{"id":133,"date":"2009-07-03T15:58:15","date_gmt":"2009-07-03T13:58:15","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/egophobia.ro\/revista\/?p=133"},"modified":"2010-10-16T20:18:56","modified_gmt":"2010-10-16T18:18:56","slug":"framework","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=133","title":{"rendered":"Framework <\/strong>"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u00a0by Alexandru Potcoav\u0103\u00a0 (Romania)<\/strong><\/p>\n

Translation from Romanian by Adrian Ioni\u0163\u0103<\/em><\/p>\n

Edited\u00a0by Robert Fenhagen<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Juliana woke first.\u00a0 She wandered out to the kitchen, shivering from the coolness of the July morning that entered overnight through the\u00a0 wide open window. With shaking shoulders, she put the coffee pot over the flame. Soon, it came to a rolling boil, and soon after that began to boil over, splashing her hands and her lace nightgown with dozens of hot tickling needles. Her skin turned bright red each place where the hot coffee landed.\u00a0\u201cOW!\u201d\u00a0 She cried.\u00a0\u00a0She rubbed her sore skin, her hands sliding over her chest and\u00a0 ribs.\u00a0 \u201cI never should have turned the flame so high!\u201d\u00a0 she swore silently, chastising herself at the same time.\u00a0 She poured the coffee into her enamel cup, a gift from her grandmother\u2014 the one she got from an ulan in 1914, and continued her morning routine.\u00a0Lighting up a Carpati non-filter cigarette, she reached for the Flacara Rebus magazine, and the pencil laying on top of it, blewing out a thick plume of smoke. She enjoyed this ritual of spending a few minutes thinking and organizing her thoughts. Such was the beginning of another day.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Half an hour later, she stood underneath the water in the small shower, again briskly rubbing her body\u2014this time with her wash cloth and soap.\u00a0 She rubbed as if somehow she could rub the lingering pain from being briefly scalded away.\u00a0She dried herself so vigorously that afterward her body resembled a newborn baby\u2019s\u2014all red, but very soft. Sitting on her bed to get dressed, she clasped her bra with a swift movement,\u00a0 pulled on a florid shirt and light linen pants and before leaving the room she glanced to the nearby bed, where her mother was sleeping. In the kitchen, a religious calendar was hanged near the stove, with all the saints forthcoming quietly their name day. The gnarled pelargonium flowers from the window box, were waiting for their daily ration of water while pinned with thumbtacks to the white frames of the kitchen cabinet, dozens of utility bills, some of them as old as thirty years, were faded by the morning sun.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Back at table she began again trying to find any unfinished crossword puzzles in the Flacara Rebus.\u00a0 She loved doing crosswords and was so proficient that there never seemed to be any unfinished ones. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was 7:00. It was getting late!\u00a0As Medi, her puppy, navigated between the table legs sniffing out real or imagined treats, she looked up at her with her big eyes.\u00a0 She couldn\u2019t help but smile and reached down to rub\u00a0 her behind her ears.\u00a0 While she idily thought about the postman delivering her new crossword magazine, the kitchen door screeched open and Adel, her mother, came in, sleepy-eyed and disheveled. After a short round through the kitchen, she\u00a0 sat quietly at the table with a cup of coffee, and grabbed her crossword magazine from the mixed pile scattered on the table. All the pages were solved. Nothing\u00a0 was left, but to wait another week until the postman will bring the next issue. Some sort of resignation and aphaty\u00a0 started to float in her mind when\u00a0 suddenly she exploded in a violent access of caugh. Juliana took a long look at her over the rim of the glasses. She felt old, but having put herself in the position of caretaker to her ailing mother, she did everything that she could.\u00a0 For instance, today, she and Medi, their puppy, would take her mother out to the market to shop for the few things that a pensioner such as her mother could afford.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cMother, are you up? \u00a0Soon is closing the market.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cYes, I know.\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliana wraped up\u00a0 the game, and exited to take her jumper dress. After a minute, she returned in the kitchen, took the nest tote bag and left again to put on her shoes. Sensing with joy the imminence of a walk outside, Medi started to scratch vigorously the exit door of the apartment. Adel prepared herself, too.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cLet me help you with the shoes.\u201c<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cThanks. Incapable to tie my own shoelaces. Grandma used to be like that and I always hoped I won\u2019t end up so.\u201d \u00a0The old lady\u2019s feet were swollen from lack of almost everything nutritious.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s alright Mom, well, it\u2019s alright. It\u2019s not that \u2026 But lets hurry\u201d tried Juliana to make her feel easy.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The three ladies, Adel, Juliana and Medi, started their trip to the vegetable market.\u00a0\u00a0 Medi led the way out of the apartment, pulling her leash tight. Drawn with open arms between the dog and the old lady, Juliana was trying to keep the crew together. Swinging on Adel\u2019s bony hand the empty nest tote bag was the only unfazed partaker of this picture. Once arrived at the vegetables market hall, they bought potatoes, onions and banana peppers. In the deserted cheese and diary section, after a short flirtation episode between Medi and another fox-terrier, finally they decided to go\u00a0 home. After eight in the morning, it was almost impossible to find eggs, not mentioning chicken legs or other leftovers.