Fragrance (novel) [10]
Pr. Dr. Dorin Octavian Picioruș
Fragrance
(novel)
*
Pintilie’s Sofica replied to her that it’s about positive discrimination. That when people curse you, you have value, you are your value. Those without value are losers, no one pays attention to them. But if you still steal, and you still do it, then you are available and that’s why people call you abomination. But the abomination is a state of mind! What if people swear at you positively?! They swear at you, to be on their head, there!, because we do as usual. The habit is cast. Whoever has poured has its own situational turns, his paychecks collected, his children well-off, he has a thin veneer of honorability. What honor do we need, if we have piles of money? The pile is our sincerity.
And goddaughter Rița carried wood on her back so she could cook a meal in the cauldron, on the hearth. Oh, the hearth bread! Brushed with egg, smelling of embers, with roasted capsicum peppers spread in vinegar and oil, plus ciușca[1]. And our three-legged, round table, where we ate on rectangular stools. We had someone to eat with! We were the extended family, we were happy in our peace, we were protected by the vine vault. Every good shadow is a reference to God’s mercy, to His all-merciful covering. And I would keep the fast of the Mostpure Mistress with melons and grapes that were starting to ripen and grafted plums. And you ate in peace from the earth, from your earth, where you feel your peace.
I found the title of this novel after much prayer and searching. In the morning of saturday, on august 16, 2025, my new novel received its name. It was originally called: And 35, but also 48, 35 years in faith and 48 years of life. In order to emphasize its reality in my temporality. Then I believed, after many names that I don’t want to list here, that Immersion was better, because it’s a descent into myself. But this morning I understood that his name is Fragrance, in the pavlosian sense. Because it divides the waters. Some will see it in its depth, find it beneficial, enlightening, while others will disregard it outright. But that’s not what interests me! I’m interested in the fact that the grapes had their sweetness and naturalness, that they made me feel at home. Plus a pear and a nectarine from the yard, after I blessed the vineyard. But the walnut, completely dry, without any leaves, was the image of death that makes you forget. Of death that doesn’t let you see life, doesn’t let you see what was, because it swept away the details. And we are made up of details, essential details. Without which we cannot say that we are us. What us, if I can’t present my life, my thoughts, my opera?!
Oana shared two small portions of koliva with small wooden spoons. The thought immediately came to me to paint the spoons. Something I’ve done before, because I introduce them to my visual sensibility. I ate koliva while writing at Testimonies III[2], I ate it with prayer and delicacy, according to Oana’s decency, who made it. And I realized that I have always liked koliva for the meaning of unity it expresses. Koliva is a lesson of love, a prayer of love. Gather all your love and tenderness for your loved ones who have fallen asleep, so that you can remember them with godliness. And the Priest comes and sanctifies the koliva, so that those who will eat from this love, from this unforgetfulness, will be sanctified through it. And this explains why I was waiting to receive koliva on the road, while I was going to or coming back from School: because I liked the diversity of tastes. One was one way, another was another way, I was waiting to be surprised, I was waiting to be happy. But, at the same time, I participated in godliness of those who had made them for their sleeping loved ones. And I participated in their godliness through the joy of their gift. Also yesterday I realized that Simona, in her widowhood, in her delicacy, in her silence, has much in common with my Miruna. When we got on the bus, we found her in the first row next to the driver, walking towards her husband’s grave. I hadn’t seen her for a long time and I was genuinely happy to see her again. Because she is a person proper of self-revelation.
But who, for her own reasons, probably real, closes in on herself, leaving the door ajar. She doesn’t give you any indication that she wants to talk to you in a special way, but she doesn’t reject you either. She’s curious to know about you, but she doesn’t want to be socially disadvantaged by your proximity. That the world’s mouth has many words for widows, especially young ones, and everything can be interpretable. And so I lose a confidant of great sensitivity! Because the discussions must begin beautifully and never end. Friendly discussions, these secret intimacies of ours, are our peace, our fulfillment. The role of literature is the immortalization of friendship. What we discover in ourselves today is the step for tomorrow, it is the joy that blossoms and matures, because the maturation of joy is self-fulfillment.
[1] Grilled tomatoes, chopped, mixed with oil and salt.
[2] Another book of mine, in several volumes, I’m currently working on volume 3. And its full name is Contemporary Orthodox Testimonies.