Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Life Begins on Friday

fear was less aggressive than the curiosity. We advanced, gliding slowly. ‘What time is it?’ Here was my voice, for the first time, hoarse and muffled. ‘How should I know? It’s early! I was ub at the crack of dawn. Ain’t you got a timebiece? Lose it at boker, did you, the same as your coat and cab? Take that there overcoat. I was going to give it as alms, in memory of my old ba, who bassed away last month.’ The coat had bone buttons. He handed me a bottle, which was almost full, and again I saw the crudely stitched stump of his forefinger: ‘Have a swig, to warm yourself ub! If you’re feeling beckish, there’s bread in the knabsack.’ ‘I drank; it was plum brandy.

had everything vanished to? From whence had everything appeared? Unlike myself, who found not a trace of an answer, the man at the reins found an answer to all questions; he knew everything. A burly man, with long moustaches that joined to curly, greying sideburns, he inspired both trust and fear in me. But the

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