‘And what do you think?’
I did not want to think anything. I listened. When the first young lady arrived, the discussion grew impassioned.
‘Sexual selection’, I said to myself.
The women complained to the chairman about the men ‘talking politics’. The chairman banned any further talk of politics, as it was conducive to disorder. If the men in the room wished to discuss such matters elsewhere, they were perfectly free to do so.
We rehearsed Gaudeamus igitur – a certain feeling descended into the attic, amid the cigarette smoke and the books, a feeling of Heidelberg coming to life. It was hot between the white walls, we were happy that it was snowing outside, that it was snowing heavily. Our voices resounded through the windows and enlivened the street. The women had befriended each other. They huddled around the tiled stove, and leafed through German books in fascination. I divined how, evening after evening, they were becoming more drawn to the attic. In the beginning, they had voiced concern about entering so small a room, without rugs, and with so many bookshelves and burning cigarettes. But it was so novel, so unusual. They then found themselves starting to look forward to our rehearsals. It was ‘pleasant’. Perhaps they were dreaming, perhaps it reminded them of novels, or perhaps they were hoping.
Nonora was becoming more and more forward. But she was still undecided. She smiled at all the men and received never-ending compliments from admirers who cast furtive looks at her knees, breasts, shoulders. She annoyed the women because every night she positively demanded a gentleman walk her home. Even the chairman was charmed by her. In discussions he now began to ask her to take the floor: ‘And what does Miss Nonora think?’
One afternoon, I saw her standing at the top of the stairs after being kissed by a dull but handsome student.
‘You’ve got a cheek! You’ve wiped off all my lipstick.’
‘Is that all?’
She and Bibi had become friends. They came to rehearsals together.
‘Who will help me take off my wellingtons?’
Maybe she was speaking to me as well. Five tenors bent down to assist her.
‘Wait a second, wait a second! Just my boots.’
She liked Radu. She met him one evening at my place, maybe what she liked in him was his ungainliness, his cheerful shortsightedness, his cynicism, which was that of a man who submits to fate. Radu was the only friend who had not abandoned me in the autumn. I met the others only seldom, and when I did, we talked about insignificant things. They were furious that I had hired out the attic to a club of strangers.
‘Before long you’ll turn into an anti-Semite, too.’
We preserved the same closeness when we talked, but I was looking for new friends. Radu might as well have been a new friend. After we had gone our separate ways, in him I had discovered very many qualities that nights spent drinking in taverns had not managed to destroy.
And Radu came to my attic every night, once he found out that Nonora came too. He alone walked her home now. Nonora liked him best of all the students, because he was intelligent, cynical and ‘witty’. The others were handsome and vulgar. Nonetheless, she continued to let herself be embraced by any who dared. She kissed with open lips, her head thrown back. And she would complain afterwards about ‘the savages wiping off all my lipstick’.
Bibi introduced me to Andrei, who was tall, dark, broad-shouldered, and had a look of hard-working ambition about him. He wanted to become a chief engineer. Intelligent and voluble, he pretended to be curious about science, but found it difficult to conceal his ambition. After all, he did want to become a chief engineer. It seemed as if Bibi loved him. She asked me two days later what I thought of him. I praised him, of course. Bibi had given herself away.
‘Did you see his eyebrows?’
At the very first meeting I met a multitude of students. They couldn’t believe all the chairman’s promises: the officially registered body, the student club, the holiday camp. But even so, they felt happy to be in that music room with so many beautiful girls and intelligent boys. The chairman had managed to obtain the signature of the university rector for an official charter, a grant from city hall, and a permit for a carol concert, festival and raffle. His briefcase was always stuffed full and he was always in a hurry. In less than twenty days he had formed a recognised student organisation, had registered members, had found a provisional headquarters, and had delegated the workload to committee members. At the same time, with white lab coat and furrowed brow, he was preparing his thesis on balneology.
The members were thankful to him for one thing: he had given them the opportunity to get together and enjoy themselves. The tall student, who always stood next to the door was known as ‘Gaidaroff’. He was the only one to interrupt the proceedings of committee meetings without being called to order. The members were fond of him, and pelted him with snowballs after every rehearsal.
At the second meeting, dues were paid. To my surprise, no one protested. After the meeting ended, we all went to the football pitch next to the lycée for a snowball fight. We threw our snowballs with great gusto, especially in the direction of the chairman, who banned the wearing of gloves and the throwing of snowballs containing stones. We chose sides in a matter of minutes. Nonora battled to the right of me, shielding herself with a briefcase, shrieking, taunting, cursing. Bending down to make a snowball, I felt snow on my neck and hair. Nonora cackled defiantly, with her head thrown back.
‘Traitor!’
‘The name’s Nonora.’
‘What if I get my revenge by burying you in the snow?’
‘Burying me alive? I was only joking. You’ll forgive me.’
I shivered. It was getting colder. There was a spring in my step as I went home. I felt like breaking into a run. In the attic, I gazed into the mirror for a long, long time. I decided to let my hair grow long, groom myself, buy white collars.
I read, but my soul no longer belonged to books. With a pencil, I made notes on paper about what I had gleaned from the books, what they made me feel. I worked as if fulfilling a duty, or out of a sense of obligation. I spent less time thinking about myself. I avoided analysing myself, questioning and answering myself.
Now that I had abandoned the discipline of keeping a diary, I indulged in daily self-contradictions. I no longer pursued private thoughts. School work no longer caused me anxiety. I shut it away in my brain the moment rehearsals began. I was experiencing a new and tempting life. Day after day I discovered techniques to help girls with their clothes, how to respond modestly and politely to compliments about my library, how to smile, how to soften the severity of my looks.
The austerity of adolescence had dissolved with that autumn. With gratitude, I forgot the anxieties that had previously cut my nights short. I relinquished the ambitions whereby I had survived lycée. I felt so happy to be in my attic full of young men and women. I whiled away more and more nights with Radu. We talked about Nonora. He had kissed her; passionately; biting her lips. I pretended to be indifferent, preserving the mask of my old soul, which was crumbling without my fully understanding the circumstances.
I woke up later and later every morning. I sat down at my table like a labourer waiting for the factory whistle. I read and read. You would have thought that someone was forcing me to write summaries of certain titles. I summarised them properly, without rushing. I packed the summaries away in boxes. And I caught myself thinking thoughts impudently inapposite to my card catalogue.
After the night of carol singing at the Orthodox Patriarchate and the Royal Palace, we crammed into large motorcars. The girls were wearing traditional costume. We were flushed with the wine from the Patriarchate, drunk with success. And the King had asked each of us: ‘Und you?’
‘Industrial Chemistry, your Majesty.’
There had been a feast fit for a boyar at the Patriarchate. And