.”

 

 

The water was boiling. She had thrown a handful of lavender into the pot, and the apartment was full of warm, aromatic vapours.

“Can you smell it over there?”

“What?”

“The lavender.”

“It’s lavender? Yes, I can smell it.”

His voice, even more muffled than usual, came from the adjoining room, through the door that Nora had left ajar in order to be able to speak to him while she ran her bath.

“You’re not bored?”

“No.”

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

In fact, she had sat him down in an arm chair and set a pile of illustrated magazines in front of him. “Like at the dentist,” he observed meekly, occupying his assigned place.

“Yes, just like at the dentist. I’ll ask you to behave yourself until I’ve finished. Then we can talk.”

The bath was soporifically good. Nora closed her eyes, overcome by the heat that she felt suffusing in a sweet torpor through her entire body. Deep inside her, fine blood vessels, which she thought that the cold had frozen shut, began to open.

Nora felt an access of companionship for this body of hers, well-known, familiar and reliable. It felt like a rediscovered old acquaintance and she caressed it with comradely sympathy. Her hand lingered on her breast, as on a round cheek. She would have liked to fall asleep ...

In the adjoining room she heard a chair move.

“Did you want something?”

“No. I was looking at the photograph on your desk. Who is it?”

“Me.”

“In that costume?”

“It’s a ski costume. I was at Predeal. Do you like it?”

He didn’t reply. Maybe he hadn’t heard the question, which she had asked in an offhand tone, her voice dropping. She heard him turning a page: he must be reading.

Nora thought about him and realized with surprise that she had forgotten him. She knew he was in the next room, sunken in her armchair, on the other side of the door she had left ajar, yet she was unable to remember what his face looked like. His features melted into uncertainty under a vague smile, as though under a diffused light.

On the other hand, she remembered clearly the tie he was wearing, a green tie of rough wool, with tiny oblique parallel seams ...

It’s a nice tie, but he doesn’t know how to tie it. The knot’s crooked. I’ll have to teach him how to knot a tie like a normal person.

In the next room, the telephone rang loudly.

“What should I do?” her quiet guest asked from the sofa.

“Nothing. Let it ring.”

The ringing continued, ever longer, ever harsher. Nora smiled with fatigue. Only one person would let the phone ring that long.

“Be a good boy and answer.”

He lifted the receiver, said, “Hello,” then, after a pause, replaced it.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. Nobody answered. And somebody hung up without a word.”

“It must be Grig.”

“Grig?”

“Yes, a friend. He must have been surprised to hear a man’s voice here. He probably thought he’d got a wrong number.”

Nora’s supposition seemed to be correct because the phone rang again.

“Don’t be offended. Please answer it.