HARVEST OF THE INNOCENTS

A NOVEL BY

GEOFFREY ALSOPP

anthonygeoff@hotmail.com

1
 Elena: If you want to kill us, kill us together. We have the

right to die together.

Nicolae: What kind of thing is this?

Elena: Don’t tie us up. Don’t offend us. Please don’t

touch me.

Nicolae: I have the right to do what I want.

Elena: Don’t tie us up. Don’t…

Nicolae: Shame, shame.

Elena: Shame. Shame on you. I brought you up as a

mother. Stop it! You’re breaking my arms. let go of them! Let

me go! Why are you doing this?

Soldier: No-one will help you now.

2
 Nicolae and Elena

Ceausescu, December 25th, 1989

1. Bucharest 1988

They always came for him as he slept, rarely at the same

time. Crashing the iron door open and making the walls

shudder, his heart jumping even before he woke. Now, in the

gloom, two black figures yanked him out of one nightmare and

plunged him into another in which they hauled him outside and

along the damp passage, marking their progress with the crisp

echo of their footsteps.

The prisoner, unable to keep up on his damaged feet,

sagged between the giant guards who dragged him with ease.

Only when they’d passed the first and then the second doors,

did he show resistance. Behind the third door, they would

manacle his wrists and ankles to the chair with a hole in the

seat and in the darkness behind that door, they would once

more enter into the solemn ritual of stripping him of his dignity

and his humanity.

On the better days, he would articulate jokes about the

stupidity of policemen.

2. Arrival

3
 Western Transylvania

January 1990

She stood over him, the lowering sun at her back, casting

her naked shadow across his thin body. He felt her approach

and smiled but didn’t open his eyes.

“I want to tell you something.” She spoke just above a

whisper.

“Of course,” he replied. Then he looked up at her, stirred

by her silhouette. She moved his spirit, and he became stiff

inside his shorts.

Kneeling beside him, she stroked his cheek. “I’m waiting

for you,” she said. “Only you. Make it soon.”

He closed his eyes once more and inhaled deeply to

savour her essence. “But I’m here, now,” he replied.

“I’m ready, Darius,” she said. “I’ll be waiting… waiting

only for you.”

The brakes of the Green Dart tore into his reverie. The

metal-on-metal shrieking upset the yardbirds in their cages

beneath the benches and they squawked and honked in protest,

a cacophony that made little impression on the other

passengers who continued their chatter unabated. The

vibration, a bone-shaking judder, rose from the rails and up

through the floor of the carriage and forced Doctor Darius to

clench his teeth to prevent them from chattering. Peering

4
 through the smudged glass he watched the walls of the low

houses and their bright windows slow in the dark.

Others lowered his luggage down the six, icy, brass

rungs and carried it to the platform where he huddled against a

wall and leaned his thirty-four years into his walking stick. His

cheeks and his nose tingled, stung by flakes of old snow, ice

devils that swirled in the gusting wind. This was no ordinary

winter and had a mammoth or sabre-toothed cat stepped from

the nearby forest, it would hardly have seemed out of place.

Intermittently, waves of foot stamping thundered from

the over-crowded waiting room as passengers sought to keep

their feet warm; it would be another fifteen minutes before

they could board the Green Dart for the return journey into

town. Darius, for his part, could only wriggle his toes as they

ached and grew more numb.

How long had it been since the last time he stood on this

platform? A Romanian saying came to mind, leave for a year

and the birds stop singing; leave for two and they crap on your

house. Doctor Darius Kala had been away for seven, but in that

time, he’d never considered birds, and he knew that memory

could be such a capricious witness. Through slitted eyes, he

watched two strangers approach, their breath pluming.

“Doctor Kala?” the man called out. Darius raised his

hand in salutation. “I’m Corvin. This is Olivia, my daughter.”

5
 They shook hands but no-one removed their gloves. Neither

did they observe niceties. The two grabbed his luggage and led

the way.

Along the platform, a dark shadow stepped out and

blocked the path of father and daughter. Darius was too far

behind to catch the conversation, but he saw the figure grab

Corvin’s arm and watched as Corvin pulled himself free.

The doctor approached, “I’ll wait in the car,” he said, “if

you can direct me to it.”

“Who are you?” said the shadow, looking Darius up and

down.

Darius fixed him with a stare. “I’m someone who wants

to get out of this cold, so, domnul, if it’s OK with you, we’ll be

on our way.”

In the car, Corvin was the first to speak. “Thank you for

your intervention.”

“It’s nothing,” said Darius, from the back seat, “And

thank you for your hospitality.”

“It’s our pleasure, doctor. You’ll eat with us tonight and

after a good night’s sleep, we’ll go to your old house in the

morning.”

6
 Olivia, turned to face the doctor. “You must be

exhausted, travelling all the way from Bucharest.”

He didn’t feel much like talking. “It’s been a long day,”

he replied. The last thing he noted before succumbing to

exhaustion, was the strong smell of alcohol.

In the morning, Corvin had little to say. Hunched over

the steering wheel, he looked grey and unwell, coming to life

only as they neared Darius’s family home. “Someone will be

waiting for us, to help if you want to rearrange things.”

‘Franz’ Liszt stood at the gate of the house and took the

bags from the car. Corvin handed Darius the keys, “I’ll let you

settle in,” he said, “Olivia and Franz can help you to organize

everything. Oh, and doctor…” pausing as he got into the car, “I

expect you’ll want to make a few changes. Don’t worry about

the cost, I’ll lend you the money, whatever you need. We’ll

discuss it when you’re ready.”

Franz dropped the bags just inside the door, “Are you

replacing old Blotting Paper?”

“Blotting Paper?”

“Yes, old Jelly Legs Pasescu.” Olivia chimed in, “famous

for his ability to absorb copious amounts of fire-water. Half the

time he doesn’t turn up for work and he often falls asleep

7
 during consultations,” she laughed. “We all know about it in

school. We call him Rip Van Pasescu.”

“I didn’t know Doctor Pasescu was retiring,” said Franz.

“As far as I know, he isn’t,” said Darius. “I’m here to

take charge of my family home.”

“Oh, sorry, I just assumed…Well, if you need anything,

I’m next door.”

Corvin’s comment about ‘rearranging things,’ had

aroused his suspicions as had his offer of financial assistance.

Alone now with Olivia, Darius stepped inside, the first time in

many years and immediately he understood. He gasped in

horror as he looked around. Am I in the wrong house, he

thought? “Oh my god!” he whispered. “What has happened

here?” Unable to control himself, he raised his voice, shouting,

“What is this?!” He stomped from room to room on his

damaged feet, surveying the destruction, the hastily erected

partitions which had been used to divide two of the bedrooms

into four and the kitchen into a kitchen / bedroom. Metal plates

had bolted the partitions to the walls causing the plaster to

crack in places and huge chunks of it had come away exposing

the brickwork which had simply been painted over. “What is

this?” he yelled once more. Finally, he looked at Olivia. “Who

did this?” he said, his voice shaking. “Was it Corvin? Was it?

Was it?” He didn’t expect her to reply. Was this what Corvin
8
 had alluded to at the dinner table the previous evening with his

drunken reference to ‘coming to terms with the nature of

change’?

“I’ll help to clean it up, doctor,” said Olivia. “We’ll get it

back to the way it was.” She too was stunned.

Darius checked the lounge last. Olivia watched through

the open doorway as he inspected his father’s collection of

books. Considering the condition of the rest of the house, he

expected the shelves to be empty and though there were some

gaps, much of it remained intact. Many of his childhood books

were missing, but he found one of his old favourites, a story by

Ion Creanga, ‘The Bear Who Lost His Tail’. Opening it, he

noted the dark smudge on the inside cover, and he recalled

playing that day in the garden, and trying to snap off a rose to

give to his mother. His hands were still dirty when he’d opened

the book. Turning the pages now he tried to read a passage, but

inside he was still trembling.

Olivia approached him and looped her arm through his

and said, “That used to be one of my favourites!” Only then

did he begin to breathe more evenly, more deeply.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor Kala. It is shocking.”

He sat at the old upright piano which occupied the corner

it always had, and lifting the dust cover, he ran his hand along

9
 the polished walnut. “This was my mother’s. She couldn’t

really play but she memorised a few tunes.” Then, “Is this all

there is?” He turned to look at Olivia. “Some books and a

piano?”

“So sorry, doctor,” she repeated.

“Well, it’s definitely a piano!” he quipped and they both

laughed. “What else can we do?” he said. “the alternative

would be to cry.”

The kitchen cupboards had also survived although they’d

been painted an ugly dung brown. On the inside of a cupboard

door Darius discovered some graffiti scratched into the

paintwork. “Look at this!” he shouted, and together they read,

Tot inaunte! Straight Ahead! An old communist slogan.

Beneath it, in pen, Jos Ceasca! Down with Ceaucescu! “Some

brave soul was prepared to risk everything,” he said.

“I found something else” she said, “on one of the beds.”

She led him into a partitioned room, empty now but for

two wooden bed frames She guided him to the base of one of

the headboards, three stick figures had been crudely drawn in

crayon. Darius found crouching too painful so he sat on the

floor. Olivia pointed to the single curved line that sprouted

from each of the circular heads. “They’re girls, doctor. See?

They have ponytails, and skirts too.”

10
 He leaned forward, “Aha! I believe you’re right.” He

studied the image for a moment. “It would have been hidden

by the mattress. Whoever did this, wanted it to remain

concealed.”

“They’re holding hands,” she said. “Maybe they were

sisters.”

“Or friends… and judging by their expressions, they

weren’t too happy.”

“No, doctor, they weren’t.”

“I hope he wasn’t caught.” Olivia blew on her coffee.

“Who?”

“The writer of the slogan on the door. If Papa had found

out…”

Darius stirred sugar into his coffee. “What is he going to

do now… now that communism is over?”

“He still talks to them, his old comrades.”

“So who were they? I mean, what did he do? In the

party? Was he…”

“He was an officer in the police. High up on the ladder.”

11
 “Secret police?”

“I think so. He told me that if I were good, he would

keep me safe. And…” she paused.

“And?”

“And, uh, I… I’m heating some water on the cooker.

Would you… I mean, I thought you’d like some warm water to

soak your feet? I’ll fetch it.”

Olivia hummed abstractedly, and while she poured the

water into a bowl, Darius recalled the words her mother, Lydia

had spoken the night before. ‘He was in the party… very high

up.’ He could hear Corvin’s voice, ‘after what you’ve been

through doctor, you have every right to be upset.’ He focused

in on Corvin’s words, ‘After what you’ve been through…

After…’ Of course! He knew! Corvin knew about his

internment in Jilava and would’ve known how political

prisoners were treated. He knew! And he didn’t imagine that

Darius would survive. That’s why they commandeered the

house!

She placed the bowl in front of his chair. “I hope it’s

warm enough.”

Lowering his feet into the balm, he closed his eyes, “Ah,

yes,” he sighed, “this is good. This is very good.”

12
 “Forgive me doctor, but you can’t be more that thirty…. I

mean, you are too young to have gout...”

“Gout? What do you know about gout?”

“Some of my friends have grandparents,” she said. “Yes,

I know it’s hard to believe, and what’s even harder to believe,

is that some of them have gout,” she laughed.

He spoke from behind his eyelids, “I had an accident,

some time ago.”

“In both feet?”

He fell silent as she ever-so-gently massaged his toes, his

soles, his heels and when he finally opened his eyes, she was

smiling up at him.

“It’s OK. I understand,” she said, “We should be thankful

that the time for accidents is over.”

He closed his eyes once more and listened to the sound

of her calm breathing. He could tell that she was still looking at

him.

“Olivia?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“Would you like to come and work for me at the

weekends?”

13
 “Oh, I’d love to,” she gasped, unable to keep the

excitement from her voice.

“Of course, I’d pay you well.”

He let out another sigh at the touch of her fingers, as with

great care, she continued to knead the warmth into his feet.

“Doctor...”

“Uh-huh,” he smiled but kept his eyes shut.

“Is it true what you said to Franz?”

“What did I say to him?”

“That you came back to take charge of your house.”

“Yes, it’s true. I grew up here.” He was about to continue

but stopped himself.

She caught the hesitation. “Was there something more,

doctor?”

“You are very inquisitive, Olivia.”

“Everyone says that,” she laughed. “At school they say

it’s a good thing.”

“Yes, yes, it is.” Darius had to agree with her still hiding

behind his eyelids. He came to a decision and cleared his

throat.

14
 “I’m looking for a girl,” he said quietly, flatly, then he

opened his eyes to gauge her reaction.

She caught her breath and gaped wide-eyed at him. “Oh

my god!” she gasped. “That’s so exciting!”

3. Dancer

March 1990

People say, when winter is longer than the bread queue,

at least you won’t starve to death. This year, there seemed no

end to the great freeze and at the beginning of March the

terracotta stoves still crackled from early rise to lights out.

Sunday morning, and from his kitchen window, Darius

gazed at the bamboo swaying in the cold, March sunshine. He

recalled his father bringing the half-dozen stems home from

the market. For a man who’d spent his marriage entombing his

wife behind a wall of tedium, this display of exuberance had

taken Darius by surprise. Pushing the stalks into the ground, he

described the plants as, ‘A little piece of the Orient. They’ll

grow to three metres tall,’ he cooed, ‘and be the envy of the

neighbourhood.’ In the event, they proved irresistible to

mosquitoes and spread faster than bad news: within two years

they’d commandeered the final third of the garden. They’d

have to go. Absently, he scratched his arm.

15
 As if by default, a virtually automatic process, his mind

jumped to his favourite theme for mental browsing, Lena. He

would never have characterized himself as being a creature of

habit, yet in more recent times, not an hour passed when she

didn’t figure in his thoughts. What was she doing? Was she

thinking of him and in the way that he thought of her?

The doorbell startled him. He checked his watch. Olivia

was right on time; she’d been coming for nearly two months

now and still she refused to use her key.

During her mid-morning break, they sat in the kitchen as

they often did, drinking coffee at opposite ends of the table.

“So, how’s the new house?” she said, raising her arms, looking

about her. The décor was her idea. “Paint it white,” she’d said.

She’d been unequivocal.

“It’s so much lighter now and all the spaces are bigger,”

he said, “although I’ve lost a room and a larder, but that’s

fine.” He fiddled with his coffee cup then looked up at her.

“Olivia, I appreciate Corvin lending me the money, I mean, it

was quite a sum and I doubt I’d have been able to...”

“Please don’t tell him again. He must be weary of your

appreciation. And by the way, I should offer my

congratulations.”

“For what, it isn’t my birthday.”

16
 “But Papa told me… you have been offered the job of

GP. Pasescu is taking early retirement.”

“Well, I haven’t decided yet. So old Rip Van Pasescu

might have to wait a bit longer.”

Darius gazed upon her with delight. Light bounced from

wall to wall and shimmered in her hair. Her eyes seemed to

have acquired an added lustre today. Already in her second

month in his employ, she had, in that short time, filled his

house with innocuous chatter and easy laughter. She exhibited

a weightlessness reminiscent of Lena and more than that,

Darius could see how she was beginning to feel at home; to

treat his house as her own.

As was her habit, she left the cleaning of the lounge until

last. Darius watched as she ran her fingers along the spines in

his father’s books. Without turning, she said, “You have some

of the old favourites here: a full set of encyclopaedias, where

we learn that everything from the wheel to nuclear fission was

invented here, in the magnificent republic of Romania; then

there’s the indispensable ‘classic composers’ series and, what’s

this? ‘Understanding Art’.” She extracted the weighty volume

and opened it. “This is the tenth edition. Do you think they got

it right this time?” A smile played at the corners of her mouth.

“Have you read any of them?”

“Well, they belonged to my parents...my father...”

17
 She wasn’t listening. “Oh, and this one… ‘The problems

of exposing the youth of today to western philosophy and

culture’, in brackets ‘Religion and the Arts’. I’m sure your

father spent many hours leafing through this.”

“If he did, he forgot to mention it.” Darius was enjoying

her offensive. “Do you like reading, Olivia?”

“Of course. Just finished ‘Fear and Loathing’. Borrowed

it from a friend.”

“Fear and Loathing?”

“Hunter S. Thompson, doctor. You’re funny.”

“I made you some coffee,” he said.

“I meant to ask you about that painting,” he gestured

towards a pastel drawing which had just appeared. “The one

over there on the wall.”

“Don’t you like it?” she pouted.

“Actually...I find it interesting and um...daring, and…

and yes, I like it.”

“Oh, do you? Do you really like it?”

He approached the picture, “And it’s signed by someone

called...called Nicolae.”

Olivia was studying the palm of her hand.

18
 “So, uh, what is it? I mean...”

“It’s cubist.” She didn’t look up.

“Ah, yes, Picasso and...”

“Georges Braque.” She came to life again. “We’ve been

discussing them at school.

“In art classes?”

“Oh, please! They still think we’re communists. We

discuss it together, you know, among friends.”

“I see. And what’s it about? The painting.”

“It’s called ‘The Truth: Invisibilis ad Perpetuum.’ There’s

an invisible society which never sleeps, and which controls us

all for power and material gains. It’s about the truth,” and

pointing to the painting, she said, “You can’t see it, but it’s

there.”

Darius made a pitch. “1984?”

“I said, ‘invisible’, doctor.”

He studied her for a full ten seconds, “I see.”

“Yes,” she laughed, “I read Orwell last year. It was going

around the school. Risky, eh?” She ran a thumbnail between

her lower front teeth.

“I do believe you and your friends were planning a

revolution of your own.”

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 She frowned and then with a quizzical expression, she

asked, “When did you read it?”

“I too was planning a coup,” he laughed. “I was

discovered before I could finish the book.”

“Oh really? That’s very…”

“But should it be here?” he interrupted. “In the kitchen?”

“Of course. Where all your friends will see it.”

Yes, he thought. All of them. “Who is Nicolae?” back in

his seat now.

“He’s a friend. We were at school together until he left a

year ago. Papa doesn’t approve of him.”

“But he’s your friend, isn’t he?”

She was checking her nails now. “Papa, well he

drinks...you know?”

“I had noticed.”

“A lot.” She began wringing her hands in her lap.

“Doctor?”

“Uh-huh.” He was getting used to the way she opened a

subject by using his epithet.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” He gave her time. She took it.

20
 Then, “Well, something happened, and I don’t

understand it.”

“What happened, Olivia?”

She looked up; her eyes were moist. “There was a phone

call, a few days ago. The voice said ‘get Corvin.’ Very curt.

Very rude.” Clearly upset, her voice faltered as she spoke.

“Take a drink,” Darius pushed her cup towards her.

She sipped at the coffee. “I recognised him – the man on

the phone. A local villain, he smuggles expensive stolen cars

across the border and sells them to VIPs, here, in Romania.

Police too. So, I knocked on Papa’s door. I knew he’d been

drinking. Eventually, he appeared looking like a ghost. He

glared at me and vomited and it went everywhere; all over me,

on my face, in my hair. It was horrible!”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, Olivia.”

“It took my breath away.” She paused and took another

sip. “Then I caught a glimpse of Mama watching through a

crack in her bedroom door. I waited for Papa to go to the

bathroom and I told her that he hated her. That he loved me. I

don’t know why I did that. And when she closed the door, I

heard her crying.”

What to say? Feeling helpless, Darius reached across the

table and took her hand.

“Doctor, I couldn’t help myself. It just came out.”

21
 “And was there something more?”

“He gave me a ring, some weeks ago. When I went to my

room to get cleaned up, I realised that I’d taken it off. I’m

going to stop…” she blurted out in distress.

“What are you going to stop? Olivia?”

Ignoring him, she continued, “Anyway, he had to meet

this man, he didn’t say where, just that it was in Ineu. Doctor

Darius...it was freezing outside.”

“So…did he go?”

“Yes. And he came back in a few hours in a terrible state;

beaten up. He had a cut lip and a black eye. I’ve never seen

anything like that before. His clothes were filthy. I hardly

recognized him. So, I bathed his wounds. And tried to comfort

him...and hugged him.”

“Hugged him?”

“Mama never does anything like that,” she said almost

disdainfully. “Never. That’s why I hate her...sometimes. And

the truth is, I don’t think he loves her, either.”

Darius got up. “The coffee’s cold.” He boiled some fresh

coffee and gazed out of the window, trying to make sense of it.

Talking to his back, she said, “I was thinking...”

“Yes?”

22
 “I was thinking...” she was inspecting her palm again,

“...how wonderful it would be if I lived here, with you... you

know?” She was talking too fast. “To be, like, like your live-in

housekeeper and cook and...and I know you have... you have

the room.”

He couldn’t look at her. She spoke with such candour and

he felt like a stone-cold coward. Checking his watch didn’t

help, nor when he checked it a second time. What had she

said?

“I could still cook for my parents, you know?” she

continued. “Still look after their house,” adding finally, “and

even if it doesn’t seem that way, I can be very quiet.”

This had taken him by surprise. He sat down again. “But

how, Olivia? Crisscrossing the village every day just to fulfill

your obligations, and your schoolwork? How would you cope

with it?”

“Well, I...”

“Have you discussed this idea with your mother and

father?”

Silence.

“Olivia, I look forward to seeing you at the weekends. In

fact, I… I love having you here. And…you have irreversibly

changed my home for the better, and...and…well, me too. I can

23
 never thank you enough, but I have a feeling that if you were

to ask Corvin, I mean your fath...”

But she was rummaging in her bag now and she

produced a bundle wrapped in tissue paper.

“I brought this. It’s for you.”

“Oh, that’s...”

“My mother gave it to me, but I’d like you to have it.”

He took it from her outstretched hand and removed the

wrapping. “Oh, it’s a dancer, a ballet dancer.” He turned it

over. Next to the maker’s mark a stamp read Sept 1939. “It’s

from Vienna, and very beautiful. But I can’t accept...”

“Please take it, doctor. I want to give you something to

remember me by,” she laughed. “This is all I have.”

“Thank you, but...”

“Where will you put it?” she asked, retrieving it; looking

around. “How about on the piano?” She dashed into the lounge

and removed the dust sheet. “There.” she positioned it on the

top, in the centre. “It’s about time you brought this back to

life.”

Darius leaned against the jamb of the door and watched

as she brushed the imaginary dust away from the polished

walnut lid. She ran her finger over the porcelain, “This position

is called ‘Attitude’, you see, with one leg extended behind. The

24
 leg can be straight or slightly bent just as it is here. The arm is

raised, like so,” and using the piano as a prop she gave a

demonstration.

“Wow! You dance beautifully?”

“Of course. I used to have classes until, until…” She

looked to the heavens as she counted, “yes, until I was eleven.

Watch,” and she raised both arms straight out to the sides.

“This is called ‘A la quatrième derrière’.” She raised them

further, her fingertips almost touching above her head, “And

now, ‘en haut’ of the arms. The feet must remain like this, in

the fifth position.” She gave a twirl.

“Impressive. You’re very good. And it looks so difficult.

Why...I mean, why did you stop?”

“I didn’t want to. I had a lot of friends there...it was just

that…well…it became difficult getting to the classes, and I had

a lot of schoolwork. A lot.” She laughed and rolled her eyes as

if she were stating the obvious.

Darius walked across to the piano to admire the ballerina,

“Well, this is my first new acquisition, and my most treasured

one. Thank you.” And as he bent forward to kiss her cheek the

phone rang.

“Papa!” she exclaimed.

Darius headed for the phone. “Oh, and about that other

thing you mentioned...about moving in...”

25
 She looked at the ground.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK, doctor. You don’t have to explain. I’m not a

child you know.”

Corvin told Olivia to wait in the car. “Lydia and I were

thinking,” he said, fiddling with his hat and getting straight

down to business. “Olivia probably spends too much time here;

we’re worried that her studies will suffer.”

“I see,” said the doctor. He didn’t. This was unexpected

and he was still recoiling from the shock of seeing Corvin’s

injuries. “And we don’t want her getting under your feet,”

Corvin continued, “you must be very busy.”

Darius had the feeling that he’d been outflanked

somehow; something didn’t fit. “But, but I understood that her

performance at school is improving, getting back to where it

was before.”

“Yes, it’s true. And that’s why we don’t want to

jeopardise things now.”

Corvin’s argument had a kind of logic, but it was

skewed. “Domnul,” said the doctor, “have you considered that

it may be because she has another interest in life that she is...

back on track?” He avoided saying ‘happier’. “And

furthermore, far from being in my way, she has become my

26
 right hand. I wouldn’t know what to do without her. And, as

you are aware, I pay her, and pay her well.”

“Well… I’ll think about it.”

Darius suspected that the decision had already been

made. While they spoke, he’d been taking stock of Corvin’s

injuries. “Let me have a look at those bruises,” he said.

“Nothing is broken,” he said, dismissively. “I’m fine.”

“Who did it? Who did this to you?”

Corvin patted his coat pocket. “I don’t suppose you have

a cigarette. I haven’t had a smoke for weeks. God, I’d kill for

one now.”

“You know the rule, domnul, one day at a time. Would

you like something to warm you up?” He fetched the bottle of

vin-ars.

Corvin swallowed and winced as the alcohol cleansed the

injuries inside his mouth. “Doctor, I wanted to ask you

something; does Olivia seem OK to you?” He took another

sharp intake of breath. The swollen lip was making speech

very uncomfortable.

“Generally speaking, she seems fine. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I wondered if she mentioned anything about a

car...that parks outside the school when she leaves at the end of

classes.”

27
 “No, she hasn’t. What sort of car?”

Corvin took a seat. “A black Mercedes. It follows her as

she cycles home, then at some point along the route, when she

is alone, it overtakes her at speed.”

“Do you have any idea who it is?”

“Yes, I do. It’s Karl, owner of the Bar Continental. At

least, it’s his car.”

“And what does he want?”

“It’s to do with my club, doctor, he...”

“OK, Corvin, slow down. You own a club?”

Corvin rubbed his chin as if he were preparing to divulge

a well-kept secret. “It’s just outside of Ineu. It’s called the Go-

Go-Club.”

“And what about this club?”

“I needed a business loan for it some time ago. I have

tried to pay him back since then – a number of times.”

Darius refilled Corvin’s glass.

He swallowed it in an instant and banged the tumbler

down on the table as if to express his frustration. “But he

doesn’t want the money.”

“Oh? What does …?”

“He wants a partnership.”

28
 Darius indicated his injuries. “And is this his way of

applying pressure?”

“He has an assortment of methods.”

“Like administering beatings?”

Corvin looked away.

“And what about the police?” Darius continued. “You are

an important man, surely...”

“They aren’t interested. I have my contacts, but they’ve

told me that they won’t waste their time unless there is

something more… more tangible...”

“I could ask Olivia about the car myself?”

“What would that achieve?”

“Well, if she complained to me, I could go to the police

myself.”

“Thank you doctor, I really appreciate your kindness, but

for your trouble, you’d find yourself targeted by the police

every time you left home, warning you to mind your own

business!”

“Are you serious?”

“Doctor, Karl has friends in the police. They are...

business partners.”

“OK, Corvin. OK. But I need to ask you one question. Is

she in any danger? Is she?”

29
 “They won’t get violent, if that’s what you mean.”

Darius stared at him. “Should I get you a mirror,

domnul?”

Corvin seemed at odds with himself, his eyes darting

everywhere. Slowly, he spelt it out. “He’s only trying to scare

me, but it’s scaring Olivia, that’s the problem.”

“And don’t forget,” said Darius, “she’s a child, Corvin,

she’s merely a child.”

After Darius had closed the door behind Corvin, he

grabbed the vin-ars but thought better of it. After all, the

situation called for clarity. He made himself some coffee

instead. There was always the option to forget about it; to look

the other way, yet he felt compelled. And somehow, he was

involved. ‘Damn!’, he thought. He might’ve guessed that

controversy would never leave him be. He’d been here before,

hadn’t he? At first glance, the stakes appeared to have been

much higher back then, and he’d paid the price, and was still

paying it. And wasn’t this Alba Jura? A tiny community at the

end of the line to nowhere. No, he concluded, this was none of

his business. His mind began to drift. If only Lena was here,

she would bring the voice of reason.

At first, he barely noticed the clamouring voices that

bubbled up from afar. His frontal lobe began to tingle as his

eyes glazed over, the murmuring came in harsh tones,

30
 sometimes yelling sporadically, starkly, even screaming in the

distance. Soon they began to fade, returning to where they

lingered at the edge of his consciousness. When he came to his

senses, he saw that he’d been gripping the back of the chair, his

fingers clawed like a raptor. His knuckles bone white.

4. Lena’s House

From the very moment that Eva rested her eyes upon the

drawn but handsome man standing on her doorstep, with his

earnest look, his polished shoes and pressed suit, the world as

she had always known it became little more than a land half in

shadow, a pale fabrication unable to support meaningful

existence beyond the purchase of potatoes and the paying of

taxes.

“Oh,” said the man, taken aback that someone had

opened the door. He leaned on his walking stick and smiled as

if apologising for his indisposition. “At last. This must be the

third time I’ve called.”

The words that Eva heard were, ‘I hope I haven’t

disturbed you, but I was wondering if you had any room, I

mean whether I might enter your utterly uneventful life and

transform it for ever and an extra day into something

extraordinary?’ While her overzealous imagination was giving

birth to these notions, she was trying, at the same time, to make

31
 an educated guess at his age. Of course, she wasn’t the kind of

girl to be, well, awestruck. At least, she certainly hadn’t been.

Until today. That is.

“Her name is Lena,” he was explaining.

“I’m sorry, who is Lena?” She was wondering if he

wouldn’t look better without the beard.

“The girl I’m looking for.”

Eva suggested the neighbours. “The one on the left.”

She pointed it out. “A youngish woman lives there. The

woman on the other side is older than my grandmother’s goat.”

“But this is her house,” he insisted. “I can see you’ve

renovated it, but it’s definitely this house.”

“Well, domnul, I bought ‘this house’ around… around

six months before the revolution, something less than a year

ago, and I’ve lived here ever since. If she’s here, she’s hiding.”

He laughed at that. “And the seller,” he asked, “was it a

young woman?”

“It was a man, old and wrinkly,” and she released the

chain on the door. “He lived in Arad.”

“Lived, doamna?”

“Well, he might still be alive. I’ll ask the boss during

evening prayers.”

32
 He laughed again. “And while you’re doing that, could

you get a phone number?”

“Of course, who should I say is asking?”

“My name is Darius Kala.” He gave her a business card.

“Oh, it’s doctor!” she smiled. “Well, doctor,” and it was

at this point, and solely out of curiosity because he was looking

for a young woman, that she found herself enquiring about his

marital status, “and... are you married, domnul doctor?” she

raised her eyebrows, the glimmer of a smile on her lips.

“I’m sorry?”

“Uh, to the young woman who lived here.”

“Oh, we’re friends.”

“I’ll get the old fellow’s number,” she promised.

He stood there for a moment looking puzzled.

“Is everything OK, doctor? Would you like some water?

Something stronger?”

“Oh, thank you, but I’d better be going.” He reached the

gate then turned back. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Eva. My name’s Eva.”

Again, he made to leave but turned back once more and

opened his mouth to speak.

“I’ll get the number,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

33
 On closing the door, she silently cursed herself for not

mentioning that it was ‘domnisoara’, not ‘doamna’ and as she

slid the bolt back into place, the pounding of her heart

threatened to shake the foundations of her freshly renovated

house.

5. The Bar Continental.

Nuctenea Umbratica, the Walnut Orb-weaver or ‘Toad

Spider’, one of Transylvania’s hardier arachnids, rarely shares

its territory with humans, preferring instead, the underside of a

rotting branch or the shadows beneath the eaves of an

outbuilding. A medium-sized web-spinner, the females are a

not uncommon sight even in winter. But this year was

different.

Forced to find shelter or perish in the Arctic conditions,

one such specimen, a large female, squatted in a gap between

rafter and ceiling above the wall-mounted television in the Bar

Continental. On that raw night in March, she was benefiting

from the heat generated by the TV. Crouching behind her maze

of silken threads, all of her eight eyes were marking the

progress of a skittering martyr bug, so named because when

threatened by a predator, it released a highly toxic spray, often

too late to save itself.

34
 A frenetic struggle began the instant the beetle touched

the web, yet it succeeded only in entangling another of its legs.

In the very moment that the spider lunged, the door of the bar

shuddered open, allowing the bitter wind to scour the room,

gouging out any heat that the giant terracotta stove had

generated. By the time the spring-loaded door had snapped

shut, the martyr bug, now free of the web, was on its back

wriggling its remaining four legs in the air while the orb-

weaver cavorted in erratic fashion, its front two legs rubbing

frantically at its eyes, the portal through which the deadly

spray got to work. Three metres below, one extremely cold

customer approached the counter.

The barmaid was perched cross-legged on her stool,

filing and polishing her nails away. “What can I get you,

domnul?” she said without looking up.

