Free Accident by Mihail Sebastian Page A

think it is, and a very serious one. How can I know whether I’ll ever be able to overcome it? I am talkative, I am frivolous ...”
    Then she smiled, not without a certain sadness.
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    They met a few months later, on a Sunday morning in the spring, at Snagov, where Paul had come for a few days, invited to a villa belonging to some friends.
    He halted with them in passing at the small monastery at the edge of the lake, and to his surprise found Ann there, alone in the cold church, with a sketch pad in her hand.

    â€œI didn’t know you were so hardworking.”
    â€œI’m not. I ended up here by pure chance. I came to Snagov with a large group of friends, but I left them to the lake and the fishing, and I took a moment to see the monastery again. I don’t know if you know it well. There are some enchanting works.”
    She headed towards the exit and from there, from the doorway, turning around to face the interior, she showed him on the wall in front of him, at the entrance to the nave, a fresco in muted colours, but with an admirable group of women. The first woman on the right was turned towards the others with a graceful movement, which caused her garment to fall in soothing folds.
    â€œBut that’s not all that I like a lot here. Come this way, please, and I’ll show you something truly miraculous.”
    She took him by the hand and led him into the centre of the church, next to the altar, from where she showed him the other fresco, of the descent from the cross, on the opposite wall.
    â€œThere are a few mistakes of perspective here that I find moving. And look, in the background there’s an old man stroking his beard with a gesture – how would you describe it? – with a familiar everyday gesture ... It’s a secular gesture and I’m so astonished to find it on the wall of a church!”
    She was speaking with whole-hearted enthusiasm, with passion, although in a whisper, for meanwhile the church was filling with visitors. A tone of conviction and deep emotion, whose existence Paul never would have suspected until now, ran through her words.
    It was late, his friends were in a hurry to go to lunch, and, as he would have liked to spend more time talking to her, he apologized for having to leave.
    â€œStay,” she insisted. “The boat’s coming to pick me up in twenty minutes and I’ll accompany you back to the villa.”
    He was compelled to refuse, but he left with a promise that they would see each other again, a polite promise like any other.
    They saw each other again, however, a short time later.
    Paul came out of the law courts, having wasted a whole day in a small meeting room at a witness hearing in a boring trial. As when he had been at school, the most horrendous days at court were
those that took place in the spring. The tender sunlight that flooded the streets, and which for hours at a time he saw through the window of a meeting room, made him ill; he felt ill at seeing the drab, pale faces stirred by the new colours, worn-out people dozing on park benches in an archive-dusty yellow light. He stopped on the street, drowsy with sunlight, and closed his eyes for a moment. He felt dirty, his clothes were too heavy, his collar had wilted, his tie was twisted. He would have liked to shake himself free, as though of soot after a long train trip. The whiff of the archives accompanied him, and on his lips was a taste of yellowed old papers.
    He went slowly, with heavy steps, around the back of the courthouse. He felt old, and everyone who passed him seemed young. His briefcase hung heavily, as though made of lead. If he hadn’t been embarrassed to do so, he would have put it down for a moment, like a porter taking a respite from a heavy load.
    On SfinÅ£ii Apostoli, past Apolodor, he was surprised to glimpse a completely unexpected event a few steps from him: hanging boyishly from the bars of a wrought-iron door, through which a