33 292
The Phanariot Manuscript
33
amongst themselves in
Turkish, Jews whispered in
their own language, which
no one understood, and,
as soon as you entered the
Căţol neighbourhood, you
could hear the words stuck
in honey whose core only
the Wallachians knew.
For a few minutes the
teacher praised Sultan
Selim, who was celebrating
exactly one year since
coming to the throne.
“A Greek, a friend of mine,”
Mustafa felt the need to add,
“told me that wages have
gone up twice for sailors.
My friend’s brother worked
for Gazi Hasan.”
As the teacher continued
to stare at him intently,
Mustafa added:
“Some even climbed into
the ranks!”
Through the shop’s window
you could see the grey roofs
and further away the sea
was sparkling, which made
Ioanis suddenly feel a close
bond to the place, to the
shop lined with silks and
to the two men who were
the most dear to him in
all of Săruna. And then, in
that moment, warm like a
crayfish fit to be laid on the
table, the blade of the word
Bucharest crept into Ioanis’
life, into his young brain and
his lustful heart.
“My
friend’s
brother”,
boasted
Mustafa,
“has
become master over a city
in which everyone dances!”
The teacher doubted such
a place existed, but the
Turk kept chatting on, while
Ioanis continued to caress
the piece of fabric.