The stranger removed his hat and scarf, and then his

gloves. “My name is Darius Kala,” he said and offered his

hand.

“Elvica,” she said and glancing at his walking stick,

shook with her fingers.

“Is the boss here?”

“You mean the manager? Cos that’s me. Or do you mean

the boss boss?” She cocked her head and stared at him blankly

35
 through her fireproof make-up, not bothering to brush aside the

dark hair that hung over one side of her face.

Darius smiled. “The boss boss. He owns a black car, is

that right?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself. I’m just the hired

help.”

“Will he be in tonight?”

She shrugged her shoulders, already bored.

“I’ll wait,” he said.

“So... what can I get you?”

“Have you got something warm to drink, coffee

perhaps?”

For the first time, she ceased chewing her gum. “Domnul

Kala, before you entered, did you notice a sign outside?”

“A sign? Yes, I did.”

“What did it say?”

“I believe it said, ‘The Bar C’.”

“Correct. It’s a bar. Not a cafe.” She screwed up her eyes

and smiled to celebrate scoring an easy point.

He rubbed at his beard in a moment of serious

contemplation. “Elvica?”

“Yes, domnul.”

36
 “I’m sure the boss boss would appreciate you better if

you didn’t try to belittle the customers. I’ll have a glass of

wine, Murfatlar if you have it. OK?”

He took a seat at a table in the corner near the door.

Between him and the stove, two men, unmistakeably twins, sat

hunched over their rough wooden table, quietly bickering over

trivia.

“It’s the coldest winter I’ve known,” said the man with

his back to Darius.

“You say that every year.”

“Well, it still is.”

“Winter of eighty-seven was worse. My horse died of

frostbite.”

“No, he didn’t, Nelu. He was just old.”

“But he still had frostbite.”

And around they went in circles.

The other barmaid, a bleached blond, placed a glass in

front of him. “Your wine, domnul,” her smile a touch warmer

than her colleague’s. She returned to the bar and the two

women continued their conversation behind the counter. At

some point, the blond looked at him over Elvica’s shoulder.

They seemed to be sharing a joke.

37
 He sipped at the wine. Not entirely undrinkable. At a

table nearest the counter, four men were talking noisily about

crops and chickens, and geese and maybe pigs. The language

of the landscape. Judging by the thickness of their fingers, he

thought they probably worked in it.

To his left, on the other side of the door, an old man,

wrapped in grubby sheepskin from his cap down to his boots,

sat beneath the TV and stared with panda eyes into his own

world. Darius recognised him as Costel the shepherd, whose

sheep had entered his garden from the meadow at the rear of

his house when he’d left the gate open. Below Costel’s table, at

his feet, his shadow Stain, an enormous sheep dog lay and

watched everything.

So now, thought the doctor, now, I’ll have to wait. He’d

planned to say what he had to say and leave. In and out. With a

little foresight, he would’ve brought a jotter and made a few

notes for his diary. Staring idly into his empty glass, he was

contemplating the walk home when a man barged through the

door and took the table next to Costel.

“Hai, Karl!” called the twins.

“Hai, Tovaresh!” replied Karl, his fist raised in a

semblance of a victory salute.

38
 Darius recognised him immediately, he was the man at

the railway station. So here is Karl. In his castle. King of the

castle.

Karl removed his woolly hat to reveal a fuzz of red hair,

cropped into a circle on the top of his shiny head. Under his

jacket he wore a heavy gold chain. From the way he surveyed

the room, taking in everyone, including Darius himself, he

seemed not only very comfortable in his own skin, but

confrontational. Darius had met people like him in Jilava.

Hostile, vindictive, with a short fuse.

“Hey old man!” Karl barked at the shepherd, “anybody

home?” and he sat down laughing out loud. “Beer!” he called,

“and whatever he’s drinking!” pointing at Costel.

Costel continued to play statues.

The blond delivered Karl’s drinks then approached

Darius’s table. “Another glass of wine, domnul?”

“Thank you but no. What’s your name?”

“I am Silvi.”

“OK Silvi, who is that man?”

“I’m not sure,” she whispered. “This is my first day on

the job, but I think it’s the boss.”

Suddenly, the room filled with Gypsy club music; some

young gun was warbling, ‘I make money, money doesn’t make

39
 me...’and Karl raised his brandy glass in one hand and clicked

the fingers on the other shouting, “Hai, hai, hai...”

The twins briefly responded with their own chorus of

“Hai! Hai!” but the workers were too engrossed in their

chicken and pig business.

“Domnul,” Silvi persisted, “I have to take your order.

The boss is here.”

“OK. Same again.” and as he watched her pass the

workers’ table, a huge hand stroked her backside.

She turned instantly. Elvica had seen it too and she

marched across. “Radu! You asshole!” she bellowed. “What do

you think you’re doing? Mauling the staff! And on her first

day!”

The man leaned back on his chair. “Wow, you’re edgy!”

raising his hands to protest his innocence.

“Well, try that move again cowboy and you’ll feel the

edge of my unfriendly side! Creep!” and she retreated to her

perch behind the bar, followed all the way by Radu’s stupefied

gaze.

Silvi returned with a fresh glass of wine. “What do you

think, domnul?” gesturing at Radu, “I suppose he was just

joking...don’t you think?” she had a look of desperation in her

eye. “He’s just a big kid, right?” Somehow, it was a genuine

question.

40
 “No, Silvi, he isn’t. But he thinks you are. Why don’t

you tell him that you aren’t?”

The doctor glanced beyond her, at where Elvica was

saying something to Karl. He saw Karl turn and look back at

him. He watched Karl get to his feet and walk over to his table.

“Good evening...domnul Kala. You wanted to see me?”

he extended his hand but remained standing over him.

The doctor toyed with his walking stick then took a sip

of his wine.

“An accident?” Karl said, unconcerned.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“First, a drink.” Karl glanced at the girl. “A brandy for

domnul Kala.”

“Thank you, but I didn’t come here to drink.”

“Oh...perhaps you’re looking for some action, eh? What

about the blond girl here? She seems to like you.” He grinned

and said, “Bring domnul his brandy!” He took a seat and stared

into Darius’ eyes. “So, what do you think, domnul? Do you

like her?”

Karl opened his mouth to continue when chaos broke out

behind him. Radu was intimidating Costel; making sheep

noises at him, “baaaaah...baaaaah!” Stain got to his feet,

howling and snarling. In protection mode.

41
 Without warning, Costel exploded into action. He stood

up, noticeably swaying, and shouted “F-f-fuck y-you!” and

hurling his tumbler across the room, it shattered against the

terracotta stove. Tiny glittering shards scattered everywhere,

peppering the twins with specks of glass. Costel sat down

heavily, keeled over onto the bench, and became comatose.

Karl shrugged it off. “Don’t know which one’s crazier,”

he laughed.

“Karl, I came to ask you something.”

“Well domnul Kala, now’s your chance.”

“The black car outside…it belongs to you?”

“The black one?”

“You arrived in it. It’s the only vehicle out there.”

“What about it?”

“I’d like you to stop stalking the girl.”

“Girl?”

“You can play as dumb as you want, it won’t make any

difference.” He realised that everyone was trying to hear what

they were saying.

“Look, domnul Kala, the car belongs to my friend.

Perhaps he can help you.”

“You follow Olivia on her way home from school.”

42
 “I’ll tell my friend when I see him. So, domnul, was

there anything else?”

“Like I said, leave her alone.” Darius held Karl’s gaze

and saw only indifference.

“Not your business, tovaresh,” Karl said. “Not your

concern.”

Darius tightened his mouth into a thin line. “Her welfare

is my business, tovaresh. Literally.”

Suddenly, the door rattled opened and ‘Franz’ Liszt and

his friend long-backed Marius entered, crunching their way

over the debris, towards the terracotta where they turned and

warmed their backs against the tiles. “Domnul doctor!” Franz

seemed delighted to see him. “What are you doing here?

Welcome, doctor.”

Karl laughed. “So, you are the new doctor?” “Ha! Well,

let’s drink to the future.” He raised his glass. And more

quietly, “Those of us who have one!” He drained the glass.

“Oh, and aren’t doctors supposed to be impartial or

something?” he asked.

Darius grabbed his stick and got to his feet and stared at

Karl for a moment or two then placed a few notes on the table.

As he left another singer was whining,

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you,

‘I buy you dresses; I buy you gold,

43
 ‘and all you ever do,

‘is yak-yak-yak like your mother...’

                       

In the car park, Karl’s Mercedes was warm, and the

leather seats smelled like a luxury that even he couldn’t afford.

He looked sideways at Elvira, “Just one. What about it?” He

rested his hand on her knee.

“Keep your distance, Karl. I’m ready for my bed.” She

pushed his hand away and hunched against the door drawing

her coat tight around herself. “I want to go home, OK?”

From the rear seat, Silvi tried to give her voice

conviction. “Yes. We’ve had a long day.”

Karl ignored her and simply swiveled his head and with

his tiny gunmetal eyes, he bored holes into Elvira’s temple.

“Come on Elvi, you know you don’t mean that. What’s the

matter with you anyway? It’s just a couple of drinks.”

“Fine. I can walk from here,” she said.

Karl leaned towards her but with his senses dulled by the

alcohol, she easily anticipated his move and pushed her way

out of the car. As he grasped in vain at the empty space, she

heard him slur, “OK Silvi, then it’s just you and me.”

Elvira stepped away from the car and pulled her collar up

to protect her ears from the wind. Moving off, she glanced
44
 back and saw Silvi’s face, a pale mask, pressed against the

window. On her learning curve, she thought. Tomorrow, she

would tell her to tone down the eyeshadow.

6. The Wedding Party

Saturday

True to their innate tendency to find a light in the dark, a

squadron of moths and other winged beasties strafed the naked

bulb that hung over the entrance to the village hall littering the

ground below with tiny, singed bodies. Doctor Darius Kala,

who would admit to possessing no such tendency, hobbled

beneath the light and on into the wedding party where the band

was in full swing.

A metre or so above the revellers, a heavy pall of

cigarette smoke hung like swamp mist and drifted high up into

the rafters from where the lamps dangled down on their long,

spindly cords.

The doctor edged his way through the crowd, returning

acknowledgements, nodding, and smiling, until he located the

table of the Pescu family. Olivia saw him first and she came

and took his arm, guiding him to the seat opposite her own.

Lydia beamed at him. “Welcome doctor,” she mouthed but no-

one spoke for the noise.

45
 Lydia and Olivia on one side, shimmered in their beetle

greens and blues while Corvin and Darius on the other, were

drab in their conventionality. Corvin held up a small bottle of

vin-ars and raised the doctor’s tumbler. With thumb and

forefinger, the doctor indicated a small one. Corvin filled it to

the brim.

The band were winding up a violin-driven Hungarian

Czardas. Then taking the volume a few notches down, they

seamlessly launched into a rousing Romanian folk number

about a beautiful neighbour who always sat smiling in her

window. Now it was the Romanians turn, and dancing closely

together, they snapped their fingers as they twirled in psychic

union, uniquely synchronised in their perfect routines

embellished with an obscure shimmy or shuffle known only to

them.

Lydia leaned across the table. “Congratulations on your

new job, doctor. Are you familiar with the bride and groom?”

she said, cupping her mouth to be heard.

“The groom is one of my new patients,” he yelled back.

“They’re over there,” said Olivia, identifying the happy

couple with a nod of the head. The groom demonstrated no

rhythmic sense at all and was merely shifting his weight from

one foot to the other as he guided his exceptionally large wife

46
 around the dance floor, “It’s like watching someone move

furniture,” she shouted.

Then Darius watched as a subtle change came over her:

she began to pay scrupulous attention to her appearance.

Pushing back her hair with both hands, she shifted her focus to

her dress and with impatient fingers, brushed away motes that

only she could see. Concentrating intensely, she pulled back

her shoulders. This had the double effect of accentuating her

figure and revealing that she must be wearing a bra that gave

her added lift.

Moments later, a teenaged boy appeared and stood

behind her. He leaned forward and said something in her ear.

She seemed taken aback, and turning sharply in her seat, “Oh!

I didn’t know you were coming,” her voice loud in order to be

heard, but in that very moment, the music came to a halt which

left her bawling the word, ‘coming!’ at him. They both laughed

like goofy schoolchildren. This had to be Nicolae, but Darius

wasn’t the only one taking an interest. Corvin couldn’t take his

eyes off the young man.

Nicolae squeezed closer to avoid the crush of people

toing and froing from the dance floor and he spoke into

Olivia’s ear once again. She smiled and started to rise from her

chair. Corvin, reached across the table and held her

arm, “Later, Olivia. There’s plenty of time, OK?”

47
 She sat rigid in her chair, back ramrod straight, and as

the tears welled in her eyes, she stared hard at nothing. Even

when Nicolae whispered again she remained impassive and

began fidgeting with something on her finger. Nicolae moved

away, but not before nodding in Corvin’s direction.

“What are you playing with?” Lydia asked.

“It’s just a ring,” Olivia sighed heavily. “I’ve had it since

forever.”

“Let me see it.”

The girl held out her hand.

“Is that an emerald?” said Darius. “It’s beautiful.”

Lydia seemed unduly angry. “Where did you get it?”

“It was a gift.” She withdrew her hand and covered it

with the other one.

“From whom, Olivia?”

“From Papa.”

“That’s what he calls it,” and Lydia stared fixedly at her

husband, then gesturing to Olivia, she said, “go and find him.”

She was on her way Before Corvin could react, but when

he rose as if to follow, Lydia held on to his sleeve tightly and

said something that Darius tried not to hear.

48
 “Happy families, eh?” said Corvin, taking his seat again.

“Teenagers!” He scoffed, “They’re all the same.”

Corvin drank steadily and had little to say to his wife. In

sharp contrast to the prevailing party mood, the couple sat

glum and distrait, unable to free themselves of the web that

they’d spun around their marriage. And then, thought Darius,

there was Olivia who was clearly caught in the same web.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” Corvin announced,

and he headed for the door.

On the far side of the room, Olivia and Nicolae were

arguing. Darius thought this might be the right time to talk to

Lydia. “Just wondering, is everything OK?”

She opened her bag then closed it again. “He’s such a

hard man to love. I’ve almost forgotten why I do. These days I

have more reasons to hate him.”

Certainly, Darius thought, the atmosphere between them

was more taut than a piano wire. “Corvin mentioned that you

were considering stopping Olivia working for me at week-

ends.”

“Not my idea, doctor. He thinks he knows what’s best for

her while abusing the trust that she puts in him.”

“Abusing?”

49
 She chose not to respond.

“Lydia, I have to say that stopping Olivia from coming is

a mistake.”

“I agree but Corvin is stubborn. And he’s a bully.”

“I could talk to him. If you protest too, he’ll understand.”

“No doctor. It’s you who don’t understand. He cares

nothing for what’s right or wrong, only for what he wants. And

he has a strange hold over her. She always ends up agreeing...”

she thought for a moment then asked, “Did you know that

Olivia is being stalked, on her way home from school?”

“Yes, Corvin told me.”

“What do you think?”

“I, I think Corvin should collect her in the car.” He

decided to say nothing about his visit to the Bar C.

“I’ll suggest it.” She said. “It makes sense.”

Darius was beginning to feel uncomfortable with all the

cigarette smoke. “Well,” he rose from his seat. “Something has

to happen, and soon. Olivia’s wellbeing is paramount. I’m

sorry Lydia, but it’s past my bedtime. I’ll go and say goodbye

to Corvin.”

50
 She touched his arm as he steadied himself on his cane.

“Doctor, I’d like to discuss something with you in confidence;

it’s important. Can I come and see you, say on Monday?”

“On Monday I’m in Salerea-Sud. How about Tuesday?”

“I’ll be there first thing,” and she returned to scrutinising

the crowd.

Outside, Darius found a less-than-sober Corvin

unleashing his ill-temper on a teenage boy who looked about

Nicolae’s age. “I’ve seen you with him,” he raged, “If you

want to keep your job, you’ll tell me what you know about him

and my daughter. Now!”

The young man couldn’t face his accuser. “Nothing

really...” he said. “We’re not that close.”

“Have it your way. Don’t bother to turn up on Monday.”

“I’ll tell you…” It was a young girl’s voice. She stepped

out of the shadows. “…if Silviu can keep his job.”

“Who are you?” Corvin ran his bulging eyes over her,

over her bleach-blond hair, arranged, as was the fashion, in the

‘parachuta’ style with the hallmark ‘wave’ at the front.

51
 “I am Lori. Olivia is in my class. Nicu’s a year older and

they’ve been friends for ever. She’s his girlfriend, they’ve been

seeing each other for some time. There. That’s everything I

think.”

In an apoplexy, Corvin began to shake. “Liar! She would

have told me!”

“Like I care,” she sneered.

Barely able to control his rage, he snapped, “And how do

you know about it?”

“We’re only best friends,” and she laughed at her own

brazen impudence. “She told me herself, of course. Not that the

whole year doesn’t know!”

Darius grabbed Corvin by the arm. “Come on, Corvin.

Let’s join the party.”

“Wait!” he said, and turning back to the girl, “How long

has this been going on?”

“As I said, for a while. But she told me something else.”

She was openly taunting him now, enjoying this public

humiliation. “She said she couldn’t leave home quick enough,”

and widening her eyes, she added, “To get away from you.”

“What!? You’re inventing this. Making it up!”

52
 “I’m not afraid of you domnul Corvin. You aren’t a

bastard in the secret police anymore.”

Silviu grabbed the girl by the shoulders. “Shhh! Lori!

Are you crazy!”

“Why not? It’s true!” and smiling at Corvin again, she

said, “She’ll be sixteen soon. Then she can do what she likes!”

Darius stepped between them, his back to the girl.

“Come, domnul. It’s time to find the women.”

The two returned to the table to find Lydia waiting with

her fur draped around her shoulders. “Call Olivia please,” she

said. “I’m ready to go.”

“Yes, me too,” said Darius. “Early rise tomorrow.”

Corvin waved to Olivia and pointed at his watch. “Would

you like a lift, doctor?” he said.

“Well, I walked here, but OK, and only if I’m driving.”

Walking toward the vehicle, they kept a leisurely pace,

one that Darius could manage but the moment they turned the

corner, they stopped as one.

Twenty metres along the street a group of young children

were playing noisily near the old BMW. They became silent as

Corvin approached. Dressed in their best party outfits, they’d

53
 come for the wedding: the girls all frizzy curls and frilly frocks

and the boys with their dicky bows and hair slicked down with

pig fat. Perfect miniatures of their elders. They stood aside to

reveal the makeover of Corvin’s car.

Graffiti scrawled on the windscreen spelled ‘Tick-tock’.

On the bonnet, a crude caricature of Mickey Mouse. Corvin

stared at it, transfixed.

“Domnul, is that your car, domnul?” It was the smallest

child. A girl.

Corvin alone failed to turn his attention towards the tiny

face.

“Did you see who did it?” Darius asked in his friendly

doctor voice.

The girl shook her head.

“Look!” Olivia pointed to the shredded tyres. She began

to cry and buried her head in her mother’s shoulder.

“Pula-mea,” Corvin whispered.

“Domnul?” Persisted the little voice, “If it’s broken, can

we play in it?”

Corvin flexed his fingers, “Du-te!” he hissed at her.

“Du-te! Fuck off!” shrieking now.

54
 She backed away half a metre.

“Corvin,” said Darius, “she’s just a little girl,” and he

grimaced as he crouched down to the girl’s level and said, “It’s

OK.” He gave her a note. “Buy yourself a present.”

Her face lit up and snatching the money, she fled with

the other children to the corner of the street where they laughed

and danced in circles, chanting, “Tick-tock, tick-tock. Du-te!

Fuck off!” Then they pulled faces at each other shouting, “fuck

off!” “No, fuck off you!”

Lydia’s anger had been quietly simmering away. She

stood in front of Corvin and spat at the ground between his

feet. “You most definitely are a prick! A pula and a prick!”

“Look at the danger you have put us in! Domnul Mickey

Mouse! We’ll walk!” and taking her daughter by the waist,

they marched off.

Darius gripped Corvin’s arm, “Domnul, it’s time you

considered the welfare of your family; this is getting out of

hand.” He hesitated, “Look, if you need any help…”

“I know what I must do, doctor. It’s clear now. I’ll

collect the car in the morning.”

They turned to leave, but a huge figure stepped from the

shadows and blocked their path, his face in darkness, obscured

by the streetlamp which stood directly behind him. “Better

55
 come to your senses,” he growled at Corvin. “You know what

we can do. It will only get worse!”

“OK, OK.” Corvin held up his hands. “I’ll come and see

you… at, at the bar. OK?”

“Make it yesterday, OK?” Then, “Thought you might

need this.” He grabbed Corvin’s wrist and slapped a can of

spray paint into his hand, “Now you can finish the job. Before

we do.”

He turned to Darius. “Who are you?” but giving him no

time to respond, he said with a cheerless smile, “Oh yes... I

suppose you’re that Doctor Kala. Well, it’s time to look after

yourself. I mean, if the party can’t protect you anymore,” he

gestured towards Corvin, “who can?” He turned and strolled

away.

Darius was dumbfounded. “My god Corvin! Who was

that?”

“You haven’t met him?”

The doctor shook his head.

“He drives the black car, he’s Karl’s partner.”

“The car that follows Olivia from school?”

56
 “That’s the one. We call him Spandau – one hundred

percent pedigree thug.”

7. Piano

Sunday

Little by little, Darius trimmed and scraped and

watched in awe as the transformation unfolded. How long had

it been? Four years or so? Now, the sacred act of shaving was

revealing a stranger; a face he’d never seen. Like a hermit

stepping with scepticism, into the light of deliverance, he

blinked at the reflection and the pale grey eyes blinked right

back harbouring the same look of disbelief. The deep lines

around the mouth and those which spread from the corners of

his eyes made him wince. Where have you been hiding? It’s

safe now, isn’t it? Time to emerge? Feeling detached, he gazed

upon the face of a beggar: vulnerable and destitute. “Not thirty-

five years old,” he whispered. “It cannot be.”

Time had cheated him. In Jilava, it had stood still.

Almost three years had felt like ten and yet, time had proved

itself a thief. While he’d been marking each passing day,

alternately feeling empty or horrified, time had rushed on

ahead, wearing away at him, creasing his body and closing his

heart until he’d emerged not as a butterfly, but as an imposter.

57
 He’d been robbed of more than those endless days, and the

face that now returned his gaze was of someone he barely

knew.

But was that music? Calling him back? Tumbling

back through the timeless matrix until he reached… well until

he found himself standing in the place called the here and now.

Yes, he could hear it. And he had no idea when it had begun.

Wearing his Saturday morning shirt and expensive

new ‘Turkish’ Levis bought from a Bucharest store for half the

price of the real thing, he stood in the doorway of the lounge,

entranced.

On her last visit, Olivia had ‘freed’ the piano. She

gave no hint that she could play. He watched her now as she

brought to life the eighty-year-old passions of Erik Satie.

Unmistakeable. Gymnopedie No 1. From another age. The

sounds resonated haltingly, reverentially from room to room,

baptising the spaces.

Starved of beauty for so long, he watched as she

sat in her white linen dress, consumed and oblivious; so tender

and still growing into her half-formed skin, in that white room.

She glimpsed him over her shoulder. “Oh...I was just... I

mean...” Her eyes rested on his new look. “But you have...”

58
 “Yes, today I get to feel the sun on my face. I thought it

was time. Do you like it?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I do. Oh, but you have a scar.”

He touched a pale, ten-centimetre line that ran just above

and parallel to his jaw line.

“Another accident?” she smiled without looking up.

“You should see the other fellow,” he laughed.

She focused on the keyboard and said, “You seem much

younger now...I mean...and the scar gives you a rugged look.”

Today, he also got to break in his new, hand-made shoes

of rich tan leather. Walking over to her, the squeak of the thick

rubber soles marked time with his footsteps.

“You have a beautiful touch,” he said. “And you have

filled my house with a marvellous noise.”

“Thank you,” she studied her hands, “just like your new

shoes,” she said, unable to suppress a giggle.

“First time out of the box,” he grinned. “Olivia, I had no

idea you were so talented, first a ballerina, now a pianist. Are

there any more secrets?”

She coughed, her mouth suddenly dry.

“I’ll get some water,” and he squeaked his way into the

kitchen. “When did you learn to play?” he called out.

59
 “Oh, my father...my real father taught me. We don’t have

a piano now. Papa... Corvin sold it; he called it an unnecessary

distraction."

“I love Satie,” he said. Real father? Did she say that? He

felt cogs whirring looking for a home to slot into, for coins to

drop, for behaviour to make sense of itself.

“He’s one of my favourites.”

“Me too,” and he held out the glass.

She gripped it lightly and as their fingertips touched, she

caught her breath and almost dropped it.

Darius kept the conversation moving. “Can you play any

other pieces?”

“Oh yes, I know them all. Would you like to hear...?”

“Of course, I would.” He took a seat on the couch.

She rested her fingers on the keys. “This one invites no

celebration but expresses an understated joy. At least that’s

how my teacher described it.” She laughed. “I think she just

wanted to make herself sound important.” She began

Gnossienne No 3. And she allowed the notes to fall, to cascade

tentatively, “You see? It should be played at this pace, in this

way. The gaps between each note as important as the notes

themselves.”

60
 Darius closed his eyes and felt himself walking in

sunshine through a meadow of wildflowers, taking care not to

crush even one.

Then mid-phrase, the music stopped, and she sat in

silence.

“Perhaps I could talk to Corvin,” he suggested. “I’m sure

we can find a piano that would be suitable.”

“No.” she blurted, “I can’t,” then she clapped a hand

over her mouth as if she’d just remembered something

important.

“Olivia? Are you OK?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I think a ghost just walked through me.”

She glanced at her watch then focused on the keyboard again.

“Domnul doctor, may I... I mean, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, anything, anything at all.” He waited.

“What do you want?”

“Want?”

“In your life, you know, to make you happy.”

“I suppose I’m quite happy now...” He tried to catch her

eye, but she wouldn’t look at him.

“Grown-ups! You’re all the same. When someone asks a

simple question, you suddenly get defensive and come up with

something banal; totally meaningless.”

61
 “OK, sorry. I... uh...well, actually I’d...I’d like my old

feet back.”

“Yes. That would be good...”

“And what about you, Olivia, what do you want?”

She rubbed her hands together. Then straightened her

fingers out and to the doctor’s surprise, cracked her knuckles.

“I’d like to be free to play the piano so that it sounded like

madness or, or raindrops, and, and I’d like to dance like the

furies…like I did before.” She swung round to look at him.

“Do you think I could, doctor?”

“No doubt in my mind.” But as he spoke, he wondered if

she wasn’t being too dramatic.

“And what about a person? If I... I mean, well, there’s a

person you want, isn’t there?”

“Do you mean Lena?”

“Yes, Lena. Is she very beautiful? I’m sure she is.”

Darius sat up. “Yes, very much so.”

“Doctor…”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me about her, I mean…”

“I’d love to, in fact, I have something.” He disappeared

into his bedroom and returned with an old, monochrome but

62
 tinted photograph with serrated edges. “She sent this to me. I

think she removed it from the family album.”

“Yes,” she said, gazing at the image, “she is very

beautiful.” She looked up at Darius, “but…”

“This is all I have, this and a few letters she sent while I

was in… in Bucharest.” He retrieved the photo. “We were

going to get married…”

“Married, doctor? Oh, but that’s wonderful.” She began

toying with her ring. Sliding it up and down her finger. “But

you said, ‘were going to’.”

“She disappeared around a year ago. I’ve been to the

house where she lived. It seems she left there about that time.”

“I didn’t realise.” said Olivia, “I didn’t understand how

important…”

Darius sat forward on the sofa. “I hope that one day, you

find someone like that, someone who brings meaning to your

life, manifests inside your dreams, shapes your destiny.”

“You’ll find her,” she said. “We’ll find her, together.

Yes, I’m going to tell all my friends,” she laughed. Then she

took a deep breath. “There’s something else, something…”

“Yes?”

“Well...if a girl was sort of in trouble...”

63
 “What sort of trouble...might she be in?” He brushed

some imaginary specks of dirt from his jeans.

“I can’t say exactly.”

“You can’t?”

“I... I promised...” and she stole another glance at her

watch.

“I see.”

In seconds, Olivia the teenager had transformed so that

she now looked at him with a young woman’s eyes. Yet, she

seemed unsure of herself, of what to do next, as if she were

losing her balance, teetering. “I… I…”

“And is your friend... the one that you promised, is she

about the same age as you?”

“About the same, yes.” She was working her ring

vigorously, sliding it up and down her finger.

“And, and... what would she say if she were here now?”

“How would I know?”

“You must be very close, you and her.”

She nodded.

“You could probably guess what she would say, couldn’t

you?”

Another nod.

64
 “And, what would that be, Olivia?”

She thought for a moment, chewing her knuckle, then

looking at him again, half smiling, she said, “Um...probably…

‘help!’.” A tear ran down her cheek and stained her dress.

“Olivia,” he spoke calmly, “Might it be related to

something that... something that happens about once a month?”

She nodded a third time. “Oh, Doctor Darius...” the tears

ran freely now. She turned to him, her voice ragged, at the

edge of tearing, “I don’t know...”

“Hello!” someone calling; calling from outside. At the

back door. Corvin. Her Papa.

Darius got to his feet. “Go and get cleaned up. Don’t

rush, OK? I’ll tell him you haven’t finished the bathroom yet.”

He walked towards the door and heard the lid of the piano slam

like a pistol shot. Then a crash. Shattering.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She stooped to pick up the pieces of

the ballerina; her gift to him.

“That’s OK, I’ll clean it up.” He held her wrist.

“Olivia… don’t go to school tomorrow. I’ll tell Corvin you

need to come to the surgery for a proper check-up. OK?”

“But you mustn’t tell him…” and she clapped a hand to

her mouth.

65
 “Don’t worry. Of course, I won’t mention anything.” He

called out, “Coming!” then he gathered up the fragments. The

ballerina was beyond repair. The dancer would dance no more.

Carrying the shards, he made his way into the kitchen and

dumped them in the garbage bin.

“Corvin!” He opened the door.

“Doctor Kala! Good morning. I’ve brought a few things

from the factory, save you queuing for milk and butter in Ineu

at six in the morning.”

Darius put the box on the kitchen table. “Thank you so

much. Again, I’m in your debt.”

Corvin scrutinised him for a moment then stepped back.

“Is that you, doctor? I hardly recognise you.”

“I’m changing my image.”

“And shed a few years in the process!” He looked over

his shoulder and called out “Olivia, are you ready?”

“She’s finishing up in the bathroom.”

Corvin waited there in the yard and rubbed his

hands together to stave off the morning chill.

“Would you like something to drink, Corvin?

Something to warm you up?”

“Well, OK. Just a small one.” He stepped inside.

66
 Darius located the brandy and poured one for

himself too. “I didn’t know that Olivia played the piano,” he

said.

“She learned when she was young. She hasn’t

played for years, I’d almost forgotten. Before my time,

anyway.”

“Before your time?”

“Oh, of course. You don’t know. She’s my

stepdaughter. Her father lives in Bucharest. Lydia and I have

been together for...five years or so.”

“So... you met Olivia when she was ten?”

“Thereabouts.”

“And she hasn’t played since then?”

“Once or twice, before we sold the piano. It was

interfering with her schoolwork. That was a long time ago.”

Corvin appeared distracted; his eyes darting around the room.

“Is everything OK Corvin? You seem…”

“It’s Lydia,” he blurted out. “I think she hates me.” He

ran his tongue along his top teeth and leaning back, gazed at

the ceiling.

Darius thought he might be blinking back a tear but saw

no sign of one.

“She doesn’t want me in her life.”

67
 “Oh, Corvin, I’m so sorry...” he thought for a moment.

“Let me talk to her.”

“It won’t help.”

“But I can try...”

“Doctor Kala, it’s beyond salvaging. She spends the

whole day isolated in her room. I see her at mealtimes and not

always then. She has already contacted her sister in Ukraine.

It’s just a matter of time.”

“She’s considering moving to Ukraine? A little radical

isn’t it?

“I found a letter from her sister offering to take both

Lydia and Olivia.”

“Let’s think about it, Corvin. There must be

something...”

“But I’d keep Olivia here. Her friends are here. Anyway,

Lydia asked me to invite you for lunch next weekend.”

“Are you sure?”

“She likes you doctor. Olivia does too.”

“Then I suppose I ought to come.”

“Oh, there was something else. Now what was it?” he

asked the ceiling, chewing his lip for inspiration. “Ah yes, did

68
 Olivia leave anything here? The last time she was here?” and

he indicated the size with his hands.

“I don’t think so. Was it important?”

“Not very. It was a package that didn’t belong to her...”

Darius thought about the dancer he’d just slid into the

bin. “Oh, was it a figure? A ballet dancer?”

“Dancer? No, no. Oh well, it will turn up I’m sure.”

