Ph. D. Cornelia Păun Heinzel: 'the Shock' 2 Poem by Cornelia Paun

PH. D. CORNELIA PĂUN HEINZEL: 'THE SHOCK' 2
Translation: Iuliana Costache

Through collapsed walls, at the beginning of a typical deformed street, miserable figures, broken, with shady faces…
Your mind flies to Dante, travelling through one of Hell's rings. One he did not find yet. An earthly Hell…
A playful little girl is being chased by a mad dog, like a hellhound. His bark attracts other pack of dogs nearby. The dogs are surrounding her and jump at her throat, showing their white sharp teeth. They suffocate her with their huge paws. But then, suddenly a man throws a stick at them. He screams and they run away in fear…
In front of them lays a church. And the same strange crowded architecture is distinguished, the sidedoors are newly painted but the walls are ancient, chaoticaly shelled, pierced violently by the modern central heating pipe, recently installed on which on a headboard says "HISTORICAL MONUMENT".
My thoughts runs nostalgically to the poor old people, who live in the old houses, still staying in one piece, which are probably filled with valuable books and art pieces, the same as the architectural elements which are carved on the outside, to the fear in which they live in daily, powerless in front of danger. Because Jean Valjean's little group from the park seemed really courageous. They seemed to have a really big purpose…
We arrived nearby the house for sale a half an hour earlier. We then decided to go look for it, after the clues that our salesman gave to us: its age, the type of architecture, the aspect. Assuming the information corresponded with the reality.
Two huge houses looked liked in the description. We studied them from afar. Especially because in one of them, because someone was watching us from behind some lacy yellow curtains. We couldn't tell who it was. We thought it's an older person.
Isabela was thoughtful. Her thoughts traced back yesterday. How much she wanted for everything to be real! For her o buy the apartment. She daydreamed about everything that happened.
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Paul was waiting for her at the hospital. He saw Isabela rushing out and nervously greeted her telling her the news:
- I found out something amazing! I found a house to buy!
Isabela didn't reply and stared coldly at him, absent.
- Isabela, did you heard me? I found a house! Paul repeated.
As if she woke up, she finally replied:
- A huse? You found something to buy? But can we afford it? She asked.
- Yes! It has a fair price! He said gladly.
- And where is it? Isabela asked doubtful.
- Here, a few blocks away. I talked to the real estate man and he said we could go see it on Monday. I only know the name of the street.
- Let's go check it out now! She impatiently said. We'll figure it out!
- Alright! Paul agreed. We'll go now if you want!
They strolled around a few streets, went across the boulevard and got on a little street.
- Look, an older house! Could this be it? But, isn't it too big? The ground floor and the first floor are empty. Although, look, there's an old woman in the attic watching us? Paul said.
They both looked to the window, studying carefully at the same time, the building. On the ground floor the windows were recently attached and they were strongly in contrast with the rest of the building. It was recently painted, but the floors were covered with peeling plaster, in a degrading state. If you looked at the attic, you didn't need much imagination to see it being crushed by any move. It just freaked you out! You felt as if in the next moment it could fall on your head! The old woman ran away scared from the window.
- Let's see other houses. Maybe we'll guess which is ours! Isaela said. It couldn't be this one!
After they left the street, the house resembled more and more the description they were given.
- We'll find out on Monday which one is it, Paul said. We should be a little patient!
- Alright, she agreed.
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The real estate agent called us instead and he suddenly appeared with his car at the meeting point. We drove away home together. In front of the house, we saw a corpulent woman around her fifties, with olive skin and a long dyed black-bluish hair waiting for us. She was with a young fat boy, with features that implied he was mentally retarded.
The woman aggressively introduced herself s a stomatologist from a village around Bucharest, where she said she lived with her son. We felt a little trustful because of her shady-looking face.
- We have a villa in construction! Said the woman. And this is my son. He studied medicine, in a private institution, she said. While he was a student, we bought this apartment from the house, which I now want to sell.
We entered the yard. The exterior of the house looked pretty well for its passing through ages.
- It would've been better if it was near the street! Isabela pointed out.
In the yard, pieces of some sideway and garbage was thrown around.
We each climbed on some narrow spiral stairs, to the first floor of the house. A glass door, recently installed appeared in front of us. The real estate agent opened it.
The apartment was relatively small, compared to the rooms we were used to and in which we lived. But they were our parents houses. The old interior was packed with windows, new ceramic tiles, modern sanitary installations. The price was however acceptable.
- The lady upstairs wants this apartment. But we don't want to sell it to her. Don't talk to her! She's sort of insane, the shady lady said.
- What about the notary? Isabela asked.
- You could choose it. We have our own. And lawyers, and connections… We could do the paperwork at them. If you want, of course!
- No, no! We'd better choose the notary! Isabela said, so she could know for sure that the transaction would be made correctly. Many of the people she knew said they got into trouble with the notary men. Even a friend who worked as a notar told her about other situations where other notaries made false paperwork.
When they wanted to leave, the curvaceous lady gave them a CD with some music on it.
- This is the CD with my recordings on it. I am very passionate about music. I sang at a TV show once, the woman said to us.
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