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Nunta Buclucasa-trad (2)

Nunta Buclucasa-trad (2)

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Published by Sirbu Alma Eugenia
THE TROUBLESOME WEDDING It is Saturday night, November 15. Unlocking the entrance door, I storm into the house, throwing my school bag akimbo, along the long hallway separating the big bedroom and the bathroom from the kitchen and the other two rooms of our “king size” apartment. I stop abruptly on the threshold, slightly puzzled about what I have just seen in the kitchen: mom was ironing some trousers from dad’s suit and she was “bespangled” with some pretty spectacular hair rollers, just like
THE TROUBLESOME WEDDING It is Saturday night, November 15. Unlocking the entrance door, I storm into the house, throwing my school bag akimbo, along the long hallway separating the big bedroom and the bathroom from the kitchen and the other two rooms of our “king size” apartment. I stop abruptly on the threshold, slightly puzzled about what I have just seen in the kitchen: mom was ironing some trousers from dad’s suit and she was “bespangled” with some pretty spectacular hair rollers, just like

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Published by: Sirbu Alma Eugenia on Oct 29, 2012
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THE TROUBLESOME WEDDINGIt is Saturday night, November 15. Unlocking the entrance door, I storm into the house,throwing my school bag akimbo, along the long hallway separating the big bedroom and the bathroom from the kitchen and the other two rooms of our “king size” apartment. I stop abruptly onthe threshold, slightly puzzled about what I have just seen in the kitchen: mom was ironing sometrousers from dad’s suit and she was “bespangled” with some pretty spectacular hair rollers, just like aChristmas tree. I pause a bit for thinking before extending a “Good evening.” What could’ve gottenhold of her?-
 Bonsoir 
! I said. How are you, mommy? Ironing this late (about 6 PM)?- Yes, Alma, and what is it that you don’t know? We’re going to the wedding of Dobroiu.- Dobroiu who? The old prick? Is he nuts, getting married at his age?- No, Alma, his son, Nelu... hurry, we have to be there at 8. See what you’re putting on.- I mean what, do I have to come, too? What should I do there, I hate it! I said spitefully, as I hadother plans for that Saturday... Do we have hot water?- See for yourself, it may well run, but I didn’t have time to check!- And those hair rollers, didn’t you wash your hair before?- No, I used the good old beer, said mom, surprised that it is only now that I find out about her hair  bleaching procedure with a pint of beer.I’m looking at her and pull a face. Knowing that she’s not seeing me, I show her my tongue and thenstart to throw my thick attire on the clothes tree planted mid-hallway. Then get off my boots, too, and,angrily, I smack the door while entering the bathroom.Mom comes to yell at me that I’m a thick-skinned beast with all that noise made while my father istaking a nap before going to the wedding…and the poor bloke has come from a hard day’s work.- Yeah, poor him, as if I’m coming from the “rest home”, I bawl from behind the door... and I have tocommute, too!Swearing through my teeth, I open the hot water faucet, hoping to take a “befitting” bath at least
this
Saturday, ‘cause well, well, well, I’m going to the wedding and I have to smell nice. I stare at thecompletely opened faucet with a terrible despondency, as that damn duct was only letting go areddish, viscous liquid and the whole bathroom plumbing set was lamenting and shuddering from allthe joints, as if it wanted to get out of the wall; to no avail, hot water was still a dream.I open the door to the hallway and start swearing again. Covering myself with an overcoat, I’m flyingdown the stairs over the two floors and until the ground floor. I open the entrance door with anuncanny strength and suddenly find myself in front of the building.The urban heating unit was a few steps away and that’s where I’m heading. I see light inside, whichmeans that Ol’ Gicu was still there. I violently knock on the door with my feet, screaming my headoff:- Ol’ Gicu, get out of there, mister, ‘cause there’s no hot water in our building! Come on, step on it,it’s Saturday and people sometimes have to wash!Ol’ Gicu opens the door of the heating unit, and I am welcomed by an odor of steam mixed with bruteoil and sweat, the latter coming from an old man who has hardly ever used any water. He asks me in alow tone:- But what happened, Miss Alma, the Tartars ran our city through their swords and I didn’t know?Say, what is it?- Oh, come on, don’t tell me you don’t know what’s wrong! There’s no hot water and the heat is justenough to keep the ice off us. Please, get us some hot water at least for tonight, we’re having awedding and it doesn’t do to stink like some hobos! I’m also supposed to wash my hair. Look howlong it is! It takes 2 hours to get it dry. Come on,
bre
, must the Black Sea get dried before you decideagain to heat our buildings?- For your sake, miss, I might turn them valves on, ‘cause, otherwise, you know we have a strictschedule from Him, he said, looking up above, to the star-spangled sky.- Yeah…yeah… I know that „God” ordered you to keep the heating level at a minimum, lest we rot
 