“If you tell me what it is, I can keep an eye out for it.”

“Thank you doctor. It’s probably at home. I’ll let you

know.”

A movement drew Darius’ eye to the hallway. There was

a shadow there. Olivia was listening. “Oh, and I’ve told her to

come to the surgery first thing tomorrow. She isn’t well. I’d

like to have a closer look at her.”

“But what about school, doctor? She...”

Olivia bounced into the kitchen looking her usual self,

fresh and restored. “Hello Papa,” she smiled.

As they left, Darius handed her a brown paper parcel.

“Just a small token...to say how much I appreciate your help.”

Without a word, she took it and waited outside. From the

car, she looked back and waved, “You look better without the

beard!”

69
 “Multsumesc. Thank you.”

At the gate, he leaned on his stick and watched them

drive away. Just before they turned out of sight, something fell

from the driver’s window. Minutes later, he was looking down

at the package, now torn open, revealing the silk scarf that he’d

initially brought from Bucharest as a gift for Lena.

In the white room, he sat at the keyboard and tried to

remember the tune she’d been playing, but his appetite for

Satie had left him.

Dear Diary

How does a cockroach survive in an empty house with

nothing but dust on the menu? I’ve seen them scuttling along

the skirting boards, keeping their supply lines open. I’ve

crushed a number with my shoe, but the mess disgusts me.

After so many of their generations– it’s their territory which

they are now forced to share. Although smaller than some of

the monsters that shared my cell, I can’t tolerate the constant

reminder. They gather in their dozens in a drawer in the

kitchen. I intend to spray them as they huddle around a

strategically placed glob of sugar.

Keeping this record seems odd – after all, just a few

months ago, it might have proved damning evidence for my

conviction as a dissident – again. Getting used to these new

70
 freedoms will take some time. Olivia is the one shining star in

my lacklustre firmament. Thanks to her, the house has been

transformed, in stark contrast to her own house which could

hardly be more different. Perhaps love is what’s missing there.

If it still exists, it’s out of sight, maybe behind the pictures on

the walls.

Lena has vanished. With my heart in my mouth I’ve

knocked on her door at every opportunity until…until a lady

called Eva finally answered. The signs aren’t good. Had she

moved to a new house, she would still have known I was here.

News travels fast in a bubble. Did she grow tired of not

knowing? Tired of waiting on a ghost? Has she found a better

life, away from this land that time forgot?

I am a stranger in my hometown. I left still a child at

heart, hungry, naïve; not fully formed and returned a kind of

man: imperfect; unwhole. I’m re-learning about this

community, all the time, every day, about the folks who give

what they have and take only what they need, and who still

trade in kind. Here, in Alba Jura, a minute can be more than

sixty seconds and an hour can take all day. Acclimatization

could take more time than I have. Yet, the company of

strangers is refreshing. They lack the power to prick me or

evoke the spectres that dog my footsteps and haunt my sleep.

Strangers ask no piercing questions and in turn, I can be open

with them; they give me the freedom to imagine, to dream

71
 again, and Vlad himself knows how much I need the freedom

to do that.

The village is, however, stuck in a time capsule. It’s as if

the revolution never happened; winter cabbages still grace the

supper tables and the trade in livestock continues unabated yet

there’s no sense of progress and the community is merely

treading water; surviving.

It’s been just a few weeks since I left Bucharest, where

the people were chattering excitedly, intoxicated by their

success in removing the devil Ceasca and his wife. Nothing

could be more worthy of celebration, yet in January, the

markets in the capital offered no fresh food and the railway

station was teeming with beggars. In the frozen streets,

barefoot infants were staying alive by sleeping on metal grids

above the subterranean hot-water conduits, from where steam

rises and seeps into their filthy bodies offering at least, a

modicum of comfort.

I tacked an advertisement for a car to the surgery door

and offers came in almost immediately. Now, I have a Dacia,

like all the other cars around here. A major advantage of

owning one is that everybody seems to know how to fix them.

The heater works well. It has to. There is a hole in the floor

near the foot brake through which I can observe the road as I

drive. I have decided to take my driving test as soon as I can

arrange it.

72
 Oh, and something happened a few nights back that was

so strange that I scribbled it on a pad the moment I got home.

Ah yes, here it is. ‘On arriving home in the village, I turned

into the high street to find a horse, a white stallion, blocking

the road. I slowed the car and watched it prancing and rearing

up on its hind legs, caught in the glare of the headlights. That’s

when I noticed the shackles that tethered its hind legs together.

I wanted to get a closer look, but when I got out of the car, it

had vanished.’

If I hadn’t made a note of it immediately, I would

probably have attributed it to an overtired imagination.

One thing more. The mayor offered me Pasescu’s job.

I’ve been active for some weeks now.

8. Salerea-Sud

Monday morning

She sat in the waiting room chugging on a cigarette,

impervious to the no smoking sign and the darting glances of

the other patients. Darius walked through and for a second,

considered beckoning her forward but at such an early stage in

his career as village GP, such a lapse in protocol would’ve

been unthinkable. She’d have to wait her turn. He nodded to

acknowledge he’d seen her.

73
 An eternity of backache, arthritic pain and loneliness

later, the receptionist ushered Eva into the office where she sat

in the patients’ chair near Darius’s desk. “Ah, good morning,

doamna…doamna…I’m sorry, I… please, sit down.”

“Silvanu,” she smiled broadly. “Eva Silvanu.”

“Eva Silvanu,” he repeated. Was there news? Had she

discovered something of value. Would she anoint his anxiety

with the balm of conciliation? “How are you today, doamna?”

“Thank you, but it’s domnisoara not doamna, I’m pretty

sure I’d remember if I’d been married.” She unbuttoned her

coat and without taking her eyes from him she settled herself

into the chair. “It seems a shame to visit the GP with nothing to

complain about. A kind of missed opportunity, yet no-one

could accuse me of that,” the trace of a smile played across her

lips. “But as you see, domnul doctor, I’m in excellent

condition.” She gave a little wriggle, allowing him to

appreciate the lengths she’d gone to. The three-quarter lynx fur

coat with its high shoulders reminiscent of the nineteen-forties,

opened to reveal a subdued floral print sundress that buttoned

all the way down from neckline to hem which in turn, just

covered the tops of her shiny black boots. Upon running his

eye back up the buttons, he found that she was grinning from

one side of her face to the other. Now feeling shabby in his

crumpled work-a-day suit, Darius opened his mouth to speak

but found that he couldn’t.

74
 “So, you are the new doctor,” she said.

“I accepted the post a while ago.” He drummed his

fingers on the desk.

“So I heard.” She interrupted, her smile burning just a

little less bright. “Well,” she began, “I went to see the old man.

He was still alive.”

“OK, and…”

“It took him a while to realise that I hadn’t just dropped

in to say hello again, and a while longer to understand that I

hadn’t gone all that way to leave empty-handed. It was just a

matter of time. I needed only to be pa-tient.” Amused with

herself, she enunciated the final two syllables slowly and with

precision.

“Yes. Yes, so…”

“And patience is a virtue, doctor, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, yes, an indicator of, of wisdom, I believe.” He

could hardly imagine how ridiculous he sounded or fathom

why his mouth had gone dry.

“I don’t go to Arad very often, you know.” She

straightened her fingers to check her nails. “My car is in the

workshop so I had to ask my neighbour if I could go with

them. They go every week to pick up supplies for their market

stall.”

75
 Darius sighed and opened his hands in a gesture of

supplication. “Doamna, uh domnisoara, Please, tell me what

happened.”

“Well,” she sat forward, “at first, he told me to go away.

‘Wasn’t our business concluded?’ he asked. ‘What do you

want from me?’ But when I told him that I was a teacher…”

she paused momentarily, “…semi-retired as a matter of fact, he

realised that I was not on some fool’s errand and I did notice

him glancing at my legs.”

For a moment or two, they seemed to be staring at each

other, Eva, was just amusing herself while Darius’s frustration

grew at the same rate as his sense of intrigue. But at the precise

moment he opened his mouth to say something he might have

later regretted, she stepped, with perfect timing, into the

breach.

“The police...” she continued, “had contacted him, please

close your mouth doctor, and asked him as Lena’s closest

relative, if he knew that she had been missing for around a

year; that his house had been empty for that long.”

“His house?”

“It seems that he was the owner. He was her uncle: her

father’s brother.”

“I see, and why the police?”

“I’m going as fast as I can, doctor. In my own fashion.”

76
 “Yes, I’m sorry.”

“She had been reported as missing for some time; for

almost a year to be exact. They told her uncle that having lost

her administrative job at the town hall, she’d started working at

a club, a... a men’s bar,” she said, interlocking her fingers and

staring at her upturned palms.

“A men’s bar, domnisoara? Are you sure they said that?”

She stared at him evenly. “It isn’t something I would

invent, doctor.”

This was fantastical. Hard to digest and so far removed

from his Lena. So, this was why she hadn’t told him about her

work. “But wasn’t that kind of enterprise illegal, I mean,

during the regime?”

“Technically I think, but… There’s more. If you…”

“Yes, yes, please go on.”

“She was last seen with a member of the police. A VIP

member of the police.”

“How did they know that?” Darius was getting a bad

feeling in his stomach.

“He said that they’d interviewed people at the club. I

suppose they’d found out that way.”

“And who was this policeman? Did they tell him?”

77
 “He was a ‘special’ policeman, if you understand me,

and if they knew his identity, they didn’t share it.”

“When was this? Late nineteen-eighty-eight?” Darius

was doing his sums.

“I bought the house last year. She disappeared a year

before that. So, yes.”

“And the name of the club, doamna, what was the name

of the club?”

“They didn’t say and from what I understood, I don’t

think he asked. He was just happy to get his house back.”

After she left, Darius triggered the fan heater to dissipate

the faint odour of cigarette smoke and mothballs. Evidently

Eva had grasped the serious nature of his enquiry and acted

accordingly. She’d also mislaid the man’s phone number. But

he intended to press her on that issue. Things were on the

move.

A quick scan of the waiting room revealed she’d been the

last patient of the day. Olivia hadn’t shown up. She’d chosen to

go to school after all.

9. Missing

78
 Gajica Mishto

No more we’ll serenade the moon

No more to strum a lover’s tune

Nor holdly tight in the goodnight hour

Of the dying dying day

No more a laugh to her lover’s eye

No worldly warnings to defy

Her sweetest kisses all turned sour

In the dying dying day

Trad. Roma

At night, a ringing telephone carries an additional layer

of need. Fumbling the key into the lock, Darius hoped it wasn’t

a patient crisis. He’d been delayed at his final house call - an

elderly woman with pneumonia. On arrival, he’d found a

neighbour sitting with her, but at ninety-two, he was older than

her by fifteen years and he kept nodding off. Darius was

obliged to wait for the ambulance.

Now inside, he reached for the phone, but the long beep

ceased the moment he touched the receiver. Slapping his keys

on the nightstand, he failed to notice the carpet moth which

79
 fluttered through the door behind him, losing itself in the folds

of the coats hanging there. It would prove to be an expensive

lapse.

Well... if it was important, he thought, they’ll call back.

He rubbed his forehead furiously: the banging behind his eyes

had steadily worsened since lunch time.

The phone startled him.

“Hello?”

Quaking, the voice implored, “Oh please, p-please

doctor. Tell me that sh-she is w-with you!”

Through the hysteria and fractured speech, he recognised

Lydia.

“Wait, wait. Slow down.”

The voice persisted, “P-Please tell me doctor! She is

there, isn’t she?”

His heart was already thumping before he registered it.

“Who is this, who...” he said, playing for time, he needed a

second to think. Determine the facts, he told himself.

Determine the facts.

“It’s Lydia, doctor. Please say that Olivia is with you!

Please say it!”

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 His mouth dried up instantly and with every beat, his

racing heart pained him more. “Lydia, please tell me what has

happened.”

In panic, she said, “She hasn’t c-c-come home, d-doctor.

I was h-hoping to hear her v-voice when you p-picked up the

phone.”

“Hasn’t come home from where, Lydia? From where?”

“From sch-school. We’ve spoken to e-everyone.” She

could barely form the words.

“But she gets home around three o’clock, doesn’t she?”

Darius checked his watch though he knew it was around eleven

thirty.

“We should n-never have told her we’d stop her from

coming to see you. She’s run away.”

Corvin’s voice took over. “We’ve been up and down that

road, several times. None of her friends have seen her...”

“I’m coming over. Right now. Hold on.”

In the dark, he dropped the keys not once, but twice. But

anyway, he’d left his bag inside. Damn! Back in the house, he

checked to make sure he had what he needed including some

knock-out drops. On his way again. He had perhaps five

minutes - long enough to calculate the possibilities. An

accident? The police would have been in touch by now and if

she were lying unconscious in a ditch somewhere along the

81
 road, they’d have seen her...seen the bicycle. Had she run

away? But surely, one of her friends would have known about

it, and Lydia said they had spoken to them. And in her school

uniform? She could have taken a change of clothes with her.

Nicolae would know. Thirdly: she’d been kidnapped. By who?

Spandau and Karl in the black car? Possibly, but they could be

easily identified. Then there was the fourth possibility.... the

inconceivable.

A neighbour answered the door. Inside, in the kitchen,

Corvin, forlorn and defeated, knelt beside Lydia, his arm

around her and mouthing something inaudible in her ear. On

the other side of her chair, an older woman sat on the floor,

dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Darius thought she

might be another neighbour.

In her desolation, Lydia looked up at him and burst into

tears. “Oh, p-please doctor, please find her. She...she loved to

spend time at y-your house. You...you...” Her words tripped

one over the other on her tongue.

“We’ll find her, Lydia. We...”

“She m-might have fallen asleep w-waiting for you,

doctor. D-did you check the bedrooms?”

“I’ll go and look, but first, I’ll give you something to

calm you down.” As Lydia swallowed the Xanax, he asked,

“What did the police say, Corvin?”

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 “They said if she doesn’t show by midnight, they’ll send

someone out.”

“They said that?” Darius was aghast. He knelt in front of

Lydia and took her pulse, then held her trembling hands in his.

“Please try not to worry. We’ll find her.” But the words carried

no weight, no meaning.

“And the hospital, in Ineu?” He was clutching at straws.

“We tried,” said Corvin. “Nothing.”

“And Nicolae? Have you called him?”

“Nicolae was here an hour ago.” Corvin said in a small

voice.

Lydia scanned Darius’s face; her expression shattered;

her delirium off the scale. “You were our l-last hope, doctor.”

Leaving the house, Darius passed a solitary police officer

on his way in.

At home he discovered what he already knew; there was

no runaway sleeping in his bed. Or in any of the rooms. But he

had to check. By the time he returned, the medication had

taken effect and while Corvin and the neighbours sat in silence,

Lydia softly moaned in her delirium something about a

bicycle. Darius’s heart ached; as if a great stone had been hung

from it, stretching it millimetre by millimetre, rending it apart.

He thought of Lydia and Corvin. Especially Lydia,

83
 Desperate for a few hours rest, he lay in bed, drifting in

and out of consciousness, to the sound of the Carpathian

wolves that descended from the mountains to howl mournfully

in the never-ending yellow twilight. The wolves understood,

they felt the missing.

An hour before dawn, he was taking a detour through the

forest, the road which Olivia would have taken on her final

journey. Her only alternative lay in the opposite direction. A

route which would’ve taken her further from home; a non-

starter. The same officers stopped him twice: once going and

once returning as the rising sun emblazoned another glorious

pageant across the eastern sky, purple clouds tinged with gold

gathered regally at the horizon. Darius knew the signs; soon all

the colour would be drained from the heavens and midday

would seem like nightfall. A mighty storm was stewing.

The early news carried a ten-second report which

included a photograph of Olivia, another of her school and yet

another of a bicycle; it also warned of some heavy weather

gathering pace in the neighbouring county. Summer would not

be long now but before that could happen, spring would have

to clear its throat.

10. The storm

Tuesday

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 The white April storm fell in sheets and teemed into the

foothills of the north-west Carpathians, where, within a few

short hours, it had inundated the lowlands and broken the

banks of God’s River.

In the village, the soak-away trenches that ran along both

sides of the high street, quickly filled and water spread across

the roads and lanes and lapped at the foundations of the

houses. Behind the trenches plum trees bowed and swayed

under the relentless battering as from on high, the furies

crackled and bellowed their anger at a wayward world.

Dr Kala sat and listened in awe to the pounding on the

roof of his surgery and the sudden squalls that lashed at the

windows. The corners of his tired eyes tingled, and he rubbed

at the sockets with the heel of his hand, succeeding only in

making his red eyes redder. Lydia would no longer have

‘something important’ to discuss with him; there would be no

patients today and he could have done with the distraction. His

one continuous thought was of Olivia. Haunted by the memory

of their last few meetings, the events, popping out at random,

had been looping in his head for sleepless hours.

‘What sort of trouble, Olivia?’ ‘I can’t say, doctor… I

promised...’ ‘And what would she say, if she were here now?’

‘Um, probably...help.’ ...and she raised her arms aloft, fingers

almost touching, almost completing the circle. ‘My real father

taught me… my real father...A ghost has just walked through

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 me…I’m not a child you know! I can’t say...I can’t say,

doctor…probably, help…probably, help!’

He flicked off the desk lamp and sat in the gloom of a

darkening afternoon. His parents always switched off the lights

during such a downpour. Something to do with the lightning,

his mother said. The darkness amplified the rumbling of the

angry storm, made things easier on the eye, easier on the head.

Easier to smell it.

Putting Olivia out of his mind became impossible. It

would have been simpler to stop breathing. He began counting,

slowly now, one, two, three, four...in, hold, out...one, two,

three, four…

Grabbing his stick, he got to his feet and took three steps

towards the door, one to the left, then three back and one to the

left; that was all that his cell had allowed. Again, he described

the rectangle that he knew so well, like a parade ground

routine. Going around and around. Like his mind. Free now to

focus on things like...Olivia. Things like Lena.

The diary. Yes. It might help. A kerosene lamp sat on the

windowsill waiting for this moment and once lit, two specks of

light jumped and danced at the edge of his pupils, swaying in

time with the draught that ghosted through from the waiting

room. He removed the cap from his pen and opened the log. As

he moved his hand across the page, the gentle glow from the

86
 lamp cast foreboding shapes that played over the ceiling and

the walls behind him.

I am under siege. The din from above is spectacular. The

incalculable hordes of Genghis Khan himself might be passing

overhead, thundering across the Great Hungarian Plain. It’s

as though a sadness has descended upon the village; outside,

the tempest rails against an injustice soon to be resolved. But

the heart already knows the truth; it doesn’t lie.

He looked up. A sound - half-hidden inside the storm.

“Hello!” He called out in his professional, welcoming voice.

“Hello?” Nothing. He returned to his writing.

Soon, all our possessions will be floating away down the

main street and we’ll have to salvage what’s left from the open

fields.

But he was prevaricating. Olivia was all he wanted to

write about.

Again, a sound. From outside. He pushed back his chair

and almost fell off it. From the doorway, a large scarecrow

stared down at him, mouth agape; thick fingers absently

kneading his black cap.

“Costel!” Darius was shaken; taken off guard. “Can I

help you?”

Here was Costel Birka, local sheepherder and illiterate

whose preference for company was ovine rather than human.

87
 Stain, his faithful dog was the exception, and now he stood at

Costel’s side, waist high to his master. Water dripped from his

filthy sheepskin cloak and from Stain’s fur and seeped quietly

into the handmade Oltanian rug. With no warning, the dog

shook himself out. Darius tried to protect his papers and the

assorted artifacts that populated his desk but when Stain had

finished, every surface within range had been decorated with a

dark spray.

“Costel, can’t you control your dog! Look! Now I’ll have

to clean the whole room!”

A stench pervaded the room, emanating from his two

visitors. Darius felt sure it wasn’t the dog. His stomach flipped;

he reached for the box of tissues and slowly brought the

heaving under control. God in heaven. He’s rotting inside...

“Costel, please have a seat,” and indicating the chair with

one hand, Darius held a tissue over his face praying that the old

man would be able to control his bodily functions. The

shepherd remained where he was and began muttering

splintered sounds that tumbled out only to be quickly gathered

up by the storm.

“What did you say, Costel? I can’t hear you.”

For a man who rarely said anything, Costel was making a

supreme effort.

88
 Darius persisted. “Sit down, please. I have the

results of your tests.”

The shepherd stared at the carpet and continued to

toy with his hat.

“Have you been taking the tablets I gave you?”

Cough. Cough.

“And your legs? Where are the bandages?”

Again, the shepherd spoke. More slowly now.

“Co-come, yes, yes…come and, and…”

He moved to the door. “Come…” he squeaked.

“Come.” And he turned and left.

“But, but Domnul Birka,” Darius shouted after him,

“There is a hurricane going on out there.” He crossed the room

to the doorway to find the shepherd, now standing by the main

entrance holding the door open. Shouting was futile and

immediately lost in the pandemonium.

He approached the old man. “Is it the girl?” he said, his

voice heavy with trepidation.

“The girl, yes, the girl.”

Darius knew which girl. There was only one. His

grabbed his coat and umbrella from the back of the door and

locked up. The three-second jog across the street turned the

umbrella inside out and soaked him from head to foot.

89
 With great difficulty, Costel folded himself into the

passenger seat and Stain climbed into the back. Neither seemed

comfortable with the arrangements. Despite the conditions,

Darius wound down his window and hoped for the best. Mixed

blessings he thought. Immediately, Stain shook himself out

again.

“Costel, where are we going?” Through the hammering

on the roof he had to repeat the question.

“The l-lake, doctor.”

Still early in the afternoon, dusk seemed to be falling and

with water streaming down the windscreen too fast for the

wipers to cope with, visibility was zero. Forcing his head out

of the driver’s window and into the downpour, Darius pushed

on, faster than good sense permitted; if he drove into a ditch, it

would be too disastrous to contemplate and would bring their

journey to an end. The ten-minute ride took twenty and pulling

up beneath a great oak tree that arched over the road, affording

some cover, he scrambled from the car, his thumping heart

threatening to burst from his chest.

Costel led the way through a clearing and with Stain as

ever, in tow, he parted the branches for the doctor to follow.

What would have brought her here? For Darius, it made

no sense. If she had a broken leg surely, she would have

struggled to the road. There was nothing good in this. He

90
 sensed a tragedy unfolding, and the storm itself seemed to be

railing against it. He tried to keep pace with the sure-footed

Costel but he kept slipping and sliding and losing his footing.

Each time, the giant shepherd, with surprising strength, hauled

him to his feet. Finally the track ended. The party halted. They

could go no further.

They hovered over the lip of the lake. The deafening

battery of the surrounding vegetation was relentless. And from

within the all-consuming wall of noise, the two cripples,

Costel, with his decaying body, pointing first here, then there,

and Darius, with his broken feet, propped up by his cane,

stared hard into the churning water, looking for a sign, for

confirmation of the unthinkable, the worst of all outcomes.

As the deluge raked across the dark lagoon, tearing it up,

the doctor’s intense gaze peeled away the layers of the turmoil,

the fractured shadows until just a meter down, he found her:

Olivia. His Olivia. There was little doubt. Her blond hair

reaching out in tendrils towards the surface. Her green eyes

glinting. Her school uniform. And her missing.

“Quick! Costel! Help me!”

Darius leapt into the air and immediately sank to his

waist. Stain barked in baritone and jumped in too and Costel

took tiny steps up and down the water’s edge, but then he too

took the plunge, clinging steadfastly to the flora on the bank.

91
 Sediment kicked up and swirled around them, muddying the

water until it became impenetrable. Darius began sinking

slowly and as the water reached his neck, his groping fingers

finally grabbed a handful of something. Was it hair or was it

weeds? He tugged. Something much heavier moved with it.

“She’s here! Just by my feet! Quick, Costel, quick!”

The shepherd reached down and found an arm then

Darius found her waist and together, they scrambled her onto

the bank where she lay, lifeless and unbearably still. Darius

was chin-deep now and Stain woofed furiously as his master

flailed about, wild-eyed in desperation, and still gripping the

thick tuft of grass which was the difference between living and

dying.

Darius grasped and clawed at anything at hand; whatever

his frantic fingers found. With an enormous effort, he heaved

himself onto the lakeside then turned to haul the floundering

Costel out of the water by his sheepskin coat. Costel looked

terrified.

For a while, they lay on their backs, chests pumping,

almost oblivious of the pummeling they were taking from the

storm. Coughing the water out of his lungs Darius looked at

the old man. “Why didn’t you get her out, Costel. Why?”

“I c-can’t s-swim! Can’t s-swim!” he panted.

92
 Perhaps it wasn’t too late. He began compressions of her

chest, then tried to breathe life back into her. All rationale left

him. When he wanted to straighten her out, she resisted.

Slumping over her, protecting her from the rain, his tears

mingled with the tears of heaven that streamed through his

hair.

Now he saw the bruising and fingernail marks around her

throat and one of her eyes was bloodshot. Closer inspection, he

knew, would reveal other signs of strangulation. She stared up

at him in blank acceptance. Gone was the wonder, that bright

spirit. Here she lay, her past, present and future all together, as

one; her cycle complete. And Darius could think of just one

word… ‘help’.

‘And what would that be, Olivia?’

‘Um...probably…...help.’

He shook his head to re-focus; to dispel the horror as if

he were watching nothing more than a movie; nothing more

than a vision. But he couldn’t shake off the burgeoning notion

that he might have prevented this. That he had killed her as

surely as if he’d held her under the surface with his own hands.

“Do-doctor. Domnul!” squeaked the voice through the

din. Costel helped him to his feet. Where was his cane? In the

lake? Darius turned and inadvertently kicked something hard

which glinted metallically as it plopped into the water. Costel

93
 located the walking stick and together with Stain they trudged

back through the trees, through the clearing and across the

streaming road.

Behind the wheel, Darius blinked the rain from his eyes

and waited for Costel, but the shepherd just tapped the window

and waved. His job was done; he’d played his part—for now.

How would he tell Lydia? How not to destroy her? And

what of Corvin? He knew this would kill their marriage. Dead.

He might have to double the dose of sedatives when he broke

the news.

Watching Costel and Stain walk away, he realised that

the shepherd had come to him and not to the police. Right now,

those officers would be in the back room playing cards and

drinking brandy.

But he roused them; took them back to where Olivia lay,

and when he got home, he ransacked the garden shed until he

found what he was looking for: a tin of paint that wasn’t white.

He found some turd-brown fence paint containing wood

preserver. Perfect. He daubed one wall in the kitchen and

another in the living room, barely noticing when he splashed

the floor and adjoining walls. But now he knew. There was no

divine plan so heinous, no misanthropic deity so cruel. There

was only man’s capacity for evil.

94
 His wrath and his despair overwhelmed him and led him

down to the river beyond the bamboo, beyond the garden

fence. It had broken its banks forcing him to find a high point

overlooking the inundation. What yesterday had been a trickle,

was today a torrent. Immune to the rain now, he sat gazing into

the waters and fought back the urge to leap. The idea seemed

futile; melodramatic even. If there were no godly design, then

such an act would be unlikely to bring them together in the

hereafter. And he was, had become, above all, a survivor. But

he was winded and he don’t know if he’d ever get his breath

back. For the first time, his thoughts turned to the perpetrator.

Unwittingly, he’d already been drawing up a list of suspects. It

was not very long.

Dear Diary 2

This morning, I dug an old coin out of the dirt with my

fingernails. It lay half-buried in the garden path. I can’t

explain the urge that had me retrieving such a worthless token

but once it had revealed itself, leaving it in the ground was not

an option. Out of date now, when in circulation, long before

the onset of democracy, it had been worth something.

Probably as much as a half a day's pay. Now, with inflation

running amok, it would be necessary to add three zeros in

order to buy a lighter.

Olivia has gone. And her leaving will leave a space, a

hole that I can never fill. How long did I know her? Just a few

95
 months. I hesitate to use the past tense. She was the one

shining star in my lacklustre firmament. Thanks to her, the

house has been transformed, in stark contrast to her own

house which could hardly be more different. Perhaps love is

what’s missing there. If it still exists, it’s out of sight, maybe

behind the pictures on the walls.

The winter has been harsh, taking with it, a toll of twelve

– one frozen siege too long for twelve old souls. They passed

on peacefully enough, in their beds or favourite chairs next to

the terracotta. About half were before my time. For those that I

did find, the first job was commonly to turn off the radio.

The case of Luminous Loredana was another matter.

Once celebrated throughout Viscri for her collection of glow-

in-the-dark effigies including several versions of Jesus on the

cross, which radiated in a variety of hues, and an outsize

Madonna and Child which lived on the guest room windowsill

for all non-existent passersby to admire, the story of her

demise is worth retelling.

Her house was situated beyond a line of trees at the end

of a dirt track to the east of the high street. The only daughter

of Moldovan parents, she was known by some as Moldovan

Lumi. Housebound for years, she was entirely dependent upon

her brother Doru, who cycled back and forth as a part of his

daily ritual, until one night in early December, while staring at

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 the television in the Bar Continental, he collapsed and died of

alcohol poisoning. After putting him in the ground, not one of

Luminous Loredana’s relatives had given her a thought. A

classic case of ‘Out of sight, out of mind’, and domnul doctor

‘Blotting Paper’ Pasescu would have been sleeping off a

hangover. She simply passed beyond the collective

consciousness of the community until, that is, a neighbour,

alerted by the stray dogs that had been gathering near her

house, called the mayor; and the mayor called me.

Two months had gone by since Doru’s last visit.

Determining the cause of death proved impossible. Within

twenty-four hours of her discovery, my patients informed me of

the rumours that brother Doru had sent her packing for her

savings which he’d been merrily spending on the night of his

own passing. The truth is that she’d probably died of

starvation, yet the evil brother getting his comeuppance at the

hands of a just god, was a far more pungent tale, and despite

my best efforts to reassure everyone, Doru and Luminous

Loredana would undoubtedly pass into folklore.

Olivia, of course, is number thirteen. I have lost a friend.

My new best friend; a soul I hardly knew, yet know her, I

certainly did. It lasted just a few weeks and hurts like forever.

How can a life so vibrant be snuffed out just as it was getting

into its stride? Brought to a shuddering halt, interrupted while

doing nothing more perfidious than cycling home from school?

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 She had been ambushed. Her shocking murder predetermined;

premeditated.

I could have kept her safe. What was it she said? ‘I was

wondering...how good it would be if I moved in here, with

you.’ Had she sensed the danger? She was looking for a haven

and she looked to me for help. And I turned her down. Yet, she

would still have gone to school, on her bicycle, still been

vulnerable to…to her fate. Unable to escape it. It’s still too

painful to dwell on.

Her death, a crime against innocence, has pulled a

shroud over the village; across the sun. A gloom has

descended. We continue to operate in a kind of anaesthetized

void; like pigs in a cornfield keeping our heads down. I’ve

cancelled all appointments. Just for a few days.

Lydia is beside herself and beyond consoling, Corvin is

extraordinarily brave and distrust of the local police is

infectious. It explains why Costel came to me first.

I have contacts in Bucharest, people who wished me well

after my release from Jilava and there is one, Raducanu, a

junior minister and fellow dissident and revolutionary, who

offered his help, whatever the need. I’m considering making a

phone call in order to get justice for Olivia. I can’t wait too

long; timing is everything. Something is moving in me; I have

98
 become more feral; my sensibilities are becoming less

sensitive. I’m growing a different skin.

This morning I drove out through a sunny, featureless

landscape until I reached the Mures, the great Mures river

that springs from the eastern Carpathians and drains into the

Tisza in the south-east corner of Hungary. In what now seems

like prehistory, Lena and I would cast our stones into the

speeding current as we sat side by side, listening to the river

talking, the way we always did. Today, I focused on each

pebble as it plopped into the passing flow, desperate to stay in

the moment, but my distraction was overpowering. Grief kills

the conversation. Dead.

11. Franz’s Tale

The storm had kick-started summer, yet much of the

arable land across the region was now a quagmire; livelihoods

had disappeared with the corn. Zoltan ‘Franz’ Liszt, had woken

that morning to find his garden reduced to a swamp, his

demolished greenhouse just a pile of scattered sticks and

broken glass, and it was this that preoccupied him as he sat

waiting his turn to see Doctor Kala. Darius considered him to

be ‘good value’: he radiated good energy; a good soul whose

sense of timing enabled him to tell a good joke, elevating a tale

99
 from the banal to the memorable. On this warm morning in

May, the doctor was pleased to see his face.

Darius made a show of rearranging some papers as Franz

sat down, then he plunged in. “Is this a social visit, Franz,

or...?”

Franz cleared his throat and scratched his chin, “I was in

the cafe and well, I thought I’d just drop in to say hello.”

“Thank you. I’m so sorry to hear about your greenhouse.

Were you injured?”

