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The Lover
53
how her tear ducts burned.
For nights she would dream
of him, and for hours would
allow herself to be guided
by an invisible, whip-like
tongue tip. But, once in
the Flower Market, when
approaching the sleepy
Don Juan, she would hit
an invisible wall like a thin
barrier that protected his
adolescent-like figure.
No one had known the small
monk to make a sound, no
one had seen the color of his
eyes. Nobody had ever been
able to ask him anything. In
short, Eugen was a sleeping,
anesthetic man, and the
market was under the spell
of his desire.
In love with the quiet
monk, many women wept
in silence. Some committed
suicide. Some still stay
within monastery walls, and
others allow themselves
to be consumed by social
activities.
Even the very beautiful
Elena Razelta, who had
fainted several times near
the booth with honey,
ended up married to a rude
merchant, seeking peace in
a story of self-flagellation.
Evidently, Eugen the monk
was aware of all these pains.
Under the canopy at the out-
skirts of the market, from
time to time, a smoke signal
reachedhim. And among the
many affairs of this taciturn
monk, one April day when
the market was filled with
lilac, the expected woman
crept in.
Alisa. That was her name.
The daughter of a pastry
chef, famous for his walnut
cookies – whose fame