Zula (Part I)

Zula was phenomenal. She was so beautiful that when I walked with her in the street, of the hundreds of passers-by, maybe one did not turn to look at us. And there had to be something wrong with that one’s eyes. 

Zula could be compared to the at this time young, emerging star of Italian film, Sophia Loren, with this, that Zula, having a similar frame, represented a bit less sharp-like facial features than the recalled Loren. She was three or four years older than me. Being a divorcee, she already had the chance to have two or three—I never found out the whole truth—husbands, but I completely lost my head over her. 

As matter of fact we had known each other by sight. Sure, a few times we were at the same social gatherings and it seemed to me that she always looked my way with a certain interest, but never did I have the occasion to take any actual decisive and absolute moves. For an absence of girls I had nothing to lament about, but for Zula, of whom I thought about very often, I awaited a favorable coincidence. It was the end of January. Hair cut short, dressed in an RAF jacket, a yellow scarf, brown velvet pants, horizontally-striped colored socks and cherry, of course American, half-boots on rubber soles, in front of central station, I waited for a taxi. I saw one coming and when it stopped, I saw getting out of it none other than Zula. 

She had a medium sized leather suitcase and this kind of travel bag. I disregarded all else and leapt immediately to help her. Carrying already her baggage, the entire time I bemoaned that this was inconvenient, but that I must help her, because I felt towards her a very strong familial connection. 

When intrigued she turned to me and questioned this, I told her that my favorite mare for horse riding as well as for hunting was one of Uncle Apollinari’s, and she just so carried the name Zula, which as a matter of fact was absolutely true. 

This amused her greatly; to this time probably no one had ventured to compare her to a mare. We stood for a moment on the platform. Zula was making a trip to the capital, a seven hour trip by express train. With the train, as usual, there was something wrong and through the station megaphone they announced that it would be late by about forty minutes. I told Zula then, that I unfortunately had to go because I did not have time; I left her with her suitcase in the middle of the platform. 

Disappointed and angry she watched as I hastily made distance and disappeared. I ran quickly into the station’s recently opened flower shop, where I bought the largest and most beautiful bouquet of flowers and after a few minutes made my way to sneak up on Zula from behind, handing her the bouquet and asking if she knew I was going to return soon. She knew. 

On the platform, time passed very quickly and when the train came into the station we got into the wagon. Zula travelled first-class. In the compartment, I immediately doffed and hanged my coat. We sat down. I told her that I had for her very sweet surprises. At that moment I thought everything through exactly, and because for a long time I loved her so, I decided to go with her to the capital. 

On her beautiful face were painted three feelings... mirth... thrill, and... shock. At any cost, Zula tried to dissuade me from my aim. I told her that I would be no burden, no burden at all to her, showing her my cash, which by chance I had with me, at the same time promising that I would only carry her suitcase for her and that this would already be for me maximum luck. Because into our compartment entered an older couple and soon after that a priest, Zula and I left for the corridor.