Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Doina RuSti

thick chain. “The Alep satin shawl”, barked the cellar woman who just happened to be in the area. Then a few younger voices cooed: The Alep satin shawl . Finally, the order had reached the woman in charge of the laundry, with her pursed lips like the beak of a rooster and she blared like a royal trumpet back into the ear of the usher: “The Alep satin shawl was burned when ironing!” All voices repeated the story that sounded like a catastrophe once it arrived backinthesleepingquarters. Doicescu grumbled, evoked his manhood two or three times then sent a new order that reached the sharp- nosed woman in charge of

the laundry: “The Malta shawl!”

After the chambermaid tied his shawl close to his hip, Doicescu slipped in his emerald-encrusted dagger and the leather bag with golden string. Through the side slits, his calf could be seenwrappedintheshalwars from where his small feet protruded. The woman’s able hands rolled up the stockings. They seemed made of silk, although they were only made of cotton, a new cotton which had just come out, silky and fluid like a grub. Although it was hot, he couldn’t just go out in his surplice. After several attempts he took a short silk mantle which seemed elegant and, as he also had

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