A story by Christo, subtitled, The Laughing Cavalier
At 14.40 hours on a cold December afternoon a helicopter clumsily landed in a deserted field near Tergoviste. An elderly man and woman clung to each other as they were hastily bundled into the back of the waiting black limousine nearby. It took off immediately for an unknown destination. An hour later the car was stopped at a roadblock. 3 days later, after a brief trial in a military academy, one of Europe’s oldest and most brutal dictators and his wife died together under a hail of bullets. The year was 1989. Romania had just staggered into the 20th century.
When next morning Anna heard the news, she burst into tears. It was so sudden and unexpected! Her mounting exhilaration exploded into great whoops of joy as tears stained the olive skin of her round handsome face, moistening the strands of long black hair flung wildly around her head. Otto, her boyfriend, came racing upstairs, ‘Anna, what is it? What’s happened?’
‘He’s gone, it’s over! We’re free! We’re free!’
She continued chanting wildly, finally collapsing on the bed in peals of laughter.
After the Christmas break, walking briskly across Grosvenor Square dressed in a fashionably long floral skirt with matching jacket, she arrived at the door of the Mayfair Gallery where she worked. Inside, she started to wander through the dark-panelled, linseed-smelling rooms, turning on lights and reacquainting herself with the occupants on the walls. The smile of the Cavalier, her favourite portrait, seemed more welcoming than usual. Was it really her he was secretly winking at? The Dutch landscapes seemed greener and brighter. As she paused a moment, small details such as a cat in a wagon, a mouse, or a clay pipe caught her attention. She felt relaxed and at home.
While sipping her coffee in the small anteroom kitchen she found her mind straying back to the university art department in the days before her hurried escape. With a chuckle she remembered Sophie – long, tall, funny, irreverent Sophie. How she wished she was here now to share this moment they had so longed for! It was of course natural that Anna, the daughter of a high-ranking party official, should easily secure a place in the art faculty of the prestigious Bucharest University, but Sophie, from a humble rural background without patronage, had to struggle and show exceptional ability. Anna remembered how shocked she’d been the first time Sophie showed her the bold, explicit cartoons she’d drawn of the great leader and his wife.
Looking up, she glimpsed the hands of the dark mahogany grandfather clock, took a last sip, got up, and opened the inner door to the public.
Later that evening, seated by a fire in the small living room of her Kensington Mews flat, a glass of wine at her elbow, she started to read the letter from Sophie she’d picked up from the doormat. She had immediately recognized the distinctively expressive handwriting.
‘Guess what, who would have thought that someone like me would be joining the faculty staff!?’
Anna could think of no-one better qualified or more deserving.
Sophie had applied for a post-grad research job in the university, which although modestly paid could lead to higher things.
‘You can’t believe what’s happening in the country now! Members of the Old Guard are tripping over each other on the way to the Western media to denounce the old regime… suddenly discovering democratic credentials, these bastards!’
It was a short paragraph at the end, however, which made Anna start, sit up abruptly, and allow the letter to drop from her knee.
‘Sorry to bring bad news, do you remember Dagmar, in your block? He went missing. We have just learned that he was arrested by the security police days before the final collapse and died in custody…’
Did she remember him? Yes, of course she did. He was in the same corridor – a tall, rather awkward, nerdy engineering student with large ears. He had no interest in politics or in joining any protests. She had rather despised him… but what had happened? Why him?
Suddenly, like a black serpent uncoiling in her stomach, a terrible realization dawned – that it must have been her own careless action – when she disposed of the contact list – that was responsible for this boy’s arrest. As the memories surfaced, a sudden icy darkness descended over her like black snow. Nothing could ever be the same again. She rushed to the toilet, but even the pain of compulsive vomiting brought no relief. Reviewing the events of those last days, she tried desperately to find an escape from the terrible labyrinth of guilt and horror in which she suddenly found herself.
She saw them all once more on that fatal day, fleeing in terror as the security police opened fire on the peaceful demonstration. She remembered the shots, the pleas for help from injured and dying students. Afterwards, trembling in her room, she remembered the anonymous phone call, warning that she had been identified. Minutes later, hearing a siren outside, she fled in panic towards the rear exit. It was only then she realized she was still carrying the tape with the contact names in her pocket. No time to destroy it now. As she ran down the corridor towards the rear she flung the tape through the open door of a student she knew would never be suspected, Dagmar. An hour later she was at the safe house her father had arranged, and the following day in London.
If only she had thought clearly! The police must have searched the whole block, found the tape, and taken that innocent boy away, interrogated and murdered him.
When Anna, exhausted, returned next day to the Gallery, she noticed the Cavalier’s smile had changed to a haughty sneer. An accusing eye followed her around the room. The Dutch landscapes looked bleak and alien – she was a criminal and had no right any longer to enjoy peace or beauty in her life.
She passed the following days in a nightmarish daze. Daily the mist surrounding her deepened. She took a perverse pride in her ability to appear normal, even charming, at work. After all, she was a criminal, and it was therefore natural she should be a liar and a hypocrite.
As the weeks passed, when she wasn’t at work she would find herself walking without destination through London streets, insensitive to fatigue and the pain in her feet. One day, somewhere in the King’s Cross area, large gashes started appearing like lightning streaks in the road in front of her. The surrounding concrete buildings seemed to be closing in on her, threatening to crush her. Despite her increased panic, she felt a sudden relief at the prospect of escaping into madness. Entering a tube station, she held herself to the back of the platform, afraid of the impulse to throw herself on the track.
Some weeks later she returned home late to find another letter from Sophie on the doormat. She stuffed it in her pocket, and, exhausted, threw herself into the unmade bed.
On leaving the Gallery the following evening she found herself drawn by an invisible thread towards the river. She walked along the Embankment. How calm the water looked, like a Corot landscape. How easy it would be, Ophelia-like, to just slide in, and be carried off in its gentle flow. She felt an unexpected peace as the decision began to crystallize in her mind. A few tears trickled down her face. Now she knew what she had to do. Wandering further downstream she found a spot where the bank was almost level with the water. It would be easier here. She noticed a bench close by and decided to rest her feet a moment before entering the water.
As she sat down she carelessly put a hand in her pocket, mechanically withdrawing the letter she had forgotten about, and began to read.
‘How is life treating you, little sister, in your big bad capitalist West, and why haven’t you written, you bad girl!’ Despite herself, as if returning to an old movie, she couldn’t help a weak smile. She skipped most of the letter, but then one paragraph caught her attention, as she saw again the fatal name, Dagmar.
‘You remember I told you about the arrest of that student, Dagmar? Well, I am happy to say it was all a big mistake! The police files are in such a mess. There’s still so much confusion here. He is very much alive. I saw him the other day in the canteen. He gained a first-class degree and is now doing a specialized course financed by a Dutch engineering company, lucky guy! It wasn’t the security but the traffic police who arrested him by mistake over a driving offence, can you believe it? He was immediately released. Wonderful news, isn’t it?’
The following day Anna awoke as to the first dawn in the garden of Eden. Later, exhausted, but tingling with aliveness, in a mystical ecstasy she entered the Gallery. The Cavalier greeted her with a twinkling smile that was broader than she had ever seen, as bright showers of rainbow colours from the Dutch landscapes dazzled her eyes. She would write to Sophie without delay. Life is good! There was so much to share.
Photo by Catalin Bot on Unsplash
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