This morning we divided our labour. Nelu and Oprea set off with two horses to bring hay, whilst Cornel and Vasile stayed here to work, cleaning the stables and yard. After a while, Nelu and Oprea brought the first part of the hay, which they had divided into two loads. Somewhat later, from my window I spotted them returning, each leading a horse. In such circumstances it’s always worth going out and finding what has happened. Going after the second load, they had overturned their cart on the field, which can be a risk with a heavily loaded cart on a steep slope. Plus, the hay is light this year, with the result that carts load higher for a given weight of hay. They announced their intention of recovering the hay with a sledge, which has a lower centre of gravity, then paused for lunch.
By the time they had eaten, they had remembered that the ice on the road had thawed, so they led the two horses back, unloaded the cart, righted it, and reloaded the hay. It cannot have been too difficult because they were soon back. We weighed the hay, and took the cart up onto the higher field beyond the stream, where the north-facing slopes are still frozen. The horses won’t make the ground muddy there.
Afterwards, we got to talking. I told of how, when I visited the Blue Bar the night before, the private meeting room there was crowded with the local police. At least one constable was unsteady on his feet. This surprised no-one, knowing the general state of rural law enforcement, however I was told that they were meeting to hear about the exploits of two of their number. It was the case of Paul the Crazy.
Pavel Nebunul, to give him his local name, had an appropriate epithet. Villagers all knew of him, silly old man or worse depending one one’s point of view. There was much hearsay to the case. He had, or hadn’t, done some mischief to a female relative. (Since she appeared unscathed on the TV news, it can’t have been anything too bad.) He had, or hadn’t, brandished an axe at two local policemen. They had, or hadn’t, disarmed him using force. (Perhaps, if one has to disarm a mad axeman, force may be justified.) All in all, it was a bizarre local tale that will survive, retold in embellished versions, for years to come. Just see how much the tale became embroidered throughout one day.
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