BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY AUREL STANCU
The Praetor and Other Stories
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2007 by Aurel Stancu
Translation Copyright © 2012 by Petru Iamandi
Previously published under the title Pretorul.
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
THE PRAETOR AND OTHER STORIES
THREE ORANGES
The life philosophy of Titi and Nina, husband and wife, was as old as the hills: seize the day. Being used to earning their money easily, only from trade, the two of them had been victoriously filing off through the events. Theirs had been a smooth life, in gentle weather, no matter the season. So they had come to believe the gods would endear them forever.
“That’s the way I am. If there’re three oranges on the table, and I feel like eating them all, I do it. What’s the use of refraining, only to have something left to eat the following day? If I die in my sleep and one of my neighbors comes over to watch me, and he sees the oranges on the table, what do you think he’ll say? ‘Look at him, the fool, he died and didn’t have time to eat his oranges,’ he’ll say and gobble an orange. Then another neighbor’ll come and say, ‘Poor him, he died and the oranges were left uneaten,’ and he’ll pinch one too. So I eat the three of them before going to bed and the next morning I manage to find my way about, that is if I manage to wake up,” Titi explained to his friends the way he saw it.
“What’s the use of living humbly? Sooner or later I’ll die anyway,” Nina sang the same tune.
“You two are acting as if you were ready to pop off before your time,” said a friend one night while they were playing cards.
“You know something? The worst is yet to come,” Nina breezed up in her quick-tempered, foul-mouthed way. “Fuck everything that’s serious in this world. The rule is there’s no rule. I spend everything I’ve got, I eat whatever I please and I do whatever I want. That’s the way I am and I love it!”
“To think like that one needs money too, otherwise the rule gets tough and the ending sad,” came the retort.
“It’s not money that makes me, I make it!” Titi put in solemnly and self-confidently.
The two spouses matched each other both physically and temperamentally. Their faces were round, their hair was brown and curly, and, due to their prosperity, they had put on a lot of weight. Nina displayed large buttocks, well supported by sturdy legs which started from thickened ankles. Her breasts burst with the desire to assert themselves, and so did her fine skin, black eyes, big but not goggled, and her mouth which whenever she wanted knew how to smile a movie smile. Far from being a vamp, she rather looked like a ripe fruit that stirred one to bite it.
In his turn, the years had enveloped Titi with a layer of fluffy fat which hinted at his prosperous lifestyle. He belonged to that league of submissive smiling men. His gentleness had kept him close to his wife without any serious earthquake in those seven years of marriage. More than that, he seemed to be a one woman’s man.
“I fell in love with my wife so many times I can no longer remember when the last time was,” he explained his constancy.
“That’s because you’ve had quite a lot of sweethearts and can’t remember which was which,” she goaded him on with a sweet smile.
“A woman will find it easier to remember her first love. With them it’s always the first time.”
“Keep talking like that and you’ll turn into a philosopher! Tell me, which of us is always in a hurry? Besides, we live in another intensity—”
“In-ten-si-ty…you say?”
It was a game and she threw at him everything she laid her hands on, pretending she was angry. Nina didn’t let herself get overwhelmed by anything, she always found the right solution in the nick of time. On the other hand, her big mouth compromised her and made everyone dread her. Whenever she lost her temper she just kept talking, on and on. Smart, endowed with a fine sense of humour, she said her line on the spot. Paradoxically, despite the acidity of her way of speaking, she had a big heart: her generosity was proverbial among her numberless friends, neighbors, and strangers who asked her for help. On holy days she made lots of packages and took them to churches, hospitals, shelters, and orphanages.
Titi had been manager of the central market for ten years which, to a great extent, accounted for his wealth. He had got and kept the job due to his ability to change his political loyalties at the right moment, being always ready, even at midnight, to jump on another wagon. Of course, just for appearance’s sake, he had taken an exam but that had been arranged, leaving no chance whatsoever to the rest of the applicants. When he got the job he didn’t just choose between making money and lazing away his time. He skillfully pulled all his weight and, as a result, half a year later the market looked completely different. He was a good organizer, a capable businessman, and a kind-hearted man. He took his piece of the action discreetly, cleverly, and with moderation. The ground on which he trod was very unstable for a lot of people, both in the local government and in the opposition, were after his job.
“Someone else would have disgraced the party, but not him,” the chairman of the municipal chapter would say.
After so many years Titi gave the impression he would stay central market manager for ever, plus coordinator of the other markets that were under his beck and call. He was a piscicultural engineer by trade and had even worked for several years on various farms from which he came to town only for the weekend. On his days-off he didn’t want to see any flowing water or pond.
“Let’s have a barbecue on the bank of the Danube,” said his friends.
“All I do at the weekend is get rid of the fish smell. I don’t want to hear any babble or ore splash, I just want to breathe in exhaust fumes and feel I live in the city,” he turned down the invitation.
They had first met in his central market office. Nina hadn’t been a brilliant pupil, on the contrary, she had always taken her time. She had found it hard to finish high school and finally done it thanks to her father, a stern man who kept a tight hand on her. She was looking for some space in the market, wanting to open a doughnut or a fast food joint, and had been advised to see the market manager who was reputed for his decency.
“I’ve heard there’s still some soul left in this world and I’ve come to see one,” she began aggressively, taking Titi’s secretary aback. “Shut the door, will you?” she snapped at the poor creature.
“Do you really know the meaning of ‘soul’?” asked the man, stretching his eyes, for he had expected a bribe scene, which he was so accustomed to.
“It’s an abstract thing which we remember only in our last moment of life. Believe it or not, I’m experiencing it now. They say when one dies, his last breath weighs between fifteen and twenty-three grams. That would be his soul. Mine is weighing a ton right now and I’m willing to place it on your desk.”
“At such a weight, you’ll smash my desk to pieces,” Titi smiled, being won over by her attitude.
The problem was solved quickly,
