Childhood Memories

excerpt At sundown we'd trail back to the boarding house, have a quick bite, and then entreat Gaffer Bodranga to pipe unto us. Theology students would converge in droves upon our place, for it had come to be their haunt; and we'd dance the whole night through, as befitted our tender years, till dawn crept upon us unawares. Come to think of it, that turned out to be an excellent remedy for my general distress, and likewise for Trasnea's constant mumbling in his sleep: "What is Romanian grammar, it is… what is, it is…" as was his wont.Still, daybreak would by no means put an end to our mirth: it only fired us to new heights, if anything… For no sooner had the Gaffer removed the whistle from his lips, than out of the blue, Father Buliga, also known as Ciucalau, of the Buciumenii Lane, descended upon us, having had more than his fair share of Holy Communion wine and related sacraments at break of day. May he rest in one piece! He'd bless us with both hands, high-priest fashion, and then proceed to paint us a rosy picture of this priest's daughter, hailing from Falticenii-Vechi: what a gem of a girl she was, what a good priest's wife she'd make – my type exactly, not that I really had a choice, intent as her dad was to have me tie the knots with the damsel, and he'd go on much in the same vein, with many such parables and dark sayings, the joker, until Gatlan would cajole him into changing the topic:"Mercy, most honored Father, Your Holiness should not give voice to such fabrications on the very first day of Lent. Now then, Mos Bodranga, play on for a spell, do, so that we'll have our fill of mirth, for His Holiness will pardon us in his mercy."Goffer Bodranga faithfully resumed piping, and the lads joined the dance with a vengeance. Father Buliga, though old and stricken in years, would hitch up the skirts of his priestly robe in keeping with the general mood, saying:"As far as I'm concerned, m'lads, may the good Lord bless you with mirth in abundance for as long as you live."Then he'd cast off his kamilavkion and plunge himself into the thick of the dance, his ample mane keeping time. we'd stomp our feet with ever-increasing frenzy for a spell, then start all over again time after time after time, till the venerable priest's soul almost parted company with his poor body. Then we'd leave him all limp and feeling our company was too much of a good thing. But, as they say, "can't quit dancin' while there's pipin'!" At long last, as it started dawning on him what a misguided lot he'd joined, the unfortunate priest attempted backing out of the whole thing diplomatically:"I've got a flock to look after, dear lads, they're waiting for me, and by hook or by crook, go to them I must, for having put my hand to the plough, I can't look back."Taking his cue from him, Paval, our landlord, would promptly set a platter of savory snacks and a flagon of wine before Father Buliga, saying:"Come share our humble meal, most honored Father. Do have a morsel and a glass of wine or two, and then you'll go about the kingdom business if it's as urgent as you claim."His Holiness, finding no room for further argument, would fold his hands piously, and having cleared his throat, said grace in all humility:"Lord, bless Your servants' nourishment and liquid sustenance, amen." Next he raised his glass saying: "M'lads, I do bow down before your vigorous youth, and drink your health. May the good Lord prevent us with like blessings in the hour of our direst adversity!" And he downed the glass in one gulp. Two or three further glasses would follow suit in quick succession, and then a few more, for good measure, till the time came for him to bless us once again with both hands, saying: "How then, m'lads, the hour has come for you to slow down." Then he would leave us to our own devices and go about his business. We continued, true to the old saying:Neither doctor, nay, nor priestCould ever make you desistWhen you've got a mind to feast. As dusk slipped into evening, we trailed away with Gaffer Bodranga in tow, to do the honors of an establishment we favored, where the charms of the publican's wife attracted more patrons than the comforts of the wine did, and for good reason too, for the wench was a beauty, so help me… And to cap it all, she had just married a jaded widower of such dispassionate disposition that he was the obvious choice for whoever sought lavish hospitality. 1881


by Ion Creangă (1838-1889)