“Oh no,” he replied, “I stayed under the blankets. I’m as

healthy as a pink pig. People in the north had their houses

reduced to driftwood and washed away into the Tisa River.

What is a greenhouse?” He stared at his hands for a moment.

“Well, I’m sure you’re busy...” and he got to his feet.

“No. Not at all. If there’s anything on your mind…?”

Franz scanned the room.

“As you see,” said Darius, “apart from you and I, there is

no-one here, and, I’ve acquired nothing new for the surgery

since your last visit.”

“Yes, I was just…well, it’s about sleeping, you see.”

“Sleeping problem?”

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 “I worry doctor. Too much, I think. I’m such a child, you

know?”

Darius grabbed a jug of water. “Children,

notwithstanding exceptional cases, tend not to worry so much

Franz. Some water?”

Franz coughed and blinked.

“Something stronger?”

“Well, thank you very much, doctor.”

The brandy was in a cupboard. Darius slid the brimming

tumbler across the desk and Franz drained it in an instant. “I’ll

have that water now, doctor. Thank you.”

“What’s bothering you Franz?”

“I worry about the old shepherd, you know...”

“Costel?”

“Yes. Him. Doctor, something’s wrong.”

“You think so?”

Franz wriggled about to find his best position. “I was

approaching the bar yesterday, the Bar Continental when I

noticed that everyone was standing outside in the yard. I had to

look twice to be sure.” He looked at Darius waiting for a sign

to continue.
101
 “Who was everyone?”

“The staff. The regulars, you know, the customers, all

grouped together. All laughing at something.”

Darius gripped the arms of his chair and closed his eyes.

“Go on,” he said.

“Silvi, that new bar maid, she was standing outside with

them, but shouting and screaming at someone inside the bar.

I’ve never seen her in such a frenzy. Not in all the days of my

years.”

Darius coughed. “I don’t think you’ve known her that

long, Franz.”

But Franz was getting into his stride. “And language,

doctor. And from such a young woman!”

“Uh-huh.”

“‘You animal!’” she said. “‘You total prick. How could

you? How the fuck could you?’ And I had no idea what she

was bleating about, but all the others, well they thought it was

hilarious. Couldn’t stop heehawing, could they?”

Darius raised his eyebrows.

“‘You should be arrested for that,’ she said. ‘Effing

arrested!’ So, I’m thinking, who’s she talking to? Who needs

102
 arresting? I stepped closer, close enough to see inside, and

there, in his usual parking slot beneath the TV, is Costel with

Stain at his feet, and he was beaming. Grinning like an old

fool. And he appeared to be wafting the air in her direction,

like this.” And he waved the backs of his hands slowly towards

the doctor.

“I see. And what was it...that he should be arrested for?”

“That’s what I said. ‘What’s the problem Silvi? What’s

going on?’ And everyone was shouting and giggling like

schoolkids, ‘Go on Franz,’ someone said, ‘go and tell Costel to

get out.’ So, I did. I stepped inside and looked at Costel

and...and, as I breathed in, my eyes started watering and with

no warning, I began to choke. Suddenly, I wanted to throw up.

I had spew in my throat, doctor, and I’d only just had breakfast.

Anyway, faster than I’d entered, I got out, holding my face,

and as I gagged in the yard, all I could hear were people

bleating and braying and choking and the sound of them

slapping each other about. I tell you doctor, I’ve been working

with animals for years, I’ve never smelt anything like that.

Never. Never.”

“An upset stomach, perhaps?” Darius suggested, but like

Franz, he already had some concerns regarding Costel’s

condition.

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 “No, doctor, not a chance. That wasn’t an upset stomach.

It wasn’t right. Not right at all.” He leaned across the desk and

whispered confidentially, “I think he’s decaying, doctor. From

the inside out. Rotting...you know?”

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll invite him in, for another

examination.”

“Good luck with that, doctor. Wear a gas mask. Make

sure it’s had a safety check.”

Franz gave the doctor a sidelong glance.

“Was there something else, Franz?”

The old man looked around the room once more.

“Another shot?” Darius refilled his tumbler.

“Well, I... I speak in the strictest confidence you

understand. I wouldn’t...”

“Franz, everything you say, stays in the room. You know

that.”

“OK. So, my reaction must have triggered Silvi because

once I looked up, I saw that she was heaving her lunch into the

dust with Elvica rubbing her back. At that point, a black

minibus pulled into the yard. It belongs to those two you know,

Karl and Spandau. I don’t like that one.” And he shivered.

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 “Spandau?”

“Yes, him. He’d snap your spine for fun.”

“I’ve met him. Once.”

“Karl asked what was wrong with Silvi. ‘She’s been

poisoned by Pongo in the bar,’ and Elvica held her nose to

demonstrate.

“‘How bad can it be?’ he asked. ‘Find out for yourself,’

she replied. ‘I can’t wait.’ And we all watched as Karl led his

shadow inside.

“Instantly they were coughing and groaning and then

Stain began barking and everyone was in spasms, and when the

boys returned, their eyes were streaming. ‘That’s bad.’ Karl

said, ‘Really bad.’”

“So, what did they do?”

“Spandau became agitated. ‘We’ve got to get him out,

boss. We have an important call to make.’ So, they went back,

and I heard Karl offering free drinks that evening if he vacated.

When the shepherd staggered out into the yard, he got a round

of applause. With Stain next to him, he slumped under a bush

to sleep it off. It’s what he usually does.”

“Well, an interesting episode Franz. In the end, everyone

was...”

105
 “But I haven’t finished, doctor.”

“There’s more? OK, go ahead.”

“Elvica emptied a cannister of cheap deodorant into the

bar room and began ushering everyone back inside but I

thought it better to leave it a little longer, so I stood in the

shadow of the van, out of the sun, and lit a cigarette. Spandau

must’ve finished his call and he approached Karl and Elvica,

who were standing on the other side of the van. I heard him

say, ‘they’re ready to take the consignment, but they aren’t

happy. They expected more.’ And that’s when I heard the

voices.”

“Voices, Franz?”

“From inside the van. Sounded like bickering, but sort of

muted.”

“Hmmm, I see.”

“Elvica asked Karl what the consignment was. ‘We’re

taking some girls to the border,’ he said. ‘They want to get to

the west.’ ‘You’re taking them to Yugoslavia?’ she said. She

sounded shocked. Karl said something about the Yugoslavs

paying good money. Then he told her to mind her own

business. But she said, ‘It is my business, Karl. I manage your

finances now, remember?’

106
 “I don’t know what it means, doctor, but it didn’t sound

good. And Yugoslavia is not safe. There’s going to be a war

over there.”

“Do you think they are trafficking girls?”

Franz didn’t answer. “I tried to sneak a look through the

passenger window. The rear windows are all blacked out.” He

clasped his hands together and his fingers began twitching.

“What did you see, Franz?”

Franz looked nervously around the room once more, a

reflex movement. “I couldn’t get a good view into the back of

the van, but I glimpsed one of them. At least I could see what

she was wearing. They were rags, doctor. Filthy rags.”

Darius tried to keep calm. “What happened when they

discovered you?”

“They didn’t. They drove off without noticing me. Elvica

was already back inside the bar. I don’t know what I would

have said if they’d seen me. But those voices, doctor.”

“What about them?”

“They sounded so young. So young doctor.”

“Yes, well...best we keep this to ourselves for the

moment. Until we know what’s going on, eh? So, shall we

107
 check your blood pressure while you’re here, Franz? It’ll only

take a second.”

12. Corvin and Lydia

Unshaven and in need of a clean shirt, Corvin stood

crestfallen in the doorway like a great black heron unable to

fly, his countenance remote and unresponsive. This was the

joyless face he wore now. His other faces had all gone away.

“Lydia will be pleased you came,” he said, unable to

meet the doctor’s gaze.

Darius offered his hand; Corvin’s was a limp response.

He looked dazed and didn’t move aside to allow Darius access.

Matter-of-factly he said, “He’s been arrested,” raising his

eyebrows a fraction to underline the good news.

“Yes, I heard last night.” Darius tried to keep it light. “I

hope I’m not intruding, I just thought I’d...” and he peered over

Corvin’s shoulder into the gloom, “...but if you’re busy...I can

come back later.”

“He’s not busy!” Lydia appeared behind her husband,

her voice splintered and cracked like an old, warped beam.

Immediately, she broke the spell of solemnity. “It’s a wonder

he isn’t drunk!” she railed. “Pula!” she cursed, glaring at her

husband, and spitting at the floor, she poured her hatred into

him. “That’s what you are!”

108
 She stepped from the shadows and Darius caught his

breath. This was not the woman he’d spoken to at the wedding.

Not even the Lydia to whom he’d administered a palliative just

yesterday. Grief had etched itself into her face; her sallow and

sagging skin was drawn down from her hollow cheeks. Her

red-rimmed eyes sat so deep that her forehead seemed to

protrude like a scarred cliff. Above it, her mousey hair, now

streaked with grey and white; below it, her face glistened.

She’d gained twenty years.

“Lydia, I wanted to see how you are.”

Corvin finally stood aside.

“Thank you, domnul doctor. Thank you for your never-

ending kindness. I wish I was better, I wish, oh how I wish, I

wish...” In one hand she gripped her elbow, in the other, she

crushed a balled-up handkerchief which she held to her mouth.

Darius stared at her hands. The area around the fingertips

was stained in various shades of yellow. It was nail varnish,

applied without care as a child uses crayons, unable to keep the

colours within the lines.

“Yes, doctor, you see?” she asked, “These are my babies

now. My colours are my babies, now. Sometimes she used to

help me, but at least I still have them,” and she unfurled her

fingers to reveal a bottle of nail varnish inside the

handkerchief.

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 “Perhaps...perhaps I can give you something to help you

sleep, doamna.” Darius rummaged in his bag and produced a

slim box. “Here. Take one or two with water before you go to

bed. I wish I could do more.” He handed her the medication,

praying it might make a difference. He wanted to hold her and

hug her and keep her from harm. Exactly the way he’d felt on

the last occasion he’d seen her daughter alive.

She studied the packet; turned it over and over. With not

a trace of irony, she whispered, “Perhaps I’ll take them all at

once, doctor.” Shivering, she pulled her cardigan tight around

her shoulders.

Darius reflected for a moment. “It...it might be better if I

came every day to administer the medication.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. Again, I thank you for your

consideration, but if I did something like that, who would put

flowers on her grave?” Unable to stem her tears, she glowered

at Corvin’s bowed head. “Certainly not him!”

“Can I get you something to drink, doctor?” she said,

perhaps hoping he’d stay longer.

“Thank you, but I’m busy, doamna. I’ll come by later.”

She turned and shuffled away into the darkness of her

room.

“Corvin, could you make sure she doesn’t...”

“Oh, yes, I’ll make sure she only takes what she needs.”
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 “Well... I have other calls.”

But Corvin didn’t move and after a moment’s silence he

said, “It didn’t take them long in the end. The police, I mean.”

“No, not long at all. I’m sure you feel some kind of

respite, but...well...I’m concerned.”

“Why, doctor? Aren’t you pleased that they got a result

so quickly?”

“Domnul, we are talking about Costel, the man who

found her; the old man who can barely walk.”

“He was the last man to see her alive.”

“He was? Says who?”

“Well, that’s what the police think.”

“He came to me to show me where she was. Not to the

police. To me. This is a joke isn’t it? The police are protecting

the...”

“Costel is guilty. They told me that he’s confessed.”

“Confessed!” Darius was not given to scorn, but he knew

the kind of circumstances under which Costel might have

‘confessed’. “Corvin, he can hardly string a sentence together.”

Corvin was implacable. “The law will take its course. If

he’s innocent, he’ll go free.”

“Domnul...” Darius was searching for the right words,

“have you forgotten that she was being routinely stalked after

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 school; followed by that car? Have you told the police about

the car, domnul?”

Corvin looked away.

“And there’s the club domnul, what about the club?”

“Club, doctor?”

“You know which club I’m talking about. Your own

club, which the gangsters from Bar Continental want. Have

you reported their behaviour, their intimidation? Don’t you

think that Olivia would have liked the police to...to arrest the

real perpetrators?”

“And they have, doctor. They have.”

“They have not!” Another voice.

The two men swung around to see Lydia standing in the

doorway of her bedroom.

“That old man is a scapegoat!” she shrieked. The fire in

her eyes would have burned down a forest. “And no matter

who killed her, the fault lies with you, you bastard!” and once

again, she spat at him.

Corvin raised his arms helplessly, “I’m sorry doctor...”

“Don’t apologise for me.” Lydia was shaking now, out of

control. “You do not apologise for me!”

“Please doctor...” Corvin guided Darius towards his car.

“Thank you for coming.”

112
 Darius placed his bag on the passenger seat. “Do you

think they missed something at the inquest?”

“Rape and unlawful killing. I think that covers

everything.”

“Yes, but had they carried out an autopsy, they would

have found something else.”

“What would that be?” Interest kindled in Corvin’s eyes.

“Didn’t you know that she was pregnant?”

Corvin looked aghast. “Pregnant? How do you know she

was …?”

“The signs are easy to spot when you know what to look

for. But she told me herself in so many words. By about eight

weeks, I’d say. She described the symptoms, furthermore, she

was eating for two.” He got into the car. “You, as family can

ask for an autopsy. It could be important.”

Corvin considered for a moment. “We know she was

strangled after being raped. How would pregnancy change

things?”

“Well, it introduces the idea of motive.” He caught

Corvin’s eye for a second. “Anyway, you could raise it before

the coroner sums up tomorrow.”

“It might upset Lydia even more if I did that.”

113
 “If you like, I can ask her in the morning. It could be

crucial to any future proceedings.”

“Look. I’ll talk to her. If she wants that, I’ll call you

later.”

Darius offered his sympathy once again, “I’m sorry for

the pain that this has brought upon you, both of you. Be kind to

her.”

He started the car but over the sound of the engine, he

heard Lydia’s voice. Looking back, he saw her in the doorway,

“Don’t let him fool you doctor,” she wailed, “don’t let him do

it!”

Lydia’s wretchedness pervaded his thoughts. A

monstrous injustice had befallen both she and Corvin. How

could their marriage survive? How could he stand by and do

nothing? He felt like throwing a burning torch into the Bar C,

then standing across the road to watch it burn down. There

were not a few who would love to warm their hands on that

fire. He couldn’t allow those gangsters to get away with it. It

was Karl’s black Mercedes. Olivia’s school friends must have

known he was stalking her. And... if he acted, others would

follow. But he was the GP now, the very definition of

impartiality. Still, he could distribute leaflets from his surgery,

appealing to anyone with information to come forward; to

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 come and see him. How would that be compromising his role

in the community? By the time he reached home, he had the

details mapped out in his head.

The next morning. Saturday. Thoughts of Olivia and

Lydia were making his head spin, intruding on his work. He

tried to complete his notes but couldn’t keep his focus. Had he

slept at all? His weariness said, ‘not much’.

The leaflet was proving more problematic than he’d

envisioned; how should he frame it in order to preserve his

neutrality? The wastepaper basket was half full of failed

attempts. He turned to his journal.

Am I Darius the doctor, or Darius the man of

conscience? He wrote. Because it seems I can’t be both. How

can I retain both personal and professional integrity when they

are at odds with each other? Whether Mother Theresa or Pol

Pot, I’m sworn to offer succour, yet, how could Olivia or Lydia

forgive me if I do nothing now? How could I forgive myself?

And how would I face people and offer the same openness, the

same candour, the same care? The community is enthralled by

the local mob. The authorities wilfully look the other way.

Someone must speak up. To break the cycle. For Lydia and for

Corvin. And if not now, then when? When has the cause been

115
 more deserving? Darius the doctor or Darius the man? Twins

joined at the hip. Inseparable.

His old compatriot Raducanu, suddenly came to mind.

The writer and poet, had recruited him in ’eighty-seven, and

told him, ‘Important events are unfolding across Eastern

Europe. We need activists to support the cause.’ Darius hadn’t

hesitated. Strangers lacking health care began to turn up after

his surgery had closed for the day. Political outcasts, men and

women who’d been found wanting by the state and stripped of

everything, their home, their jobs, and importantly, their

papers. It hadn’t lasted long. He was sleeping when the thugs

from the Securitate came knocking. They hadn’t even allowed

him to dress.

Raducanu, now a junior minister in the tentative

revolutionary government, had offered a warm handshake and

a pledge of support, but insisted, ‘I can offer no job and

nowhere to live.’ He did, however, promise to help him in any

way he could, and he secured a new ID for the doctor who,

until it arrived, depended on old acquaintances for just about

everything.

Darius remembered him as a revolutionary of grand

concepts and fine words, always ready with a cheer to support

the actors, like him, who articulated his eloquent ideas. Yet in

the event, it was the old communists who’d stage-managed

everything to perfection and so, held on to their power under

116
 the guise of a fledgling democracy. He recalled the words of

the dissident communist official, Mazilu who’d said, ‘I am

certain now that revolutions are conceived by idealists, enacted

by fighters and taken advantage of by opportunists’?

Darius could well see the similarities between the

national overthrow of communism and the current state of

affairs in Alba Jura. But there were one or two crucial

differences. Now, he was on his own and secondly, this fight

was personal. A simmering anger was glowing within him and

though he’d been shaken badly he’d remained calm. For the

time being, professionalism had won the day, but he would

distribute the leaflets.

He looked down to read what he had written. The

message was simple.

‘Costel Birka is innocent. We all know it. All information

will be treated in the strictest confidence.’

Succinct. To the point. Enough. He’d leave the leaflets

on the receptionist’s desk.

13. Silvia

“Hello? Doctor Kala?”

Darius was feeling refreshed. That rare thing, a good

night’s sleep, followed by a cold shower, had brought him

back from the dead.

117
 Sipping pure apple juice straight from the fridge, he sat

in the shade of his surgery, suffering the indifference of the

ceiling fan which, nonetheless, conjured up sufficient energy to

move the air a little. Out in the street, in the oven-like

conditions of a Transylvanian June, the tarmac was beginning

to melt.

He held the receiver to his ear. “I am he.”

“Doctor, can we talk?”

“Who is this?”

“Not on the phone.”

“Oh? And why not?”

“Doctor, have you any idea how many people in Alba

Jura have phones?”

“I’m guessing not many but...”

“Maybe twenty. Twenty phones, doctor.”

“OK, doamna, I’m very busy...”

“Every call goes through the exchange in Ineu. Can you

imagine how bored those telephone exchange ladies can get?”

“Yes. Yes, I see. Doamna, do you think anyone is

listening now?”

118
 “Listen to the silence. What do you hear?”

Darius kept his ear to the receiver and listened hard.

“What do you hear, doctor?”

“The sound of nothing?”

The woman began speaking to someone else. “Hello?

Telephone lady? I know you’re there. We can wait all day if

we have to.”

They waited, then they heard it. The faintest of clicks.

“What do you hear now doctor?”

“A different sound, more ‘boxy’ perhaps.”

“Now we are speaking in a closed circuit. Tomorrow,”

said the woman, “I’ll come to see you.”

“But tomorrow I’m...”

“I know where you’ll be, doctor.” she interrupted hastily.

“I’ll be waiting when your surgery closes.”

She rang off.

Out of curiosity, Darius listened to the silence again.

Before long, he heard another ‘click’, a tiny sound but it was

there. My god, he thought. They were still listening.

119
 The following morning, in Vedra Noua, had not been one

of Darius’ busiest days. She appeared in the waiting room

around half an hour after midday. As he said goodbye to his

final patient, Darius noticed her sitting in the corner with her

back to the wall. She raised a finger to her lips then approached

and passed him a note.

My name is Silvi. I served you in the Bar Continental. I

want to tell you something. I can’t do it in five minutes.

There’s a cafe behind the catholic church. I’ll be in one of the

stalls in twenty minutes.

It took ten to complete his notes then he headed for the

filling station to top up the car. By the time he drew up

opposite the ‘Cafe Bogdan’, twenty-five minutes had elapsed.

Two small tables stood against the shopfront. Chairs

stood either side painted in garish red, yellow and blue stripes

– a reminder, lest anyone forget, of which country they were

in; a gesture, he knew, which was aimed at the ethnic

Hungarian community. Inside, a number of spider plants and

cacti sat on a shelf behind the filthy plate glass window,

subject to the full force of the afternoon sun. Following his

own reflection in the window as it approached from across the

street, the interior of the cafe beyond it appeared as dark as a

cave.

120
 He gave his eyes a moment to make the adjustment then

saw how deceptively spacious it was. A few tables occupied

the centre of the room and row of cubicles lined one wall. He

located Silvi in the furthest one, tucked up against the bar,

slaking her thirst on a glass of iced water.

“Another?” he offered.

“Thanks.”

He signalled to the waitress for two. “So, domnisoara,

how are you?”

“Worried, domnul doctor. More than I can say.”

“First things first, please call me Darius.”

“OK, Darius. You must swear that you will never reveal

who told you what I have to say, even if they pull your teeth

out with pliers.”

“Must be important.”

“It is. If they find out about this...I’m dead.”

“OK. I swear. On my oath as a doctor. As if you were a

patient.”

They paused as the waitress brought the jug and topped

up the glasses.

121
 Silvi spoke quietly. “I asked her to make sure we are left

in peace. Can you give her something before we go?”

He extracted two dollars from his wallet. “Enough?”

“More than enough. Much more. Look, doctor, uh

Darius...yesterday I got back from a trip to the Danube. My

boss, Karl...who you’ve met, well he ordered me to go with

them in the minibus to look after the cargo they were carrying.

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I had no choice

anyway. Now, I feel sick; nauseous. I’m horrified by what I’ve

done and that’s why I’m here. Because I know you’re trying to

get justice for that girl...”

“Olivia?”

“Yes, Olivia, and for that old shepherd guy...you

know...”

“Costel Birka.”

“Yes, that sorry old man who couldn’t possibly have

done such a thing. And now he’s going to die in prison because

of...because of them!”

A young gypsy girl in a bright floral blouse and wide

skirt that reached the floor wandered in carrying a few sorry-

looking chrysanthemums. She headed straight for their table.

122
 The waitress intercepted her. “Du-te!” she said, ushering her

back outside. “Du-te!”

“Sorry,” she said to the pair. “You’ll be undisturbed from

now on.”

“Silvi,” he said. “Please start from the beginning.”

“Well, the boss turned up at the bar in the minibus and he

told me to go and get in the passenger seat. Soon we were

driving out of town, Karl driving and me sat next to that ape,

Spandau. On the way, Karl said ‘you stay with them, tell them

everything will be fine as long as they behave themselves.’

‘Who?’ I asked. ‘Who are they?’ ‘You’ll see,’ he said. ‘Now

shut the fuck up.’

“When we arrived at the meeting place, a farmhouse

kilometres from anywhere, we drove into the yard at the back

of the building. A van, like ours but older, was parked in the

shade. The driver got out. He looked a bit like a gypsy: long

hair and a moustache. He greeted Karl and Spandau and they

talked in front of the bus. I could just hear what they were

saying.

“Karl handed over a bundle of cash, dollars, and the man

counted it. He looked at Karl and frowned. ‘Not enough,

tovaresh,’ he said. ‘Are you trying to sell me doughnuts? Eh?

throwing vapours at me?’

123
 “They began arguing and Karl got quite aggressive. I saw

movement in the passenger seat of the other van. The stranger

was not alone. I heard him say, ‘Tovaresh, because the original

consignment was for four, you had a special price. Now that

it’s two, you pay more for each one. Just like with the Bolivian

marching powder.’

“Karl thought about it. ‘OK, we’ll split the difference.

It’s not my fault that you only brought half of a consignment.’

Karl handed over some more cash and they shook hands, ‘Oh,

and about that Bolivian...?’ he said.

“‘The usual?’

“‘Double it.’

“‘If you’re sure,’ the man turned and opened the back

doors of his van and two girls scrambled out; they looked pale

and a bit lost in their filthy, rumpled clothes. Then he handed

Karl something in a plastic carrier bag. It seemed quite heavy,

but I don’t know what it was. ‘Tovaresh!’ he said raising his

fist.

“‘Tovaresh!’ and they exchanged hugs and the five of us

watched the tyres scuff up a cloud of red dust as the van drove

away.

“Silvi, what is Bolivian marching…?”

124
 “You’re kidding me, aren’t you? You’re a doctor? Surely

you know the street name for cocaine?” she chuckled. “Well,

at least, it’s one of them.”

“Would you like to eat something?” He signalled for

more water.

“Thanks, I don’t feel like eating just now.”

She picked up the story, “Things got very scary from this

point. Monkey-man told the girls to stand in the shade beside

the minibus. Doctor, they were like children. Karl began

circling them, looking them up and down. ‘How can you figure

this out?’ he said. ‘We ask for four and we get two.’ He poked

the taller girl hard in her upper arm. Involuntarily, she took a

step back, and rubbed at the spot. It must’ve hurt her. You

know?

“‘Name?’ he demanded. God, he’s such a pig.

“‘Adela,’ she said, continuing to massage her arm. She

was shivering even though it must’ve been over thirty degrees.

“‘You?’ he said, poking the shorter and filthier of the

two.

“‘Leah.’ She stared at her feet; she wouldn’t look at him.

125
 “Karl went back to Adela and grabbed her roughly by the

chin, forcing her to look up into his face. She had a strange

look; her eyes had a strange brightness. Like she was sick.

“‘I’m hungry,’ she said, shaking her head from his grasp.

“Spandau came to life. ‘Pula-mea, Karl! I think she’s ill.

I’m going to get her something to eat’.

“‘On your mother’s pussy you will! You’ll be washing

her socks next!’

“‘Wash my socks,’ she said, glancing at Spandau.

“‘You hungry?’ said Karl. He sounded menacing now.

Adela nodded once. ‘OK, eat this,’ and he...he grabbed her by

the hair and unzipped his flies. ‘Come on!’ he yelled at her.

‘Suck this if you’re hungry.’

“But Adela had some spirit. She said, ‘If you try to rape

me, I’ll shit on you, dickhead!’ He slapped her so hard it

almost knocked her off her feet and he dragged her into the

back of the bus anyway. Darius, I felt sick. I mean I could

hear...”

Darius slid her glass towards her. “Have a drink. Just

take your time.”

126
 She took a sip and looked straight at the doctor. “He did

that to me too.” “It wasn’t as rough as that. I mean he didn’t

beat me, but the bastard raped me.”

“I’m so sorry, Silvi. And you are so brave to come and

tell me this. We have to stop him somehow, don’t you agree?”

She took another gulp from the glass and continued.

“The other girl, Leah, she didn’t know where to look but I

could tell she was really scared. She glanced at Spandau and

with tears in her eyes said, ‘Are you going to do that to me?’

But he glanced in my direction and walked off. ‘Stay where

you are,’ he called back.

“She nodded and squatted down, and the two of us, well,

we listened in silence to the rape of Adela.”

“Doctor Darius, that little girl, well… she kept looking at

me like I was dirt. Like I was a part of it.”

“Maybe Spandau didn’t rape her because you were

there.”

“Maybe. I think he has a spark of humanity in him. Karl

is the devil. Pure evil.”

“On the way back, I tried to keep their spirits up just by

talking, but when I asked them where they were from, Karl

turned around and told me to shut up. ‘We don’t want to know,

127
 OK?’ he shouted back at me. Those girls were terrified every

time he looked at them.”

Two men entered the cafe and sat at the adjoining

cubicle. Immediately the waitress appeared, “I’m just cleaning

around these tables,” she said. “Please sit further down.”

Having no choice, they sat near the door.

Darius emptied his glass. “So, they are trafficking girls.”

She nodded.

“Do you know where they take them?”

“Across the Danube.”

“Into Yugoslavia?”

She nodded again.

“Look, Silvi, I’m going to eat something. I won’t have

time later.”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

Darius ordered fries with grated cheese and a bowl of

salad. Silvi’s appetite returned once she saw the food. He

signalled for a second helping.

While they waited, Silvi just stared at her hands. She

seemed in shock. Then “I don’t want to work with them any

longer,” she said. “I’d leave but I need the money.”

128
 “Look, Silvi, it’s probably a good idea that you continue

to work there, you get to hear everything, and when this is

over, I’ll find you a better job. Perhaps you could work for

me.”

“Oh, but that would be great. Really.” She fell silent

again, then looking up at him, she said, “Doctor Darius, I feel

tainted. Like I’ve caught their disease.”

“But you couldn’t have done anything about it.”

“Oh, I know I had to go with them. It’s just that...”

Darius gave her time to find her words.

“It’s just that they were so young.”

“How young?”

“Leah looked maybe twelve. I think Adela was younger.”

“Younger than twelve?” He sounded incredulous.

“Ten or eleven. No more.”

Darius sucked in his breath. “My god, they were

children. Babies. Silvi, we have to stop this. Stop them.”

“It’s why I came to see you. I didn’t know who else to

talk to.” She reached across the table and took Darius’s hand in

hers. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

129
 “Of course, I will,” and with a knowing smile, he took

her hand from his. “But let’s keep our minds on the business,

eh?”

They ate in silence, Darius felt shook up as he tried to

digest Silvi’s news. At length, she pushed her plate aside,

unable to finish her meal.

Navigating the broken roads between Vedra Noua and

Alba Jura normally took around forty-five minutes. Today,

with Silvi sat beside him, incognito behind his own fake Ray-

bans and wearing a head scarf supplied by the waitress, Darius

decided to ‘go easy on the gas’, an expression he’d heard in

American films. Silvi had more to divulge and he wanted to

allow her all the space she required to share it. Yet for most of

the journey, she’d sat in quiet contemplation while he

considered the implications of her shocking news. Half an hour

down the road she started talking again, picking the story up

where she’d left off in the cafe.

“We took them to Karl’s where I helped them to get

cleaned up. I was appalled by the injuries Adela had suffered at

Karl’s hands. She was covered in bruises and there was dried

blood on the inside of her legs. Elvira helped and we scrubbed

them both in the shower, but she was really rough with them

and when I asked her to take more care, she just shrugged and

ignored me. We grabbed some food and soon we were on the

130
 way. ‘Where are we going?’ asked Adela, ever the courageous

one, but I shook my head and told her I didn’t know.”

Glancing anxiously at Darius she added, “All I could

think was ‘someone must be missing them.’”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Darius replied. “And

Adela? You said she was sick.”

“She had a cough and she said that her chest hurt when

she breathed deeply.”

“Remind me again Silvi, how long ago was this trip?”

“Two days ago.”

“Come and see me for a check-up. OK?”

“But I don’t...”

“We can’t be too careful. I just want to be sure. How

about tomorrow morning in Salerea-Sud?”

She shrugged, “OK. If you think...”

“Yes, I do.”

Without warning a tractor with a plough in tow emerged

from a gap in the hedgerow and forced Darius to hit the brakes

hard, making them both lurch forward in their seat belts. The

old diesel engine belched black clouds of filth into the clear

blue sky and the plough made a deafening racket as it trundled

131
 down the road. Their progress was reduced to a crawl. Darius

hung out of the window looking for an opportunity to overtake

but the plough made it impossible.

“I have a meeting this afternoon,” he said, clicking his

tongue in frustration as all they could do was stare through the

filthy windscreen at the rusting contraption vibrating and

rattling along in front of them. But soon enough, and again

without any indication, the tractor turned sharply into a field

taking the awful din with it.

“We arrived at the Danube in the late afternoon...” Silvi

was speaking again, “...and followed a path through the reeds

down to the water’s edge. Under the trees, a group of metal

boats were tied up, clashing against one another in the wash of

the river. Honest to god, they looked as though they’d been

welded together by a monkey. We clambered in and waited,

sitting and watching the water as it swept by almost in silence.

You could feel the awesome power of it. God, I was petrified,

so were the girls. Have you ever seen the Danube, Doctor

Darius?”

“Not that close.”

“But it was cooler down there by the water, the

overhanging branches provided shade, some relief from the

stifling heat although Adela was still shivering. Poor little

bitch. Soon after dark, Karl left us and reappeared an hour or

132
 so later with another man. He looked like he slept in the

pipes.”

“Pipes? What…”

“You know, those pipes they use for sewers.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Anyway, they were speaking Serb. I think all those

villages down there are Serbian. When the man left, Karl and

Spandau were discussing something, then Karl got into the

mini-bus and Spandau called me over to explain what was

happening.

“His mood had changed. He didn’t look pleased. ‘There

are a couple of issues,’ he said. ‘We can’t cross tonight. There

are gasoline shortages over there. They’re using the boats to

smuggle it across and there aren’t enough outboard motors. It’s

all about priorities. We’ll have a motor tomorrow. The second

problem...

“‘My god,’ I said, ‘the longer we stay here with these

girls, the riskier things get. What if we get caught? They’ll get

us arrested. We’re mother’s pussy traffickers!’

“‘As I was saying,’ he went on, ‘smuggling girls across

at the same time as gasoline raises another problem. Karl

called it a conflict of interests.’

