7

    I never caught up to Burhan. I took a bus going towards the women’s residence. I thought of nothing but Mira all the way. I blamed my father, but I still could not believe that Mira would be expelled from the conservatory. The misunderstanding had to be cleared up. One accusation was not enough to decide someone’s fate.
    I got off the bus and walked up the lane that led to the residence. I had walked up this lane many times with and without Mira. The whole neighbourhood was verdant on those spring evenings, and the air was filled with the sound of girls laughing, talking, and singing the occasional song. Now on this cold and rainy February day, it was quieter.
    At the entrance stood a short man with a brimmed hat. He was waiting for someone. He was smoking a cigarette and had his eyes fixed on the building. I was sure it was Mira’s father, though I had never actually seen him before. He studied me and then turned away and began to walk down towards the little courtyard.
    He was a few metres away when I went up to the doorman and asked him to call Mira. He nodded in silence and came out of his booth. Quite unexpectedly he turned towards me and said:
    "Her father is waiting for her, too."
    "Is that right?" I said and looked over at the man pacing back and forth with his eyes fixed on the ground and a cigarette in his mouth. I was tempted to introduce myself but I decided to wait for Mira. He looked like a wise man but one who was carrying a heavy burden.
    At that moment, Mira appeared in the little garden, dressed in her blue coat. I glanced towards the man. When he realized that I, too, was waiting for her, he appeared to shrink, as if he were trying to withdraw into his cream-coloured dufflecoat.
    Mira gave me her hand. There was a gleam in her eyes despite the sadness of her expression. She seemed to think I was bringing good news.
    "My father is here, too," she murmured and approached him timidly.
    "Let’s go, daughter," he said in a shrill quivering voice.
    I stood a little apart from them. Mira turned towards me and said to her father,
    "This is a friend of mine from the conservatory."
    We shook hands. He looked at me with his little eyes as if wondering: "Is he the one?" But he retained his composure.
    We started off down the lane. Where were we going? What should I say to him? How could I find out what had been said at the dean’s office? What could I do to speak to Mira alone? It would be difficult to separate the two of them.
    As we were walking, he suddenly asked me:
    "Whose son are you?"
    I live in Tirana but my parents are from Korça. My father moved to Tirana right after the liberation."
    "Is that so? What is your father’s name?"
    "Demosten Reufi," I replied.
    "Really? You are Demosten’s son?" he exclaimed.
    "Do you know him?"
    "And how! We were in the same battalion during the war. Good old Demosten!" the old man exclaimed.
    I smiled for a moment. Then I frowned and said no more. Mira’s father knew my father! I blushed. How complicated things could become!
    "Good old Demosten! We were once both wounded on the same day. They put us on a cart and drove us to the partisan field hospital. We were treated by a doctor - what was his name? Oh yes, Dr Vasil Karakuli. I wonder what ever became of him?"
    "I haven’t heard of him in Tirana," I replied.
    "How is Demosten anyway? I am getting a bit older," he said.
    "He is fine. He has aged, too," I added.
    "Good old Demosten! Tell him that Take Doko sends his regards. Tell him we were wounded together and treated by the same doctor, Vasil Karakuli," said the old man.
    The fact that my father had been wounded with Take Doko upset me more than anything. Without knowing it, my father was wounding an old comrade, someone who had lain beside him in a field hospital and who had served in the same battalion. I shivered at the thought. The old man followed his daughter’s footsteps. It was a cold February day.
    "Mira," I said, "where are you going?"
    "My father is going to visit an old friend of his and I am taking him there," she explained.
    "I’m going to ask him if there is anything he can do at the conservatory to help," he said. "It’s not the girl’s fault. She is a good student. I don’t believe a word they said. I may be old-fashioned but I don’t believe it at all. They say she has fallen in with a group of bad girls, and all sorts of other things."
    "Who said that?" I exclaimed, forgetting myself momentarily.
    The old man, startled at the tone of my voice, stopped and looked at me apprehensively.
    "Someone at the dean’s office. Wait a moment, I’ve forgotten his name."
    "Durgut!" said Mira in a weary voice.
    "Yes, that’s right, Durgut," repeated the old man.
    "How dare he!" I cried passionately.
    "You think so, too? It’s nothing but gossip, I tell you. Your fellow students said so," he added, turning to his daughter. I noticed a new gleam in his eye. He shook his head slowly, smiled and said, "Gossip!"
    I began to admire this man who had such faith in his daughter. I had expected to find an old man furious at his daughter, a father come to tear her hair out in front of Durgut. Instead he shrugged off the accusations with one word: "Gossip."
    We stood at the bus stop. Take Doko told Mira to go back to the residence, that he would visit his friend alone. Mira looked at me and turned to her father, saying:
    "Are you going to spend the night at a hotel or at your friend’s place?"
    "I imagine Nasi will insist that I stay," the father said and got onto the bus.
    We waited until the bus departed and began to walk. The sky was cold and grey. There was snow in the air.
    "My poor father," said Mira.
    "What’s happening, Mira?" I asked, feigning ignorance.
    Mira trembled as if she were frozen.
    "It is all so unbelievable. Durgut called me to his office this morning and accused me of being indecent. He said that you had gone down the drain because of me and that I was responsible for impeding the education of a cadre. He also claimed that I had brought other girls to the conservatory to meet the male students and that we have been spending our afternoons in ‘immoral’ activities. He said I would have to post a statement of self-criticism on the notice board, saying that I had recognized my errors, that I would put an end to my immoral ways and that I would not see you again. Otherwise I would be expelled from the conservatory. He notified my father, too. Of course he didn’t tell him everything he told me. He beat around the bush. I have never been so insulted!" said Mira, biting her lower lip and with tears welling in her eyes.
    "Are you really going to put a statement on the notice board?" I asked.
    Mira looked at me in amazement.
    "The statement of self-criticism Durgut wants? How could you think I would do such a thing, Arthur?"
    I took her arm and drew her towards me.
    "You mustn’t write so much as a word! It’s all nonsense. I won’t allow such slander to spread no matter who started it. Don’t worry, Mira!" I said, stroking her hair. She stood silent and I could feel a sense of relief in her.
    "Arthur, I am embarrassed to suggest it, but could it be your father who made these accusations?"
    My right shoulder twitched as if she had struck me.
    "You mustn’t think that, Mira! I’m going to get to the heart of the matter myself," I said without explaining any further.
    We walked for a while in silence, each of us pondering. Until then, my only worry had been how to quit the conservatory, but now, new and much more complicated problems had arisen. Yes, my father was behind it all!
    When it got dark, I accompanied Mira back to the residence and returned home.