Mînjoală's Inn

A quarter of an hour to Mînjoală's Inn... from there, to Popeştii‑de‑sus, a post mile: at an average ambling pace, an hour and a half... The horse is good... if I feed it at the inn and let it rest for three quarters of an hour... it keeps going. Therefore, a quarter and three more is an hour, to Popeşti, an hour and a half, that is two and a half... Now it's past seven: ten, at the latest, and I'll be at governor Iordache's place... I'm kind of late... I should have left earlier... but, well!... they'll wait... While reckoning so, I already saw, within rifle shot, bright lights at Mînjoală's Inn, I mean, that's what they still called it; it was the Mînjoală woman's inn now – the man had died about five years previously... One hell of a woman! Whatever she did, if they almost sold off their inn when her husband was alive, at that time she had paid her debts, mended the outhouse, built another stone stable, and they said she must have had plenty of dough left too. Some people suspected she had found a treasure... others, that she performed magic. Some time earlier, the thieves had tried to rob her... They started breaking the door. One of them, the strongest, a man like a bull, raised the axe and, when he struck with all his might, he fell to the ground. They lifted him quickly! He was dead... His brother tried to speak, but couldn't – he had been struck dumb. There were four of them. They heaved the dead onto his brother's back while the other two took him by the legs, to bury him somewhere far away. When they were about to get out of the inn courtyard, the Mînjoală woman started screaming out of the window: thieves! and the sergeant with several men and four gendarmes on horseback appeared right before them. The pomoshtnik[1] shouts: "Who's there?". The two thieves run for their lives! Only the mute is left behind, his dead brother on his back. Now, what happens during the inquiry? Everybody knew the mute could speak; who would think he was not pretending? They beat him out of his wits, just to make him speak – in vain. Since then, lads have lost all desire to rob the inn... Before I could recall all these, I was already there. A number of wagons are parked in the inn courtyard; some carry timber to the lowlands, others, corn to the highlands. It's a chilly autumn evening. The wagoners warm themselves around the fires... that is why you see bright lights from afar. A servant takes my horse to the stables to feed it. I enter the pub, where a host of people drink together, while two sleepy gypsies, one with the fiddle, the other with a cobza[2], faintly play some Oltenian tune. I am hungry and cold – dampness got to me. "Where's madam?" I ask the boy at the counter. "At the oven." "She must be warmer in there," I say and I pass from the pub into the kitchen through a small hallway... It's very clean in the kitchen... and steamy, but not as in the pub, from damp coats, boots and peasant's sandals – hot bread steam. The Mînjoală woman watches over the oven... "Good to see you, Madam Marghioala." "Good to see you too, Master Fănică." "Would there be anything left to eat here?" "For a fine gentleman like you, even at midnight." And Madam Marghioala hastily orders an old hag to lay the table in her room. Then she draws closer to the oven niche and says: "Here, take a pick." Madam Mînjoală was beautiful, strong and wide‑eyed, I knew that. However, never before – and I had known her for quite a while: I had stopped at Mînjoală's inn countless times, even as a child, when my late father was still alive, for on our way to the market place we used to drop by there – never before did she look lovelier... I was young, neat and impudent, or rather more impudent than neat. I drew closer to her from the left, as she stood bent over the hearth, and I took her by the waist; as I reached her smooth, stone‑hard arm with my hand, the devil made me pinch her. "Haven't you got anything better to do?" said the woman, squinting at me... But, trying to make amends, I added: "You have splendid eyes, Ma'am!" "Cut the sweet words; you'd better tell me what you want." "I want... I want... I want whatever you have..." "Really..." I finally said, sighing: "All right, for you have splendid eyes, Ma'am!" "What if your father‑in‑law heard you?" "What father‑in‑law?... How d'you know?" "You think that if you hide under your cap no one will see what you do... Aren't you going to governor Iordache to get engaged to his older daughter?... Come on, stop looking at me like that; get into the room and eat something." I've seen many clean and cozy rooms in my life, but none like that... What a bed! What curtains! What walls! What a ceiling! All milk‑white. The screen and all the others, crocheted in all sorts of patterns... and warm as under a brood hen's wing... and a smell of apples and quinces... I was about to sit at the table, so I started looking around to see where the east was, to cross myself and pray, as I had been used since childhood. I looked carefully around – no icons on the walls. Madam Marghioala says: "What are you looking for?" I say: "The icons... Where do you keep them?" She says: "Damn them icons! They only breed death watches and wood lice..." Now, isn't that a clean woman?... I sat at the table crossing myself according to tradition, when suddenly, a scream: I had apparently stepped with the steel tip of my boot on an old tomcat that was lying under the table. Madam Marghioala sprang up and opened the door widely; the angry tomcat dashed out, while the cold air rushed in and put out the lamp. Now, grope for the matches! I grope this way, madam gropes the other way – we come against each other, breast