Era o casă veche, cu etaj şi mansardă, gata să cadă pe ea. Zidurile erau ştirbe, cărămizile se arătau obscene, tencuiala se topea văzând cu ochii. Nu-ş-cum dracu’ rezista şandramaua asta, m-inchipuiam că dacă trece vreun tramvai tropăind o dărâmă la primu’ ţignal. Dar tramvaiul nu mai trecea de 15 ani pe acolo. Căţaua Leşinată locuia la parterul clădirii – acum, după atâta timp am o oarecare indulgenţă faţă de ea, nu a căzut, nu a rănit pe nimeni, acolo doar alcoolul ucide – de fapt trăia într-un parter adâncit cu un metru sub pământ – eh, soarta ironică, îi obişnuia din vreme pe beţivi cu glodul – Căţaua asta era o bodegă dată naibii…
Era în preajma Crăciunului, afară era aşa şi aşa, încă se mai putea bea o ladă de bere fără să faci ţurţuri la naretă. Am pătruns în templul pierzaniei şi soarta mea a fost bătută în cuie. Înăuntru se ascultau chansonete franţuzeşti, aproape în surdină, oricum părea că toată lumea e de acord cu Edith care nu regretă nimic.
Erau circa 10 persoane înăuntru, douăzeci de ochi tulburi – aşa am crezut prima dată, mai târziu am aflat că mă înşelam cu aproape 3 – şi fiecare îşi vedea de treaba lui cu o migală sfântă. Nu vorbea nimeni, însă era o splendoare să-i vezi, ca la un semnal ridicau toţi paharele şi sorbeau două înghiţituri mici, după care le aşezau pe masă, se auzea un singur gâl şi un singur clap… şi totuşi exista o comunicare, o simţeam, plutea în aer.
Ştiam că e un moment solemn, însă mi se uscase al naibii gâtlejul, amiba mea din stomac cerea să fie stropită, stropită tot mai tare pe măsură ce creştea. Fără să mai aştept, m-am insinuat ca o vorbă dulce lângă bar, cu suficient tupeu şi ceva biştari să iau două beri, mie şi tovarăşului meu. Barmanul, un tip scund şi gras, cu barbă şi musteţi încărunţite, hâtru la muie şi cu un defect la ochiu’ drept, o pată albă, mi-a făcut semn să tac.
„Stimaţi comesenii mei! E aproape sărbătorile Crăciunului, aţ’ muncit cu drag anu’ ăsta, fiecare cum aţ’ putut, şi la noi ca la orce firmă de respect dăm prima. Uite tenc’şoru ăsta dă cocardei e pentru voi, treceţi pe la bar la nea Gelu să vă facă porţie. Io nu poci sta că am de produs, da’ sărbăutori fericite!” | There was an old house, with a floor and an attic , which was on the brink of falling apart. Its walls were worn out, the bricks were looking obscene, its plaster was melting as you looked at them. I don`t know how the hell was this poor house resisting, I was imagining that if a tram were to pass by it would tramp out the house at the sound of the first horn blow. But the tram was not passing by that place by more than 15 years. That Fainting Bitch was living at the ground floor now, after quite a while I have some indulgence for her, she did not fall, she did not hurt anyone, in there only the alcohol kills- actually she was living at a level one meter lower than the ground floor- eh, ironic fate, it helped the drunk people get used to the dirt- This bitch was a hell of a cottage... It was around Christmas, the weather was fine, you could still drink half a dozen of beers without getting cold. I went in the temple of perdition and my fate was sealed. In there you could hear french songs, in a quiet manner, anyway it looked as if everyone was agreeing with Edith who did not regret anything. There were around 10 persons inside, twenty troubled eyes- as I believed first time, later i found out that i was wrong with nearly 3 of them- and everyone was minding his own business with a holy fervor. Nobody was speaking, but it was a delight to look at them, at a signal everyone was raising their glasses and were taking two little sips, after they would place them on the tables, you could hear a single pouring sound and a single clap...and yet there was a communication, i could feel it, it was floating in the air. I knew that it was a solemn moment, but my throat had dried out, my amoeba which was in my stomach was asking to be wet, wet the more it was growing. Without waiting, I got at the bar like a golden tongue, with enough boldness and some money to get two more beers, one for me and one for my companion. The innkeeper, a short and fat man, with both the beard and the hair whitened, a hideous face and with a flaw at the right eye, a white stain, made me shut up. "My honored guests!It is almost Christmas, you have gladly worked this year, everyone as you could, and here at us like at any other respected firm we offer the first one. Look, this pile of insignias are for you, come to the bar to be served by mister Gelu. I can`t stay because i have to produce, but i wish you happy holidays!" |