39 292
The Phanariot Manuscript
39
or more dignified than
enrolling in Lambros’s fleet.
As disappointment was
already beginning to swell
in his nose, the teacher
openly confessed that he
didn’t have the least bit
of confidence is his civic
potential.
“What will you do, young
Milikopu? Will you take the
road to Istanbul?”
“Why not? Was it not you
who said that beyond
Istanbul there are some
Wallachians led by a Greek
sailor?”
Although it was only a
standard question, a think
cord in his blood vibrated
subtly. The word, that
treacherous word similar to
a razor, grew in number. Of
course, he didn’t reflect for
one moment upon the acute
resonance of
Bucharest
.
The music didn’t count at all
for him right then, it was all
about the glamour of a city
of great dancers.
“Don’t believe all of
Mustafa’s
nonsense,”
Okimon
said,
agitated.
“Firstly, Wallachia is at the
end of the world! With the
money spent on a journey
there, you could build a
house in the middle of the
Căţol neighbourhood!”
Okimon’s advice seemed
right. After all, Ioanis would
soon turn 17, the set age for
men of the Milikopu can to
take up weapons.
AshebroodedoverOkimon’s
words, he began sewing. The
silk wool which had cost his
family’s lunch began to take
the shape of some trousers,
somewhat short even after