133
 I must have looked confused.

“‘I’ll try to make it clear,’ he said. ‘The Serbs on this side

are more than happy to take as much gasoline as they can;

they’re helping the mother country and making money at the

same time. But taking girls across...where’s the gain? It only

benefits us, well us and a small group of traders. And that is

what they are not so happy about.’

“‘It’s getting spooky.’ I said, ‘And what are we going to

do for the next twenty-four hours? Graze the riverbank?’

“‘We can have some fun Tovaresha, eh? I’ve got some

brandy in the glove compartment.’

“‘Spandau!’ I was alarmed. ‘Let them sleep. They’re

exhausted.’

“‘I meant you and me?’ and he leered at me with that big

ape face.

“Fuck that! I thought. I just walked back to sit with the

girls.

Darius couldn’t hide his concern. “Did you sleep near

those girls?” he asked.

“The girls slept in the bus. Spandau went to the village to

get some food and fresh water and Karl locked them in the

back of the van. He and Spandau slept on the grass nearby. I

134
 walked down to the boats to sleep there. I didn’t want to be

anywhere near those creeps.

“The following afternoon, the same man turned up and

this time, he and Spandau went off together. When they

returned, they had an outboard motor.

“‘One is all I could get,’ said Karl ‘which is a real

inconvenience. One boat can only take four. So, you, princess,’

he said, pointing at me, ‘you will stay here and wait until we

return. Understand?’

“After dark, they clambered into a boat, but Leah began

panicking. The poor bitch started shouting that the boat would

sink with four of them in it. I didn’t blame her. Karl slapped

her hard to shut her up but from behind her hands, I could hear

her whimpering like a dog. Doctor, if I could have shoved

those brutes into the water I would have. Then as if everyone

weren’t spooked enough, Karl produced a pistol from his

jacket pocket. ‘Just checking to see that it’s loaded,’ he said,

grinning. Leah began to cry. Karl, who seemed to be getting

more unstable by the minute, held the barrel to Leah’s head

and laughed in her face. ‘Shall I pull the trigger, little one?’ he

mocked. ‘Shall I?’

“My god, Silvi. He’s a lunatic,” said Darius, gently

applying his foot to the brake. Without realising it, he’d been

accelerating with the story. “Please go on.”

135
 “They were gone over an hour and I just sat there in that

aluminium boat swaying to and fro, listening to the din of the

night bugs. Then I heard the shots. Very faint but definite

explosions. Not long after, I heard the whine of the outboard

motor, then they appeared out of the darkness, and landed

about fifty metres downstream.”

Darius was riveted. “With the girls?”

“No. No girls. I scrambled through the reeds and met

them at the bus. ‘We were fucking ambushed,’ said Spandau.

‘What happened?’ was all I could say. ‘Serb police,’ he said.

He looked in shock. ‘I think they were waiting for us.’ ‘Will

they come after us?’ I was panicking now. ‘No, but they’ll

phone the border guards on this side. We have to move fast.’

and Karl drove off, accelerating through those tiny lanes at a

suicidal speed.”

“What happened to the girls, Silvi? What about them?”

“Well, I asked Karl how they managed to escape. ‘I

created a distraction,’ Karl grinned. ‘I threw them into the

river. We got away as the Serbs tried to rescue them’ And the

monster laughed in my face.”

“My god,” it was all Darius could say.

“Well, it wasn’t over yet. As we neared the main road, a

barricade appeared up ahead. We couldn’t go forward, and we

136
 couldn’t turn back. I think I was screaming as they dragged us

out of the bus, and they beat the shit out of those two. Two of

the police pushed me to the ground behind one of their vehicles

and started ripping my clothes off.”

Darius breathed out heavily. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.

Oh my god.”

“Anyway, it’s not as if it hasn’t happened before, right?

First that wanker Karl and then these perverts! Are you all like

that, doctor? Given half a chance. Are you?”

“Well, I’m really…” Darius began.

She ignored him. “Well, they took us to the nearest

station, and I think Karl somehow persuaded them to call the

mayor in Alba Jura. That’s what he told me later. Within the

hour we were driving back. Those two, well, they looked as if

they’d been hit by a truck. I just felt that way. I’m sorry, but I

still feel outraged now. Invaded, doctor, do you know what I

mean?”

“Yes, of course. And I’m really sorry. Really so sorry. So,

tell me, you got back yesterday?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“And you called me at the first opportunity?”

137
 Silvi gave another little shrug. “What should I have

done?” she said, “gone to the pula mea police?”

14. Baba

If Darius doubted for a minute his mission to bring Karl

and Spandau to justice, then Silvi provided all the motivation

he needed to get the job done. Yet he never for a moment

forgot his number one priority – unearthing the truth about the

fate of Lena. Until Eva procured that phone number there was

little to do, yet he continued to position himself where the

gossip was rife, loitering in the village’s two shops,

eavesdropping in the café, hoping to hear something, anything

that might lead him to Lena. And nowhere was he more likely

to gain information than in his own surgery where he’d steer

the conversations with his patients whenever the opportunity

allowed, anything that might prompt them into embellishing

their stories. And they loved telling stories, which was how he

came to hear about Baba.

Baba the Enigmatic, the wise old soul, whose reputation

for calming the most troubled of seas preceded her. Baba, the

discreet; the caring sooth-sayer, the obscure. She was then, part

of the reason that business had taken so long to pick up. Unless

they had a broken a leg, they went to her first.

138
 “Come in, come in,” she croaked as if she were

welcoming an old friend. She hauled back the large wooden

outer door with ease.

With Silvi’s revelations still fresh in his mind, Darius

stepped inside but not without stopping to study the ornate

carving of the door panelling. “This is a work of art,” he said,

running his fingers over it, marvelling at the tight filigree work

that adorned each corner and the familiar cross hatching in the

borders. Regional symbols and motifs danced across the grain

of the polished cherry wood and at the centre, two figures, a

man and a woman in traditional costume embraced each other

within an arbour. It resonated with the vitality of spring.

Baba touched the figures lightly, “My grandfather made

it,” adulation thick in her voice. “He was not really a carver,

but he used to watch them when he was a boy.”

“He observed well.” Darius was enchanted by the

immediacy and the simplicity of the images. “And he certainly

was a carver.”

“It must be a hundred years old,” she sighed, “Like me,”

and her face cracked like old leather into a smile.

But she was an antique. Darius guessed that she wouldn’t

see ninety again.

“Well, at last you have come. This way domnul doctor

and take care as you walk through.”

139
 The yard was littered with old ceramic pots and jugs,

some decorated simply with rings of varying earth tones, some

embellished with squiggly lines and others finished in an

assortment of intricate floral patterns and sprouting from each

pot, what appeared to be herbs. Along the wall of the house, a

row of clay water-jugs stood guard in the shade.

She led him through the maze and never hurrying, kept

her creaking, arthritic frame on the move, employing the props

around her by skilfully picking her way from gate to window

ledge, from window ledge to fence, and from fence to well to

the corner of the house supporting her meagre weight at each

station until she had navigated the route to the rear of the

building and finally, the kitchen door.

“Through here,” and she led him into a dingy space

where the compacted dirt floor was shiny with wear. Childlike

depictions of pastoral bliss adorned the walls, all slightly

askew. Holding back a heavy brocaded curtain, she beckoned

him through to the inner sanctum where he waited by a high

bed that occupied about one third of the room.

“Sit, sit. My house is yours,” she smiled again. Darius

looked at the bed. “Yes, just there. Sit and relax.”

The bed cover, like Baba, testified to the passing of time;

the traditional green and red pattern that ran around the border

was now threadbare. Were they tulips or red peppers? On the

140
 grubby walls, rustic wooden frames held ancient family photos

and crude paintings on glass.

“Welcome to my house,” she said. From somewhere she

produced a fragile-looking table, tiny and blackened with age

or use or both, and placed it between them. Then, continuing

her conjuring act, she shoved a three-legged stool beneath

herself and squatted, her grasshopper knees protruding

upwards from beneath her ragged skirt. She thrust her

flattened, rodent-like features forward and stared up into his

face.

“Well,” Darius began, “I am Doctor...” but she

waved her scrawny arm at him. “Don’t deceive yourself Dr

Darius. Everyone knows who you are.” She tucked a few stray

hairs up under her scarf. “You can call me Baba if you want to

call me anything. Eat my elbows if my husband didn’t call me

Vaca; Vacutsa when he was feeling generous. Why he wanted

to call me ‘cow’ when he was anything but a bull I can’t

imagine!” and she forced out a laugh which creased her face

even more and exposed two brown teeth in her lower jaw. She

took a moment to recover. “I’ve been waiting for you. I

wondered how long it would take. Are you hungry?” She got

up and shuffled across the linoleum.

141
 “No. No thank you!” he called out after she’d

disappeared.

He scanned the room. His eye could rest on nothing. A

kaleidoscopic array of bric-a-brac adorned every surface. On

every shelf, including those inside the glass-fronted cabinet,

tiny, brightly coloured glass ornaments, ceramics, cigarette

cards, crucifixes, cars, cotton reels, pins and pens, passport

photographs, spoons from the Black Sea, brass boxes, faded

flowers, miniature wooden churches, shiny, dull or bright, all

jostled for his attention but succeeded only in morphing into a

fabulous emporium of shameless ostentation. Dried plants

hung in bunches from an invisible wire and produced a heady

fragrance. He closed his eyes and thought of a forest in

autumn. When he opened them, he found Baba gazing at him

from her stool. With no sound of movement, she had returned

and now she plonked two small tumblers on the table and

produced a large, plastic cola bottle which contained a sprig of

some herb or other floating on the surface of the clear liquid.

“A little aperitif?” She filled the tumblers to the brim.

“It will lubricate our little talk.”

Darius hesitated but Baba raised her drink in salutation.

He followed.

“Sanatate! Health!”

“Sanatate!”

142
 They clinked glasses and downed the plum brandy in

one. A small fire ignited in the back of his throat and spread all

the way down to his belly where it settled into a warm

comforting glow.

“I’m happy to finally meet you” she said, refilling the

tumblers, never dropping her smile.

“Thank you...” he began “I...” but the drink had rendered

him momentarily speechless.

“I see you were admiring my collection. All my visitors

bring me something. It’s how I keep in touch with the world.

So much better than television, although recent events have

taken us all by surprise,” she paused to catch her breath “...and

they say we are free now, but it seems to me that freedom has

become very expensive. Dear me, very expensive, domnul

doctor.” And again, she raised her drink. “We should drink to a

better future, no?” and they touched glasses a second time.

“Noroc! Luck!”

“Noroc!” This time Darius took two gulps before it went

down.

“I haven’t seen you in my surgery,” he said, coughing

through the words. “Perhaps there is another doctor in the

village?”

“People only come when they’re sick, don’t they?” she

responded.

143
 “If only!” he spoke a little too loudly as if he’d lost the

volume control. The coals in his belly glowed evenly now, and

he felt the knots, which curbed his sensibilities, begin to

loosen.

“You were saying, domnul doctor?” filling the tumblers

for a third time.

“Yes, well, people most probably come when they are

bored or curious...or when their loneliness becomes

unbearable”.

“Noroc, domnul! Drink!” she said, “strong drink for deep

sorrow!”

“Noroc!” Now he welcomed the harsh bite of the

liberating nectar; enjoyed the flow of the anaesthetic as it

triggered his feel-good button. The fingers that squeezed at his

heart began to unfurl and the tight fist that held his innermost

secrets, keeping them safe even from himself, began to open.

He was having trouble focusing. Something had shifted. Had

she changed? Was she younger? He looked again, more

purposefully, as if for the first time. He rubbed at his fogging

vision; she did seem younger now; much younger. And still

she smiled; the same smile but sweeter and her sidelong glance

was somewhat beguiling.

“So, now do you see me doctor,” she said.

“I...I... yes, I think so, doamna”.

144
 “Oh, ‘domnisoara’ if you please. I am not married now.”

She was enjoying herself.

“I didn’t think I had drunk so much...”

“May I call you Darius?”

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came. Was

something stuck in his throat? He was struggling with more

than just words. He felt overwhelmed; helpless. Now he

understood the inadequacy of mere words.

“Life can be cruel, can’t it doctor? Yes, very cruel.” She

straightened her stockings, “So you see?” she said, eyes

twinkling, “I have no black cat, no crystal ball and...” she lifted

one foot off the ground, “...and nor do I wear square shoes,”

cackling at her own joke.

A deck of cards appeared, and she shuffled them once.

“Cut them, please.” Darius obliged. “Now, turn over the top

card.”

The doctor stared intently at the depiction of a knight

astride a prancing horse; a white horse. And he remembered.

“Oh!”

“What do you see, domnul? Does it remind you of

anything?”

“Well, Baba, yes… I think so.”

“Think so or are you sure?”

145
 “I’m sure, yes, I even wrote it down.” She waited, never

taking her eyes from him. “One evening as I came home from

work, I saw something. A horse, a white horse which was

shackled by its hind legs was prancing in the road. I stopped

the car and got out but when I looked again it was no longer

there.”

“I see,” she said gazing at him, captivated. “The cards

never lie, domnul. What can you see when you look at this

horse?”

“It’s a warhorse.”

“Doctor Darius, you are not ready yet, but the time is

close now. Look at the card. Is the horse ready? Is it free?”

“Yes, it is. It’s free and it’s ready.”

“No longer shackled, eh doctor? Eat my elbows!” she

exclaimed, “I’m forgetting myself; we must eat something.”

He listened to her rummaging and clattering about in the

kitchen. Soon she plonked down a board with a large piece of

soft cheese, some bread and pickled gherkins.

Hunger besieged him. He tore at the loaf and filled his

mouth with the warm spongy bread. A cabal of extravagant

sensations rippled over his taste buds and as ravenous as he

was, he found that until he’d chewed each mouthful

extensively, swallowing was impossible. “Did you make this

yourself, Baba? It’s delicious!”

146
 “Thank you.” She displayed no sign of false modesty.

He contemplated a small chunk of bread that he held

between finger and thumb. “I’ve barely eaten anything, but I

feel stuffed.” He looked up to see that she hadn’t taken her

eyes off of him. “You could feed the whole village for a week

with this loaf.”

“I’ll wrap some for you to take with you, but it’s best

eaten warm. Which reminds me, we haven’t seen you at church

doctor, not that I go myself, but others have noticed...”

He took a moment or two to consider his response.

“When I was alone, truly alone, when the burden of my own

existence seemed too hard to bear, it occurred to me that I

might reach out to the creator...and so, I talked and talked, and

the words went round and round and...and then I listened. And

I heard nothing but the sound of my own echo.”

Baba seemed captivated.

“I went to church just after the revolution when we were

finally allowed, but...but it seemed meaningless. I found

myself praying to the deity who had deserted me when I

most… The experience left me cold and hollow. Like staring

into an empty fridge when you’re famished. You can remain

there in the hope that sooner or later food will appear but

eventually, you’ll die of starvation and foolishness.”

147
 “So,” she said, “your tormentors, they can claim at least

one victory over you. They beat your god out of you.”

“Tormentors, Baba?”

“I’ve seen the way that you shuffle when a simple stride

would do,” she said. “Your cane is not, I think, a fashion

accessory.”

Darius wondered which of them was the doctor. She had

turned the tables on him.

“In what kind of accident do you damage both feet? You

see...” she cleared her throat, “I had a cousin, oh, much

younger than me, who worked for the security services. He

was an officer and for some time was a member of the dreaded

prison community in Jilava in Bucharest. He asked to be

transferred because of what he had seen. He became physically

ill. He came to me when he needed to share it, Darius, just as

you have. He did not spare me the details.” She shuffled about

on her stool. “I wouldn’t want to invoke the ghosts of the past,

but...” she searched for her words, “he mentioned a man, in

fact, the word he used was ‘monster’ to describe someone

called…”

“The Minister!” Darius whispered. “The pula mea

Minister.” A feeling of nausea swept over him. He cupped his

mouth and gagged.

Baba fetched a bucket. “Here, doctor. Use this.”

148
 But Darius was staring at something that Baba couldn’t

see, his arm bent over his face for protection. “God!” he said,

“The stink of him...” and he began gagging again.

She took his hand in her bony fingers. “Take your time,

domnul. Take your time.”

And she stroked his hand until he looked up at her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I thought I was...” He waived the

bucket away. “I just...”

“It’s not a problem, no, no…no problem at all. You have

to face your demons, doctor. You have the courage! And you’ll

need it soon enough.”

When he was ready, she asked, “Did they keep you for

long, domnul?”

“Well, it was.... I mean, I was there for...it would have

been around two or three years or so.”

“I am so sorry, so sorry. You did not suffer in vain,

Doctor Darius, no, no.”

“But I couldn’t resist him. And others suffered…

because of me. How can I ever...”

“Because of him others suffered. Because of that devil.

Don’t ever forget that doctor. You were brave enough to fight

them. And now, they are no more. Their time is over.”

“I hope that’s true, Baba. I really want it to be true.”

149
 “And you are a stronger man for it. Isn’t that so?” she

paused. “I mean, has their poison coloured your soul?”

“No, I don’t think it has.”

“Or broken you?”

“No, it hasn’t.”

“Then you are not ruined. A little fragile perhaps. You

have survived...but come...let’s talk about Lena”.

His heart pounded. “But how…?”

“Oh, I know about Lena. She came to me after she lost

her job. She told me all about you.”

Until now, Darius had shared Lena only in order to find

her - a missing person. The details were his secret.

As if reading his thoughts, she continued, “Everything

can be examined under the light of your own enquiry, doctor.

We must all recognise our own vulnerability. Please tell me

what happened.”

“She couldn’t come with me when I left for Bucharest.

Her father wouldn’t allow her to leave. I think he hated me. He

was afraid that he’d be alone. But I’m just guessing; I don’t

really know.”

“She was not the one for you, Darius. Do you see that?

How could she be? Her life was here. For a time, you shared

with her the best of this world, but you were destined to part.”

150
 “So why...” he faltered. He wanted the answers to

questions that had kept him awake on so many nights. “Why

have I never understood? Why, even now, why can’t I make it

add up? I thought we were fated to be together.” The words

sounded hollow and inadequate. There was really only one

question and now he found it. “Why does it hurt so much?”

Baba spoke softly, “She disappeared, you know. She is

no longer here.”

Darius raised his hands and looked to the heavens,

helpless and adrift.

“She understood you and gave you what you needed.

Because of her, you became the man you are, no? But she was

not your soul mate, Darius, but a lesson you had to learn.

That’s the mistake you made. You mistook one for the other.”

She paused. “But let me ask you a question,” she continued,

“Why keep going back to the graveyard?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s an old story now, isn’t it? A ghost story. Why keep

resurrecting it? It’s finished. So, let it be.” She gave him a

moment to absorb her words. “And sometimes, when we look

for one thing, we find another. Perhaps the healing can begin

now. It is important, domnul, to live in the present. You have a

job to do, and as unpleasant as it may be, you do have the

strength to see it through.”

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 “Olivia?”

“She can’t be helped now, but yes, it’s about Olivia.”

“But her family, Aura and Corvin her...”

“Ah yes,” she said. “Her poor mother, living with the

shame...”

“The shame, Baba?”

“Yes doctor, the shame; the ancient curse that casts its

ugly shadow across the lives of kind and caring souls, which

can’t be named for fear of discovery. Fear of being

ostracised...cast out.” She left it hanging there.

“I don’t understand.” Darius felt out of his depth.

“But you will, doctor. My intention is not to create

mystery, but to bring a little light to bear.” She paused to

consider her words. “Who am I, domnul?” and she held his

gaze for a few seconds. “Who am I to make such decisions? If

there are secrets, they are not mine to disclose.”

“And Corvin...” he continued, “he is overcome with

grief.”

“He is certainly overcome, domnul. And grief takes

many forms you know.”

“Again, you are confusing me.”

“I’m sorry. There’s a war going on. You may win the

battle, but the war is never-ending. Some days I feel that I’ve

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 been fighting it forever. Your battle is special, doctor Darius.

You have paid the price, the admission fee, now you speak for

us all. The time is near. Leave your doubts aside and find the

courage you had when they thought you were a threat to

them.” She gave him a reassuring smile, “And just when you

thought you’d spend your latter years in the tranquillity of

village life, eh?”

“But what war are you talking about?”

“You have already stepped onto the field of battle, have

you not?”

Darius thought about his talk with Karl. “Are you sure?”

“The cards do not lie, doctor. No-one can dismiss them.”

She sighed, “And now domnul, you must leave me a little

something, a token.”

He patted his pockets, “But I have nothing!”

“Look inside,” she said, “there’s always something.”

And she carried the bread and cheese into the kitchen.

In his trouser pocket, his fingertips touched something

familiar. Yes, I have the coin.

“Will this do?”

She inspected it. “Perfect! It will remind me of the doctor

who heralded the winds of change. Just like this coin.” She

placed it inside the glass-fronted cabinet, next to a wooden

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 image of Vlad the Impaler. “Broad shoulders you may have,

Darius, but tread carefully. And remember that help can come

most unexpectedly. Perhaps the fate of Olivia and Lena are

intertwined. Solve the problem of Olivia and you may solve

the problem of Lena.” She forced a smile. “And that weight

you’ve been carrying? Perhaps... you could leave it at the

door? It will still be there if you want to come back for it

later.”

He shivered and reached for the glass which of course,

was empty.

On the way home, he became aware of the change within

himself: less naked; yet more so. He felt charged, accepting in

his role of warrior standing at the edge of the combat zone.

Aware now of his continuing metamorphosis, he saw that

where he’d been obsessively worshipping at the altar of Lena’s

memory, his morose longing was mutating and now served as a

springboard for action. ‘The time was yet to come’, she’d said,

‘but it’s close now.’ Yes indeed, he thought. So close, I can

touch it.

15. Franz Liszt

The visit to Baba had been stimulating and unsettling.

After sleeping on it, Darius the scientist wondered whether the

old woman hadn’t been uber-mysterious: talking about

oncoming battles and ancient curses which couldn’t be

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 mentioned. Yet, she’d stirred something in the depths of his

soul, revealed his innermost fears and evoked his most secret

desires. She’d indicated that Lena… well… indicated that Lena

was history. No longer around. Nervously, he flipped his pen

between his fingers, a technique he’d perfected at school as

though it were of existential importance. The whole episode at

the old lady’s house had a ‘once removed’ quality, almost

surreal, and when he tried to picture Baba’s face, a blur of

approximations spoiled his view. It was dreamlike in all but

one quality: everything she’d said, and everything she’d laid

out before him made sense. He remembered her words, ‘the

time was yet to come. But it’s close now. The time had come,’

she said, ‘to focus on the present’.

After the last patient had closed the door behind her, his

thoughts switched to the most recent episode involving Karl

and Spandau as told by Silvia the barmaid. Coming to see him

must’ve taken great courage, but in her own words, what

choice did she have? Now that he was on the hunt, following a

path, he understood that he was, and for some time, had been

building a case and with each new discovery, his goal became

more clearly defined. If he’d ever doubted the menace of the

psychopath Karl and his sidekick, Spandau, that doubt had

been removed by Silvi’s tale of the fate of those two young

girls. His pulse quickened as he thought of Olivia suffering at

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 their hands. The pair were trading in human misery and certain

powerful individuals were taking a cut of the profits.

He walked into the empty waiting room just as the main

door opened. Franz Liszt stepped inside, out of the sweltering

heat.

Franz had told him once that he’d never had cause to

visit the doctor and never would. Dropping by, however, didn’t

count. On that score, Franz was his most frequent visitor.

Today, he evidently had something on his mind: the way he

fidgeted with his cap gave the game away.

“Bad timing Franz. The surgery is closed for the day.”

“I suppose I should be thankful that there’s nothing

wrong with me then!” he laughed.

Unmoved, Darius cleared his throat. “How can I help

you Franz?”

“I was passing, you know, just thought I’d stop by for a

chat.”

Darius was familiar by now with the long detours that

Franz took whenever he wanted to impart information. He

played along. “Franz, please take a seat.” He opened his

doctor’s bag and fished out his stethoscope. “Just a quick

check,” he said. “I’m sure you’re fine.”

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 “I’m shocked. Shocked and mortified is what I am.”

Franz pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the

sweat from his brow.

“Why is that Franz? Deep breaths please.”

“I... I can barely think about it. But...but...” he paused to

breathe deeply, then pressing his lips together, he looked

askance at the doctor. Franz often left his sentences dangling in

mid-air and Darius knew that when he was like this, his only

option was to wait.

“Think about what, domnul Liszt?”

“I can hardly bring myself to say it either. It’s a shocking

business. It truly is. Shocking.”

“Indeed, Franz. Breath in...and out.”

“It’s about the um...the um...” and he creased his face up

as if squinting might help in winkling the memory from its

shell.

Darius stuffed his equipment back in the bag and cast

another glance at his watch.

“And how is the shepherd, doctor?” asked Franz,

suddenly full of concern.

“Costel?”

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 “Yes, Costel. That’s him. That’s who I wanted to talk

about.”

“He’s in custody. It’s all I know. I don’t have much hope

that he’ll survive this.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was saying to Imre last night.

In the Conti.”

“What’s the Conti, Franz?”

“The bar, you know. The Bar Continental.”

“Right. And Imre?”

“He’s my son, for what it’s worth, and a complete idiot.”

“Uh-huh,” said Darius, stifling a guffaw at Franz’

injudicious disclosure.

“I think his mother must’ve squeezed him too tight.

Crushed him when she meant to hug him. Starved him of

oxygen, probably.”

Darius played with the keys in his pocket. He loved the

way that Franz seemed oblivious with regard to how

entertaining he could be.

“Well,” Franz was still talking, “we go there together

from time to time. I think the last time was, now let me

think...”

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 Utilizing his walking stick, the doctor got to his feet.

“Well, Franz…”

“Oh yes...it was the day that...that the girl disappeared.”

Darius froze. “You were there? In the bar?”

“Yes, doctor. That afternoon. So sad. So sad. They were

drinking, the boys, as I recall.”

“Who was, Franz?”

“The boss man, you know.”

“Karl?”

“Yes, and the big ape, the one who likes prison food.”

“Spandau?”

“Yes, Spandau. And they were drinking, and they

gradually got louder and louder until it became impossible to

not hear what they were talking about.”

“And this was before she was killed, before Olivia was

killed?”

“Taken from us, doctor.”

“Yes. Before she was taken from us.”

Franz became still; lost in the memory.

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 “So, you were there, in the Conti...” Darius reiterated, “in

the Conti, domnul. The Bar Continental. Look, let’s go and sit

in my office. OK?”

Closing the door behind them, Darius opened a cupboard

and grabbed some glasses. “Would you like a drink? Some

water? Something else?”

Franz looked about the room and at nothing in particular.

“I shouldn’t be here, doctor, should I?”

“Franz, it’s always good to see you. Please continue.” He

poured himself some water and emptied his glass immediately.

Franz began. “Well, the owner, Karl...they were all

drinking and...”

“Yes, you said that. And it was definitely the day she

disappeared?”

“Yes, yes. The day before the storm broke.”

“What were they discussing?”

“Fishing, doctor. At the lake.”

“The lake about two kilometres away, where Olivia...”

“Yes, yes. It’s the only one.”

“I see.”

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 Now that Franz had unburdened himself, he lapsed into

silence, awaiting further instructions. Darius adopted a stern

look and gently prompted him, “And who else was there, in the

Conti?” Franz grabbed the cap from his head and started

fidgeting with it again. “Who knows?” he said, his eyes doing

another tour of the room.

“Well... it could be important, but then again...” Darius

handed him his drink, “perhaps it’s nothing.” He spread his

hands wide, “Domnul?”

“Well, I heard that you were looking for people with

information. That’s all.”

“So, who else Franz, who else was there?”

The man fidgeted a bit more and continued to look at a

spot somewhere behind the doctor’s head. “Well...”

“Well?”

“Her father was there, the girl’s father. He was there

too.”

“Corvin? You’re saying that Corvin was there?” Darius

tried hard to keep the surprise out of his voice. “And was he

going fishing too?”

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 “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But he wasn’t happy, he

wasn’t happy at all. They were arguing, him and the boss

man...Karl.”

“Do you know what the disagreement was about?” As

Darius began making notes on his pad, Franz peered over and

tried to see what he was writing. “Oh, it’s just in case I forget,”

he laughed as if that explained everything.

Franz got up and walked over to the bookcase where he

casually ran his finger along the spines of the volumes. “About

the club, I think. Corvin’s club.”

“The club? What about the club, Franz? Do you know

anything about that?”

“I have heard that Karl wants to be a partner.”

“Do you know why Karl wants to be a partner so badly?”

“My son heard something at work, you know.” And he

continued to mop his brow.

“I’m sorry, Franz. I don’t know. Can you tell me what he

heard?”

The old man kept his back to the doctor and returned to

scrutinising the books.

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 “Something about bringing girls from Moldova to work

there.”

“Karl bringing them?”

“That’s what he heard.”

“Domnul Franz, who else was there? I mean did anyone

else witness this?”

“The place was fairly empty.” He thought for a moment.

“Half a dozen, including the barmaid and us.”

“‘Us’ Franz? Who is ‘us’?”

“Me and my son, Imre. Stupid boy. Heaven forgive me.”

“Remind me Franz, why didn’t you go to the police with

this information?”

“I can’t doctor. I just can’t.” Sweat was pouring off him

now. He resumed his seat. “Doctor Kala. Costel has been

looking after my sheep and the village’s sheep for decades. He

didn’t do this. He isn’t capable of such

deprav...depravity...such an atrocity. And that’s exactly what it

is. It’s a tragedy.” He drew a deep breath and resumed his seat

where he continued to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Domnul, Liszt? If you can’t report this to the police,

why hasn’t Imre done it?”

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 “He can’t either.”

“He can’t? What do you mean, he can’t?”

“Doctor Darius. Imre is the police...and Karl and the

local police, well, they have an understanding.”

Franz got to his feet and moved towards the door. “Well,

doctor, now what did I come in here for anyway? I know there

was something.” He was apparently talking to himself. “Ah

yes,” he said. “I found this.” He held out a small rectangle of

paper. One of Darius’s leaflets. “Just thought I’d return it. I

hope I haven’t wasted your time.”

Darius waited for the man to leave before turning to the

notes he’d made, but a voice, from out in the waiting room,

shouted, “Oh yes! I remember now!”

Franz popped his head around the door. “Witnesses,

doctor!”

“Witnesses?”

“That afternoon, at the lake.”

“Witnesses who saw it happen?”

“Who saw them together.”

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 Darius cleared his throat. His mouth had suddenly dried

up. He sipped his water and coughed, “Why haven’t they come

to see me, Franz?”

“They’re afraid. So afraid, they’ve gone to Mara Mures

to stay with relatives.”

Before he left, Franz had set up a rendezvous with the

witnesses for the weekend after next. The venue - the elegant

Hotel Bulevard in Ineu.

Darius read the lines of scribble on his pad. Two

questions: regarding the meeting which took place in the Bar C

just before Olivia’s death, why hadn’t Corvin mentioned it?

Corvin’s bar aside, what else had they discussed?

The phone rang. “Hello, doctor,” cooed Eva. At the

sound of her voice, he felt his body sag. It was as if she’d cast

a spell over him. Calming him. He felt all warm inside.

16. At the church

July turned up in a fireball; the harshest winter in a

generation was long forgotten now and so the world turned.

The great liberation, now half a year old, triggered the

unbolting of church doors across the land and a national

outpouring, a renewed vigour for worship, showed little sign of

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 abating. Freedom to believe in and to pray for a better life in

the hereafter for the first time in a generation or two led to

well-attended Sunday services and was rivalled only by

burgeoning private enterprise. Darius’s personal and largely

unshared view held that a return to dogma was simply

replacing one autocracy with another; that the soul-destroying

shackles of communism had been replaced by the blind

obedience to creed; that herding in one form or another seemed

not only a given, but an inevitability.

Now he stood in the porch of the Catholic Church, out of

the punishing midday sun, listening with a keen ear to the flock

within singing blithely in tune to a wildly out of tune organ

which had probably been that way forever. Consequently,

familiar melodies plunged and soared through the kind of

improbable and eccentric chord changes that would make a

free jazz player shrivel, yet with irrepressible brio, the faithful

followed wherever it led in perfect accord. How difficult, he

wondered, or indeed painful would it be for them to suddenly

adjust to an in-tune instrument and sing the phrases in

conventional fashion. Like straightening out bad posture, he

thought.

The doctor and Eva had brainstormed their strategy the

previous evening. It was a simple manoeuvre: once the bells

signalled the end of the service, he would distribute the leaflets

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 as the worshippers emerged. The original handouts, which had

been available at the surgery, had apportioned no blame at all,

but now the evidence, circumstantial as it was, was

overwhelming; now he could adopt a more targeted approach.

Mugging people as they left church was not his preferred

option, but with purged souls and freshly cleansed consciences,

they might prove to be more receptive.

