Fragment from the book “THE PRICE OF HONOUR”
MARIUCA
What is the human being? A flake of light caught in the whirlwind of life…
The sun allowed the gentle and bright forms of its face to quiver over the dusty path of the village in the Sânzâiene’s Valley, over places adorned with vineyards and pastures bathed in the most beautiful, vibrant, and sparkling green. Graceful, with long, chestnut-brown, wavy hair, she hopped lightly over the potholes in the path, letting the delicate trace of her steps disperse at the first gust of wind. Măriuca had inherited a beauty passed down from her ancestors, with celestial blue eyes and a gaze that simultaneously radiated charm and pride. It was the pride she got from her father, Anton Șurian, a deeply rooted feeling that came from their forefathers and ancestors, and never dissipated, not even when they were overwhelmed by the burdens of life.
In her swaying walk, she exuded the charm of a young woman through which destiny foretold sunny days, but also storms. She knew how to cherish life and saw each day as a new beginning. A beginning that unfolded in inviting and unknown moments.
At sunrise, her lips murmured warm prayers, and when she looked at the sky, glimmers of serenity, of hopes, and of pure innocence, swayed in the mirror of her eyes. She didn’t resemble her mother much, who had a more robust body, vigorous movements, and a heavy step. However, despite her delicate physique, Măriuca was diligent, in tending the cornfields and weeding the vineyards. But what she loved most was reading, especially books that told her about the science of nature.
Often, when the dawn scattered white petals of light on the ancestral earth, she liked to spend her mornings in the garden behind her house. Under the azure gazes that reflected the colour of her eyes, next to apple trees, she indulged in the iridescence of rainbows, glimpsed through the plum leaves. From time to time, she curiously examined the grapevines and the slow, miraculous metamorphosis of grape seeds, trying to unravel their mysteries. When she was tired of questions, she lay down in the soft grass, with her arms outstretched towards the endless sky. Among tufts of wildflowers, she hummed songs learned from the women in the village. She had learned them by the spinning wheel, on warm evenings when they spun wool together.
In those places blessed with peace, she felt most intensely connected to nature, and her unsettled thoughts melted, after short time, into the steam of raw grass or into the dew of wildflowers. She felt like in heaven there, dreaming or reflecting about life under the peach leaves that sometimes fell on her bare feet, and covered her with their harmony and charm. It was there that she felt her emotions more vividly, more intensely when those feelings indulged in warm flashes, erupted from the eternal sun. And when she left her enchanted garden, the leaves whispered in sighs, and the sparrows perched on the fence chirped of longing.
The villagers loved her because she had that charismatic smile that stole anyone’s heart. But they also liked her because she was respectful and well-mannered, offering appreciation and warmth when she spoke to the older people.
Eighteen summers had passed since the day when the fine sand of time began to flow from the hourglass of her life. Măriuca was a constant presence at the village balls, as she loved music and dance, and her eyes sparkled with joy, and her face blushed when a young man twirled her in a dance.
She met with the girls from the village, but she didn’t have friends, as it was difficult for her to confide in others. She was also afraid of making mistakes, for as compassionate as the villagers were, their judgment could be harsh and unforgiving. When she took the bus from the village to go to the city, she felt the fiery glances of young men, eagerly waiting for a sign to court her. But she kept her eyes on books, to avoid any confusion, and not to get involved in the village gossip.
Măriuca listened to her father’s words and to her mother’s gentle warnings. “You, child, as long as you live on this earth, do not dare to bring shame upon us! You belong to Șurian! It is not fitting for you to make mistakes!”
She had many beautiful memories from her childhood when she chased animals in the yard, played in the valley with other children, or spent time with her parents in their enchanted orchard. Those memories were filled with harmony and peace.
Sometimes, she joyfully gazed in the small mirror on the windowsill in the kitchen, where her father shaved his beard before going to church. When she went to a ball, Măriuca would put a daisy behind her ear, pinch her cheeks slightly to avoid looking too pale, and bite her lips, which turned the colour of roses. But her beauty was emanated more from a natural kindness that radiated warmth around her.
In addition to her youthful pursuits, she enjoyed spending time with her mother. Often, they both worked in the vineyard. In the evening they sat on the bench in front of the house and waited for the cows, which came back from grazing, walking leisurely with their large wombs, leaving hoofprints in the muddy puddles along the way. She liked to tell her mother about what she read in books, but she kept certain daydreams and adolescent thoughts as a talisman in her heart, which sometimes beguiled her and brought unspoken desires in her dreams. However, at night, when she was alone, she let those desires fly under the twinkling stars, free like wild and frolicking ponies, which then disappeared in the foamy waves of dawn.
When the time came for her to get married, she wished to be wed to a young man from the village, so she could stay close to home and her parents. Like any young woman, she also wished to be loved but, above all, respected by the chosen one of her heart. She understood from her parents that without respect, love had no value.
In the wooden wardrobe in her room, she kept for special occasions a white blouse woven with thin cherry-coloured threads, a skirt embroidered with red roses and green leaves, and black leather shoes with low heels and straps. She sprinkled jasmine flowers between them to perfume her garments.
Her mother often reminded her to be careful, not to engage in lengthy conversations with any young man or take walks with him. “People talk, and honour must be preserved! A girl should be modest, pure, and diligent. God forbid, something would happen! Her mother made with her fingers the cross sign and looked up at the sky in prayers.” Then, she added, ” Then you should know that we no longer have a good life in the village!”
Those were the times in the year 1968. Ancestral traditions, honour, decency, and the purity of women were unwritten laws that had to be respected like commandments from the Holy Bible. Her mother also told her early on that if Măriuca wanted to get an education, she would have to take baskets to the city and sell cheese, butter, and milk to pay for school expenses. Later, during high school, Măriuca’s heart ached when she saw her mother carrying those heavy baskets in the middle of the night, heading to catch the bus to the market. Though, it fuelled her determination to excel in her studies. Her dedication to learning was rewarded with better grades than those children from wealthy families, and her parents were very proud of her.
Her achievements filled her heart with joy, and she had started to walk proudly, with a firm gaze, leaving behind an aura of personality that grew with each passing day, arousing the astonishment and secret admiration of the villagers.
“Best of luck, young woman, you are beautiful!” often the villagers would say to her. Măriuca felt flattered, but deep down in her heart, she feared that her beauty might be harmful. She had an open mind and had read many books, from which she already understood that life’s traps were everywhere. She knew that beauty was no guarantee of happiness; on the contrary, it drew attention to the body and prevented people from seeing the kindness and suffering of the soul.
Although her life was governed by the laws and customs of the village, she did not feel too constrained by them. She understood that everything had a purpose, a destiny. In return, she found her freedom in enchanting sunrises and golden-red sunsets, which brought her peace. And she liked to spend her evenings by the old walnut tree in the garden, from where she would set off with the steps of her curious thoughts, to explore the universe. It was a time when the horizons of hope brought her the most beautiful wishes on gusts of wind.
In her dreams and contemplations, she imagined that the human being was a creation conceived from divine dust, traversed by unleashed emotions, with tumultuous rivers of thoughts, with joys and pains frozen in stupor, with fragrances of earthly beauty and weaknesses.
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