by Alexandru Potcoav\u0103 [Romania]<\/p>\n
translated from Romanian by Graham Mummery & Alina-Olimpia Miron [MTTLC student]<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cHow\u2019s my darling wife?\u201d Colonel Petrescu\u2019s vodka-soaked voice roared from the hallway.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m good, of course!\u201d replied the lady-colonel from the living-room, in an irritated tone, while perusing a Soviet fashion magazine. \u201cFinished the application?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFinished for the day!\u201c the colonel roared yet again and stormed into the parlor, tramping his way towards the sofa.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The woman raised her eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cOut of here with those boots! How many times do I have to tell you? Don\u2019t bring mud into my living-room!\u201d<\/p>\n The colonel froze in the middle of the Persian rug, looked down and retreated before smiling stupidly.<\/p>\n \u201cDo forgive me, my dear, I always forget!\u201d the husband said from the hallway, trying to take off his boots. \u201cDarling, be a dear and put away that magazine? Will you come and help me out here?\u201c<\/p>\n From the room came the sound of magazines being shut violently before ending up flung on the carpet.<\/p>\n \u2018Always the same! Every evening!\u2019 the lady-colonel exclaimed still seated.<\/p>\n \u2018What am I? Your wife? Your servant? And, after all, what are you? Private or officer? And if you\u2019re an officer, where\u2019s your arse-licker? Well?\u2019<\/p>\n Colonel Petrescu planted himself on the living-room threshold, one leg booted and the other bootless.<\/p>\n \u2018Servant you say? You want a fuck? Here\u2019s my dick then, damn it!\u2019<\/p>\n The military man leaped at the sofa and this time was unstoppable. The Persian rug now looked half trampled, half flat. As if someone had played muddy hopscotch on it.<\/p>\n The colonel threw himself on his woman and quickly finding the perfect place to unleash his temper.<\/p>\n \u2018There you are\u2019 the satisfied man said, getting to his feet. \u2018Now, what\u2019s for dinner?\u2019<\/p>\n However, the lady colonel went straight to the toilet and locked herself in. She turned on the water and started to cleanse herself between her legs. Outside, the colonel stood on his bootless foot and, using his boot heel, unhinged the door.<\/p>\n \u2018Whore!\u2019 the man said, appearing in the crack. \u2018Don\u2019t you shut the door to my face! You hear me?\u2019<\/p>\n The wife threw him an ironic look while her hand went rapidly back and forth from the water jet to labia.<\/p>\n \u2018You knew I was a whore when you married me! Why did you do it?\u2019<\/p>\n Colonel Petrescu didn\u2019t waste another minute. In two shakes of a lamb\u2019s tail he kneeled near his wife, removed her hand and started to lick the furry lips of her sex.<\/p>\n \u2018I\u2019m so sorry, sweet wife!\u2019 the man mumbled.<\/p>\n \u2018And send someone in tomorrow to fix the door!\u2019 moaned Otilia bitterly, propping her rear against the wall.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 *<\/p>\n From Coca Nistor\u2019s apartment one could hear all kind of noises at any time of day or night. Broken bottles, gramophone discs full of fading after having been listened to on and on, hysterical laughs and goaded moaning.<\/p>\n Coca Nistor\u2019s illegal brothel had hosted the Hungarian , German, Romanian and Soviet armies, all at once or one at a time. An entire world war had unfolded in Olga, Hilda and Otilia\u2019s beds, at the ground floor of the house on 29, Carol I Boulevard. The last victims: Colonel Petrescu and Coca Nistor. While everybody was drunk with joy because of the peace, Major Petrescu, as happy as anybody, showed up at the brothel door, a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of flowers under his arm. He rang three times, as any client who knew the code and almost dropped the flowers on Coca when\u00a0 he opened the door.<\/p>\n \u2018Where\u2019s Otilia?\u2019 the future colonel tramped anxiously.<\/p>\n \u2018She\u2019s with a client. You\u2019ll have to wait a bit. Please, take a seat. Would you like some cognac? It\u2019s awfully good! Smuggled!\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018No cognac!\u2019 the military raised his voice and barged in Otilia\u2019s room, breaking the door on his way. He found her sitting doggy-style, while a Russian colonel was reddening her buttocks. He made a dart for him, broke the champagne bottle in his head and kissed the woman on the butt, throwing the bouquet on the pillow.<\/p>\n \u2018Dear girl, I\u2019ve come to take you! Get dressed!