Part 29.
To the Padrone’s surprise, Dada pulled herself together
relatively quickly. She regained consciousness faster, took control of herself,
and they left the salon without saying a word. She even refused a doctor's
visit, convincing everyone that she felt better.
- Perhaps the road to the city and going around the
salons tired you out so much!
The Padrone "soothed" her for others to hear,
to which Dada nodded in agreement. She completely agreed. She, too, did not
want the Padrone to know what had actually happened to her and why she had
become so ill.
The Padrone was terribly irritated, but for Dada’s sake,
he kept himself in check. He tried to keep her under constant supervision. He
even categorically warned Zeki to treat Dada with warmth and attention, at
which Zeki felt resentful again, though he did not resist.
The gallery was perfectly clean. Dada set about
organizing it. She arranged and ordered the new items according to her own
taste, and she looked so cheerful and happy that nothing showed of the incident
that had taken place in the salon.
The Padrone watched her with satisfaction. He was
convinced that Dada had seen everything perfectly through the window. True, it
was not a pleasant scene at all, but since the girl had recovered quickly and
quickly realized that no one was worth worrying about...
"Wonderful! Dada has proven once again that she
is a smart and perceptive girl."
Suddenly, his gaze darted toward that thick book of
Dada’s on the shelf.
"The coat of arms."
He thought to himself.
He could by no means remember where he must have seen it.
He felt a desire to go through Dada’s notes one more time, but first, it would
be necessary to lure Dada out of there, which, as he could now see, did not
seem so easy.
That same evening, Dada set to work, and from that day
on, the servants' visits to the gallery increased.
Zeki was hovering nearby. Oh, how he wished in his heart
that Dada would offer to let him pose for her, but Dada, just to spite him,
acted as if she didn't even notice him and as if painting him had never even
crossed her mind.
Finally, the Padrone took pity on the sullen gypsy boy.
He suggested to Dada—or rather, did not suggest, but commissioned her, as if he
were a foreign client—to paint Zeki's portrait.
Dada thought for a moment, but since this was a
commission and the work was taking on a serious tone, she nodded her head in a
business-like manner.
Zeki pretended to grumble, saying, "What kind of
time is this, there is so much work to be done on the estate," but he sat
down to be painted anyway, grumbling and mumbling.
Dada signaled with a stern face for him to sit still, and
Zeki, knitting his brows, obeyed.
The satisfied Padrone tiptoed out of the gallery and was
just about to go down the stairs when the image of the same coat of arms
resurfaced in his memory, but this time larger and in color. A large, colored
coat of arms he had seen somewhere before.
He tried to remember where or with whom he had seen it.
It was as if he could hear a familiar voice:
"Ancestral coat of arms..."
But whose?
Someone was bragging about their old noble lineage, but
who?
The Padrone had always been certain that he had played a
role in the destruction of Dada's family. At first, he considered it his duty
to look after the child, but later he became so accustomed to her and grew to
love her so much that, perhaps, had he had a child of his own, he might not
have loved them more, and the girl also responded with great love and warmth.
The Padrone never dirtied his own hands in robbery. At
first, he would watch from a distance, then he would only develop the plan and
set selected people upon the victims. Later, he would receive the report and
distribute the looted property. He was not interested in the rest of the
events, nor did he interfere.
He could not stand the sight of slaughter in the camp
either. It happened not too rarely that, for the sake of something, even a
cheap ring or bracelet, they would set upon each other in the camp and stab one
another without even blinking an eye.
The Padrone had hated fighting and uproar since
childhood. It was indeed a terrible sight; they would attack each other like
savages, and the rivals would be surrounded by the camp in a circle, egging
them on instead of stopping them. This disgusting madness made the Padrone feel
sick, and he would try to run as far away as possible from them at such times.
He would curse his birth and his existence. Why was he
being punished like this? Why had fate destined such a terrible life for him?
He would run out into the field and, burying his head in the grass, sob
bitterly for a long time.
Later, he would pull himself together and continue living
with the hope that one day he would at least get away from these horrific
people and this terrible life, and disappear somewhere far, far away from them
forever.
LEX. Wednesday, March 15, 2016.
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