{"id":9846,"date":"2013-06-28T22:37:26","date_gmt":"2013-06-28T20:37:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=9846"},"modified":"2013-08-08T18:47:32","modified_gmt":"2013-08-08T16:47:32","slug":"echinacea-mustard","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=9846","title":{"rendered":"Echinacea mustard"},"content":{"rendered":"

by Silviu Dachin
\ntranslation from Romanian by Camelia-Aura Barbu [MTTLC student]
\nclick aici<\/a> pentru versiunea rom\u00e2n\u0103<\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

We all experience big or small things in ordinary days. You cannot schedule your way out of the ordinary. Uncommon days are presents and it must be weird to give yourself presents.<\/p>\n

I saw him right from the cemetery\u2019s entrance. It\u2019s probably the detail that writes itself most easily on my list of wonders. \u201cWhat can an 80 years old man do in a cemetery? Alive at that\u2026\u201d He was paying attention to every move, every normal gesture preoccupied him, interested him, and he smiled, ready to burst into laughter at every word the passers-by said. I sat on a bench and started following him with my eyes. He was my man for that day. Maybe he was the philosopher, the man who had swallowed during his life all those huge things that made me nauseous and gave me a headache through the too little wisdom stretched for nothing on scribbled pages. Maybe he was the poet that had disappeared from the public life because of some conspiracy and now it was time to do justice for him! He obviously lives in that shattered house, with thousands of valuable books, carelessly thrown on the floor, with that old, grumpy cat that I am honestly going to like for his sake. And then the future! The man will take back the position he deserves, and I will disappear somewhere in the crowd, happy that he\u2019s happy\u2026 Now all I have to do is make him like me, to get into his mind and rummage through it, to take the essence without too much work. After all, I belong to my generation: \u201cbig profit, without wasting time or a lot of sweat!\u201d. Come on! It seems I haven\u2019t gotten so drunk on a story for a long time now!<\/p>\n

The old man had sat next to me. I knew he was studying me with that blue and amazed look which can equally amuse and annoy one.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat could a young man like yourself be looking for here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. Boredom?<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, it\u2019s difficult going through autumn without boredom. I thought you came for the funeral as well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2018It must\u2019ve been an important funeral\u2019, I think.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe professor is gone too\u201d, he resumed. And he wasn\u2019t that old. People like him should live at least a hundred years. But now look, he\u2019s dead and I live.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt can\u2019t be too bad that you live\u201d, I was suddenly in the mood to say that aloud.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve known him ever since he was a child. I can tell you all of his rogueries. I haven\u2019t forgotten even one. I remember when he finished college and he took me out for a beer. Now he was already a man. I rarely got out of the house, but how could I refuse him? We went together at a coffeehouse that had just opened somewhere downtown. The joy caused by the graduation was amplified by the joy of the entire time we were to spend together. But the fact was that the waiter did not fit in the scene. He stood there, <\/b>touching the table with his green pants and without saying anything, he waited for the order. The sharp pencil was resting its artful tip on the sheet of paper. All of this made us burst into a laughter that wasn\u2019t going to end too well. \u201cA big glass of water, please\u201d, I start. \u201cBlue, if it\u2019s possible\u201d, said the professor. \u201cTwo straws\u2026 Are two enough?\u201d \u201cWe\u2019d better take a pack! It can\u2019t be too expensive\u201d, he said. \u201cHow much does a straw cost?\u201d Contrary to our expectations, our man kept writing on the blindingly white paper, without taking seriously my young friend\u2019s question. \u201dAnything else?\u201d \u201cA ginger bar\u201d, I continued the game. \u201cAnd we absolutely need mustard!\u201d, said the professor amused. \u201cEchinacea mustard\u2026\u201d, I added. \u201cDo you want some powder milk as well? They must have the expensive brand, like the one that the baby of the neighbour who lives on first floor has.\u201d \u201cOh, yeah, the one that sticks out its tongue when he sees sparrows! How cute\u2026\u201d \u201cCan I bring you anything else?\u201d, the waiter went on, without any expression on his face. \u201cNo, I think that\u2019s enough. Can we make reservations here?\u201d Without answering the question, the guy disappeared behind a green curtain. We laughed for a while, curious what was going to happen next. After about five minutes, a lady, wearing the same \u201cimpeccable\u201d attire, comes with two unopened beers, an orange cut into four parts and two toothpicks. She carefully put them in the centre of the table, and then she laid two napkins in front of us. Without a word she turned around and left. We resumed laughing, but all of a sudden the professor stopped, saying: \u201cWait! There\u2019s something written on you napkin!\u201d \u201cWow!\u201d, I cry. If you put them next to each other, you could read this:<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWill you get out by yourselves, or will I have to do it?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ha, ha, ha!<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you are still here though, pay attention:<\/p>\n

WELCOME<\/p>\n

to the coffee house \u2018Our mother, the Craziness\u201d<\/p>\n

Ha, ha, ha!\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re wondering if we looked for the manager of the coffeehouse. No, it had all become too sinister\u2026 We left everything on the table and disappeared. We never went back there.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Maybe I should have laughed at the story. What the old man\u2019s face expressed made me stop. He went on quietly, almost whispering:<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThe professor is gone too\u2026 He was still young.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On the cemetery\u2019s alley, a sleazily dressed man appeared. \u2018One of those who dig in the cemetery\u2019, I thought to myself. He stopped in front of us, and after he greeted me he talked to the old man:<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThey buried her too! Let\u2019s go to the canteen, to Ri\u0163a. That\u2019s where Valentina organized the funeral launcheon. She\u2019ll give us something to take home, because if it wasn\u2019t for us, she would have been alone at her mother\u2018s funeral. Let\u2019s go!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The old man got up heavily and went towards the cemetery\u2019s gate. After a few steps, as if he remembered me, he turned back smiling:<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou see, this is life! You might bury anyone, anytime. But you must have someone to tell the life of the deceased! Poor professor..\u201c, he added smiling.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

by Silviu Dachin translation from Romanian by Camelia-Aura Barbu [MTTLC student] click aici pentru versiunea rom\u00e2n\u0103   We all experience big or small things in ordinary days. You cannot schedule your way out of the ordinary. Uncommon days are presents and it must be weird to give yourself presents.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_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":""},"categories":[986,22],"tags":[964,1164,403,1116,1000,312],"class_list":["post-9846","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-38","category-short-story","tag-camelia-aura-barbu","tag-egophobia-38","tag-mttlc","tag-short-story","tag-silviu-dachin","tag-translation"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-2yO","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9846","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\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9846"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9846\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9951,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9846\/revisions\/9951"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9846"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9846"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9846"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}