{"id":8543,"date":"2023-09-30T09:03:03","date_gmt":"2023-09-30T09:03:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/sfdumitru.org\/?p=8543"},"modified":"2025-10-07T10:13:43","modified_gmt":"2025-10-07T10:13:43","slug":"uncle-anghel-extract","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sfdumitru.org\/en\/2023\/09\/uncle-anghel-extract\/","title":{"rendered":"Uncle Anghel (extract)"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t

Conquering the insistent urge to sprint away, he opened the door to the sick man\u2019s room. Terrible stench of carrion and latrine. His eyes, stung by ammonia, had closed, barely giving him time to see from behind: a polished skull like an inflated blister, and also an arm, skin and bones, which hung off the side of the bed full of filthy garments.<\/p>\n

Adrian kneeled and glued his forehead to this skeleton arm, cold as ice. The sick man didn\u2019t move.<\/p>\n

\u201eGet up… Adrian… And spare me…\u201d<\/p>\n

Adrian shuddered. That wasn\u2019t a human voice, Anghel\u2019s manly speech, but a nasal meowing of a child dying of tuberculosis.<\/p>\n

He got up with hat in hand and stood up straight, humbly, in the middle of the room, before the sick man. This sick man was not his uncle Anghel, but a decrepit old man with a mummy\u2019s cheek; with large, sparkling eyes, missing eyelids and deepened in two empty cavities; with an elongated and sharpened nose like a knife\u2019s edge, with parched lips and mouth ajar. A crown of white hairs encircled the neck from one temple to the other. The beard, which long ago was curly and black, was nothing more than a mass of smoked clumps. Together with the two skeleton arms that dangled in the shirt sleeves, this was all that was visible, appearing from under a pile of bags, blankets, and tattered garments. It was all that was left of uncle Anghel.<\/p>\n

[\u2026]<\/p>\n

\u201cI can take it anymore… Only my head is still alive\u2026 The rest\u2026 I don\u2019t feel it anymore. It\u2019s over with\u2026 the rest. But the head!… What a miraculous thing!\u201d<\/p>\n

Anghel fell silent for a moment, and he stared down his nephew; then, with certainty:<\/p>\n

\u201cI should have died three days ago\u2026 because I had nothing left to contemplate, when Irimia came toward evening to tell me that you had returned\u2026 Then I tarried, waiting for you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

[\u2026]<\/p>\n

Anghel stopped for a moment to breathe. Adrian thought he was standing before one of those embalmed pharaohs from the Bulaq Museum in Cairo, a pharaoh whose half-open eyes no longer blinked. The skin on the cheek \u2013 moving, dried out, translucent \u2013 revealed all the facial bones over which it glided, stretched out like a thin sheet of parchment, almost threatening to break at every movement.<\/p>\n

[\u2026]<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s been three years since I\u2019ve stepped down from this bed in which you see me. Three winters, three springs, just as many summers and just as many autumns of lying down on my back and looking up at this blackened ceiling. In all my life, it\u2019s the period I\u2019ve lived most intensely. In the last year, I barely eat or sleep, and in the last six months, nothing at all; not a single breadcrumb, not a single moment of sleep. Instead, I drink, I drink this brandy. By day, my son pours it down my throat, as you\u2019ve seen. By night, so that I don\u2019t perish or wake up that poor being, I suck on that sponge on the table, which I soak in brandy. In the morning, it\u2019s completely dried own, burned by my lips\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Adrian covered his face with his hands:<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, uncle,\u201d he cried. \u201cHow terrible life is!…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTerrible, you say, my nephew? Terrible? Maybe\u2026 But it\u2019s just, given my fate\u2026 I wanted the fullness of joy, carefree joy, the fulfillment of my vain flesh\u2026 And to have it, I struggled fiercely. Twenty years of toil in order to get a beautiful woman who falls asleep eating; smoked barns that burn like hay; livestock that disappear; children who die; gold that brings with it beatings with a club; a clean shirt which is dirty the next day. All these necessities of a body that has separated itself from my head, which is just as foreign as the rags that cover it, this body which now is rotting, which I\u2019d like to see eaten by ravens, just as it\u2019s now being eaten by worms. A quarter of a century\u2026 And not for a single moment did I realize that I had a head, a brain, a light which mold and worms couldn\u2019t touch.\u201d<\/p>\n

Stifled after such an effort, the sick man fell silent for a while. Adrian, enduring his gaze with difficulty, wondered to himself if his uncle was perhaps preparing to scold him. That\u2019s exactly what happened:<\/p>\n

\u201cAdrian!… I called you over to tell you that I\u2019m dissatisfied with you!…\u201d<\/p>\n

Having been flogged, Adrian jumped:<\/p>\n

\u201cDissatisfied with me, uncle?!… Why is that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you\u2019re a reprobate!… Because you forget the light in your head and my words from yesteryear!… This is allowed for many thousands of ordinary people, like me, but not for you. Adrian, do you hear me? Not for you! Your brain knew the light even from young childhood.\u201d<\/p>\n

[\u2026]<\/p>\n

\u201cBut, rubbish!… Far, far from me, these dreadful memories!… You, Adrian, my nephew, you need to listen to me, you owe me submission! You should not have any hopes or expectations from the life that crushes a man, that causes the body to rot, and that makes you forget that you have a head.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s with this shamelessness you\u2019re wearing?… What\u2019s with this outfit tailored to size?… What\u2019s with this smoked collar?… What\u2019s with these shining cuffs?… What?… What use is there to all these gaudy adornments for a young man who knows the light of heaven and who knows what his uncle Anghel went through?…<\/p>\n

[\u2026]<\/p>\n

\u201cForgive me!… forgive me\u2026 I\u2019m a wretch!…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery good!… You repent!… And repentance brings correction. Strive to correct yourself, and I\u2019ll forgive you right this second; and you\u2019ll be my Adrian, my nephew, dear to uncle Anghel\u2019s heart, this uncle Anghel whom you see rotting away on these garments, due to the mistake of desiring too beautiful a wife, too prosperous a house, and too clean a shirt. But that\u2019s enough!\u201d<\/p>\n

(to be continued)<\/em><\/p>\n

Panait Istrati<\/em><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Conquering the insistent urge to sprint away, he opened the door to the sick man\u2019s room. Terrible stench of carrion and latrine. His eyes, stung by ammonia, had closed, barely giving him time to see from behind: a polished skull like an inflated blister, and also an arm, skin and bones, which hung off the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[82],"tags":[33],"class_list":["post-8543","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-icon-from-within-sept-oct-23","tag-christian-culture","entry"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfdumitru.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8543","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfdumitru.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfdumitru.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfdumitru.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfdumitru.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8543"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/sfdumitru.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8543\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8547,"href":"https:\/\/sfdumitru.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8543\/revisions\/8547"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfdumitru.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8543"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfdumitru.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8543"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfdumitru.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8543"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}