by Ion Hobana (b. 1931)
excerpt Even though he would not have admitted it for anything in the world (he was a big boy now!), Gelu had not lost his taste for play. Before his indignant conscience, he held the one guilty to be Jack Barbecan, who had tapped on his door that morning: "Gelu, let's play 'pistols'!" 'Pistols' had probably come into being during the war, in imitation of the terrible game of hide-and-seek with death. The participants would select the most sheltered positions and wait there for the enemy to appear – or they would set out in search of him. They tried to camouflage themselves as skilfully as possible, so as to remain undetected. When attacking, they would use every corner of a building and every bush for cover. As soon as they spotted the adversary, they had to shout 'Pistol!' – the word was equivalent to a gunshot and marked the victorious conclusion of the game. The boys' battlefield was vast: the yard fringed with oak trees, the cellars, the garden that was as big as an estate… They sometimes used to search for over an hour. And as they constantly had the sensation of imminent danger, they never grew bored. In order to shorten the preparatory phase, from the outset they used to decide upon each one's base for operations: "You're in the garden, I'm in the yard." When the incident with the garage took place, it had been Gelu's turn to take ephemeral charge of the yard and the outbuildings. The garage was always shut up with a massive padlock, the keys to which were kept by Ilie and Barbecan – a precaution justified by the presence of the Chrysler and other tempting objects: spare tyres, tools, large canisters of petrol. They therefore excluded it, by force of circumstance, from the area in which the game unfolded. On one side of the garage and the other, with adjoining walls, there were two outhouses for old junk and lumber. On the day in question, Gelu decided to hide in one of them. He was greeted by an odour that was a mixture of hay and horse's harnesses. The darkness that had retreated into the corners when he opened the door hastened to envelop him like warm and dutiful water. It was cloven by only a few blades of light – spies of the sun outside. He wanted to conceal himself in the dogcart in the middle of the shed, but it was too exposed to view. The harnesses hanging on their nails only concealed half of him. Behind the grain bin, it was cramped and he would have had to crouch there for who knows how long. "What if I were to climb into the loft?" He propped the ladder against the hatch of the loft and quickly scampered up the narrow rungs. The smell of hay that had tickled his nostrils before became all of a sudden overwhelming… Adjacent was the loft of the garage, separated by a wall of planks. On closer inspection, two of the planks proved to be loose. He pulled them out, and slipped through the gap. "Just let mister Jack come now! As soon as he shows his noddle: 'Pistol'!" Five minutes later, he heard the creak of a door. It was the door of the garage not the shed, however. Through the cracks in the ceiling, he saw Ilie enter with an unknown person. He pulled the wing of the door shut behind him and flicked the light-switch, heading towards the motorcar. "Aha, repairs!" rejoiced Gelu, preparing to watch everything from aloft. Ilie did indeed lift the bonnet of the engine, but he did not lean over the cylinders and spark plugs. He stretched out his hand to the other man and received a note. He read it a few times, moving his lips. It was as if he wanted to learn the contents by heart. Then he said, but not softly enough to elude keen ears: "It's in order. Tonight…" Tineretului, 1960
by Ion Hobana (b. 1931)
by Ion Hobana (b. 1931)