girls and intelligent boys. The chairman had managed to obtain the signature of the university rector for an official charter, a grant from city hall, and a permit for a carol concert, festival and raffle. His briefcase was always stuffed full and he was always in a hurry. In less than twenty days he had formed a recognised student organisation, had registered members, had found a provisional headquarters, and had delegated the workload to committee members. At the same time, with white lab coat and furrowed brow, he was preparing his thesis on balneology.
The members were thankful to him for one thing: he had given them the opportunity to get together and enjoy themselves. The tall student, who always stood next to the door was known as ‘Gaidaroff’. He was the only one to interrupt the proceedings of committee meetings without being called to order. The members were fond of him, and pelted him with snowballs after every rehearsal.
At the second meeting, dues were paid. To my surprise, no one protested. After the meeting ended, we all went to the football pitch next to the lycée for a snowball fight. We threw our snowballs with great gusto, especially in the direction of the chairman, who banned the wearing of gloves and the throwing of snowballs containing stones. We chose sides in a matter of minutes. Nonora battled to the right of me, shielding herself with a briefcase, shrieking, taunting, cursing. Bending down to make a snowball, I felt snow on my neck and hair. Nonora cackled defiantly, with her head thrown back.
‘Traitor!’
‘The name’s Nonora.’
‘What if I get my revenge by burying you in the snow?’
‘Burying me alive? I was only joking. You’ll forgive me.’
I shivered. It was getting colder. There was a spring in my step as I went home. I felt like breaking into a run. In the attic, I gazed into the mirror for a long, long time. I decided to let my hair grow long, groom myself, buy white collars.
I read, but my soul no longer belonged to books. With a pencil, I made notes on paper about what I had gleaned from the books, what they made me feel. I worked as if fulfilling a duty, or out of a sense of obligation. I spent less time thinking about myself. I avoided analysing myself, questioning and answering myself.
Now that I had abandoned the discipline of keeping a diary, I indulged in daily self-contradictions. I no longer pursued private thoughts. School work no longer caused me anxiety. I shut it away in my brain the moment rehearsals began. I was experiencing a new and tempting life. Day after day I discovered techniques to help girls with their clothes, how to respond modestly and politely to compliments about my library, how to smile, how to soften the severity of my looks.
The austerity of adolescence had dissolved with that autumn. With gratitude, I forgot the anxieties that had previously cut my nights short. I relinquished the ambitions whereby I had survived lycée. I felt so happy to be in my attic full of young men and women. I whiled away more and more nights with Radu. We talked about Nonora. He had kissed her; passionately; biting her lips. I pretended to be indifferent, preserving the mask of my old soul, which was crumbling without my fully understanding the circumstances.
I woke up later and later every morning. I sat down at my table like a labourer waiting for the factory whistle. I read and read. You would have thought that someone was forcing me to write summaries of certain titles. I summarised them properly, without rushing. I packed the summaries away in boxes. And I caught myself thinking thoughts impudently inapposite to my card catalogue.
After the night of carol singing at the Orthodox Patriarchate and the Royal Palace, we crammed into large motorcars. The girls were wearing traditional costume. We were flushed with the wine from the Patriarchate, drunk with success. And the King had asked each of us: ‘Und you?’
‘Industrial Chemistry, your Majesty.’
There had been a feast fit for a boyar at the Patriarchate. And then there was Gaidaroff, who had asked how many of the cigarettes we could put in our pockets, and Nonora, who had choked on a noodle, and the chairman, who had laughed merrily, sipping glasses of red wine, and the choirmaster, who had congratulated us.
We were in in even higher spirits when we sang our carols to the three ministers, the philanthropist, the newspaper proprietor, and the dean. After midnight, the motorcars dropped us off in front of an unfamiliar courtyard. It was a surprise from the chairman: a banquet room, at a friend’s, with preparations for a party until morning. Exclamations, disbelief. I ended up sitting between Bibi and Nonora. Bibi found a greetings card envelope and amused herself by writing questions on the back. ‘Who are you thinking about?’ Nonora answered: ‘About someone who ought to die.’ I added: ‘When?’ Nonora wrote: ‘Now.’ Bibi was perplexed: ‘Why?’ I quoted the line from Coșbuc: ‘Question not the laws.’ Nonora: ‘You’re hilarious.’ Bibi: ‘Is that all he is?’ Me: ‘And also tortured.’ Nonora: ‘Liar.’ Me: ‘You guessed right.’ Bibi: ‘Prudence is the key to happiness.’ Me: ‘Really?’ Bibi: ‘What impudence!’ Nonora: ‘Kiss and make up.’ Me: ‘There isn’t enough room on the envelope.’
Towards morning, with the snow frozen under the stars, I agreed to walk the ladies home. The night had passed so quickly – couples were now well-established, and tossed pointed jokes back and forth. Gaidaroff smoked all his cigarettes sitting next to a girl, a pharmacology student, a petite girl with roguish eyes and enticing breasts. With feeling, the chairman declared from the head of the table: ‘Ladies and gentlemen …’
The boys replied with enthusiasm: ‘Vivat profesores.’
Bibi, smiling, said: ‘I should.’
A blond girl said: ‘That made me hopelessly sad. It’s time to go home.’
Nonora: ‘I’m bored. Radu, go fetch my overshoes.’
Radu had suffered the whole night, stuck between two girls who spoke only to the people sitting on their other side. He was happy when Nonora called for him. He walked her home, arm in arm. I walked Bibi home and searched for phrases in which I could address her as tu without blushing. I succeeded.
*
Days filled with life. Self-doubt and consternation failed to find their way into my soul. I was happy at the beginning of that white winter.
THREE: NONORA
I found no respite to notice my anxiety. My time was less and less my own. I divided it between my books and the club. Books piled up, and the club became more and more active. We continued to meet at night in the attic. We made preparations for a ball and festival. Girls searched for young men to take part in an auction. The chairman signed more and more papers and came up with just as many new projects. The deputy chairman, a pale, calm student of industrial chemistry, examined the proposals with a smile and glacial logic. He never showed emotion, never spoke to anyone, and never allowed himself to be carried away by the general enthusiasm. He would smile after every speech and say, ‘And now, let us examine the opposing position …’
He was irritated by the rhetoric and writings of Nicolae Iorga. And that was all. The more Bibi thought about Andrei, the friendlier she became when she was around me. She was the first to accept the invitation to celebrate Saint Basil’s Night with the ‘elite’, at my place. Also invited were Nonora, a fellow soprano called ‘Florenţa’, two sentimental medical students, the blond girl Măriuca, Gaidaroff, the committee, a few Law students, Radu, and Andrei. The chairman decided on the sum everyone should chip in for bottles of champagne.
During the day on New Year’s Eve, I received a visit from a broad-shouldered Polytechnic
