Usa / The door

In miezul noptii, bataile in usa se auzeau clar si nu puteau confundate cu nimic altceva decat cu un strigat dupa ajutor. Se uita speriata la ceas apoi, cu ochii inca pe jumatate inchisi, deranjati de lumina palida a veiozei, se indrepta spre usa. O intredeschise usor, cu teama, purtand in brate mormane de intrebari. Strainul din prag o privea gol, cu o jumatate de zambet si jumatate de suspin, in celasi timp, impletindu-i-se pe chip. Desi anonimi, ochii lui adusera povestea.

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Sursa foto

Locuia atunci intr-un apartament modest, intr-un bloc cu multe etaje, cu paliere lungi, unde se invecinau multe usi. Usile erau diferite, unele atent ingrijite si vopsite, noi, lucioase, altele vechi, cu vopseaua scorojita, emanad miros de experienta acumulata involuntar, de timpi trecuti in graba. In fiecare seara si dimineata privea usile, incercand sa contureze un tablou complet: unele erau usor deschise, lasand sa patrunda inauntru o farama de privire, altele erau chiar semideschise, astfel incat iti puteai face o parere destul de clara despre locatar. Mai erau si usile care pareau a fi ferecate pe vecie, pe unde soarele parea ca nu a razbatut vreodata. Se intreba daca locuieste cineva acolo, si daca da, ce fel de specie ciudata de vecini or fi, atat de ingropati in secrete.

Un calcul simplu ii confirma in fiecare zi ca suma usilor neferecate era net superioara celor acoperite de mister, astfel incat se simtea cumva in siguranta stiind ca atunci, in noaptea cand va avea nevoie de o singura usa deschisa doar, o va gasi cu siguranta.

Nu isi mai amintea de ce sunase in seara aceea la usa inchisa. Era o usa noua, lacuita, inalta, ingrijita si curata. Cineva iesea mereu de-acolo, il vazuse de cateva ori in fuga, insa usa se inchidea de fiecare data la loc, fara zgomot, cu o discretie desavarsita. A batut timid si nici nu a asteptat macar un raspuns, indreptandu-se tacut spre casa. Insa raspunsul a venit, curand linistea culoarului lung a fost tulburata de zgomotul cheii invartindu-se in broasca noua, si usa s-a crapat discret.

Au urmat zile de discutii lungi, mereu in prag, usile lor, vecine, se deschideau in fiecare zi la acelasi apel scurt, si ramaneau asa ore intregi. Deja vecinii de pe palier se obisnuisera sa ii gaseasca acolo, impartind hohote si experiente, vise si nelamuriri. Si, fara sa isi dea seama, usa ei s-a izbit intr-o zi de perete, balamalele s-au fortat putin, si toate colturile cu secrete s-au lasat cuprinse de lumina: cana aburinda de cafea, paharul de vin rosu din seara precedenta, niste sticle de vodca goale, sparte, intr-un colt, cateva cioburi de vase vechi, un patut gol, o papusa ciufulita, aruncata pe o polita.

Nu isi mai amintea acum cati au trecut pe coridor atunci sa vada grozavia. Usa ei, desi mereu intredeschisa, nu lasase totusi atatea priviri inauntru.

Apoi intr-o noapte ea a crezut ca a avut un vis ciudat. Se facea ca un scelerat pasionat de semantica reusise cumva sa schimbe sensurile cunoscute ale cuvintelor, doar pentru ca nu ii placeau prefixele. Astfel, oamenii erau acum fortati ca accepte ca incorect era corect, indispensabil era dispensabil, incredibil era credibil, incompetent era competent si multe, multe alte exemple naucitoare. S-a trezit zguduita, si, inca inainte de a realiza daca a fost vis sau nu, a fugit pentru a-si povesti intr-un suflet istorioara fantastica. A ascultat-o cu ochi mari, cu o mana controland parca deschiderea usii.

Apoi ceva s-a rupt. Zilele urmatoare si-a dat treptat seama ca visul nu fusese vis. Apoi a auzit in spatele usii lui niste glasuri, franturi de conversatie, insa nimic care sa se lege. Au mai vorbit de cateva ori, mereu intrerupti de un telefon sunand. Intr-o seara a trecut grabita spre casa, i-a vazut usa intredeschisa, a aruncat o privire scurta si a  vazut o scrisoare rupta aruncata pe o masa, insa s-a retras rapid: usa nu era deschisa pentru ea.