As they emptied into the courtyard, many held out their

hands in greeting.

“Good day, domnul doctor.”

“I kiss your hand, domnul doctor.”

Those who could, read the pamphlets with diligence,

others had it read to them, and one young man, having scanned

the text quickly, cycled off at speed in a southerly direction.

Darius had kept it short; clipped it to two simple

messages: Costel is incapable of such an act, and the true

perpetrators should be brought to justice. He’d included a

phone number. There was much nodding of heads, much

concern. Perhaps mutiny was on the cards after all.

“Yes, doctor,” one man piped up, thoughtlessly, “it

couldn’t have been Costel – he wouldn’t have known what to

do!” It drew one or two titters. In a similar vein, another

suggested that “Costel’s first and only love interest was his

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 sheep.” No-one seemed to think the remarks in any way

irreverent. They welcomed the opportunity to discuss openly

what was still a taboo subject.

“I need your support,” he shouted over the chattering.

“We know the real perpetrators. Your freedom has been

hijacked by gangsters. Some of you must have information

relevant to the death of that poor girl. I beg you. Come and see

me.”

From nowhere, a young woman in her mid-twenties

appeared. Darius recognised Elvira immediately. The barmaid

from the Bar Continental spoke over the crowd, “Domnul

doctor, the shepherd was always drunk.” Now everyone was

listening.

“But we all know, Elvira, that Costel would have been

incapable of…”

“And it may not be a good idea,” she continued, talking

over him, “to point the finger at someone who has never been

implicated. At someone who has served this community well.”

There was a buzz of agreement. The point had been

made and the mood was changing. They all knew who she was

and who she worked for. The crowd began dispersing. Darius

called after them, “Think about Olivia! Come and see me!”

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 A pragmatic voice, full of hard-headed reason said, “And

when I need to buy a pig, domnul doctor, I’ll come to you for

the loan.”

Alone now, Elvira and Darius stood facing each other, a

few leaflets lay scattered around them.

“I have evidence, not conjecture,” he said, but he was

bluffing.

It made no impression on the woman. With one hand on

the hip of her mini skirt, she gave him a wry smile, trying to

appear sensual, provocative even. She was enjoying her small

victory and with a look of disdain, she said, “Little slut

deserved what she got.”

She turned and walked away, leaving Darius to wonder

where she’d come from. She hadn’t been in the church with

the others. As he followed her progress down the street, a car

drew alongside her: Karl’s black Mercedes.

He watched as she climbed inside, certain in the

knowledge that a major shift had occurred in the dynamics of

village life. He’d made his move and it was all out in the open

now. Karl was sure to react after today’s events. The battle

lines were being drawn up.

17. Gangsters

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 Balancing atop his swivelling chair, aerosol can in one

hand, zippo lighter in the other, he was impatient, now that he

was alone, to do something about those eternally irritating

flies.

Above the doctor’s desk, the ceiling fan habitually

clicked in time with its rotations, approximately once every

three seconds. Experience had taught him that setting it at a

higher speed would overload the circuit causing the fridge in

the kitchen to shut down, something he’d never been able to

explain. Beneath the turning propeller blades, flies

nonchalantly meandered back and forth, breaking formation at

random to pitch on his ears or his nose or the back of his neck.

Events followed a familiar pattern: he’d swat the pests away

then watch as they alighted elsewhere on his skin, nimbly

negotiating the hairs on his arms or the backs of his hands and

tickling the sensitive areas between his fingers and at the base

of his thumb and fingers. Were they mocking him? Like

Japanese water torture, over an appropriate time lapse, the

lightest touch became a major inconvenience and eventually

finding it too much to bear, he decided, once and for all, that it

was time to act. Enough was enough.

Today he would reclaim his territory. He’d arrived at

work well-prepared, and once the last patient had been

diagnosed and his secretary had filed all the notes, he grabbed

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 the aerosol spray and the lighter and with great caution,

clambered unsteadily onto the chair. With one foot on the desk

for stability, he took the can in his aiming hand and held the

lighter in front of the nozzle. Once his target had been selected,

he ignited the flame and depressed the nozzle, and whoosh!

Instant blow torch; instant death. Shamelessly, he felt a thrill as

the flame enveloped his victims, each of which glowed orange

at first, then red before spiralling to the carpet in a wisp of

smoke, crisped and wingless; cremated corpses.

When Karl and Spandau burst through the door,

whatever they imagined they were looking at could not have

approached anything like the truth. And the last thing Darius

had been expecting was an impromptu visit from the mob

while killing flies.

The spell broke. Karl spoke first. “Good afternoon,

domnul doctor. Interesting hobby you have there.”

“What do you want?” Darius snapped, swaying slightly

on the chair from the force of his own words. “The surgery is

closed.”

“We don’t want the surgery, domnul doctor, we want

you,” said Spandau the obtuse. He stepped forward and

grabbed the doctor’s arm, pulling him down with ease and

manhandling him into the waiting room where he pushed him

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 onto a chair. Karl snatched the keys from the desk and shuffled

through them.

Outraged at the intrusion, Darius snapped, “You won’t

find any drugs in there.”

“Thanks doc, but we have our own supply.” He dangled

the keys from one finger. “Which one is the key to your house,

doctor?”

Darius remained silent.

The main door was slightly ajar, and through the crack

the sun cast a thin bar of gold which dissected the room and

ran down the length of Darius’ body. He blinked into the glare.

“What do you want?” he shouted.

“We’ve come about this.” Karl produced a square of

paper. A leaflet. He waved it under the doctor’s nose then

licked it and slapped it onto the doctor’s forehead.

Darius took comfort. They must be worried, he thought.

“So, have you some information to offer?” he asked,

“something that might help catch the real killers?” adding,

“whose identity everyone here knows.”

Karl whacked him hard, then waited for Darius to

stop shaking. He spoke quietly, breathing the reek of stale

whiskey into his face. “I might have known someone from the

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 big city would bring trouble.” As Darius fought down the

stinging from the blow, Karl read from the leaflet that still

clung to Darius’ brow, “Good people, we all share the grief of

one of our own families, Lydia and Corvin Pesc, whose

daughter was taken in such tragic circumstances. Costel, the

man who has been arrested for this despicable crime, could

not possibly have been responsible. If like me, you’d like to see

the true perpetrators brought to justice and you have some

information that might be of help, please come to talk with me

or call the following number in the strictest of confidence.”

Darius grabbed the pamphlet. “And which part do you

object to, Karl?”

“You have no idea what you are doing.” Karl whispered.

“Lucky for you.” Darius responded. “If I had, you’d have

been arrested already,”

Spandau shoved the doctor hard, jerking his shoulder

back. “Just watch your mouth.” he snarled. “The world’s going

to look different after I turn you inside out.”

“And then,” said Karl, “your performance at the church.

Spreading your lies until Elvira broke the party up. And you, a

doctor.”

Having ridden out the initial shock, Darius got his second

wind. In a measured tone he said, “I’m sure that people will

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 want to know about how you frightened a young girl, stalking

her every other evening on her way home from school. You

might have scared her, but you don’t scare me...if that was

your purpose in coming here.”

“We followed her once or twice; to remind Corvin of his

responsibilities. Our purpose today was to come and say

‘hello’, what shall we say, ‘formally’. And to warn you to stop

wasting your time. The police have arrested the killer.”

“Costel Birka? The man who found her bruised and

abused body and who broke the news to me in person? He is

responsible for her death? A man who is so sick, he’ll be lucky

to see the year out, let alone brutally rape a fit young girl like

Olivia before dragging her corpse to the lake and leaving her

for the fish?” He sat forward, his heart pounding once again,

and gripped his knees with both hands. “No, they have not

arrested the killer! And I’ll tell you what a waste of time is—

your attempts to intimidate me! Who do you think you are?

The Mafia?”

Spandau pushed his bullet head into Darius’s temple, a

great beast sniffing its prey. With frightening speed, he slapped

the doctor even harder causing him to shout out into the empty

chamber.

“How about your feet?” said Karl. “I’m sure…”

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 “Hello?” A voice, bright, friendly, inviting. They turned

as one. In the doorway, a silhouette; a woman. The blaze of the

afternoon sun at her back. “Doctor Darius?” she called.

“Surgery is closed.” Karl snapped.

“I’m sorry?” she said, advancing into the room,

walking in and out of the sunbar, the pale shades of her

summer frock lightening the gloom. “I was looking for the

doctor.”

“I’m the doctor,” Darius spoke hurriedly, his pulse

pounding in his temples. “Can I help you?”

“Of course, I remember you now,” she said. “I have

news, doctor. Good news, but it’s ah...confidential.” She cast

her eye over Karl, “I hope you’re not busy,” she smiled flatly,

barely hiding her contempt.

Karl drew himself up to his full height which left his

eyeline ten centimetres short of hers. “As a matter of fact, we

are busy.”

“Fine,” she crossed her arms, “I’ll wait.”

Karl grinned like a playground bully toying with his

prey, and with slow deliberation, he walked around her. “Nice

legs, domnisoara,” he smirked. “I don’t want to sound forward,

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 but my imagination seems to be running loose, you know?

Wondering what the rest of you looks like.”

“Hey, that’s an original line...” Eva chuckled.

“...but you have zero chance of finding out.”

Spandau spoke quietly, “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

She fanned the air in front of her nose and held her

throat, pretending to choke. “Did you just threaten to rape me?

Uh...domnul….”

“His name is Spandau, domnisoara. And I am Karl. I’m

sure we’ll meet again. Soon.”

They headed for the door where Karl turned and pointed

a finger at the doctor, “This is not your business, doctor. This

is the second and final time. You have been warned.”

Eva stared into the open doorway, looking as though she

had imagined everything and was waiting for reality to kick in

again. “Far too hot for such fun and games, eh doctor? Did

they hurt you?” She turned to see that Darius wasn’t listening.

Looking horrified, he seemed lost in some other world as he

sat rooted to the chair. She went to the office to retrieve his

cane.

Taking the seat next to his, she spoke softly, “Here’s

your cane, dear Darius,” and she took his hand, squeezing

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 gently. But he hadn’t heard. She hugged him and listened to

the sound of his breathing which slowly reverted to normal. He

blinked and sat up straight. “Oh, I’m sorry, I was just…”

“It’s fine. I’m here now.” She paused, then asked, “Who

were they?”

“Local gangsters. Just letting me know who’s in control

here. Thank you for coming to the rescue.”

With a twinkle in her eye she said, “It was exciting

though, wasn’t it?”

“You were very brave.”

“Oh, I saw them come in. Just overgrown boys really,

but we’ve all read ‘Lord of the Flies,’ haven’t we?”

“Yes, yes, I...I...” Still disoriented, Darius looked him.

He caught her perfume. Rosewater? Delicate. Not overdone. “I

have a feeling it won’t be the last I hear from them.” In the

office, he called the number she gave him while she looked

around the room. No answer.

“I thought you might have had a dangling skeleton;

maybe the odd monkey skull?”

“No. Nothing like that.” He tried the number again.

“No brains in formaldehyde?”

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 “No.”

“Not even a shrunken head?”

“Doamna… you are incorrigible,” he glanced sideways

at her, “but too funny!” The smile hurt him.

“Eva, please, Doctor Darius, my name is Eva. And it’s

domnisoara, not doamna, for the second time. I’m sorry it took

so long to find the number.”

No answer. Again.

“I hope he’s still alive,” she said. “I hope I wasn’t too

late.”

“Actually, Eva, you came just in time.”

“Yes,” she patted his hand lightly, “just in time,” and she

let her hand linger for a moment or two on his.

The phone clanged on the desk. They both started.

“Hello? Doctor Kala.”

“You called me, domnul doctor.” Not a question.

“Uh, I did?”

“Yes, you did. A few moments ago. My name is Popar.

Colonel Popar.”

“Okay, Colonel, but how did you know I’d called.”

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 “Your call was put through by a woman at the local

exchange, wasn’t it? A dear lady who listens to everyone’s

secrets. It was not difficult to trace her, and so you. Despite

telling her not to, she’s probably listening right now.” He

paused. They waited a few seconds then heard a distant click.

“Now we can speak in confidence.” he said.

18. Floara and Flaviu

Darius Kala had arrived early. Now, at eleven-thirty in

the morning, he sat on a wooden bench in a small patch of

shade on the north side of the main square, he had a clear view

of the entrance to the Hotel Bulevard which stood opposite

him. As far as he knew, the hotel had been the haunt of VIPs,

the well-off and high-ranking officials during the regime. In

truth, very few of Ineu’s citizens would have been able to

afford it.

The doctor was reading a copy of the satirical magazine,

Catavencu, in the hope that it might take his mind off of

yesterday’s encounter at the surgery, but no matter how

entertaining he found his favourite newssheet, his mind kept

wandering back to the incident with Karl and Spandau. How

hadn’t he anticipated it? After all, he’d provided all the

motivation they needed. He should’ve expected it. He’d been

warned. The suddenness of their attack as he finished work for

the day, their outrageous brutality and his conspicuous

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 helplessness had been shocking. Like every prize-fighter who

never saw the punch coming, he was entitled to ask, ‘what

happened?’ He’d been hurt, and now he was bristling after

once more being violated.

With the rolled-up newspaper in his hand, he glanced

occasionally across the way, looking for any sign of Franz

Liszt’s ‘witnesses’. The Art Nouveau building, designed in the

spirit of Jugendstil, could only be described as eye candy, from

the gargoyles venting their spleen high up beneath the curved

parapets, down to the fruit-bearing nymphs who flanked the

tall stained-glass windows. Darius was studying the grape

vines that wreathed the entrance when he noticed two figures

standing in the shaded lobby.

He grabbed his stick and made his way across the square.

“Good morning,” he said. “Shall we?”

Inside, in the gloom, chandeliers, suspended from the

lofty dining room ceiling, hung in great wheels over the tables

and emitted a sickly orange glow. The high windows stood like

silver sentinels along one wall, admitting only diffused light

and either side of them, heavy velveteen curtains dropped ten

metres to the floor where matching chairs with their faded gold

trim waited in stoic constraint. As the party took their seats in

the corner, at the table furthest from the door, Darius was

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 certain that sitting amidst all of that crimson and gold, he could

taste dust in the air.

A middle-aged waitress appeared from behind a drape.

Stark in her black and white, she strutted like a magpie across

the creaking floor and took their order for coffees then left as

briskly as she had arrived.

Like lovebirds on a perch, Floara and Flaviu Bontsica sat

side-by-side, resplendent in their brightest plumage, she with a

gold broach pinned at the throat of her high-necked blouse and

her husband in his pristine orange shirt and purple and yellow

striped tie.

Flaviu offered his hand. “Good day, doctor.”

Greetings over, Darius lay his stick across his lap and

drummed lightly on the table. He studied Floara as she preened

and pecked away at her husband.

“This won’t do manzule,” she said, brushing specs from

his shirt with her busy fingers and straightening his tie.

“You’re in such a muddle, I’m always looking out for you,

aren’t I?” she said, chattering away in a non-stop commentary

on her own thoughts. “We just need to get you all nice and

neat, dear one,” and spitting into her handkerchief, she wiped

something from his cheek.

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 Flaviu baulked at his wife’s fussing, “Enough draga,

thank you. I’m fine now,” and he glowered at her. “Please

don’t call me that in front of the doctor. I’m not a baby horse.”

Darius remembered something about their

granddaughter. “And how is Lisa doing?” “Doesn’t she

graduate from high school this year?”

“Oh, she’s doing very well.” Floara said with a gleam in

her eye. “She’s starting university in Bucharest in September.”

She smiled at Flaviu. They both smiled. The proud

grandparents.

Darius checked his watch. “I understand you had

something to tell me?” he said.

The lovebirds sat in their fidgety silence. When Floara

spoke next, her voice was shaking. “At least she’s alive,” she

whispered. Flaviu put his arm around her trembling shoulders,

and he sighed, “She was a good friend of...of...” he gave up.

“Olivia?” said Darius. He thought better of adding ‘so

was I’.

“Actually,” Floara said, clutching her broach, and

choking back the tears, “actually, doctor, it’s Olivia that we’ve

come to talk about, isn’t it, dear one?”

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 Flaviu searched her face but in the end, just nodded his

agreement.

She rummaged in her bag and produced a slip of paper

and slid it across the table. One of Darius’s leaflets. She blew

her nose into her handkerchief. “We saw her...that day; at the

lake.” She delivered her news without side. It was a simple

offering, and it clearly came at a price to herself. But she had

the doctor’s attention now.

“You were there doamna?”

“We were driving along the forest road and saw a car

parked near the clearing.”

“You mean the clearing by the lake?”

“Yes, by the lake. Olivia was standing beside her bicycle,

in her school uniform. We slowed as we passed, and I waved

to her. She smiled and waved back. You remember,

scumpetele-meu?”

Flaviu was twiddling his thumbs.

“Those two were there…, that, that...big ox...”

“Spandau?”

“Yes. Spandau—a thug if every I saw one. And the other

one who owns the bar, uh...Karl. Well Spandau was taking

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 something out of the car, but Karl was talking to the girl and he

gave us his back. He didn’t fool me for a second. It was clear

enough who he was.”

“And which car was it, Flora?”

“Well, it was that expensive black car, wasn’t it, dear

heart,” she said turning once more to Flaviu. “You know, the…

the...”

“Mercedes?” Darius suggested.

“Yes, a Mercedes. Sometimes they go fishing in that van

with the black windows, we’ve seen them there before, but this

time it was definitely the black car.”

“And you didn’t stop?”

“If only we had. If only...And when I think about that

poor shepherd—Costel. He’s a part of the community, doctor.

He’s one of us.”

“Did they see you Floara?”

“I don’t think Karl did, but Spandau was watching us

from inside the car.”

“And... what did the police say when you told them?”

They exchanged glances. “We haven’t,” she said. “We

thought… well, we thought you could tell them.”

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 “Me? But why?”

“You were close to her, weren’t you?” she said, dabbing

at the corners of her eyes. “To tell you the truth, we reported

them once before and, and...”

“You did? And why was that, Floara?”

“They were trying to recruit one of Lisa’s friends, to, to

work here, in Ineu. In a club.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Well, it was a ‘special’ club, you know. A place where

men...”

“Ah yes. And how old was Lisa’s friend?”

“Fifteen, doctor. Just.”

“Well, you did exactly the right thing.” Darius said, still

massaging his brow as if he had a headache.

“No. It was exactly the wrong thing. The next day, we

had a visit from the same officer who’d taken our statement.

He and his colleague asked to see our car. They found a dozen

problems with it. Isn’t that right, dear one?”

“Oh, yes...yes,” said Flaviu. “That’s right dear. They

were the best of friends.”

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 Darius sat forward in his chair, “Doamna, how can I tell

the police? They will want to know who told me.”

“Then don’t tell them anything. We thought you should

know. That’s all.” To Floara, there was no question in her

mind. She was too afraid to even contemplate the idea of

making a statement. “I hope you don’t mind doctor,” she went

on, “but there was something else I’d like to…” She rummaged

about in her pockets then looked brightly at her husband. “I’m

sorry, dearest; I’ve left my purse in the car. I think it’s in the

glove compartment. Could you...?”

Flaviu was on his feet in a second and in a few more, he

was at the door.

“The car is in the next street,” she said to the doctor, “so

we have a few minutes.”

But Darius’s mind switched to his run-in with the

gangsters. Who knows how far they might’ve gone? He

recalled what they’d done to Corvin. Lucky that Eva had been

on the scene. Brave Eva…

Floara struggled to free a cardboard box from her

shopping bag. Fussily, she tried opening it.

Something caught the doctor’s eye. A glint of light

reflected high up in one of the tall windows. He leaned back in

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 his chair and raising his hand to shield his eyes, he seemed

transfixed as he stared at the colours in the stained glass.

Making no attempt to discern the images portrayed there, he

was mesmerised by the reflections of the light and the patterns

it created; the blending of the shapes and tints seemed surreal.

The room began to fill with a quiet noise, the hubbub of polite

conversation. Curious about where it was coming from, Darius

lowered his gaze.

Floara pushed the box across the table. “He’s been filling

the house with electrical appliances, doctor.”

Darius continued to rub at his forehead.

“Domnul doctor, are you alright?”

“Please go on,” he said.

She drew his attention to the contents of the box. A

dozen or more electric plugs lay arranged in neat rows, some

with the safety labels still attached. “Observe the attention to

detail, doctor. On each of them, the cable had been severed

about three centimetres from the casing.”

Men in uniform, others with cummerbunds, coats worn

cloak style, hanging from one shoulder. Bejewelled wives and

mistresses, laughing on cue, cigarettes held languorously

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 between index and middle fingers, as the players with their

taragot, tambal and fiddle mounted the stage.

“I see,” said the doctor, unaware that his concentration

was slipping.

“We now have three electric toasters, half a dozen irons

and... and there is no more room for table lamps.”

“He sounds like my own father, doamna, a hoarder.”

Something half-familiar drew Darius’s attention. An

expression, was it? Or gesture? The idea gained traction. He

scanned the faces, back and forth feeling compelled to find it.

And there it was again. He stopped and returned to the spot,

feeling giddy now. A figure stepped clear of the throng and

came towards him, grinning with an awful relish, a look of

insane delight. He held the doctor in his sights and nodded in

acknowledgement as though they were old acquaintances.

Darius recognised the stance, but no matter how he rubbed at

his eyes, he could not clear his vision enough to bring the

smudged features into focus.

“Was your father in the habit of cutting the plugs off?”

Floara asked. “And another thing doctor, I found an electric

lawn mower in an outhouse. We don’t even have a lawn.” But

as she continued to unpack her story, she became aware for the

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 first time, that the doctor seemed distracted. The door of the

salon opened. Quickly she shoved the box back in her bag.

The officer approached swinging a baseball bat at his

side. He began tapping it in the palm of his hand. Darius

recognised the uniform adorned with ornate blue and gold

epaulettes and a chest full of military decorations. In a quiet,

rasping voice, the officer asked, ‘What are you doing here,

pula? Haven’t you had enough already? I’m going to mess you

up…’

Now Flaviu stood next to his wife looking baffled. “I’m

sorry dear, I can’t remember where we parked the car.”

“Come,” she said with a look of concern. “Come, sit

down,” and she gripped his hand tightly.

Darius started to gasp. The foul breath, the

unmistakeable fetor of the tormentor whose face he’d never

seen made him clasp his face in shock. Then with the sound of

his own baying demons ringing in his ears, he recoiled and

held his hands out to protect himself. “No, no. Get away from

me! Get away!”

Floara got to her feet, “Domnul! Domnul doctor! Are you

alright?” With one hand on her heart, she shouted, “Doctor?”

“My stick!” shouted Darius, “where’s my stick?”

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 “But Doctor Kala!” she said, “you have it!”

It clattered to the floor. He tried to locate it. “It must be

here…” he spluttered, reaching out like a blind man in a panic.

Flaviu scooped up the cane and put it into the doctor’s

hand. “Here doctor, here it is.”

With both hands, Darius clutched it tightly to his chest

and sitting up, stared straight ahead, his breathing came deep

and slow.

“Are you OK, doctor?” she said.

“Yes… I was just…” The apparition remained there in

his head, his senses still tingling in shock. The revolting stench

lingered on.

Flaviu extended his hand as he’d done earlier, and said,

“Good morning domnul doctor.”

The waitress appeared and placed the drinks on the table.

Clearing his throat, Darius asked, “Could I have some

water?”

She nodded and retreated.

Darius sipped at his coffee. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know

what …”

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 Floara and Flaviu kept a respectful silence until the

doctor was ready.

Soon, Darius spoke in a subdued voice, “I’m curious,

doamna, why did you want to meet in Ineu when you could

have come to the surgery in Alba Jura?”

Floara glanced at her baby horse. “Oh, we come

shopping here every few weeks, don’t we, dearest?” Flaviu

started as if he’d been caught napping. “Ah yes. Of course,

yes.”

The waitress brought the bill on a chromium tray and she

stood over him while he fished the bills from his wallet.

Feeling slightly nauseous, he tried to remember the words –

‘Haven’t you had enough already?’ yes, that was it. ‘I’m going

to mess you up…’

“Those boys are dangerous,” whispered Floara bringing

Darius back to the present. “If they found out…” and raising

her hand, she drew a shaky thumb across her neck.

Darius remembered that she was referring to Karl and

Spandau.

“… and about...about the plugs...” she was saying.

“Let’s discuss it at the surgery, OK?”

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 He watched them leave, the tingling still shorting his

senses. She’s scared, very scared. Her fear was palpable; it

hung about her like graveyard mist. Hope she doesn’t get

messed up.

At home, Darius tried to make sense of the nonsensical,

the illogical. He was certain of one thing: the episodes were

getting worse. Instinct and his professional training told him

that given time, it would get better, meanwhile, he secretly

believed that he might be losing his grip on reality. That hotel,

for example, was it real? And did it actually happen? The place

is spooky. He would ask Floara for her take on it. He really

needed someone to talk to.

He grabbed a cold beer from the fridge and headed for

the garden where he sat on the grass in the warm sunshine. The

radio buzzed in the background. Catavencu. Deep breaths, in,

two, three, four, out, two three…he opened the can, pop!

Fizzzz… and the phone rang. No! No, no, no! Let it ring. But

then again, it might be an emergency. Maybe it’s her! Maybe

she heard that he was back and…or perhaps it was Colonel

Popar.

“Hello?”

“Domnul doctor?”

“Correct.”

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 “It is indeed with great, good fortune that once again, I

have the opportunity of speaking with our esteemed medical

practitioner.”

“Good afternoon, mayor.” It couldn’t be anyone else.

“How can I help?”

“Well, domnul, the matter is a little delicate. Yes,

delicate, doctor. Could you come to my office?”

“On a Saturday afternoon?”

“Administration, doctor. I assume you have similar

considerations. Piles of it, I’m looking at it now. Ever growing,

so…. in I came.”

Darius could hear him smiling, cigar in one hand and

swinging his free arm with great gusto to afford even greater

emphasis to his hyperbole. “Right, well, I suppose…” said

Darius.

“Thank you so much doctor. I’ll see you at two?” and the

line went dead.

No time for lunch then. Still, a hungry belly will keep me

sharp, he thought. He may well need to be.

At the main crossroads of the village, the two great

churches stood toe to toe, locked in an eternal spat over

ideology. At the south-west corner, the onion-domes of the

orthodox building humbly stooped in supplication to the lord

and master. In the north-west corner, the jutting spire of the

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 catholic church, beseeched, even demanded that the lord fulfil

its needs around the clock. Along the southern arm of the

crossroads, the town hall sat some fifty metres from the centre

and after the churches, was the largest building in Alba Jura.

The five-minute walk took Darius ten, but hampered as

he was, there was no need to rush, especially not in this

weather. The mayor’s office, situated on the first floor,

occupied the area of a good-sized living room with a large

picture window that looked out over the back yards of the

adjoining row of houses.

“Good afternoon, doctor, may I offer you some liquid

refreshment? Scottish perhaps or maybe some Irish?”

“Water, please,” said Darius and he gazed out at the lush

sea of green; at this time of year, vegetables, grape vines and

fruit trees, which were all approaching maturity. Here and

there, the odd home-made greenhouse was discernible where

tomatoes and cucumbers had already come to early fruition.

“That’s my compensation,” said the mayor.

“Compensation?”

“Yes, domnul doctor, compensation. In the winter, it’s

just pigs and mud. Pigs and mud, doctor. Oh, and chickens.”

He gestured towards a leather upholstered chair on the opposite

side of the desk to his own, much grander chair. “Cigar?” he

offered.

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 “No, thanks.”

“Do you mind?” he asked, holding a cheroot aloft.

“No, no. Not at all.” And Darius sank into his cosy seat

wondering if he shouldn’t invest in something similar.

Having completed his cigar-lighting ritual, the mayor sat

back and gazed at the ceiling while languorously tasting the

smoke with his tongue. The gesture verged on the

pornographic and made Darius wish he hadn’t seen it. Drawing

a deep breath, the mayor got straight to the point. “I wanted to

talk to you about what happened at the church a week ago,

doctor, when you distributed some leaflets amongst the

congregation at the end of the service.”

“I…”

“Let me speak, doctor, then we’ll discuss it. So, you

caused quite a stir. I’ve had one or two complaints…”

Darius raised his eyebrows.

“Mainly…mainly from people who were shocked to hear

their GP speaking in such a manner.” He cleared his throat.

“But also, from a number of bodies who believe that the matter

has already been fully addressed, and well, quite frankly feel

that it’s none of your business. Some have suggested that the

least you could do, is to go directly to Karl and…and

apologise. What do you think, doctor?”

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 Darius gave himself a moment to get his breathing under

control, to talk himself down. It would, he reasoned, be easy to

feel affronted. His integrity was under attack here. “Well,

domnul Mayor,” he began, then paused. “Although I agree that

perhaps it is none of my business, and I understand their

reasoning, I would ask them, if not me, domnul mayor, then

who?’

“Who? Do you mean who should do what you are

doing?”

“Exactly. The police won’t act. In fact, they…”

“Doctor, please be advised that you should not say

anything that you’ll regret later. It is my duty, as mayor, to

inform you that you must desist. You are a doctor, not a self-

appointed Sherlock Holmes!”

“Domnul mayor,” Darius said. “Costel is a seriously ill

and very weak man! He could not have…”

“As I’ve said, doctor, you can do one or the other, but

not both. If you choose the Sherlock Holmes route, then I’ll

start looking for a new GP. Do you understand, Doctor Kala?”

Darius got up and gazed out on the mayor’s

‘compensation.’ “Do I have a choice, domnul mayor?”

But the official had already lined up his canon. “I was

hoping you’d see reason, doctor. I didn’t want to bring this up

but now I have little choice. Well…” he hesitated, “suppose

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 one of those complaints was made by a young girl, yes a young

girl who…”

Darius had heard enough. He headed for the door but

turned before leaving. “Domnul mayor, that is a low blow as

I’m sure you’ll agree, and if you’re serious about it, I’ll see

you and my accuser in court. But let’s say that I’ve listened to

your concerns, and I’ll inform you of my decision within the

forty-eight hours.”

Quivering with rage and barely able to contain himself,

Darius left the building buzzing. He glanced at the almost new

BMW in the car park, a car which almost certainly belonged to

the domnule mayor and thought about it’s true owner in

Vienna perhaps, or Munich who would already be driving a

replacement. Heading back in the direction of the churches, he

wondered which one the domnule mayor attended. Which one

more willingly accommodated bigots and hypocrites. What had

been a clear blue sky now seemed grubby and tainted. Damn!

He thought, it’s almost as if no-one wants the truth to surface.

As if no-one cares. “Damn!” he cursed aloud. He’d wanted to

say to the mayor, ‘Pardon my use of the vernacular, but Karl

can kiss my skinny arse,’ and, ‘do you think that if you fire me,

I will stop trying to expose the real killers?’ However, that

kind of kneejerk reaction may have led to the loss of a lot more

that his job.

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 Such was his fury, he barely noticed the walk home. He

went straight to the garden shed to find what was left of the

white paint, but it had dried hard. He found some functional

but nasty green that his father had used to paint the shed and

grabbing a brush, he painted over the mud-coloured daubs

which he’d done in what seemed like another age. This was a

different coloured anger.

When he finished, the storm still hadn’t blown itself out.

Who could he talk to? There must be somebody… He rang

Eva. She didn’t pick up.

19. Nicolae

His impatience was getting the better of him. He’d

agreed with Colonel Popar to meet next weekend, but it felt

like a month away. A whole five days. But it was a long

journey, perhaps a hundred kilometres, unlike the ten-kilometre

jaunt from Alba Jura to Vedra Noua.

Vedra Noua was the smallest of the doctor’s practices.

With a population of around two hundred, his once-a-weekly

visit was more than ample; it was not uncommon to find just

one or two sorry-looking souls waiting when he arrived to

open the surgery, yet the morning had been busy by any

standards and having put his uncompleted notes to one side, he

found himself staring at the telephone, lost in a moment of

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 contemplation, reflecting on the bizarre exchange he’d had

with the Mayor and wondering how far up the ladder this

business would lead. In his typically conventional, even

punctilious rhetoric, the official had specified unambiguously,

that he should ‘cease his investigations as an amateur sleuth

and focus instead on the duties for which he was hired.’ The

doctor smiled for a moment at the artlessness of the Mayor’s

phrasing yet immediately fell to considering the implications

of the threat. Would he carry it out? Yes, he thought. He may

well do just that.

Added to that, thanks to Franz and Lydia, he was

beginning to see another side to Corvin. What had she said?

‘Don’t let him fool you.’ Whether by design, to conceal some

other chicanery, or default, as a kleptomaniac steals, Corvin

had deceived him. The man had some explaining to do.

“Doctor Kala?” A young man stood in the doorway.

“Surgery is closed,” he said, taking up his notes again.