and it does us no good, isn’t it?, I asked in a howl of laughter and ran towards the house; I had to bethe first to wash, before the neighbors find out and no more water for all of us...When I got home, hot water was already starting to pour and the pipes were painting it with a rustyhue. Finally content, I plug the drain. I think I remained there for an hour, wallowing, shampooing myhair, relaxing... I had forgotten that I must hurry... Suddenly mom opened the bathroom door, dressedup to the nines and with a
coiffure
on end, which turned her head to a drum, and said:-We’re leaving now. We’ll be waiting for you later...- Yes, of course, just finish my bath, dry my hair and I’ll be there… I answered, sick and tired of her,and after she left I resumed swimming in that boiling hot water that warmed my bones, numbed bythe freezing cold reigning outside, inside and everywhere... faugh, another endless winter, with itsrains, winds, with the snow banks which blocked our village from the rest of the world... but I didn’twant to think about it. It’s only November 15, 1976. I have to go to the wedding and look good.Upper class wedding, it is. The bride’s father was a Cooperative President, godfather was the Mayor,and many other important guests... My folks were pals with both. I have to look good, so I won’tmake a fool out of myself. Getting out of the bathroom, I head towards my room. I open the cupboardand look dumbfounded inside. I don’t have too much to choose from. I am a poor teenager, wearing auniform most of the time.The rest is „nothing special”. Some “civil” garments here and there, to certify that I’m not walkingnaked. And, what’s more, I’m also fat and look as hell in them! I’m like an old hag: lamenting beforetrying anything.On a hanger a black 
 jerse
dress caught my eyes. Oh, yeah... I had forgotten about it. How about tryingit? Putting it on, I’m admiring myself in the big bathroom mirror... Wow! How sexy I am… It actuallylooks pretty good on me.I was a brunette with big eyes, long hair flowing in the wind and that tight-fit dress, with wide sleevesand long enough to cover my knees made me look more like a lady than a teenager. In fact, that’swhat I wanted. I am more mature than others my age anyway … so I put on my little varnished boots,with high heels, and the “full dress” overcoat and leave home, smashing the door as always, so theneighbors would be well aware and watch me from behind their doors.I don’t remember how I reached Mr. Prică’s restaurant. I knew the way by heart, although it was notshort by any means (about one mile). Going on the terrace, I saw no one, of course. The music andrattle were coming from the inside.All the village’s rank and fashion were gathered there. Several men were standing in front of therestaurant’s door and smoking a cigarette. Edging slowly past them, I reached a large hallway, wherethe bar was located. I saw a long table spread in front of the bar and asked the bartender:- ‘Evening, Mr. Nicu, I’m the daughter of Mrs. paymaster at the Cooperative… where am I supposedto sit at this wedding?- Oh, you’re the daughter of Mrs. Nuşa...well, first get inside the reception room and say hello to thenewlyweds and then come back at this table. This is the youth table.- Ohhhhh..., said I and tried to get into the room. I could hardly push the door because of overcrowding. It was swarming with people, and everyone was lined like sardines in a can and themusic was so loud that speaking with someone was a real adventure.Straining against the door, I finally managed to get in and reach the table of the newlyweds, wishthem “a rock-solid marriage” and everything else… I couldn’t descry my parents in that immensecrowd, seemingly on the verge of overflowing through the large windows of the restaurant... in fact,no need for us to see each other here... and so, by the skin of my teeth, I manage to again return to thehallway door. At the „youth table” I saw only three people: two cool dudes and a poor fellow, banished somewhere at the other end of the table.Heading to the two, I said:- ‘Evening, my name is Alma... and I stretched my hand to the guy with dark and curly hair, who had“caught my eyes”.- How do you do, I am John and he is Paul, my friend...
 