to breast, in the dark... I boldly take her in my arms and start to kiss her... Madam kind of pushes me away, and then again she doesn't; her cheeks are hot, her lips cold, and her peach fluff under her ears stands on ends... The servant finally comes in with the dinner and a candle. We must have been looking for the matches for quite a while, for the lamp chimney was utterly cold. We lit it again... Wonderful dinner! Hot bread, roast duck and stewed cabbage, fried pork sausages and wine! And Turkish coffee! And laughs and chitchat... Good bless her soul! After the coffee, madam Marghioala tells the old hag: "Go tell them to send half a liter of draft muscatel..." Terrific muscatel!... My joints were sort of getting numb; I lay sideways in bed, smoking a cigarette with the last amber‑coloured drops in my glass, and staring through the cigarette smoke at Madam Marghioala as she was sitting in the opposite chair, rolling cigarettes for me. I say: "My, you have splendid eyes, Madam Marghioala!... You know what?" "What?" "If you don't mind, can I have another cup of coffee? But... not so sweet..." And then laughs!... When the servant brings the coffee, she says: "Madam, you sit here chatting... and you don't know what's going on outside..." "What?" "A wind from above broke out... a terrible storm is coming." I jumped to my feet and looked at my watch: almost three quarters past ten. Instead of half an hour, I had stayed at the inn two hours and a half? This is what happens when you get caught in chatting! "Order them to bring my horse!" "Order who?... The servants have gone to bed." "Then I'll go to the stables myself..." "They've reserved a table seat for you at the governor's!" madam says bursting out laughing and blocking my way at the door. I gently pushed her aside and went out on the porch. Indeed, it was a terrible weather... The wagoners' fires had died out; men and cattle were sleeping on corn stalks, quietly huddling together on the ground, while a mad wind was raging in the sky. "It's a big storm", Madam Marghioala said trembling and squeezing my hand. "Are you stupid? Leaving on a weather like this! Stay overnight; you will leave tomorrow, by daylight." "It's impossible..." I freed my hand forcefully; I went to the stables; I woke up a servant with difficulty and found my horse; I girthed it, brought it to the front stairs, and went back to the room to say good‑bye to my hostess. The woman was sitting on the bed, lost in thoughts, twisting my fur cap in her hands. "How much is dinner?" I asked. "You'll pay on your way back", the hostess answered, staring deep into the bottom of my fur cap. Then, she stood up and handed it to me. I took the cap and put it on my head, a little sideways. Looking straight into the woman's strangely shining eyes, I said: "My respects to your eyes, Madam Marghioala!" "See you soon!" I vaulted into the saddle; the old servant opened the gate, and off I went. Leaning with my left hand on the horse's hip, I looked back: over the high fence, I could see the open door to her room, and, in the doorway, the woman's white shadow, her hand over the arches of her eyebrows. I rode on at a slow pace, whistling to myself a love song, until I turned the fence cornerto go on my way, and I lost sight of her. Then I said: "Hoy! Let's get going!" and I crossed myself; at that point, I clearly heard the door slam and a cat's meowing. My hostess knew I could no longer see her and she had probably rushed inside to the warmth of her room and had caught the tomcat in the door. Bloody tomcat! It keeps staying in people's way. I must have gone quite a long way. The storm intensified, blowing me off the saddle. Up in the sky, cloud after cloud were drifting, pale as if for fear of a higher punishment, this way underneath, that way high above, alternating at times thicker and thinner curtains over the weary light of the last moon quarter. The damp cold filled me; my legs and arms were freezing. I was advancing with my head bowed lest the wind should choke me, my nape began to ache, my forehead and temples were hot and my ears were pounding. "I drank too much!" I thought, pulling my fur cap backwards and raising my forehead to the sky. But the whirl of clouds made me dizzy; I felt a burn under my left ribs. I breathed in the cold wind, but a stitch flashed through my chest. I lowered my chin. My cap seemed to get tighter, squeezing my head like a vise; I took it off and put it on the saddle bow... I was sick... It was wrong to leave! Everybody must be sleeping at governor Iordache's place now; they may have waited for me; they certainly thought I wouldn't be stupid enough to leave on a weather like this... I spurred my horse; it was staggering as if it had been drinking too... But the wind subsides a little; it clears up as if for rain; hazy light; it begins to drizzle with ice needles... I put my fur cap back on... Suddenly, the blood starts burning the walls of my head again. The horse is exhausted; the wind makes it gasp. I press my heels again and whip it; the beast rushes forward a few steps, then snorts and halts as if it saw an unexpected obstacle. I look ahead... indeed, several steps away I see a small indistinct form jumping around... An animal!... What could it be?... A wild beast?... It's too small... I grab my revolver; at that point, I hear the loud cry of a goat... I goad my horse as much as I can; it turns around and heads the other way. Just a few steps... and it halts snorting again... The goat again... I check the horse, I turn it around, I whip it keeping a firm hold on the bridle. It moves on... A few steps... The goat again... The clouds have thinned completely: