I will recapitulate the small scene as related by Herr Alexianu, eyes fixed, the damp cloth clinging to his forehead, his face showing an occasional twitch of pain.
Colonel Turturiuk (approaching Tildy, raising the turkey leg above his shoulder to point at the picture): “So, you’re getting a close look, eh, Tildy? Getting a good look, Niculaie, my son. But do you know what you’re looking at? No, you don’t. You don’t know who those two people are up there. Shall I tell you? Do I, your colonel — do I, Mitică Turturiuk, dare tell you who they are?”
Tildy collected himself, very correctly and properly, in his unique, provocatively expressionless manner — his “English” face — displaying a nonchalant polish that according to Herr Alexianu would have been considered ironic coming from anyone else, but from Tildy, who was known for being incapable of irony, could only be taken as an attitude of supreme arrogance. Meanwhile the colonel continued, raising his voice:
“I want to tell you who these are, these two peasants, by the devil and all his relations with his mother. Because I am proud of them, you understand. Understand what I am telling you, Major: these are my parents, my father and my mother, legitimately joined before God by the Orthodox priest, exactly nine months before my birth. Yes sir. Not one day too early and not one hour later …”
Here the colonel paused briefly — Herr Alexianu couldn’t say whether it was to reflect on the somewhat confusing time relationship, which the colonel might have expressed more precisely, or to ensure that his words had the proper effect. In any event Turturiuk immediately continued:
“Yes sir! Both parents. Father and mother of a soldier, by all the whore’s churchbells. You understand, Major? Father and mother of your comrade and superior. Your colonel and your commandant. Do you understand what that means, Niculaie Tildy?”
The colonel was merely trying to dismantle the barriers that exist between people — it was a salt-of-the-earth attempt, candid and direct, but Tildy found no other way to react, according to Herr Alexi — anu, than to click his heels together so that his spurs gave a slight clink, ostensibly as a sign of polite respect, but one that showed the same provocatively dismissive mastery-of-military form for which he was all too well known … According to Herr Alexianu and the accounts of all those who had the opportunity to witness this scene, Tildy’s gesture — at that precise moment and in that precise context — seemed cold to the point of confrontational, and caused the colonel to stop for a few seconds and stare at Tildy, shaking his head and wagging the turkey leg in disapprobation.
Turturiuk: “No, Tildy. No, you son of boyars. That’s not the way to do things, understand? Not that way, Major! I ask you: Do you know who these people are up there? And I answer you: Those are my parents, in the name of the holy whorey Trinity, yes sir, my parents, the parents of Colonel Mitică Turturiuk — these two boorish peasants who couldn’t read or write, photographed on the fairgrounds for three hard-earned kreuzers. But they were real people, you understand? Real people with real hearts. You aren’t a real person, Major. You are a good officer, and a fair man. You wouldn’t be capable of hitting a recruit. There’s no other squadron like yours. But you’re not a real human being. What are you, anyway? A Hungarian? I shit on the Hungarians — we’re not afraid of them. Or are you a Russian? I shit on the Russians, too. Or what, then? You’re a German. Or are you a human being? Tell me yourself, Niculaie — are you human? If you are, then take this glass here and drink! Drink to my parents. To these two simple peasants, the parents of your superior comrade, Colonel Mitică Turturiuk.” The colonel’s head, already deeply flushed, now turned a shade of purple. “To the parents of all your comrades. The parents of this country, which you have the honor of serving, with your arms and with your blood. Drink!”
With that the colonel held his glass out to Major Tildy, while his right hand held the turkey leg aloft like a club.
What followed, according to Herr Alexianu, caused the witnesses of this encounter great dismay, or even disgust, and provided proof after the fact for the legitimacy of the indescribable inner aversion people had always felt for Tildy. Because, as Năstase put it: “Coldness of heart needs to be paired with character. Then it becomes a form of being that deserves acknowledgment, a biologically correct attitude — nature is cruel — in accord with the basic precept of intelligence in dealing with one’s fellow human beings: the respect we receive only grows to the degree we show disrespect for others. Coldness of heart without character, however — in other words coldness of heart that is kept within certain bounds and is coupled with sentimentality and timidity in the face of conventional institutions and ideas, grand phrases and melodramatic situations — that is nothing more than being German.”
In any event Tildy, without a moment’s hesitation, grabbed the glass and, standing to attention, with eyes so fixed on the photograph he failed to notice the smear marks from Turturiuk’s lips, drained it in one stroke.
Even Turturiuk was so taken aback that he didn’t embrace Tildy and seal the reconciliation with a brotherly kiss. “The embarrassed silence that followed,” said Herr Alexianu, “was felt by all.”
This awkward scene was interrupted by a fortunate coincidence that allowed for a saving exit, as Gyorgyovich Ianku finished his tango at that very moment, and Madame Turturiuk, wearing her very cosmopolitan dress, left her dancing partner, walked over to the two officers, and said: “What’s going on with you two? Is this a fight or a declaration of love?”
Turturiuk (his conciliatory inclination was reemerging, under the influence of the wine): “Look here, my little woman, by all the Easter votives of the Metropolitan!” (To Tildy) “Isn’t she a sweet one! You should see her when she’s all undressed!” (Again to Madame Turturiuk) “Permit me, Alexandra, to introduce my comrade, Major Niculaie Tildy.”
Madame Turturiuk (with a cosmopolitan smile): “We know each other from sight, I believe. I’m very sad, Major, that your wife was unable to grace us with the pleasure of her company.”
Tildy: “No one regrets that more than Tamara herself, Madame. She is ailing and hasn’t been able to go out for some time.”
Madame Turturiuk: “So I hear. Please give her my best regards. Unfortunately I haven’t had the privilege of meeting her, but I admire her greatly. Elle est très élégante.”
Tildy gave a curt bow, and Madame Turturiuk burst out in hearty laughter. “You can see right away you’re not from the capital. Otherwise you would have slapped me.”
At that point, according to Herr Alexianu, a clear look of bewilderment registered on Tildy’s otherwise expressionless face, and in a very wooden voice he asked: “Madame?”
Madame Turturiuk: “In the capital, if you tell an officer his wife is elegant, it is an insult. Because it means either that she steals her clothes or that she has a lover who pays for them. An officer never makes enough money to buy fancy clothes.”
The colonel roared with laughter at the well-played joke. Still catching his breath, he gave his wife a slap on the ass and added: “Or else he has a mistress who gives him enough money.”
Madame Turturiuk didn’t spare her husband her own look of astonishment at his unexpected riposte. Only Tildy didn’t laugh, as was to be expected.
Just then Gyorgyovich Ianku started up the tango “Drive on, Coachman.” Madame Turturiuk stood there a few moments, fully expecting that Tildy would ask her to dance, as propriety demanded. But Tildy, once again master of his “English” demeanor, made no move to do so, and the situation would have become embarrassing all over, if Lieutenant Boldur hadn’t saved the day by jumping up from the couch and leading the colonel’s wife away. Even the colonel just stared off pensively for a moment, gave a deep sigh, and then walked off without saying another word to Tildy.