In mod cert, usa lui nu s-a mai dat niciodata de perete, cu toate promisiunile si amanarile, cu toate asigurarile si rugamintile. In cateva nopti, ea a adormit pe pragul lui, ca nu cumva sa rateze vreun semn de viata. Insa in timpul somnului usa s-a deschis si inchis de cateva ori, intr-o liniste desavarsita.

In timp usile s-au inchis pe rand, apoi s-au auzit si lanturile asigurand discretia.

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- Si, spui ca am fost prieteni? il intreba retoric, privindu-l prin zalele lantului care impiedica deschiderea usii.


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In the middle of the night, the knocking on the door was clearly audible and could not be mistaken for anything other than a cry for help. She glanced fearfully at her watch then, eyes still half closed, disturbed by the pale light of the lamp, she walked to the door. She opened it slowly, fearfully, carrying piles of questions in her arms. The stranger in the doorway stared at her blankly, a half-smile and half-sigh at the same time, twisting across his face. Though anonymous, his eyes brought the story.

***

She lived then in a modest apartment, in a multi-storey block with long landings, where many doors were adjacent. The doors were different, some carefully cared for and painted, new, shiny, others old, with peeling paint, emanating the smell of involuntarily accumulated experience, of time spent in haste. Every evening and morning she looked at the doors, trying to get a complete picture: some were slightly open, letting in a glimpse, others were even half-open, so that you could get a pretty good idea of the occupant. There were also doors that seemed to be locked forever, where the sun seemed never to have shone. One wondered if anyone lived there, and if so, what strange sort of neighbours they were, so buried in secrecy.

A simple calculation confirmed to her every day that the amount of unlocked doors far outnumbered those covered in mystery, so she felt somehow safe in the knowledge that then, on the night when he needed only one door open, she would surely find it.

She couldn't remember why she had called that night to the closed door. It was a new door, lacquered, tall, neat and clean. Someone was always coming out of there, she had seen him running away a few times, but the door always closed again, noiselessly, with perfect discretion. She knocked timidly and didn't even wait for an answer, quietly making her way home. But the answer came, soon the silence of the long hallway was disturbed by the sound of the key turning in the new lock, and the door cracked quietly.

Days of long talks ensued, always on the doorstep, their neighboring doors opening every day at the same short knock, and staying that way for hours. Already the neighbours on the landing had got used to finding them there, sharing sobs and experiences, dreams and anxieties. And, without realizing it, her door slammed against the wall one day, the hinges forced a little, and all the secret corners were filled with light: the steaming cup of coffee, the glass of red wine from the night before, some empty, broken bottles of vodka in one corner, a few shards of old dishes, an empty crib, a tattered doll thrown on a pole.

She couldn't remember now how many people had passed through the corridor then to see the horror. Her door, though always ajar, still hadn't let so many eyes in.

Then one night she thought she had a strange dream. It turned out that some semantics-loving scoundrel had somehow managed to change the known meanings of words, just because he didn't like the prefixes. Thus, people were now forced to accept that incorrect was correct, indispensable was dispensable, unbelievable was credible, incompetent was competent and many, many other naughty examples. She woke up shaken, and, even before she realized whether it was a dream or not, she ran off to tell her fantastic story in a heartbeat. She listened with wide eyes, one hand seemingly controlling the door opening.

Then something snapped. The next few days she gradually realized that the dream had not been a dream. Then he heard voices behind his door, snatches of conversation, but nothing that connected. They talked a few more times, always interrupted by a ringing phone. One evening she hurried past the house, saw his door ajar, glanced briefly and saw a torn letter thrown on a table, but quickly retreated: the door was not open for her.

Certainly, his door had never been banged against the wall, with all the promises and postponements, all the assurances and entreaties. In a few nights, she fell asleep on his doorstep, lest she miss some sign of life. But in her sleep the door opened and closed several times, in perfect silence.

In time the doors closed one by one, then the chains were heard ensuring discretion.

***

- So, you say we were friends? she asked rhetorically, looking at him through the chain link that prevented the door from opening.