I can see very well now. It is a little black goat; here it goes, then it comes back again; it kicks out; it then rises on the hind legs, and, beard in chest and horns pointing ahead, it charges, and jumps about and bleats and does all sorts of crazy things. I get off the horse that would not go any further for the world, and I hold it firmly by the bridle; I stoop and call the goat, holding out my hand as if I had bran in it. The little goat draws closer romping incessantly. My horse snorts frantically, tugs, drags me to my knees, but I nevertheless keep my tight hold on it. The goat approaches my stretched hand; it's a very cute black kid, which stands very still when I take it in my arms. I put it into the right knapsack, on top of some clothes. In the meantime, the horse shudders violently as if about to die. I mount... The horse moves on giddily. It had been running for some time now like crazy, jumping over ditches, anthills and tree stumps, while I was unable to stop it, I did not know where we were or where we were going. In full gallop, just about to break my neck any time, my body frozen and my head on fire, I was thinking of the cozy bed I had foolishly left behind... Why?... Madam Marghioala would have given me her room, otherwise she wouldn't have invited me... The kid was stirring in the knapsack, trying to find a more comfortable position; I turned around and looked at it: undisturbed, his clever head out of the knapsack, it was looking back at me. That reminded me of another set of eyes... What a fool I was!... The horse flounders; I halt it reluctantly; it tries to move on again, but falls exhausted to its knees. Suddenly, through a break in the clouds, I see the last slice of moon tilted sideways. Its sight strikes me like a crack on the bean. It is straight ahead... Then, there are two moons in the sky! I'm going uphill: the moon must be behind me! And I quickly turn around to see the real one... I have taken the wrong road! I'm going downhill... Where am I? I look ahead: a corn field with the cobs not yet harvested; behind me, an open field. I cross myself, spitefully squeezing the horse between my legs to make it get up – when I feel a strong jerk near my right leg... A cry!... I have squashed the kid! I quickly feel for my knapsack: the knapsack is empty – I've lost the kid on the way! The horse gets up, moving its head as if shaking off giddiness; it rises on the hind legs, jerks to one side and throws me down on the other; then, it starts running like mad across the field, disappearing into the dark. As I get back to my feet rather shaken, I hear rustling among the corncobs and a man's voice close by, loudly: "Come, kiddy! Phew! The devil take you!" "Who's there?" I shout. "Good people!" "Who?" "Gheorghe!" "Gheorghe who?" "Nătruţ... Gheorghe Nătruţ, the corn field watchman." "Aren't you coming out?" "Here I come." The man's shadow appears from among the corn plants. "Brother Gheorghe, pray, where are we?... I got lost in this storm." "But where are you going to?" "Popeştii‑de‑sus." "Hey! To governor Iordache." "Well, yes." "Then you're not on the wrong road... but you still have a long way to go to Popeşti... This is only Hăculeşti." " Hăculeşti?" I said happily. "Then I must be close to Mînjoală's inn..." "It's right here. We're behind the stable." "Show me the way, I don't want to break my neck right at the end." I had been wandering for about four hours... The gate was just a few steps away. There was light in madam Marghioala's room and shadows moving on the curtain... Some wiser traveler must have taken the clean bed! I will probably be given a bench by the oven. But, lucky me! Hardly did I knock on the door and she heard me. The old servant rushed to the door to open it... When I was about to go in, I stumbled over something soft on the threshold – the kid... the same one! It was my hostess' kid! It entered the room too and quietly went to sleep under the bed. What can I say? Did the woman know I would return?... Or had she already woken up... The bed was untouched. "Madam Marghioala!", that is all I could say and, in an attempt to thank God that I was alive, I raised my hand to cross myself. Madam swiftly grabbed my hand and, putting it aside, took me in her arms with all her might. I can still see that room... What a bed!... What curtains!... What walls!... What a ceiling!... All milk‑white. The screen and all the others, crocheted in all sorts of patterns... and warm as under a brood hen's wing... and a smell of apples and quinces... I would have stayed at Mînjoală's inn for a long time if my father‑in‑law, governor Iordache, God rest his soul, had not come and raised hell to take me out of there. Three times I fled before the engagement and returned to the inn, until the old man, who was determined to make me his son‑in‑law by all means, sent his men; they caught me and took me, tied fast, to a hermitage up in the mountains: forty days of fasting, genuflections and prayers. I came out a penitent: I got engaged and then married. It was very late, one clear winter night, while I was chatting with my father‑in‑law before a jug of wine, as it is the custom in the country, that we were told by a steward who'd been shopping in town, that there had been a great fire at Hăculeşti towards morning: Mînjoală's inn had burnt to the ground, burying madam Mînjoală, an old hag now, under a huge pile of embers. "He finally fried the bitch!", my father‑in‑law said laughing. And he asked me to tell him again the above story for the umpteenth time. The governor insisted that madam had cast a spell into the bottom of my cap, and that the kid and the tomcat were one and the same...