JOHN FOWLES

The Collector - fragments
 

The first morning I didn't see her, but the next day at last I did. She came out with a lot of other students, mostly young men. My heart beat very fast and I felt sick. I had the camera all ready, but I couldn't dare use it. She was just the same; she had a light way of walking and she always wore flat heels so she didn't have that mince like most girls. She didn't think at all about the men when she moved. Like a bird. All the time she was talking to a young man with black hair, cut very short with a little fringe, very artistic-looking. There were six of them, but then she and the young man crossed the street. I got out of the van and followed them. They didn't go far, into a coffee-bar.
I went into that coffee-bar, suddenly, I don't know why, like I was drawn in by something else, against my will almost. It was full of people, students and artists and such-like; they mostly had that beatnik look. I remember there were weird faces and things on the walls. It was supposed to be African, I think.
There were so many people and the noise and I felt so nervous I didn't see her at first. She was sitting in a second loom at the back. I sat on a stool at the counter where I could watch. I didn't dare look very often and the light in the other room wasn't very good.
Then she was standing right next me. I was pretending to read a newspaper so I didn't see her get up. I felt my face was red, I stared at the words but I couldn't read, I daren't look the smallest look -- she was there almost touching me. She was in a check dress, dark blue and white it was, her arms brown and bare, her hair all loose down her back.
She said, "Jenny, we're absolutely broke, be an angel and let us have two cigarettes." The girl behind the counter said, "Not again," or something, and she said, "Tomorrow, I swear," and then, "Bless you," when the girl gave her two. It was all over in five seconds, she was back with the young man, but hearing her voice turned her from a sort of dream person to a real one. I can't say what was special in her voice. Of course it was very educated, but it wasn't la-di-da, it wasn't slimy, she didn't beg the cigarettes or like demand them, she just asked for them in an easy way and you didn't have any class feeling.

Ioana Delia Dumitru

John Fowles
 

In prima dimineata, nu am vazut-o insa a doua zi, in sfarsit, am zarit-o. A iesit o data cu multi alti studenti, majoritatea baieti. Inima imi batea repede, ma simteam rau. Pregatisem deja camera, dar nu indrazneam sa o folosesc. Ea arata la fel, avea un pas leganat, purta intotdeauna pantofi fara toc, nu parea a fi ca toate celelalte fete. Nu se gandea la barbatii din jurul ei atunci cand se misca. Era ca o pasare. Mai tot timpul vorbea cu un baiat cu parul negru, tuns scurt, cu putin breton, cu alura de artist. Erau sase dar ea si tanarul cu care vorbea au trecut pe partea cealalta a strazii. Nu au mers mult, au intrat intr-o cafenea. M-am indreptat si eu catre cafenea, indemnat de ceva care imi anula vointa. Era plin de oameni, studenti, artisti; aveau toti un aer boem. Imi amintesc ca peretii erau incarcati cu obiecte si statui ciudate. Cred ca erau aduse din Africa.
Erau multi oameni iar eu ma simteam nervos ca nu o zaream. Se asezase intr-un separeu in spate. Eu stateam pe un taburet , langa bar, de unde puteam sa o vad mai bine. Nu indrazneam sa privesc des inspre masa ei, dealtfel nici lumina din cealalta incapere nu era tocmai potrivita.
Apoi s-a asezat aproape de mine. Ma prefaceam ca citesc un ziar, asa ca nu am vazut cand s-a ridicat si a ajuns langa mine. Imi simteam fata rosie, ma uitam la cuvinte dar nu puteam citi, nu indrazneam sa ma uit inspre ea care aproape ma atingea. Purta o rochie imprimata, o combinatie de albastru inchis si alb, avea pielea cafenie si parul despletit.
Vorbea cu fata de la bar: „Jenny nu avem niciun ban, fii draguta si imprumuta-ne doua tigari”. Fata de la bar murmura „nu iar”, dar ea ii raspunse pe un ton rugator: ”maine, iti promit”. Totul se petrecuse in cateva secunde, dar ii auzisem vocea, iar asta o transformase intr-o persoana reala. Nu pot sa imi dau seama de ce vocea ei mi se parea intr-un fel speciala. Avea tonul unui om educat, iar atunci cand ceruse tigarile, nu avusese un ton slugarnic, nici superior, le ceruse pur si simplu, usor, neutru.