Chapter 18 Chapter Seventeen

Athens made father tense and tired.I found out after a day there.For me, Athens is inspiring.It was February 1974, his first trip in three months, and he took me with him reluctantly because he didn't like the Greek troops in the streets.I want to enjoy every moment as much as possible.I know that after a while, my father will not only point out the ruins to me, but also continue to tell me his own story. The restaurant I chose, my father said, was a bit far from campus, far enough that I felt outside the reach of that annoying librarian, but not so far that it made sense, since I was inviting a Ladies who barely know each other dine.

When I opened the door and went in, she turned to look at me. I think she stared at me more intensely than in the library that day. "Good morning," she said coldly. I sat down on the chair across from her, thinking I'd change into a clean shirt before I went out, even if I was going to find a vampire.She was wearing a men's white shirt, which looked a little serious against the black coat, but she looked pure and flawless. "I know you find this a bit strange." I sat up straight and tried to meet her eyes, wondering if I could ask all of her questions before she got up to leave again. "I'm sorry, but this was definitely not a prank, and I didn't mean to bother you, or interfere with your work."

She nodded to me.Looking at her face, I suddenly felt that her whole outline-and of course her voice-was both ugly and elegant.I couldn't help cheering up, as if this discovery made her a real person. "I noticed something strange this morning," I began to say confidently, "and that's why I called you out of the blue. Do you still have the Dracula?" " She reacted immediately, but I reacted faster because I knew she would, and her already pale face suddenly changed color. "Yes," she said warily, "what business is it to you that other people borrow books from the library?"

I ignored her provocation. "Did you tear off the catalog card for this book in the library?" This time her response was unabashedly sincere: "You ask me what I did?" "I went to the library early this morning to look up the catalog and find something - something on a topic we all seem to be working on. There I found all the catalog cards on Dracula and Stoker ripped out. " Her face tensed suddenly, and there was only one expression on it: a subtle, flickering fear. "Those cards were there yesterday morning," she said slowly. "I looked up Dracula first, and there was this entry in the catalog card, which showed only one book. Then I wanted to check to see if Stoker had any other works, so I looked him up in the catalog card. I found a few cards, one of which was the catalog card for Dracula."

"Obviously someone doesn't want you—I—anyone—to borrow that book," I concluded, lowering my voice and looking at her. "It's a big joke." "Is that book still with you?" "Yes, it's in my schoolbag." She glanced down.I saw beside her a briefcase, which she was carrying yesterday. "Miss Rossi," I said. "I'm sorry you might think I'm crazy, but I personally think you're putting yourself in danger by holding this book." "Why do you think that?" she asked back, not looking me in the eye. "Who do you think doesn't want me to have this book?" Her cheeks were starting to change color again.

I wondered with horror that if she was in league with vampires, she looked like everything: her black hair, her thick accent, from nowhere, the dark cherry lips on her pale face, the elegant black and white attire.I firmly rejected the idea.That was totally my fantasy.It's only natural that I'm jumpy right now. "Do you know anyone who wouldn't wish you had that book?" "Actually, there is, but it has nothing to do with you." She stared at me. "Why are you looking for this book? If you want my phone number, why don't you just ask me for it and ask for it?" Going around in such a big circle?"

This time, I felt myself blushing. "I didn't intend to ask for your phone number. I didn't think you might know about it until I saw the directory card being ripped away," I said stiffly. "They didn't," she said sharply. "So you have the best reason to call me. If you just want my book, why don't you just book an appointment at the library?" "I want it now," I shot back.Her tone started to irritate me a little.I thought maybe she wouldn't think I was crazy if I told her the whole story.However, that would put her in greater danger.I couldn't help but sighed loudly.

"Are you threatening me to take out the library books?" Her tone softened. "No, it's not. But I want to know who you think doesn't want you to borrow this book." She shrugged uneasily.I saw a longer strand of hair falling from the lapel of her sweater, her own black hair, but with a brassy sheen against the black fabric.She seemed to be making up her mind what to say. "Who are you?" she asked suddenly. "A graduate student here, from the Department of History." "History?" she asked quickly, almost angrily. "I'm writing a dissertation on Dutch trade in the seventeenth century."

"Oh." She was silent for a moment. "I study anthropology," she said anyway. "But I'm also very interested in history. I study the customs and traditions of the Balkans and Central Europe, especially my home country—" Her voice is softer, slightly sad but not taboo—"My home country Romania." It was my turn to be startled.Really, this is getting weirder. "Is that why you read Dracula?" I asked. Her smile surprised me—showing her white teeth, which were too small for such a sharp-edged face, and her eyes were still shining: "You can say that."