“I waited until the patients left. May I come in?”

Darius looked up. It was Nicolae from the wedding party.

His hair had grown and now it was a mass of thick, loose curls.

He wore an ‘I heart NY’ ‘T’ shirt and denim shorts, cut off at

the knees. Darius felt overdressed. On a day like today he

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 thought, people would be swimming in the Black Sea. “You’re

Nicu, aren’t you?” he offered his hand.

“Nicu Popovich.”

“Olivia told me a lot about you. I have a painting of

yours on my wall.”

“Yes. ‘The Truth: Invisibilis ad perpetuum.’ It’s yours

now.”

“Well, thank you. Olivia said something about it being a

vision of the future.”

“Well, if you like I can tell you.”

Darius beckoned him to sit.

“The idea behind the painting is that while we work and

sleep and go about our daily lives, a machine, perpetually in

motion, operates at the edge of our awareness, perhaps in

another dimension. In its hidden state, it is programmed to

divert us from our true purpose.”

“And what is our true purpose?”

“Naturally, to try to realise our true human potential, to

express ourselves fully for the benefit of mankind and our

natural environment. To contribute in a meaningful way.”

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 “And why would such a machine seek to invalidate

that?”

The boy looked away to collect his thoughts. “Doctor,

why would anyone want to destroy my Olivia? What kind of

monster?”

“Yes, Nicu. Point taken.”

Nicolae took a moment to consider what he wanted to

say. “Well, it isn’t a machine exactly, more like a colony of

‘others’. But to answer your question, what it truly seeks is

power through resources. In the end it’s bound by material

gain, doctor. It is even programmed, through social structures,

to disenfranchise us, to steal our land metre by metre,

confound our morality and ultimately rob us of our integrity,

and our souls. It becomes self-perpetuating and unlike us, it

never sleeps. And as we acclimatise to its presence, we allow it

to function by deluding ourselves that it isn’t there, that it isn’t

actually happening, and through various means, it continues to

suck any true meaning from our existence, replacing it with

glittering, ephemeral junk.”

“Forever?”

“In perpetuum.”

Darius was taken aback. “Fascinating. Some might call it

science fiction…”

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 “On the contrary doctor, when I said ‘others’, I was

thinking of a community which behaves like bugs, perhaps -

bees or ants. We can spray them or step on them, or they can

just die of exhaustion, and when this happens, their fellows

don’t grieve, they just replace them through some kind of

reproduction programme. They are ubiquitous; all-knowing

and they don’t suffer from compassion. They consider ours to

be a weakness. In our foolishness, we ignore it and if ever we

notice it, we simply dismiss it as being of no consequence.

“I see. But to hear one so young…”

“I’m not alone, doctor. And I didn’t work this out all on

my own. Who does? Olivia was so pure, she was one of us, and

I miss…” Unable to continue, he held his head in his hands.

“Well,” Darius hesitated. Not sure what to say. “You

would’ve been a worthy confederate a year ago.”

Nicu looked up. “My family, certain members, they…”

he paused, not sure if he should continue.

“I understand,” said Darius, “But that’s a lot in one

painting.”

“Is there a quantitative value to art, doctor?”

“No, sorry, you’re quite right, and I can see why Olivia

was attracted to you, a girl who read Orwell and Hunter S.

202
 Thompson while our own culture still marks time, waiting for

someone else to bark the orders.”

“That’s why, I mean…that’s the reason I came, doctor.

Olivia was my best friend, and I don’t know how… I mean…

she was everything… and I really miss her.”

Again, Darius fought down the urge to say, ‘Me too.’

They did share an affinity: Olivia had been pivotal in both of

their lives. “But the last, and only time I saw you two together,

at the wedding, you were clearly having a disagreement.”

“Yes, it’s true.” Nicu chewed his lip. “I told her she could

come and stay at my auntie’s house, you know, to get away

from Corvin. She disagreed, said it wasn’t the right time. It

seemed that we’d talked about nothing else for quite some

time. I became angry with her. That’s all.”

They sat in silence. Darius had switched off the noisy

portable fan and the heat was becoming oppressive.

Nicu said, “I can’t sleep, doctor.” The redness in his eyes

now apparent.

Darius opened his bag. “Perhaps I can…”

“No, no thanks. I didn’t come as a patient. Doctor, I went

to see her parents just after, you know...”

“Yes, Corvin told me.”

203
 “But I had to leave. He was so hostile. He blamed me.

He said that because of me, she’d become disobedient.”

Darius the professional spoke. “He’s grieving, Nicu. He’s

lost a member of his family.” But instantly, he felt detached

from his own remark.

“No,” said Nicu, “I don’t believe that. But Lydia has.

Lydia has lost her daughter. Corvin has lost his slave, lost

his...” and he couldn’t stem the tears any longer. With his

shoulders shaking, he wiped his face with his hands.

Darius said, “Please, tell me about her.”

“Friends since I was twelve, that’s what, five years?

Almost a third of my life and definitely a third of hers.”

“And after you left high school?”

“We had to meet at weekends. She’d tell her parents she

was at a friend’s house. If Corvin had found out, he would've

killed her.”

“Forgive me, but were you aware of the car that followed

her from school?”

“Of course, I knew, and I’m sure it was them who…

because that old shepherd couldn’t have… Any fool would

know that.”

204
 “Yes, most fools. Nicu, do you live here, in Vedra

Noua?”

“No, I live in Selerea-Sud, where I went to school.

Where I met her.”

Darius did the calculation. “But Selerea-Sud is around

fifteen kilometres from here. How...?”

“I drove here, in my uncle’s car.”

“But you’re…how old?”

“I’ve been able to drive since I was fourteen.” And then

he put his finger to his mouth. “Doctor, please promise me, it’s

just that no-one can know I came to see you.” He produced

something from his pocket. “This is why I came.” He unfolded

a familiar square of paper, one of the leaflets. “Perhaps I can

help in some way.”

“Well, you can help, actually. Look, as her doctor and as

her friend, I’d like to ask you some personal questions. But if

you don’t want to answer them, it’s OK.”

“Anything, if it helps.”

Deciding that the direct approach would probably be the

most effective, he asked, “Nicu, did you have sex with her?”

205
 The question took Nicu by surprise. “Why do you want

to know?”

“It could be important. That’s all.”

The boy frowned. “We talked about getting married. She

planned to leave home once she reached sixteen. She just

wanted to get away.” Then a different expression crossed his

face. “It was really strange how she did everything he asked of

her, yet she said she hated him.”

“Corvin?”

“Yes. Corvin. We wanted to, doctor, I mean we really,

really wanted to. We talked about sex but all we did was play

around, you know. Touching, exploring. Getting ourselves

excited. She said she was too young. She was a virgin.”

“Nicu.” Darius held his gaze. “No, she wasn’t.”

Nicu looked as though he’d been shot. “What? But… but

what do you mean?”

“I believe, although I can’t be categorical, that she was

pregnant, probably by at least two months.”

“But, but...she wouldn’t, I know she wouldn’t. Did

something show up in the autopsy?”

206
 “No. They didn’t test for pregnancy. But the last time we

spoke, she asked me for advice. She was very upset. It was

easy to see why. She was also showing some signs. We were

interrupted when Corvin turned up to collect her. I’m sure she

had more to tell.”

The boy lowered his voice to a whisper. “So,

who...who...”, the words dried up.

“Yes, that’s the question, isn’t it?”

“So... who was it? Who was she seeing? I can hardly

believe it?”

“I don’t think she was seeing anyone. Perhaps, Karl and

Spandau… perhaps they actually caught up with her as she

cycled home from school.”

“But once she realised that she was being followed, she

travelled with a friend.”

“Not always, I think. And not on the day she died.”

Nicu began shaking, frustrated and angry. “But she

would have told me. If they did that, she would have said

something.”

“Not if she was afraid, Nicu. Not if she was terrified.

And not only in fear for her own safety, but for yours too.”

207
 Sometime later, driving home through the lanes on that

glorious afternoon, Darius passed by fields of silver barley on

one side and shimmering wheat on the other. Through the

hedgerows he caught glimpses of the harvesters moving across

the land and his mind strayed back to those hot summer days

of his childhood when he and his father would tend the crops

on their small plot.

Up ahead, a space to park beckoned. He left his jacket

and tie on the back seat and found a tree stump from where he

had a grandstand view. Rolling up his sleeves, he basked in the

sunshine that caressed his skin, and unbuttoning his shirt, he let

the warm air at his body. Raising his face like a sunflower to

the sun, he opened himself to the wide-open sky and to the

land that stretched to infinity.

The harvesters moved in tandem, working their way

across the land. Scythes in front, sweeping in great arcs, the

men reaped the golden grain, and the women behind with their

sickles, gathered up the stems, binding and stacking them in

sheaves to dry in the sizzling heat. Swish and back, swish and

back, the curved blades flashed in the sun and cut down every

stalk, dropping them into tidy formations. None survived.

None escaped. He followed their advance and thought of the

World War two footage of Russian and Czech villages where

208
 row after terrified row of innocents were slaughtered by Nazi

death squads. Dozens waiting in line for the inevitable, then

dropping in a single salvo, in neat rows from one clean sweep

of the blade, again and again, only to be replaced by still more.

He shook the vision from his head. Was his life to be an

endless reworking of death even from the most innocuous of

associations? How could he switch off his overactive mind?

There would be no release for him until Olivia’s killer was

rotting in jail, and until he found Lena, there would be no

peace.

20. Popar

Colonel Maxim Popar late of the security police, the

infamous Securitate, sat on the balcony of his third-floor

apartment in the one hundred-and fifty-year-old Austro-

Hungarian town house, sipping his glass of Cotnari Famaioasa.

He loved the fresh and fruity aftertaste, but especially the

aroma which reminded him of his mother’s rose garden.

Following the events of the previous December, his official

role had vanished overnight, yet, for a man who’d led such a

distinguished career, there was always something else. He was

still a player albeit an independent now, but as long as the firm

still needed him, he would continue to have their support.

Barely a day passed when he didn’t get a call.

209
 On this sunny Saturday afternoon, he observed the old

grey Dacia turn into the main gates and progress along the

gritted drive. Although not an especially proud man, he

watched with some satisfaction as it drew into the parking bay

next to his own sleek silver BMW. A female emerged from the

passenger side. He recognised the long raven hair and scarlet

lipstick of the young woman who’d bought his old house in the

Transylvanian backwater of Selerea-Sud. She was back with a

friend; a man who made his way to the front steps with the aid

of a walking stick. It was fortuitous indeed, he reflected, that

while renovating the building, they’d had the foresight to

install a lift. Standing loosely to attention outside his door, he

waited for the lift to rise. The prospect of meeting strangers

always excited him: new opportunities; some beyond

expectation. Others beyond imagination.

The inner door of the lift clattered away, then the external

door concertinaed open.

“Domnisoara, we meet again,” he said to Eva, and they

kissed, first to the left cheek then to the right.

“And you must be Doctor…?” extending his hand.

“My name is Darius Kala. Doctor Darius Kala.”

The Colonel had the grip of a boxer and his handshake

vigorous. He led the way into his expansive suite of rooms.

210
 Darius was expecting someone older. The colonel was

not the relic that Eva had described. He still had his hair and

not all of it was grey. He looked in good shape and his gait

suggested athletic pursuits. “You have a beautiful apartment,

colonel.”

“Thank you, doctor. The restoration work was of the first

quality.”

“Have you lived here long?”

“Just a few months. Since the revolution. I got lucky. At

that time, they were virtually giving them away. Gold for the

price of silver,” he added. “Please, take a seat.”

Darius noted that unlike his own, the Colonel’s Levis

were genuine. The cost would have been exorbitant, a month’s

salary for a shop worker.

“Colonel...” Eva began.

“Please, call me Max. I feel we are old friends now and

I’d be more comfortable if you did.”

“Max... we have come to talk about Lena.”

“My enigmatic niece? I doubt that I can help you much

more than I already have.”

Darius went straight to the point. “Were you not in

contact with her, Max?” but the colonel wouldn’t be rushed.

211
 “Can I get you something? A drink, an aperitif? I’m

enjoying a very fine white wine if you’d...”

“Some water for me,” said Darius.

“Me too.” Eva smiled. “May I smoke?”

“On the balcony, but not inside, thank you.”

Darius sipped at his water. “So, did you see much of

her?”

“Doctor, I told my brother that he could live in the house

for as long as he wished, and not to insult me by offering

money. When he passed, what...early in eighty-eight...I offered

Lena, his daughter, the same conditions. There was little need

for us to communicate. We’d never been that close.”

“Apparently, you told Eva that she was last seen with a

VIP policeman.”

“Yes, that’s true. I can’t...”

“A member of security?”

“The police didn’t say as much.”

“What was his name, Max?”

“Domnul, I have no idea, and if I knew, I couldn’t

divulge that information.”

Darius took a deep breath. “This is your niece we are

talking about!”

212
 “It is the sole reason that I agreed to see you, domnul

doctor.”

“OK, you said that she worked in a club because she lost

her administrative job. Do you know why she lost her job? In

her letters, she said that she was tired after nursing her father,

but she never talked about trouble at work.”

“Doctor Darius,” the colonel smiled sympathetically,

“you have answered your own question.”

“Now you are speaking in riddles, Colonel. I’d...”

“Tell me, doctor, what is your interest in all of this?”

Darius hesitated. Eva must have already given him some

information. He would offer the same.

“She was my fiancée,” he lied.

“And where were you when she wrote to tell you she

had to find alternative work?”

“In Bucharest. I was in Bucharest.”

“Please be more specific.”

How was this relevant? Darius thought. The colonel was

delving into a period of his life that still felt very raw. But

realisation began to dawn… He glanced at Eva, “I was in

Jilava. Jilava prison.”

Eva stifled a gasp.

213
 “And why were you there? Forgive me, but it’s necessary

to ask.”

“For helping dissidents, treating them, including torture

victims, people who were denied access to any kind of health

care. In other words, I was a political prisoner. But I’m

beginning to understand that you already knew that.”

The colonel smiled.

“Of course,” Darius went on. “Now I see. You knew

about me, about Lena, about the club. You are one of them,

aren’t you!” Darius struggled to his feet but dropped his

walking stick.

“Domnul doctor, please sit down, if...you want my help.”

Eva retrieved Darius’s cane and drawing her chair closer

to his, she took his arm and began stroking it. “Deep breaths,

doctor. In...out...”

He put his hand on hers, and for a moment their eyes

met. He smiled and turned to face the colonel.

Popar continued, “So, doctor, now you understand why

she lost her job.”

“And you couldn’t help her? Why didn’t you?” He was

raising his voice again.

“Again, you misjudge me. Understandable I suppose.

Would you like some more water? Something stronger?”

214
 “Thank you, no.”

“I did help her. In fact, if I hadn’t, she would have been

arrested too. Now do you see?”

“Of course,” Darius whispered. “Of course.” He looked

up at the man. “I’m sorry. I’m sure that you paid a price for

safeguarding her.”

“I called in some favours. In my work, doctor, rendering

oneself vulnerable is equal to committing professional suicide.

The pool is full of sharks. I couldn’t have pressed any harder. I

hope I have made my position clear?”

“Yes. Thank you. And I appreciate your efforts. So, she

became virtually unemployable. Correct?”

“Correct.”

Now Eva spoke. “Which is why she took a job in a girlie

bar?”

“Exactly.”

“And how...” Darius took up the reins again, “...did she

find it?”

“Well...” the colonel cleared his throat.

“You found it for her!” Eva blurted, joining the dots

before Darius could.

“I think I’ve said enough.” The colonel got to his feet.

“Now you know everything.”

215
 “Max,” Darius scrambled to his feet again, this time with

Eva’s help. “We have only removed the first layer of veneer

and I’m sure you know more than you’re saying. Please tell me

the name of the club.”

“Domnul doctor,” Popar adjusted his cuffs, “I think you

know the answer to that already.”

Ten minutes into the drive Darius returned to earth.

Unable to organise his thoughts into words, he was lost in a

quiet fury, orbiting the planet ‘corruption’ at warp factor nine

in a ship named rage. His raptor-like grip on the steering wheel

turned his knuckles white as he stared through the windscreen

at a world that had once again failed him.

Eva blew her cigarette smoke out of the window and let

him be. That was her approach; the way she approached

everything. With consideration.

“I can’t believe it!” He exclaimed, still grappling with

the controls.

“About the club?”

“Yes, about the club.”

“So, domnul angry face, what are you going to do?”

Then, like the air in a punctured balloon, the madness left

him. “Costel’s trial begins in two weeks. Somehow I have to

find a way… a way to ...”

216
 “Would you like me to come with you?”

He glanced across. “Thank you. You are so kind. I’d love

you to come but I don’t want to drag you into this. Besides, it’s

something I’d better tackle alone.”

“As you’re going to be busy hauling the crooks off to jail

single-handedly, I could make the sandwiches.”

“No.” he said, with finality.

“Coffee?”

He refused to reply.

“Fine,” she smiled, “are you hungry?”

“Ravished!”

“What a coincidence! I happen to be an excellent cook.”

In Ineu, they found the supplies, including a decent bottle

of Murfatlar and arrived at Darius’ house before dark.

Eva was impressed. “Nice place. And I love the green

daub across the walls. Very expressive. Have you done that in

each room?”

“Well, not…”

“Hmmm, what would you call it? Post-modernist

camouflage”

“Umm, no, not that. I’d say, more like...reactional

jungle.”

217
 “Is that a word, doctor? So, what did you tell your

decorator? ‘Look, I want you to shabby up my beautiful

home’?” she laughed.

He laughed too. “That decorator would be me.”

“Why didn’t you slit the sofa, or shred the curtains too?”

“I was experimenting...” he couldn’t stop smiling.

“With your anger?”

“God, you are good, Eva. Really good.” He stood in

silence for a moment. “Eva?”

“Yes, doctor?”

“I think I went a little crazy. Perhaps I’m still crazy.”

“If you are, then welcome aboard.”

“But I’m forgetting, can I take your coat?” He slid it

from her shoulders and hung it up in the hall. “And I’m so glad

of your company... to have you around.”

“I know,” she said. “Have you got a corkscrew?”

“Sure,” he rifled a drawer for it.

“I don’t feel like cooking now,” she sighed, “let’s have a

sandwich. What have you got in here?” and she opened the

fridge-freezer. “Oh, well, there’s some cheese which you’re

clearly cultivating for use as some sort of a chemical weapon.

And some ham. And a sad-looking tomato. Do you have any

bread?” She looked around the fridge door to find him standing

there, close to her.

218
 She cupped his head in her hand and drew him towards

her, holding him there in a long lingering kiss for a long, long

time. All her passions spilled out; overflowed. She couldn’t

stop. And neither could he.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight,

feeling her body heat, with the warmth of the day still on her

and when they finally came up for air, Eva took a dizzy step

back. “Well doctor! What took you so long?”

They began laughing at their discovery and they couldn’t

stop. And covering her mouth she pointed at the mirror in the

hall. “Look,” she said. “Look at you! Go!”

He looked. At the deep crimson lipstick plastered all

around his mouth, his cheeks, his ears and on his shirt, it was

as if a small child had been let loose with a crayon. His hair

also stood up in clumps.

“I look like a clown,” he snorted and when he turned to

look at her, she was stepping out of her dress which now lay on

the floor around her ankles.

She grabbed the bottle, “Get some glasses,” she said

softly, “Is this the bedroom?” She pushed the door open. “I

need an examination and only a doctor will do.” She smiled at

him over her shoulder, in a way that he had never known

existed.

219
 Glasses in one hand, he stooped to pick up the dress and

a voice said, “Leave it where it is, crazy man. It will still be

there tomorrow.”

21. Break in

It was one short week ago, when Nicu had been sitting in

the surgery in Vedra Noua, discussing the peculiarities

surrounding Olivia’s killing and helping Darius to join the

dots. Floara had already put Karl and Spandau at the scene of

the crime. More recently, Popar had filled in some of the gaps

in Lena’s story intimating that she’d gone to work for Corvin at

the Go-Go Club. And just when Darius had been bemoaning

his fate, a fate without friends, without someone to talk to, Eva

showed up, at first as a comrade-in-arms, then as a lover. Baba

was right. You lose one thing and find another. And so far,

there was no sign of the mayor making good on his threat.

Having completed his house calls, Darius anticipated a warm

bath, a glass of wine with his supper, and an early night.

But the day hadn’t done with him yet. Driving home

from Vedra Noua, he turned into the high street to find the

village in the grip of a power cut. At the corner of his road, he

stopped and got out, unaccustomed as he was to the darkness.

Despite the warmth of the evening, a sudden breeze made him

shiver. He looked up and down the street; the only sign of life -

220
 a single candle twinkling in a nearby window. The place was a

ghost town.

Minutes later, he pulled into the drive and grabbing his

torch, entered the house through the kitchen. Something caught

under his foot. The beam found it. Stooping, he picked up the

pencil that normally lived on a kitchen shelf. He couldn’t

remember dropping it, and when he put it back, the box of

matches was no longer where it should be. He located it one

shelf down. I suppose I could have moved it, he thought.

He found two candles in a drawer and lit them – one for

the kitchen table, one for the bathroom. Loading and lighting

the wood burner took priority, it could take half an hour to

heat. Then he opened a bottle of his favourite red wine,

Feteasca which came from a vendor in Ineu who claimed he

could source an exceptional vintage at a reasonable price. In

the event, the wine did indeed, prove to be excellent, but the

price less so. It was clear that their respective understanding of

‘reasonable’ was poles apart.

He placed the candle on top of the piano and let his

fingers rest on the keys, feeling them like old friends. What

had Olivia played? Satie, wasn’t it? How could he forget?

Gymnopedie No.1. He teased out the first few notes, faltering,

falling in slow motion, as she had done when she demonstrated

her precocious musical skills for the first time. But images of

221
 her sitting where he now sat filled him up. Lowering the lid, he

pulled the dustsheet back into place.

In the hall, he waited in the shadows and listened to the

boiler roaring, feeling that something wasn’t right. He looked

to the front entrance where the summer night beckoned

through the frosted glass, and cane in hand, he covered the few

metres down the hall. Outside, the warm air felt good on his

skin and lifted the hairs on his arms. Nothing stirred. Not the

dogs; not even the crickets.

At the gate, he looked one way, then the other, not quite

knowing why. Then finally he looked up, to see what was

cutting the deep shadows between the buildings across the

street. And there, he found the majestic Milky Way silently

flaring against the indigo of the universe, bathing the earth in a

pale glow. Strange about the pencil and the box of matches, he

thought, and the likelihood of two things going amiss. The

very moment he stepped back inside, the power returned.

The fridge shook itself into life while from the bedroom,

the radio alarm blared its chaos at him. The kitchen light came

on too. And then it struck him. There could be no doubt now.

He’d had visitors. On leaving the house, he always turned off

the lights.

Instinctively he looked for his walking stick and then

saw that he was holding it.

222
 Drawing himself up to his full height, he scanned the hall

and the kitchen, taking mental snapshots of each corner or

cranny as if someone might be lurking there. Only so many

places to hide in a one-storey house. As the adrenaline surged,

he clenched his back teeth and flexed the muscles in his arms.

His eyes settled on his bedroom door.

It crashed open in one swift movement and slammed

back against the wall, “OK! You can come out now!” he

bellowed, flicking the light on, but the room held its silence.

Bedroom two then, his heart knocking against his ribcage; his

breaths coming short and fast. Having lost any element of

surprise now, he thrust open the door and found nothing but the

boxes he’d stored in there. He dropped his shoulders, but it

didn’t stop them aching. This is all too much, he thought. Too

much.

Sitting on his bed, he sifted through his few items of

jewellery, the spare cash, and the papers he wouldn’t want to

lose. All in place. The technology: the TV? The hi-fi? He

would’ve noticed their absence instantly.

The sound of the bath running calmed him and soon his

pulse returned to normal. He supped his wine at the kitchen

table, and stared at the pencil and the matches, willing them to

give up their secrets. A dozen or so medical textbooks lay

nearby, browsing material with the evening meal. He let his

223
 eyes rest on them. Then he saw it: they’d been moved. They

hadn’t been in any particular order, yet they weren’t in the

order he’d left them. Just this morning, at breakfast, he’d been

flicking through a Romanian translation of Grey’s Anatomy.

Now it sat somewhere in the middle of the pile. He made the

leap. What about the main bookcase?

In the lounge, some books had been removed ‘en bloc’

and re-inserted further down the line as if the object of their

search might’ve been behind them. ‘What could be of interest

in a bookcase? Were they all there? A quick scan revealed that

they probably were. So again, nothing missing. Nothing

broken, but nonetheless, a break-in. If not burglars, then who?

WHO? What is going on?’

There must be some reasoned connection that would

explain everything, there had to be. A wave of paranoia

surfaced and blurred his thinking, like the moving shadows

seen from the corner of one’s eye that betray the presence of an

ambush, and the same murmuring voices gathered once again

at the edge of his consciousness, waiting in the wings, in

anticipation of another crisis.

Now voices! Faint but familiar, getting louder; echoing

in the cold corridor. He shivered in the corner of the cell

waiting for his jailers. And the clattering corridor footsteps,

gathering pace; closer and ever closer. They were coming for

224
 him. Coming to drag his protesting body along the dark

passage to the door; the door to… to… And in that

consummate darkness that tingled with life, he sensed a

presence stirring, moving soundlessly behind him like a snake,

coiling above him, stalking him. The foul breath on the back of

his neck sending shocks down the length of his cringing spine,

infesting him, as he squirmed, with the souls of a million

undead cockroaches. They swarmed, within him and without

him, and his mind oscillated and swayed, buffeted by wave

after wave of panic that beat at the doors of his sanity.

I couldn’t help it! I had to tell them! Had to. But it wasn’t

me. Not really me saying those things. Not me screaming in

the darkness and telling secrets that weren’t mine to tell. But it

wasn’t me, itwasn’tmecosIdidn’tdoanythingitwasn’tme.

Inevertoldthemanything!’

Thump! Thump! Thump!

“Get them off me! Oh God! Please! Get them off me!”

He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, the blood

rushing and gurgling loud in his ears. Unable to grasp at his

feet, he wriggled his toes. “No, no! Don’t touch me! Stop!

Stop!” he yelled into the room.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Louder.

‘We’re coming to get you, you piece of shit!’

225
 His breathing came in short, sharp gasps. He daren’t look

up but found his voice again. “Stay away from me, you

bastards! Stay away!”

Thump! Thump! Thump! Louder still.

“Don’t...!”

“Doctor!”

“Please, get them off me. Please!”

“Doctor Darius, let me help you.” A guiding hand helped

him up and led him to a chair.

Darius sat at the table for a while then he looked up at

the man and blinked, uncomprehendingly. And the seconds

lapsed into minutes and still he stared. Finally, he said,

“Corvin?”

“Yes.”

Darius wrinkled his nose. “Corvin?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t you think it’s time you took a shower?”

For a while, they sat in silence at the kitchen table.

“Here, doctor.” Corvin pushed a glass of water forward, “take a

drink. I turned off the bath water.”

226
 Darius sat trembling, in a daze. His eyes glazed,

unfocused. An age seemed to pass before he looked at Corvin

again. “Corvin? What are you…? I mean, where did you come

from?”

“I knew you were here; I saw the car in the drive. I heard

the noise and I’ve been banging the door down.” He got to his

feet. “I need something stronger, doctor. So do you.” He

located the brandy bottle and filled two tumblers.

“So, how did you get in?”

“Just now?”

“Yes.”

“When you didn’t answer the door, I came around the

back. The kitchen door was open.” He indicated the door

which had been standing ajar since he’d entered.

“Noroc. Luck!”

“Noroc,” replied the doctor, in a feeble voice.

They emptied their glasses.

Corvin refilled his own glass. “May I ask a question?”

Darius nodded.

“Who were ‘them’?”

227
 When he replied, it was in a whisper. “Devils, Corvin.

From the past.” He tried a smile, but it felt forced.

“Excuse me, but it sounded as if you were talking to

someone.”

Darius shook his head. “Corvin, of all people, you should

ask me this?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You want to know who I was talking to? Who visits me

in my darkest dreams, in my darkest moments? Remember that

first night, when you said ‘…after everything you’ve been

through, you have every right to be upset.’ Do you remember,

Corvin?”

“I’m not…’

“Because in your drunken state, you almost gave

yourself away. But you knew, didn’t you? You knew what I’d

been through.”

“Doctor,” Corvin opened the palms of his hands to

remonstrate. “How would I know?”

“Because Domnul Securitate, you were one of them!”

“What…I mean who told you that?”

228
 “Well, your beautiful, innocent step-daughter told me,

but she wasn’t the first. Not at all. The first to tell me was your

own wife.”

Corvin fell silent. Darius didn’t want to look at the man

across the table, unwashed and bestubbled in his rumpled suit.

He’d never seen him in this way, dishevelled and reeking. He

tried not to flinch.

Uncomfortable under the doctor’s scrutiny, Corvin

looked away. “I hope it isn’t too late to call on you, doctor. I

just had to… to tell someone. It’s Lydia I came to talk to you

about,” he said, “She’s left me.”

Darius thought his grief sounded a little melodramatic; a

little affected. He got up and walked over to the open doorway

to feel the fresh air on his face.

“…and when I got home,” Corvin was saying, “she was

gone.”

“I’m sure your friends in the service will be able to find

her.” Darius was feeling far from single-minded, or he might

have put Corvin out of his misery. “As I recall, they were very

adept at that; tracking people down.” The cool night air was

having little effect on him, and his head was still very much

scrambled, yet against the relentless singsong of the crickets,

he thought again about the break in.

229
 As the kitchen light was on, they must have been here

when the power failed. Power cuts usually last about ten

minutes. Oh my god! Had I entered through the front door, I

may have caught them red-handed. Perhaps that was what I

felt…

“…and she’s been talking about her sister in Ukraine

since forever.” Corvin was staring at the doctor now, as though

he’d revealed an existential truth.

Darius sensed it was his turn. “Domnul Corvin, what is

this about, eh? I’m confused. I distinctly remember Lydia

saying, ‘who would put flowers on Olivia’s grave if not me?’

She can’t have left.”

“Well, she took a few clothes and left no note. She’s

gone.” And he waved his hand dismissively. “Look, domnul

doctor, I’m sorry about what happened to you. I didn’t know

exactly what your circumstances were. OK, I knew you’d been

arrested because they called me from Bucharest to get details

about your background. It was a perfectly normal thing to do.”

Normal, thought Darius, what the fuck is normal! His

mind drifted back to the break-in. Whoever it was, they know

my programme: my movements. But they will be long gone by

now, and…

230
 “In any case,” Corvin went on, “I wouldn’t be able to

follow her even if I knew her whereabouts. I have a business to

run.”

Darius sat down again and stared hard at Corvin. “OK,

so… where exactly in Ukraine does her sister live?”

“That’s what I’m saying, I’ve no idea.”

And, he thought, I can’t report the intrusion to the police

because…because, it might’ve been them!

“…that I killed them both, doctor.”

“What? What was that?”

“I said that the last thing she said to me was that I killed

them both.”

“You mean her and Olivia?”

“Exactly. She blamed me for Olivia’s death. You heard

her say it yourself.”

“Yes, I know. I know she said that.”

Then the coin dropped. Of course, he thought, it wasn’t a

break-in at all! Of course not! There are no signs of a forced

entry. And who knows how many people had keys while I was

in Bucharest? But didn’t I change the locks? Yes, I remember

231
 now, but only on the front door. So, they might have a key for

the back door.

“…thinking about leaving myself, doctor. I have some

friends in Sweden. They say they can help me to get a work

visa.”

“Sweden? But Olivia. What about her, Corvin? She is

buried here. And didn’t you just say you had a business to

run?”

“I’m thinking about the long term. Not just yet.”

Tomorrow, I’ll install an alarm and have all the

locks changed. Whatever they were looking for, I don’t believe

they found it.

A large insect flew in through the kitchen window.

Darius watched it zig-zag aimlessly around the room before

finding a suitable landing site where it became invisible. He

thought about Corvin ‘landing’ in Scandinavia only to vanish

forever.

After he’d shown Corvin out, he slid his fatigued

body into the still warm bath. The soothing water, seeped into

him, loosening the muscles in his shoulders and his back.

In bed, he tried to read but by association, his mind

wandered to the bookcase. An image of Franz popped into his

232
 head. Zoltan Franz Liszt, in his surgery some weeks ago,

running his fingers over the spines of each title and talking

about his son, Imre; Imre the policeman. But, surely not. Not

Franz. Could he have been looking on his son’s behalf? The

police? Looking for what? Looking for what?

He opened ‘On the Road,’ but tonight, Kerouac’s

use of the vernacular was blocking the ‘goddam’ road. Tonight,

the ‘sonumbitch’ was impenetrable. He began drifting off, but

as the book slipped from his fingers, a knock at the door held

him tentatively in the conscious world. He lay there hoping it

was his imagination at work. Then a second knock, more of a

discreet tapping. No cause for alarm this time. He opened the

door in a towel and peered through the safety chain.

