Roman à Clef

There was once, many years ago, a man who lived in Craiova and worked as a technician in the local armory. His name was Dudu. Dudu loved the various Romanian specialties, like ciorbă, shkembe chorba or iskembe, and always made sure to salute the flag when necessary. Dudu, like all men, had a major problem. He needed to find a wife. This was many years ago, when there were no blogs, and Dudu couldn't figure out what to do. None of the local Romanian women would marry him, and he didn't have the money to travel abroad.

This sad situation continued for many years. One day the military attaché of one of the consulates in Craiova came over to Dudu and asked him to pass on some secrets. Dudu was shocked. First of all, he loved Romania-how could it enter this man's head that he would betray his beloved country? Besides, this seemed to be a very pathetic way of gaining information. Dudu's superiors at the armory had often warned that he might be approached for military secrets and whatnot, but Dudu had assumed that if this were to occur it would be done with the suave and sophistication expected of one trying to turn a patriot into a traitor. Dudu figured he'd be wined and dined and offered great sums of money, and that it would take a lot of time and effort. And yet here he was just being asked point blank!

At first Dudu thought this was a test from his own government, or something similiar, and he declined. The attaché persisted, and Dudu asked him for a sign or proof that he was sincere. The attaché agreed to provide him with one, provided that he'd set a price. Dudu immediately grew wary again; after all, it was possible that the whoever was testing him simply wanted to find out how much he'd sell himself for. Dudu therefore told the attaché that he would first like to see the proof, and then they might discuss terms.

The next night the attaché met Dudu in their habitual meeting place (an old bar in a seedy part of town) and declared that he'd gotten irrefutable proof of his honorable intentions. Saying this, he pulled a pudding out of his briefcase with aplomb and placed it on the table.

Within moments a waitress came over and told them that no outside food was permitted in the establishment. The attaché apologized profusely, and put it away again. He looked at Dudu, and noticing the bemused look on the would-be spies face, he said, "I've wanted to do that for a long time now, but I never had the opportunity."

Dudu still didn't get it (he was Romanian after all), but he didn't want to let on that he wasn't the smartest knife in the kitchen, so he laughed politely and asked for some actual proof. The attaché, seeing that his little joke hadn't gone over so well (he had forgotten that he was dealing with a Romanian), put on a serious face and declared that if Dudu would like to step outside for a moment he'd see something that would knock his boxers off. Dudu immediately protested, "But I don't wear boxers anymore, only boxer briefs!" The attaché finally began to understand just what kind of person he was dealing with, but there was nothing to be done (he needed those military secrets), so he merely gritted his pearly-white teeth and stepped outside, leaving the question of underwear still floating in the hair like an unfinished sermon on Easter morning.

As both men walked outside they beheld a most wonderous sight. There, in plain view of both of them, was the most magnificent carriage that either had ever seen, with eight perfectly matched steeds and twelve footmen and runners for accompaniment. Dudu was amazed (for who would not be?) but he didn't get how this showed the attachés sincerity. The attaché was amazed too, because he hadn't expected a most magnificent carriage to be in front of his attestation.

Dudu asked, "Is this another one of your jokes?", but before the attaché had a chance to respond a great big bloodhound flew at them and proceeded to slobber uncontrollably all over Dudu's pants. A man in black flew out of the magnificent carriage and collared the dog, begging forgiveness with every twist of the collar on the mastiff's neck.

The attaché was paralyzed with fight, but before he had a chance to do anything (like put on the fake moustache he always kept in his case) the man in black got a good, hard look at his face. "Ahh," he exclaimed, "my old nemesis, the military attaché from the foreign consulate."

The attaché couldn't deny this patently true charge, and he made no response. Turning to Dudu, the man in black said, "And what do we have here? A Romanian with business with a foreign government? How interesting. I'd like to take you in for questioning."
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Dudu never even saw the wife that was waiting for him.