180 292
Ioana Pârvulescu
180
‘Draw for me what he gave
you.’
He handed Nicu a sheet of
splendid bond paper. He
sharpened a pencil with a
penknife. Nicu liked to draw,
but up until then he had only
done so on a blackboard and
in the snow. It was the first
time he had had the use of
a sheet of white paper and
a pencil. He flushed and,
stopping and starting, as if
he were carrying a heavy
parcel, he drew the most
comical cow of his entire
life, accidentally ripping a
few holes in the paper as
he did so. He gave it a black
piratical eye patch, but did
not succeed in drawing
the legs, which came out
as spindly as straws, each
ending in a pinhead. He
handed the drawing to
Costache, after giving it
a dissatisfied look, like a
painter who had rushed his
work.
‘She’s called Fira. That’s
what I called her. She hasn’t
got an udder. The only thing
worse would have been a
udder with three teats!’
Costache seemed able to
viewpeoplelikethemirrored
surface of clear water, but
when you looked at him the
water grew murky and no
longer reflected anything.
He
announced
his
conclusions: ‘First of all, you
lied about not being left-
handed, since you hold the
pencil in your left hand, and
secondly, you lied about
not being hungry, I know
that without any proof,
and thirdly you lied about
not having the toy on your
person. This I can prove.
Empty your left pocket;
don’t make me do it myself.’
Nicu
very
reluctantly
obeyed.
His
eyebrows