At the Lucky Hand by Goran Petrović

Author:Goran Petrović
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Deep Vellum Publishing
Published: 2020-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

FIFTH READING

WHERE WE CONTINUE TO SPEAK

ABOUT ZEALOUS DEVOTION

AND OTHER CONSIDERABLE EXPENDITURES;

ABOUT A JEWELER’S LOUPE,

A BUST OF PORPHYRY,

THUMBS STUCK INTO A VEST,

ARTISTS’ NECKTIES AND CLOAKS;

ABOUT THE TWISTING

OF BOTH A READER’S INTEREST

AND LIFE BETWEEN TWO LOVES;

ABOUT AN OATH

FOREVER AND EVER;

ABOUT UNBUTTONING WITH ONE’S LIPS

AND UNTYING WITH ONE’S TEETH;

AND ABOUT HOW INSIDIOUSLY REALITY,

SOOT, AND SPARKS

GET INTO EVERYTHING

40

DEVOTING HIMSELF ZEALOUSLY TO THE LETTERS with his entire being, down to the most refined quiver of feeling, Anastas Branica unsparingly spent large sums of money on the various needs of his manuscript. During the years of assiduously creating his novel, during the years of exultation, together with his detachment from everyday affairs, the cash he had inherited began to wither away, finally to dry up completely. Gradually, Anastas began to empty and then to exhaust one bank account after another, selling even the securities he had found after his stepfather’s death. The bundles of stocks grew ever thinner; of some of them there remained only the sagging, tricolor ribbons with which the shares had been bound in crosswise fashion. Had the young man paid the least bit of attention to the state of his financial affairs, an accounting would have shown that he could not have endured such considerable expenses for much longer. But in the same way that he didn’t spare his feelings on the letters sent to his beloved, Anastas also did not keep track of his expenses, continuing to take according to his needs, not caring how much was left. The basic rule to which he adhered was that Nathalie Houville deserved only the best and not for a single moment to haggle with himself over that, nor with others, beginning with Laurent Balagacs and Paulus Winter, the architects of the villa, and with the Parisian professor of horticulture, Pierre Bossard, according to whose blossoming conceptions the sumptuous garden was being laid out, and with those to whom he had entrusted the remaining, less extensive tasks, and with, finally, the unknown persons who brought rare words and multiple meanings. Sometimes he didn’t haggle because he himself wasn’t the one who had the time to enumerate all the many necessary details; sometimes he didn’t haggle because he considered that he did not have sufficient talent to carry out some of those details to the desired perfection, should the deal be broken off.

It is not easy to ascertain how many times he was forced to hire helpers. When he contracted for work to be done, he usually concluded the agreement with a warm handshake, naively leaving a down payment and often not even presenting—still more rarely justifying—the reasons for his puzzling orders. For instance, immediately after putting the roof on the house, he turned up at a well-known dealer in rarities, Isaac Konforti, and made a wide selection of furniture. Not at all surprised—he was used to the customer always being right if he had the means to pay, and, being in the Balkans, he was used to one’s eagerly snatching at extravagant fancies in

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