\u00a0 Taking a shortcut through 6th of March Boulevard, they saw in the front of the tobacco store something that was going on beside the usual depressing shopping and disappointment. Not even cigarettes?\u00a0 This time it was Juliana\u2019s turn to speed up the crew. \u00a0They never went through shortage of cigarettes. The black market was flooded with cigarettes smuggled out directly\u00a0 from the conveyor belts of the factory. The packs made their route to the table of the bussinestzars and racketeers, camouflaged under the fake bellies of the workers leaving the second shift. So, what was this unusual troop gathered at the entrance of the tobacco store? Aproaching the store, Juliana saw two militia cars parked behind the crowd and heard a guy yelling in a bullhorn:<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cComrades! Please. It\u2019s a misunderstanding. This is not a butcher shop. I mean it is, but how can I say it \u2026 We are making a movie, we are filming, comrades.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cMom, wait for me on\u00a0 the other side. I go to see what\u2019s for sale there\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The old lady wrapped several times the leather belt on her hand while Medi was pulling her nervously towards the grass verge from the side of the pavement. The bitch bend her rear feet, lowered her back and went away with satisfying her natural needs, imune to the human madness around. Juliana hurried forward and crept into the crowd. She could not believe her eyes. The shop\u2019s window, once filled with empty packs of cigarettes, flat spray bottles, plastic hair combs and sun burned trinkets, was filled with glorious smoked sausage rolls, juicy and succulent hams, salami, prosciutto and huge golden cheese wheels. Were hanging there, basking in natural colors, while resting in wicker baskets, the window was\u00a0adorned with\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0bottles of wines and port, even a monumental 27 liter bottle of genuine French champagne. It was no illusion, no trompe l\u2019oeil or dusty faux finished papier-maches. It was the real deal. Even the rudimentary shriveled shop sign was replaced with a shinny gold leafed signage bearing the name of an interbelic owner. Everybody was puzzled. Then, after a short silence,\u00a0 the frenzied crowd started to shout again, desperately claiming the goods in the window. The guy with the bullhorn made himself heard, this time with the consistent help of the militia, who started pushing people away.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cComrades,” tried the director. “How can this happen to me?\u00a0 There is a mistake\u2026 You would not even wish this salami.\u00a0 It is no good. We are making a movie, we are filming, comrades!\u201d He held up a salami\u00a0 roll as if it meant nothing, and more than one stomach began grumbling.\u00a0 As the people reacted like Pavlov\u2019s dogs, Medi sniffed a pensioner\u2019s shoes.\u00a0Foot smell was much more interesting than salami, at least for Medi. \u201cThis is not a butcher shop” went on the guy\u00a0 “You know that.\u00a0 It is but a scene for my movie. We are casting a movie dedicated to Paul Celan\u2019s life. Celan. Can\u2019t we get along, comrades? Shame. Celan\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cAlright, alright, but after the movie, what do we get?\u201d shouted a young man.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cSalaam, salaam, salami!\u201d screamed\u00a0another man, both mocking the actors, and reminding the crowd of the delicious treat just in front of them.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cSalam, Salam, Salami!!!\u201d Responded the chorus of the crowd.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cComrades. I swear \u2026 I\u2019m sorry\u2026 Unfortunately \u2026 you know, this is inventory, we borrowed them, nobody can touch \u2026\u00a0\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cTo hell with you intellectuals. Men of honor?\u201d exploded an old pensioner, throwing disgusted his beret in the window. \u201cIt\u2019s OK, comrade militian, I\u2019m leaving, don\u2019t hit me no more\u2026\u201d Fearing a clash , some people start moving sideways and Juliana was pushed\u00a0 out of the crowd.\u00a0 \u201cWell, what was it? said Adel and handed over the leash. Having unwrapped it from her elderly hand\u2014red marks left as if she had been bound for a while.\u00a0\u201cWhat is happening?\u201d\u00a0yelled her to Juliana. As if awakened from a trance, Juliana looked back at her mother, sighed, and began leading them out of the suddenly dangerous market place, dragging behind a reluctant Medi. \u201cI wish I had known what it was all about\u201d\u00a0 complained her mother.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cJust the good old days. You will see it on TV. Let\u2019s go home\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Alexandru Potcoava:
\n The three ladies, Adel, Juliana and Medi, started their trip to the vegetable market. Medi led the way out of the apartment, pulling her leash tight. Drawn with open arms between the dog and the old lady, Juliana was trying to keep the crew together. Swinging on Adel\u2019s bony hand the empty nest tote bag was the only unfazed partaker of this picture. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[7,22],"tags":[23,21,9,1123,1116,312],"class_list":["post-133","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-7","category-short-story","tag-adrian-ionita","tag-alexandru-potcoava","tag-egophobia-22","tag-english","tag-short-story","tag-translation"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-29","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/133","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=133"}],"version-history":[{"count":47,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/133\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5730,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/133\/revisions\/5730"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=133"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=133"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=133"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}