"You didn't answer my question," I pointed out. "Why should I answer you?" She shrugged again. "I don't know you at all." "You may be in danger, Miss Rossi." She looks at me. "You're hiding something too," she said. "If you tell me, I'll tell you too." I have never met, known, let alone spoken to such a woman. "Okay. You answer my question first," I said in her tone, "who do you think doesn't want you to have this book?" "Professor Bartholomew Rossi," she said, her voice full of sarcasm and irritation. "You're in the History Department. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

I sat there dumbfounded. "Professor Rossi? What—what do you mean?" "I've answered your question," she sat up straight. "Now, you have to tell me what you mean, what are you talking about, and tell me that a book can make people dangerous." "Miss Rossi," I said. "Please take your time. I'll tell you. Tell you everything I know. But first explain to me your relationship with Bartholomew Rossi." "I don't know why I'm telling this to a stranger," she mused. "My relationship with that famous Professor Rossi is very simple, or should be very simple. He's my father. He was looking for Dracu in Romania." Met my mother while pulling." I was so startled that I spilled all the coffee on the table. "So you're terrified by this," she said flatly. "So you must know him?" "Yes," I said. "He was my mentor. But he never told me about Romania, nor -- nor did he say he was married." "He didn't have a family." The coolness in her voice penetrated my whole body, "I've never seen him either. Although I think it's just a matter of time." She leaned back in her chair, "I saw him from a distance. I met him once, at a lecture—imagine seeing your own father for the first time on that occasion." "Why is this happening?" "Very strange story." She looked at me and said, not as if she was meditating on herself, but as if she was watching my reaction. "Okay. It's the old story of loved and then separated." It was a bit weird coming out of her accent, but I didn't laugh. "Perhaps it wasn't so outlandish. He met her in my mother's village, enjoyed her company for a while, and left her a few weeks later, leaving an address in the UK. After he was gone, my mother found out she was pregnant. Her sister, who lives in Hungary, helped her escape to Budapest, where I was born." "He never told me he'd been to Romania," I muttered, not talking at all. "It's not surprising," she went on, drawing heavily on her cigarette. "My mother wrote to him from Hungary, to the address he had left, telling him she had given birth. He wrote back and said he didn't know Who is she, or how she found out his name, and how he's never been to Romania. Can you imagine how brutal this is?" She looked at me, her eyes were wide and black. "What year were you born?" I didn't feel sorry for asking the young lady's age.She's different from any girl I've ever met, and the usual rules don't apply to her. "1931," she answered bluntly. "My mother took me to Romania for a few days before I knew Dracula. But even that time, she didn't want to go back to Transylvania." "God," I said softly, looking down at the plastic veneer of Formica furniture in front of me, "I thought he told me everything. He didn't tell me this." "He told you—what?" she asked sharply. "Why haven't you seen him? Didn't he know you were here?" She looked at me strangely, but answered unambiguously: "I guess you could say it's a game. It's a fantasy of mine." She paused. "I didn't do too badly at the University of Budapest. In fact, they thought I was a genius," she says almost modestly. Her English was pretty good, I realized for the first time - amazingly good.Maybe she really is a genius. "Believe it or not, my mother didn't finish primary school, but she was re-educated. And I went to university at sixteen. Of course, my mother told me who my father was. Even in Eastern Europe Deep in the curtain, we also know the great books of Professor Rossi. It's not too difficult to find out where he lives, you know; That place. Four months ago, I got a postgraduate scholarship to come here." She was puffing out smoke rings, meditating, her eyes still on my face. She followed her own train of thought and continued: "The daughter who had been separated for many years turned out to be a very good talent. She found her father and had a happy reunion. This should be very good, right?" The sarcasm in her smile made my stomach feel uncomfortable . "But I don't want that. I'm here to let him hear about me, it seems by accident—like my book is published, I'm giving a lecture. I'm going to see if he can hide it then, Ignore me like I ignored my mother. As for this Dracula—” she pointed at me with a cigarette butt, “it’s a good thing that mother is simple-minded, and God bless her, she told me something.” "Tell you what?" I asked feebly. "Tell me about Rosie's Dracula research. I only found out about it before I left for London last summer. It was because of his Dracula research that they met. He went around the village asking about vampire legends, and she never She'd heard some from her father and relatives—you know, in that culture, a single man shouldn't be talking to girls in public. He was looking for all the stories about Vlad the Impaler in Romania, That our dear Count Dracula. Don't you find it strange? He has never published a treatise or treatise on the subject, as you must know. Why? I asked myself. Why is this famous man in history Haven't the explorers published anything on this curious subject?" "Why?" I asked without moving. "I'll tell you. Because he's waiting for a happy ending. It's his secret, his fanaticism. Otherwise why should a scholar keep silent? But there's one thing that will surprise him." She smiled slyly, I don't like her look like that. "You won't believe what I've discovered in the past year since I found out about his interest. I haven't contacted Professor Rossi, but I've been careful to make my professionalism known in the department. If anyone compares to him What a disgrace to him to be the first to publish a key paper on the subject—and that man bears his last name. Nice job, isn't it?" I must have moaned because she paused and looked at me with a frown. "By the end of this summer, I'll know more about the Dracula legend than anyone else in the world. By the way, I can give you the book you asked for." She opened her schoolbag and blatantly dropped it on the table between us. "I just wanted to check something in the book yesterday, and I didn't have time to go back to the dormitory to get my own. You see, I don't really need it. Besides, it's just a literature book. I almost memorized everything in it. " Father looked around sleepwalking. We have been standing on the Acropolis in silence for a quarter of an hour. My father suddenly woke up from his daydream and asked me what I think about this magnificent landscape. It took me a while to collect my thoughts and answer his problem.I keep thinking about yesterday. I arrived at his room a little later than usual, and his shadow was projected on the undecorated walls of the hotel, a dark shadow bent over a desk, on a darker table.If I hadn't known how tired he was, and had known him slumped shoulders, slumped over the papers, I would have thought at once—if I hadn't known him—that he was dead.