I made acquaintance with both of them through a harmless joke:- You mean Pol, you know....you’re John and he’s Pol... like the Beatles...- Oh, yeah... actually my name is Ion but all my classmates from the marine high-school call me John.- But can I call you Ion? I said with impudence. It seems more Romanian and nicer than John.- Of course! I like it too, but not even my mother calls me Ion. She calls me Nelu.- Look, I’ll call you Ion, ‘cause I’m not comfortable with someone distorting my name...- But is your name really Alma? I have never heard this name before... where does it come from?- From overseas, from America. My mother saw a movie with Yull Brinner, a famous Hollywoodactor, and his lover was called Alma...- Aha, said Paul, your name says to me you’re not Romanian...- Yes, yes, but only the name... otherwise I’m from Oltenia.- And what brings you to this wedding? Ion asked me.- If you allow me to sit next to you, this great „mystery” may be solved, I said, pulling their leg.- Hey, Paul, the girl is cool, she takes jokes lightly, and she even mocks us!- Me...God forbid, I had no such intentions, just joking!, I said. And I sat next to Ion, because I likedhim from the very beginning.Gallantly, he stands up and takes my overcoat. He also holds the chair for me. Heigh-ho, incredible! Ihave never met a teenager before that would be so chivalrous with me... I’m sitting downcomfortably, when the waiter comes and brings the appetizing starter dish. After looking at the plate, Ilook up at Ion and I think I made some ugly grimaces, because he immediately asked me in asurprised voice:- What, you don’t like what you see? My uncle is the Cooperative President and he procured the bestfood in the region for this wedding.- Oh, I like the food… are you a relative of Mr. Dobroiu?- Don’t tell me we are related and we didn’t meet before!- No, hold your horses, we are not relatives. We... actually my old‘uns, are family friend with AuntTezi and Mr. Dobroiu and mom is paymaster at the Cooperative.- Oh, I see now, it’s refreshing to find out we’re not relatives. I was afraid not to be involved in incestor something, said Ion with a hearty laughter...- Oh, I see you think big, I said, observing him from beneath the quickly daubed eyelashes. Here youcan hardly turn around and secondly, I’m not even hungry. I never eat at parties. I hate it.- It doesn’t seem so, really. You’re a too well upholstered to be picky about food...- Oh... it didn’t escape you, did it? I thought it’s not that obvious. I masked my defects with this black dress...- Drop it, John, the girl looks good, added Paul, while he was avidly indulging himself with theappetizer.- Let me tease Alma a little. You can see that she has the humor.- Yes. I have it and I can also return your joke... I hope you won’t mind me making fun of you.- Ha ha, let’s see it! said Ion, and he even forgot to eat, unable to take his eyes off me.- Look, I don’t like weddings.- You’re right, Alma, I’m not even hungry. Let’s get out and smoke. Maybe you can also show us thevillage. Are you in for a walk?- Of course, why not? I’m getting bored here anyway, we can’t even dance on this lousy music…come over to me for some good music and I promise you won’t forget this night! (I don’t know whathad gotten me, I had never before invited unknown guys at my place).- But only the three of us? It doesn’t do, you know... don’t you have a friend? said Paul.- I have many, lively, nice girls... they sure know how to have fun...- Well, we don’t want so many, but one more would be perfect… each one with his pair, you know,(Ion whispered in my ear).I didn’t know what to do. His presence attracted me like a magnet and I think he also liked me.We said no to the second dish, as the water prepared to bring it to us, and then, well-dressed, we leftto the building I lived in. On the road, I woke up two friends of mine, Carmen and Aida, who jumped

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