\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018What about Coca? Have you spoken to him?\u2019<\/p>\n Major Petrescu took his pistol from its casing.<\/p>\n \u2018Just get dressed!\u2019 the man cut her short, rolling the Russian off the bed with his leg. \u2018Come on!\u2019<\/p>\n The officer went in search of Coca on the hallway.<\/p>\n \u2018Now listen here! Either Otilia comes with me and I let you be or she comes with me and I wipe out this joint!\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Otilia is mine, major!\u2019 the pimp cut in, swearing him. She\u2019ll still be here when your bucket\u2019s filled up!\u2019 the owner of the establishment \u2013former railway worker at the boiler house – haughtily added. His face was had no trace of soot on it, but his wide nails were a different matter.<\/p>\n The major put the pistol to his head.<\/p>\n \u2018Well?\u2019<\/p>\n Coca clasped\u00a0 his thick fists. He punched the officer right in the chest, quickly tilting\u00a0 his head. The man went to pieces on the floor. The other one took the pistol, unloaded it and threw the weapon in\u00a0 Major Petrescu\u2019s lap.<\/p>\n When he came to, the officer was seen to the door and kicked outside. Coca was standing in the doorway.<\/p>\n \u2018Old man, you may have the pistol, but I have the bullets! Remember that!\u2019 the pimp laughed. After which he slammed the door, went to Otilia\u2019s room and slapped her a couple of times. Then he lifted the Russian, put some ice on the back of his neck and sent him away.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n *<\/p>\n The following day, Major Petrescu was hear knocking at the same door. Behind him, on the steps, there was a group of military police men. Hardly had the person inside opened the door, when two sturdy fellows jumped on him. They quickly immobilized him, while the officer woke Otilia up. He watched her eyes, swollen from the beating she had had.<\/p>\n \u2018I thought I told you to get dressed!\u2019 he smiled.<\/p>\n \u2018What about Coca?\u2019 she looked at him scared.<\/p>\n \u2018Coca\u2019s about to get himself iceed!\u2019 the man grinned.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 *<\/p>\n The brothel went down the same day. Olga returned to her parents and Hilda went in search of one of her faithful customers, an SS officer from Timi\u015foara who was pushing snow away in Siberia. Otilia arrived at Major Petrescu\u2019s house and, within a month, she had become the Lady-Major Petrescu, and, within a few years, she was promoted Lady-Colonel.<\/p>\n Coca Nistor was sentenced to fifteen years for attacking an Soviet officer and a couple more for procuring. However, he only served seven years before\u00a0 he died at the culvert,\u00a0 his face in a wheelbarrow. Tired as hell,\u00a0 he suffocated in the earth\u00a0 he had kept pushing.<\/p>\n The Fran\u0163iu family moved in the empty apartment. The first thing they did: they redecorated the rooms and keyed the croaking piano in the parlor. A white piano, with a tail, which mister Fran\u0163iu used to play Chopin\u2019s\u00a0Nocturnes on until around 2008 when, alone in the world and having Alzheimer\u2019s, he died having forgotten to put the top on the keyboard.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by Alexandru Potcoav\u0103 [Romania] translated from Romanian by Graham Mummery & Alina-Olimpia Miron [MTTLC student] \u00a0 \u201cHow\u2019s my darling wife?\u201d Colonel Petrescu\u2019s vodka-soaked voice roared from the hallway. \u201cI\u2019m good, of course!\u201d replied the lady-colonel from the living-room, in an irritated tone, while perusing a Soviet fashion magazine. \u201cFinished the application?\u201d \u201cFinished for the day!\u201c […]<\/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_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[436,22],"tags":[21,304,1145,1123,486,403,1116,312],"class_list":["post-2471","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-25","category-short-story","tag-alexandru-potcoava","tag-alina-olimpia-miron","tag-egophobia-25","tag-english","tag-graham-mummery","tag-mttlc","tag-short-story","tag-translation"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/s6DakB-eventide","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2471","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=2471"}],"version-history":[{"count":40,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2471\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3566,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2471\/revisions\/3566"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2471"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2471"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2471"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}