Konrad and Alexandra (pdf) - Rolf Gross

which he had expected her, he knew that she had a legitimate excuse for her lateness. She
had been to the Dadiani’s townhouse to change for the evening.
She had thrown a black shepherd’s burka over her dress. Its simple rectangular shape
enhanced her tall, slender figure. She knew how to dress with the simplest pieces available.
Fascinated and full of expectation Konrad watched the elegant black figure walk among the
brown leaves drifting in the wind.
His anger at her late arrival was gone. He got up to receive her at the upper landing of
the staircase. The pleasure of watching her from a distance prevailed over his guilt of lying in
wait for her. When she saw him, she gave him one of her radiant smiles. They embraced and
exchanged the three perfunctory Georgian kisses, which still electrified him disproportionately.
He helped her out of her burka, which was of the finest Daghestani wool. Underneath
she wore a deceptively simple, charcoal gray dress, from which evolved, enhanced by her
warm body, the merest trace of perfume. Around her exposed neck lay a thin, exquisitely
handcrafted gold necklace.
He loved her deliberate simplicity, which suited her clear candor so well.
Very lightly he put his hand on her back, a gesture of pride and affection and guided her
to his table at the window.
He sat across from her, spellbound by the play of emotions on her even face. Delight,
alternating with open, unrestrained excitement, swept in waves across her features like the
wind over a quiet lake, breaking into ravishing smiles around her eyes. Then again, she could
be very still, as if listening to the beating of her own heart. Several times Konrad was tempted
to spontaneously take her in his arms, but all he permitted himself was to kiss her hand.
He would have liked to sit far away from her, at another table, out of reach of her
radiance, to observe her—and himself.
For a moment he succeeded and was startled: He had lost the freedom for such games.
He had fallen hopelessly in love with this extraordinary woman. Irresolute, he said, "That is an
exquisite necklace."
"Do you like this necklace?" She raised her delicate brows, her blue eyes laughed. "I put
it on for you, thinking of your love of unadorned austerity."
She unhooked the necklace and handed it to him. It flowed like water from her hand. Its
links were simple ringlets, all the size of a thumbnail. The lower part of each ringlet had a
broadened lip, hammered from behind, so that a slight wave wandered through the necklace.
The rings were connected by thin horizontal bands. A figure-eight link, lying on its side, acted
as clasp. Every link had been made separately, so that none was exactly like any other. This
slight, almost imperceptible unevenness was the source of the life and beauty of the piece.
He looked at it, pouring it between his hands with true sensual pleasure. "An amazing
piece. Who made it? Where does it come from?"
"Henri Halvejian, an Armenian goldsmith in the Bazaar designed it especially for me. I
have to take you to him. He is an unusual man who only works for people he knows personally.
No two of his pieces are alike. He says that a good piece of jewelry should heighten the beauty
of a woman, to where she will—in the eyes of her lover—surprise herself."
She smiled, her questioning eyes holding his.
"I don’t know where he gets his seemingly inexhaustible designs. In fact, what are you
doing tomorrow? Can we go to see Henri in the afternoon after my boring architecture class?"
Confounded, Konrad lowered his eyes. "Are you bored by Schröder’s lectures?"
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