Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Ioana Pârvulescu

‘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

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