"A lot. Yes, I know you have a lot, but how many?"
"I have not counted them."
"Have you got business at Hunedoar fair?"
"I believe so; the drying is difficult, though."
"You have got some heavy skins, haven't you?"
"Some heavy, some light; you know how it is with the work."
Costa bit his lips and would like to have given Sandu a cuff or two, so angry was he that he would not tell him what he was longing to know.
"But, it's cold!"
"It's cold."
"Come, you ought not to feel it much when Talpoane's daughter brings you drink."
The blood rushed to Sandu's face, and he did not know why he did not strike Costa to the ground as he smiled at him.
"But what of it, haven't we all done the same kind of thing? Only look out that nobody sees you and nobody hears you. That's all right, I won't keep you from your work!"
Sandu could not see, everything was black before his eyes, he was hot all over and a fire seemed to burn within him. He gnashed his teeth and stretched the skin as though he would tear it, and rinsed as though he had some rival to surpass.
At midday the apprentice came to call him to dinner. On the way he remembered what had happened and would have liked to turn back. In the ante-room he saw Ana, and his heart beat as though it were on fire. Ana, too, was radiant, her eyes laughed with joy, and the dimples in her cheeks were more tantalizing than ever. Sandu's heart was full of delight; he forgot what Costa had said; he was only conscious of Ana's voice.
After dinner the cold was not quite so cruel, the calm was not so intense, and he did not feel alone; there seemed to be plenty of life around him, but whenever he turned his head he could only see Ana. And longings awoke in his heart, and many pleasant thoughts passed through his mind, and they all gathered round Ana's form. His thoughts carried him far, and he pictured himself with a workshop and a house of his own, and Ana beside him making life sweet. They were so tempting and so full of charm that Sandu smiled to himself as he strung together tender, caressing words to say to Ana, for he felt she belonged to him, and no one could disturb the peace of these happy days.
Night closed sadly in and Sandu had long ago finished his work, but he did not want to move. He was loath to leave the pleasant, quiet spot where he had pictured to himself the path in life that was awaiting him. He gave a sigh of regret as he stepped along the bank and walked towards the house of Mistress Veta.
The nearer it drew to the Christmas festival the busier became the fairs, and the tanners raised the price of their goods because the weather was moist, and the peasants were obliged to buy sandals whether they wanted to or not.
Christmas Eve fell on a Tuesday, and, accordingly, the weekly fair had never been better.
Although Mistress Veta had such a lot to do that she had hardly time to turn round, she remained at the booth till ten o'clock, when she returned home.
The little white, crown-shaped rolls were baked and divided up, some for the house, some for the poor, and some for the guests who would expect hospitality the day after Christmas Day. When everything was finished and put ready, and Master Dinu arrived, they all went into the front room. There they lit a fire that must not be allowed to die out, that Christ, who was born on this night, might not feel the cold, and there they quietly waited till their house was visited by carol-singers and lads carrying "Stars" or "Magi." To make the joy next day more complete, they lit the Christmas Tree, and out of a cupboard Master Dinu took a little riding-horse for Gheorghitza, and for Ana a work-frame and other things suitable for a big girl. The parents were happy at the gratitude written on their children's faces.
Gradually the world seemed to wake up, the quiet in the town was dispelled. As the stars rose in the sky, there appeared in every street, girls carrying "Christmas Trees," boys with "Stars" or "Magi"
or "the Manger," and young men with "carols," and amidst this busy movement, amidst this pleasant noise, amidst slow, sad songs or beautiful carols, the whole town seemed enveloped in an atmosphere of reverence; each one, forgetting the troubles of life, felt himself drawing nearer to the glory of God.
While Master Dinu was listening to the carol-singers from his windows, and taking the symbol of the Magi into his house, Sandu sat alone in the workshop over the way. He had lit an end of candle, and was sitting on a chair in front of the opening in the stove below the boiler.
At intervals a drop of liquid fell from the vats, and the sound of its fall echoed long in the quiet workshop.
The noise from outside broke dully against the window and took Sandu's thoughts back to other days. And all at once he began to carol to himself:
"And as you journey thither There comes wafted many a mile, From where the Holy Infant lies, The scent of fair flowers, The glow of bright torches, The smoke of the incense, The song of the angels."
He sang softly, and the dead past of the years he had spent since he left the home where he was born seemed to unroll itself before him. And as he saw himself alone, and deprived of every kind of pleasure, a tear crept into his eye, and with his head resting upon his hand, he sat gazing into the fire. All the nine years that he had spent Christmas among strangers, he had envied the joy of others, and never once had he felt in his heart the peace of the season as he used to in the days when he was at home. And who would think of him, or who would give him any happiness at this holy festival?
The workshop door opened hastily, and the appearance of Ana scattered his thoughts to the wind.
"Sandu, I have brought you something for Christmas." Sandu did not hold out his hand for it. "How you look at me, Sandu! Why do you not want what I bring you?"
So saying, Ana came quite close to him, and put what she had brought into his hand.
"Ana," said Sandu, in a stifled voice, "may God look upon you as I look at you."
His voice seemed to come from the depths of his soul, and Ana's look grew troubled. The kindness and sorrow with which he spoke touched her strangely, and resting her head upon his breast she murmured as in a dream:
"Sandu, dear Sandu."
But she had to go, for she had stolen from the house when some boys, carrying Magi, had arrived, and her mother would be looking for her.
Sandu remained behind to tell himself that never had God given him a happier Christmas.
The day after Christmas, in the afternoon, his various god-children came to Master Dinu's house: hospitality demands hospitality. They brought with them rolls and other things. Mistress Veta spread food upon the table, and whoever came took in exchange a roll from the god-parents.
By the evening, Lena, Tziru's widow, alone remained.
Master Dinu was in a hurry to get away, and Ana was downstairs with some friends.
The women remained by themselves, enjoying the wine and conversing. And when two women sit gossiping, who escapes unscathed by their tongues? One person is so and so, another person dresses so absurdly that every one laughs at her, and so the idle talk runs on.
"Doesn't it make you laugh"--Mistress Veta takes up the word--"when you see Costa's wife as pink as a girl? How can a woman of her age paint herself?"
"Never mind her, my dear, there are others----"
"I don't seem to have heard of them."
Then a little later on:
"I don't know how it is but Costa is an ill-natured man and a regular chatterbox."
"You say truly, it's the talk of the town."
"But he has become a little more careful, he's not as he was a while ago. He has begun to shrug his shoulders only and keep his tongue quiet."
"He pretends to, my dear, but you have not heard him--it's better for me not to tell you, not to make you unhappy, especially on a feast day."
"Of course, you must tell me," Mistress Veta raised her voice and her eyes flashed.
"I would sooner you heard it from other lips."