“So, how long are you going to keep me waiting

out here?” Eva smiled through the gap.

He grinned, “I assume your car is working now,

domnisoara?”

“I know it’s late, and I know you have to work in

the morning, but I’m just a very selfish girl who was feeling

lonely. I don’t mind if you just want to go to sleep, as long as I

can go to sleep with you.”

“Eva.”

233
 “And, and I’m feeling sick. And I need an expert

opinion.”

“Eva.”

“And I don’t know what medicine I should

take...for feeling as dizzy as a teenager… and feeling foolish

for feeling that way.”

“Eva.”

“Yes, doctor?” wide-eyed.

“Shut up.”

She stepped past him, leaving a trace of rose water

in the air. A token.

“You won’t believe what happened today,” he said.

In bed for the second time, minus Kerouac, plus

hot cocoa, Eva listened as he went over the evening’s events

minus the details of his ‘episode’.

Then he gasped, as if he’d been slapped.

“What is it, Darius? Is everything OK?”

“I can’t believe it. I completely forgot to ask him about

Lena, about why he concealed the fact that she worked at his

club.”

234
 “Well, I don’t think he’s going anywhere just yet.”

“And why he was in the Bar C, that afternoon, just

before Olivia…”

“Doctor?”

“Yes, Eva?”

“Shut up.” She caressed him, stroked his hair, and like a

child hugs a puppy, she cradled his head as he succumbed to

his exhaustion. Long after he’d fallen asleep, she was still

gently rocking him. Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll tell him about

my plan for finding Lena. But then another thought came to

her. Why would she want to do such a thing? To commit

emotional suicide. To guide him to the shore, leaving herself

adrift in the hazardous waters of fortune. Then again, he should

decide from a position of strength and not from the limited

option of one, to see the possibilities and still choose her. And

he must choose her because it’s what he wants not what she

wants.

22. Mariana

Eva’s plan had been simple. And now that they had a

reference—the Go-Go Club – which they could include in the

advertisement - narrow things down. And everyone reads the

235
 newspapers. Darius felt a resurgence of hope. The cost of a

quarter page in Adevural de Arad, a popular local rag,

surprised him but a smaller box in Catavencu had him sucking

in air. A photo, the only one he had, appeared alongside the

text. Now he had to play a waiting game. The hardest part. In

the meantime, he’d talk to Corvin; straighten a few things out.

A week after the ads were posted, at nine-thirty in the

morning, the phone rang into the empty house. It rang a

number of times more before Darius picked it up at five-fifteen

in the afternoon.

“May I speak to Doctor Darius Kala please?”

“I’m doctor Kala. How can I help?” His doctor’s voice.

The coinage of the surgery.

“Domnul, I think it’s how I can help you.”

The woman had his full attention. He could feel his

heartbeat pick up. “OK, I’m listening.” He kept his voice

steady.

“My name is Mariana.”

“Hello Mariana. So how can you help me?” The

advertisement, he thought. It has to be.

“You’re looking for Lena. I saw the ad in the paper last

week.”

236
 “Yes, I am.” His throat had gone dry. “Mariana, can you

wait a moment?” he croaked.

“Yes, of course.”

He ran to kitchen, poured himself a glass of water and

was back in seconds with a notebook and pen. Eva, he thought.

You are a genius. He emptied half the glass then gasped,

“Mariana?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for waiting. Have you got news of her?”

“I worked with her.”

“When she was an administrator?”

“Administrator? Is that code? First time I’ve heard it

called that,” she chuckled. “No, domnul, we worked together in

a club, in Ineu. The Go-Go Club.”

Breathe deeply. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three.

“When was that?”

“Uh…maybe two years ago, what...nineteen-eighty-

eight.”

“Mariana, where do you live?” Darius’s heart was

thumping now. This was as close as he’d been.

“In Ineu, near the old castle.”

237
 “OK. Tomorrow is Saturday. Are you free?”

“As a bird, domnul.”

“Wait, I’ll just make some notes.”

She had arrived early. Darius spotted the green satin

blouse immediately. She was also the only customer in the

restaurant. Darius had cited his walking stick as identification.

She chose not to mention it.

“A waitress, domnul. Mostly taking orders behind the

bar.”

They sat with their aperitifs, Darius’s was a small beer

and Mariana’s, a rum and coke.

“And were you a permanent member of staff?” he asked.

“As permanent as it gets.”

They both chose the vegetable soup. Mariana had

battered cheese with fries sprinkled with cheese and Darius the

chicken in batter, also with fries.

Mariana’s dark wavy hair was bundled on top which fell

away at the sides in a random and attractive fashion. A little

heavy on the make-up, she seemed older than him by ten years,

238
 but she’d kept her figure. “What about Lena. Did she have

other duties?” he asked.

“Waited on tables, mostly, taking orders for drinks and

snacks, that sort of thing.”

“So, a simple waitress?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Simple? I wouldn’t put it

that way, domnul. You really have no idea, do you?”

“OK. How would you put it?”

She stirred her drink and added a little iced water as the

waitress served their food. She asked, “Do you know anything

about the Go-Go Club?”

“It’s a girlie bar, I believe.”

“What do you think the waitresses do in a girlie bar?”

“Sit with the clients, talk to them, charge exorbitant

prices...”

“May I speak plainly, doctor?”

“Yes, of course.”

“The Go-Go Club was and is as far as I know, a special

place. Its clients were and are, special people.”

239
 Darius screwed up his eyes. “Are we talking about

VIPs?”

“Not just any old VIPs, domnul,” she said in a hushed

tone, “Some of the leading lights in the party patronised the

club. Important members of the police, military, border control

and naturally, the security service, not to mention business

owners and celebrities.”

“My god!”

“And it didn’t stop there.” She lowered her voice to a

whisper. “There were politicians too.”

The waitress approached and grabbed Darius’ plate

despite the fact that Mariana was still eating. “Anything else?”

she asked mechanically.

“Coffee for me,” said Darius.

“Another of these,” said Mariana, touching her glass.

Without a word, the waitress scribbled on her pad then

disappeared through a side door.

“You knew their names?”

She looked puzzled.

“These politicians.”

“Some, yes.”
240
 “Like who?”

She grabbed her bag and fished out a pen. Then taking a

paper napkin, she wrote two words: two names.

Darius gasped. “What kind of a bar was it, to attract such

exotic clientele?”

“Exclusive, doctor. Very exclusive.” She tore off the

section of the napkin that she’d written on, then producing a

lighter, she made a miniature bonfire in the ashtray.

“And some of them had very exclusive tastes. You can

imagine what I’m talking about.” She reinforced the message

with a raised eyebrow.

“I see.” said Darius, although he didn’t really. “And how

were these tastes satisfied?”

Again, she lowered her voice. “There were a few rooms

upstairs. From listening to the girls, they were purpose-

designed and well-stocked.” She took a long breath through

her nose. “They also mentioned how generous the clients could

be. Which, I suppose, was compensation for degrading

themselves.”

These revelations were triggering Darius’s alarm bells. It

seemed close to the edge: the more he learned, the more

exposed he felt to serious danger.

241
 “Where did the girls come from? Were they local?”

“Can’t help you there. But they were all young.

Teenagers I’d say. They turned up in a mini-bus and when we

closed up, the mini-bus was there to collect them.”

“The same one?”

“Yes, I think so. You don’t see many with dark tinted

windows, do you?”

“And Lena?” he hardly dared ask.

“She was different.” She breathed out now, expelling air

and tension at the same time. “She was very reluctant; only

went with a client if he insisted, and from her own accounts,

wouldn’t participate in ‘strange’ requests. But she made

enough in tips: I don’t have to tell you how beautiful she was.

She was immensely popular with the clients. I think Corvin

kept her on for that reason alone.”

The waitress was back, plonking the drinks down before

sweeping up Mariana’s plate. “Thank you,” Darius said but she

was already halfway across the room before the words were

out.

“The food was great, multsumesc.” Mariana selected a

pointed splinter from the pot and began gouging her teeth from

behind her other hand.

242
 “My pleasure. The chicken was a little tough, but tasty.”

Looking around he said, “Perhaps you’d prefer another place if

we meet again.”

“Domnul, I don’t normally go to restaurants. And

besides, apart from the Hotel Bulevard, this place has the only

decent menu in Ineu.”

“We’d better leave a tip then,” he grinned.

“Yes, for service with a smile.” She looked into his eyes

for the first time and raised her eyebrows. Darius had other

things on his mind.

“Just one more thing,” he said, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no problem at all.”

“How did Lena come to leave? Since she was so

popular.”

“I’m not certain, but the last time I saw her something

happened before the clients turned up.”

“What was that?”

“This conversation, well, it’s confidential, right?”

“Mariana, I’m a doctor. I swear on my oath.”

“The safe behind the bar was open. Corvin would deposit

the takings there. Lena saw a ledger and began looking through
243
 it. ‘Hey! Mariana!’ she whispered, ‘Have you seen this? Look

at these names, and what are these symbols?’

She must have heard Corvin approaching. She quickly

replaced the ledger, I spilt some slops from the beer tray, and

we began mopping it up, crouching under the bar to clean it up.

Corvin leaned over the counter, looked into the safe then

looked down at Lena. I expected him to fly into a white rage.

It’s what he usually did, but he just told her to come and see

him at the end of the evening.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“I don’t think he saw me.”

“Did anything happen as a result?”

“I don’t know if anything happened. But I never saw her

after that day.”

“What was in the ledger, Mariana?”

“At the time, I had no idea.”

“At the time?”

“Well, later, Corvin and I... we… we became lovers, if

you could call it that. It didn’t last long but we kept up the

pretence until, until quite recently.”

“Are you sure you’re happy to talk about this?” he said.

244
 “You’re a doctor. You’re sworn to secrecy, aren’t you?”

she smiled.

“Correct. Look, would you like another drink? I mean, if

you have the time...”

“Yes, I’d love one, thanks. I’ve got all day.”

“So, did you get to see the ledger?”

“Yes, I did. Corvin came back to my flat after work one

night and he wanted to take a bath. There wasn’t enough hot

water. He took a shower instead. He’d left his bag on the table

and I spotted the same ledger. Please understand, doctor, I’m

not normally the inquisitive type, well, not like that, anyway,

but I was curious to see what Lena found so interesting.”

They kept their silence as the drinks were delivered with

the customary blunt service.

“By the time he’d dried himself off, I’d seen enough.

There were dates in the left-hand margin and names next to

them. Names I knew from the television, prominent politicians

and TV personalities, but I’d never seen any of them in the

club.”

“So, what do you think impressed Lena so much?”

Darius said.

245
 “I think it was the status, the unqualified eminence of the

names. Some were from the top of the pile. Close to the chosen

one himself.”

“I see. And the obvious question is, why had you never

met any of them?”

“I checked the dates. They were dates on which I didn’t

work.”

“You didn’t work on any of them?”

“Not one, doctor.”

“Mariana, please try to think. Was this ledger anything to

do with the club?”

“I can tell you that the records for the dates I did work

were kept in a similar ledger. And of course, Corvin doesn’t

own another club.”

“Are you sure?”

“I spent enough time with him. He told me everything,

about his wife, about his daughter about his job at the milk

factory. About his paranoid delusions. I would have known if

there was another business.”

“Something doesn’t add up,” he said. “Corvin caught

Lena browsing through a ledger with names of VIPs that

246
 neither she nor you had met. if it was so sensitive, what were

they doing? Secret society? Illuminati? Who worked on those

dates?” he asked. “Both behind the bar and at the tables. Which

girls?”

She thought hard, and slowly shook her head. “Doctor

Darius, I never met anyone who worked on those dates. The

girls never mentioned anything beyond the times we worked

together. I think one of them would have let it slip. At least

once.”

“So, a different crew then?”

“Possibly. Corvin never talked about it. It’s as if it were

top secret.”

“Then how do we know that anything happened? It could

be a record of something completely unassociated, couldn’t

it?”

“No, it couldn’t.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Two reasons, doctor. In the first place, the drinks tally.”

“The tally? Please explain.”

“I kept a record of drinks in and drinks out. It was part of

my job. I only got paid if the numbers added up. I worked six

247
 nights a week. Each month, the amount consumed was more

than on the nights I worked. I could tell by checking the stock.

But the money I took matched the amount consumed when I

was behind the bar.”

“So ...”

“So, alcohol was being consumed when I wasn’t there,

but the money taken on those occasions was recorded

elsewhere.”

“Right. And the second point?”

“I came past one night on a night off. There were cars

there, expensive cars and the same mini-bus was there too.”

“Do you think I should talk to Corvin about this?”

“I hope not. And if you do, please don’t mention

anything that I’ve told you.”

They got to their feet “Well, it has been a pleasure

doamna.”

“Yes. Yes, it has,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye.

Outside, where the sun was quietly baking everything not

in the shade, she suddenly looked up, “Oh, but I forgot. There

was something else. I don’t know how important it is.”

“Please, what is it.”

248
 “Well, the ledger had a third column. A right hand

margin.”

“Yes.”

“It contained symbols entered against each name.”

“What kind of symbols?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it before. There were four

or five different ones and coloured either red or blue.”

“And do you remember what they looked like?”

She thought for a moment. She rummaged in her bag

again for the pen, and a scrap of paper.

Carefully, she outlined three images on the back of a till

receipt. “There. It’s all I can remember.”

As he drove her home, she turned to him and said,

“Domnul, have you considered that a young woman, a

beautiful young woman, might soon tire of waiting; that

waiting for one man might best be done in another man’s

company?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, not wanting to

understand.

“Only a fool stays in the shade because the sun might

shine brighter tomorrow.”

249
 Later, he sat enjoying a glass of wine with Jack Kerouac

and marvelled at the pointlessness of someone going anywhere

he chose, at any point in time, simply because he could. Yet, it

felt so liberating! The appeal to a free-spirited Olivia would

have been irresistible. He wondered what kind of society could

grow a person like that.

Not this one, anyway. In this society, he thought, we have

VIPs, whose idea of freedom is to pay young women to

indulge them in playing out their grotesque sexual fantasies

simply because they could.

His head still full of Mariana’s revelations, he called Eva.

“Oh my god!” she said. “Finally, some news about what

happened to her.”

“It looks that way.”

“Darius, I’m coming over. Then let’s see how Popar

reacts to it, a watered-down version naturally. Not wise to

share everything, eh?”

23. Popar 2

Popar cursed his psoriatic leg. He had bad days, and days

when the desire to rake his fingernails across the scabrous

surface was more compelling than a Turkish massage, yet the

250
 exquisite gratification and intense relief of scraping at the dead

skin would, he knew all too well, last just a few, fleeting

seconds; in the immediate aftermath, no amount of balm would

soothe away the pain, and the re-opened sores would require

constant attention, until perhaps, days later, it settled down

again. A light application of cream and a fresh bandage to

forestall temptation were the sensible options.

By the time Eva and Darius had turned off the main road

and into the drive he was every inch the sophisticated and well-

groomed officer who had greeted them on the previous

occasion. All signs of discomfort banished, and aperitifs and

water were laid out on a silver tray atop the early twentieth

century French table, a piece of which he was particularly

proud.

As the guests took their seats in the spacious living room,

the colonel called out from the kitchen. “This is a surprise! So,

it seems our business has yet to be concluded. Would you like

some tea?” he asked in his habitual urbane brogue.

“Water will be fine,” said Darius.

“The same for me thank you,” echoed Eva.

Darius opened the encounter. “Colonel, we have made

some progress in uncovering the fate of your niece, Lena.”

251
 “Of course, I’m interested in any news regarding her

disappearance,” he said, sitting back in his chair.

“Corvin, the owner of the Go-Go-Club, has confirmed

that she was last seen with a prominent member of the security

services.”

Popar sat with his fingers interlocked over his chest and

acknowledged the news with a faint nod.

“So, I ask you again, Colonel, if you have any idea who

that officer might’ve been, please tell us.”

“Well,” began Popar, “there’s no reason why I...”

Darius hazarded a guess. “You were, after all, a member

of the same team, weren’t you? Perhaps you heard something

on the grapevine?”

Popar thought for a moment. “And Corvin told you

this?”

“Yes, he did. Well, he is the owner. If anyone knows, it

would be him.”

Darius never took his eyes off the colonel and for the

first time, the old man seemed less than sure. He was stalling.

“And he didn’t know who the officer was?” asked Popar,

pouring himself a whiskey.

252
 “No. And yet, there were the ledgers.” Darius was

gambling again. The records Mariana had described referred to

events she knew nothing about. Yet it was logical to conclude

that Corvin kept similar records for all the other events at the

club.

“The ledgers, domnul?” Popar visibly stiffened.

“Yes. Records of who attended and on what dates.”

“And he kept a record of all of that?”

“It seems colonel, that he had some very important

clients. I’m guessing that because of who he was dealing with,

he was simply making sure that business was conducted in the

appropriate manner.”

“Yes, of course. But these ledgers, did Corvin tell you

about them?”

“Ah, no. Actually, he didn’t.”

Popar gulped down his drink and poured another. “Are

you sure you won’t doctor?”

“No, thanks.”

Eva topped up her water and stepped out onto the

balcony to enjoy a cigarette in the sunshine.

253
 “You have a lovely view, Constantin,” she said, using his

first name; breaking with convention.

“Yes, it is. Thank you.”

“This apartment must have cost a fortune,” she

continued, her back to the room.

Darius wondered where she was going with this.

The colonel brushed something from the knee of his

trousers. “Well, actually...”

“Oh, yes, I remember you told us that you got it for a real

bargain, through some of your friends in the party. They must

have been powerful friends, colonel.”

“Well, in a way,” he smiled through his teeth, “in a way.”

Clever girl, thought Darius, clever girl. He’s confirmed

that he operates in the higher circles, perhaps in the inner

circle.

Popar returned his attention to Darius. “You were saying,

doctor?”

“Yes, I was about to say that a former employee at the

club, one of the girls, told me about the ledgers. She went to

Corvin’s office to ask for time off. The books were there, on

the desk; one of them open.”

254
 “Oh! Not exactly good practice, eh?”

Darius leaned forward. “When Corvin got up to close the

door which she’d left open, she glanced at the register.”

Popar was motionless.

“The few names she read made her eyes widen. That’s

what she said. People she’d never seen at the club, people she

only knew from the television and elite party members close to

the top.”

“Well, perhaps it was a record of attendees on particular

nights. Who knows?”

“Yes, yes, that’s possible. But this girl worked six nights

a week. The dates entered next to the names were all the

seventh day; days on which she hadn’t been there. One night,

when she wasn’t working, she passed by. She said the car park

was full of expensive German machinery, and the mini-bus

which brought most of the girls to work on the other days,

well, that was there too.”

“And how did she know that, Doctor Darius?”

“Know what?”

“How did she know it was the same mini-bus?”

“How many mini-buses in Ineu have tinted windows?”

255
 The colonel, no longer taken by the condition of his

cuticles pushed himself out of the chair to stretch his legs.

“There’s probably a perfectly plausible explanation...”

“And...” Darius interrupted, “she also mentioned the

symbols.”

The officer stopped in his tracks. “Symbols, doctor? I

have no idea where this is going, but...”

“Colonel,” Darius mimicked the officer’s use of the

formal address, “in the ledger next to each of the names was a

symbol. A number of them coloured either red or blue. She

remembered three of them.”

“Very observant, this girl, wouldn’t you say?

Assimilating all of this in the time it takes to close a door.”

Darius suddenly felt under pressure and although he’d

made up a story in preparation for this moment, acting did not

come naturally.

“I’ll have that drink now, please,” he said, and stared

distractedly in preparation to deliver his account.

Popar sat down again and as he poured, Darius called

out, “How’s the weather out there Eva?” He hoped she might

detect ‘help!’ in his voice.

256
 “It’s such a beautiful day. It’s a shame we’re missing it,”

she called.

“You were about to tell me something doctor.”

Darius raised his glass, “Noroc!”

“Noroc!”

“She agreed to meet me in a café where they had chess

tables. She invited me to play.”

“Doctor, I don’t mean…”

“Colonel, I’m getting to the point. Please be patient. I

used to play chess for the university team. At some stage, I was

testing my skills against computers. She beat me in three

straight games. After the first one, I suspected she was toying

with me. By the end, I was sure. Yes colonel, very astute, very

observant.”

Eva was watching a group of swallows swooping and

looping and taking their bug-prey to their young, high up

beneath the eaves of the building; she was also listening to the

conversation.

“Colonel, have you got a pen and some paper?”

257
 He went to his Austro-Hungarian writing desk and

returned with a sheaf of paper. He fished a pen from his inside

pocket and offered it to the doctor. “Here doctor, use this one.”

It was heavy for a pen. Darius thought it might be gold

plated until he saw the hallmark. It was stamped with the

numbers ‘750’. Eighteen carats!

“Where can I get one of these?” he joked.

“Do you like it doctor?” The old man smiled. “Please,

have it. A gift from me to you. A token of our, what shall we

say...friendship?”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t, but I appreciate the gesture.”

He carefully reproduced the three symbols that Mariana

had drawn and slid the paper across the table.

The colonel scanned the images in a few seconds. “Is this

it?”

“Not quite. Each image was coloured, as I said, in either

red or in blue.”

“I see. Or rather, I don’t.” He smiled. “Well...” and he got

to his feet, “...it was very nice to meet you again,” and they

shook hands, “and you too Eva.” He took her hand and kissed

it, ever the gallant.

258
 “And these symbols mean nothing to you?” Darius

wanted confirmation.

“Not a thing, doctor. Good luck, and I hope you find

what you’re looking for.” He led them out to the lift.

While they were waiting, Darius said, “Oh, there’s one

more thing. The mini-bus I mentioned – well, I know who

owns it.”

“Oh? And who would that be?”

“His name is Karl, a local mafia type.”

The colonel nodded, “If I hear anything...”

They entered the lift and the colonel said, “Please look

after each other; the world can be very...unpredictable.”

“So, you’ll be in touch, colonel?”

“What for? I think we’ve taken this as far as it can go.

Goodbye.”

Outside, they stood on the steps at the entrance to the

apartment building and Eva gripped Darius’s face between

thumb and fingers and kissed him. “You, doctor, are a genius,

and you are very convincing.”

“Thank you, domnisoara. My propensity to tell a lie is

surpassed only by my capacity to deny having said it.”

259
 “Huh!” she caught her breath. “You stole that from Oscar

Wilde.”

“Well,” he replied, “ain’t that a sonumbitch!”

“It was a threat.”

In confirming his own suspicions, Eva’s conclusion left

no doubt.

“So, he was warning us off, yet shouldn’t he be curious

about Lena’s fate?”

“One would think so.”

“Then either he is a cold-blooded lizard who feels

nothing for her at all, or he’s hiding something of greater

consequence.”

“A fair assumption, doctor...”

“Do you think we had him rattled?”

“Oh, without a doubt. Did you see him sit up when you

mentioned the symbols?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“He’s involved. And now we know.”

“But involved in what, exactly?”

260
 “That’s what we’re going to find out, dear lady.”

In Arad, they had to pick up some supplies; have some

lunch. Darius hadn’t seen the place in years, but the

dilapidated, mostly full, yellow and white trams still cut across

the city. There were more cars now, and more potholes for

them to avoid. And the beautiful Austro-Hungarian buildings

that lined the central boulevard continued to hide beneath the

grey veneer of neglect.

In a side street just off the old centre, a restaurant

offering a range of traditional home cooking had been recently

re-decorated in the national colours of red, yellow and blue.

Darius scanned the room. The place was about half full and

they chose a cubicle which offered the most privacy by the

wall.

As they browsed the menu, Darius said, “I’m taking the

day off tomorrow, Costel’s trial begins, and I want to be there.”

“Would you like me…”

“Thank you, but I have to talk to Corvin, and it’s best if I

do it alone.”

A waitress came to take their order. Eva smiled, “Give us

another few minutes.”

261
 “Eva, I’ve persuaded the couple, the witnesses, to

testify.”

“The couple who saw them together at the lake?”

“The very ones. But we have to be careful. Until they

give their testimony, they’re vulnerable.”

The waitress reappeared.

“Just coffee for me,” said Eva.

“The same,” said Darius. Then he changed tack. “Eva.

Tell me what you think. Is Lena still alive?”

“If she is, then Popar would be in contact with her. And if

so, why would he want to keep her location a secret?”

“Yes. I think he knows her fate which is not good news.”

Eva looked over Darius’ shoulder and gestured towards a

man who was sitting in the next booth, back-to-back with the

doctor.

The moment Darius realised he was there, he put his

finger to his lips and gestured that they leave, quickly and

quietly.

Outside, he pulled her into an adjoining shop which sold

books and stationery. Within seconds, the man appeared; he

peered through the window and pretended not to notice them.

262
 Darius spoke in hushed tones. “A car followed us all the

way into Arad. It’s difficult to hide with so few cars on the

road. So now we know.”

“My god!” She grinned at him. “This is so exciting! Do

you think he was sitting behind us when we were discussing

Lena?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Then he heard us discussing Popar.”

“To be honest, I don’t remember him sitting down.

Maybe he heard everything.”

“Well soon, the colonel will know.”

“And then?” he looked sideways at her.

“And then, welcome to the unpredictable world.”

24. Symbols

“I’ve been thinking,” Eva squinted against the dazzle of

the sun. “I’ve been thinking about those symbols.” She turned

onto her back and gazed up at him. “You know, you could

listen...”

263
 “Uh huh,” Darius was concentrating fiercely, “Just let me

get to the end of this section, OK?” he smiled into the pages.

“I don’t know how you can focus with all this noise

going on.”

It was only ten in the morning yet the lido at Ineu was

full, a typical summer weekend. A major fun magnet, it

attracted groups of youngsters and teenagers, and families with

their young children, all expressing their uninhibited joy by

shouting and screaming at will. The din was at its most intense

around the enormous kidney-shaped pool, but Darius and Eva

had found a spot to lay their towels on the grass, near the

perimeter fence.

“Did you know,” he said, looking up from his copy of

Kerouac’s ‘On the Road’, “that we need to be cool?” He gazed

down at her happiness and kissed her on the tip of her nose.

“Well, doctor, you’re the expert. It must be thirty-five

degrees today.”

“No, no.” he said, “You don’t get it.”

“I... don’t...get...it?” she asked, articulating every

syllable, her face screwed up like a child trying to understand.

264
 “No, you see, we should be sitting around with

friends...or ...it could be people we have just met, in a cafe, or

the bus station perhaps, and we just lounge around and talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yes. Or laugh in a spontaneous sort of way. And...”

“Laugh about what? Should we tell jokes?

“Oh no. No, no, no. Jokes would be really um...really not

cool. ‘Un-cool’. It has to be impulsive, a reflex action if you

will. And we should borrow things from strangers who don’t

seem to want them back.”

“Things, doctor?”

“Yes, things like...oh...sweaters or hats. Not quite sure

how this bit works...”

“Lipstick?”

“What?”

“I said ‘lipstick’. Could we borrow that?”

“Don’t think anyone wears lipstick.” he quickly flipped

through some pages. “No. No lipstick.”

She gave a ‘spontaneous’ laugh, “Hahahaha. Like this? Is

this ‘cool’?”

265
 “Well, I think that might be a little forced, oh, and we

should sleep anywhere we can find but especially try to ‘crash’

somewhere and share our sleeping bags with people.”

“Crash? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“And finally, we shouldn’t pay taxes or bills because

that’s for ‘squares’.”

“OK. It sounds like hard work, but we could try it, if

you’re sure we want to be cool.”

He put the book away. “I don’t think it’s for us...we are

probably a little too ‘experienced’ for that life-style.”

“Are you saying that I’m too old to have fun?” She

poked him in the ribs.

A group of young teenagers ran past, dripping water and

snapping towels at each other.

“Do you want to know what I’ve been thinking?”

“Always.” Now he lay next to her, propping himself up

on one elbow and staring into her clear blue eyes.

“I’ve been thinking that those symbols must mean

something, right?”

“Uh, yes.”

266
 She found an eyeliner pencil in her bag. “Can I have your

book please?”

He handed it over.

Inside the back cover, she drew two large circles next to

each other with a straight line running across the top of them.

“Like this?” and she placed a dot at the centre of each circle.

“Yes. That’s about right.”

“I don’t think it’s an owl for one second, but let’s put the

beak in.” She drew a ‘V’ between the circles with the lower

point at the same level as the dots. “Now, let’s see,” and she

extended the line running across the top, at both ends, by

curving it to follow the curve of the circles. “Now what do you

see?”

“Still looks like an owl to me.”

She extended the arms of the ‘V’ above the line then

across the top of one arm she drew a short line. “Still nothing?”

He shook his head.

At the top of the other arm, she drew a lamp, facing

outwards, or forward, with lines to indicate the beam. “Now?”

she smiled triumphantly.

267
 He stared at the image, then looked up at her. “Yes, my

beautiful, genius girl!”

“So?”

“It’s a bicycle! Oh my god! It’s a bicycle!”

He got to his feet and began gathering up their things.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Come on, we have to be focused. Too many distractions

here.”

On the way home, they chatted excitedly like teenagers.

It was clear that the red or blue colouring was anything but

incidental. Rather, they probably held the key to some greater

truth. They had already come to a new understanding and

Darius’s animated expression reflected it.

“Let’s go somewhere quiet.” she said.

“OK. Any ideas?”

“Yes. Let’s camp in the forest, get some clear air. What

do you think?”

“Run with the wolves? It’s a great idea, but it’s too late

today. How about my kitchen?”

268
 She wrapped her arms around him, “Anywhere is fine by

me.”

“Eugh! We need to find you a better source for coffee,

doctor.” Eva made a face at her cup. “This is bitter.”

But Darius wasn’t listening. “I’ve a feeling…”

“A feeling, Darius? What kind of feeling?”

“A feeling, my dear Eva, that we’re getting in deep here,

maybe too deep.” He seemed to be talking to himself. Then

looking at her, “I mean, we’ve been warned by Popar and I’ve

been intimidated by Karl, and… and the mayor has threatened

me.” He spoke as if he’d just realised the gravity of the

situation.

“But Popar’s involvement is with Lena. Karl and the

mayor are both suppressing the truth about Olivia.”

“But they’re connected, Eva. And the common

denominator is… is…”

“Corvin!” she said.

“My god! Yes, you’re right. Corvin and his Go-Go Club!

I think that we’re only at the beginning; on the verge of

uncovering something much bigger.”

269
 “Yes. I believe that too.” For a moment they sat

contemplating their position. “And we can’t stop now, can

we?” She said it quietly, as if it were fact.

“Well, I don’t know…” he got up and walked to the

window. “I meant to do something about that bamboo. It’s still

there. Maybe I should attend to that, you know. Do

something… something a little less precarious.”

“Are you sure?” She screwed up her mouth in fake

mockery. “Gardening? Really?”

He laughed, “I suppose you’re right.”

“And I know you enjoy taking risks,” she smiled, “still,

whatever you want to do, I’m in. But I have to warn you,

weeds and flowers all look the same to me.” She opened a

cupboard. “Haven’t you got anything else to drink. Some tea

perhaps?”

“Sorry. So… let’s think about where we are, shall we?

Karl’s role in this is to provide the entertainment, whatever that

is, and Corvin provides the venue. So, who supplies the

clients? The names in the ledger.”

Eva framed the logical question. “Who had access to VIP

members within the party?”

Their eyes locked. Realisation dawned.

270
 “Popar!” she said. “It has to be him!”

“God, yes. It’s Popar. The devious dog. He knows

Corvin, he got Lena the job at Corvin’s club. He moves in the

right circles, has the right contacts. And … he’s hiding

something.”

Eva looked at her forearms. “Look. I’m getting goose-

bumps!”

“We can’t call the police,” Darius was thinking on his

feet. “Popar is police! Well, kind of. I can’t believe this. I’ve

been here before, with Franz Liszt. I mean, how corrupt is this

place?”

“It’s no great surprise, is it? We’ve always suspected. But

I’d like to point something out.”

“Go ahead.”

“Has a crime actually been committed?”

Darius thought about it; considered the variables. “No, it

hasn’t. Unless we’re talking about Olivia and Costel’s already

been framed for that, and possibly Lena. Then why is Popar so

shifty? Why does Corvin neglect to mention important things

and pretend he knew nothing about Lena? And why is

everyone warning me off?”

271
 “Because Darius dear, you have form. Isn’t that so?” she

grinned at him. “Also, I believe it’s very likely that Popar

knows what happened to her.”

“Yes, you’re right. Just a few months ago, all I wanted

was to find her, and lead a less chaotic life. That’s all.” He

looked into her eyes. Her touch reassured him; her gaze calmed

him. “Tell me Eva, what do you really believe? Is she still

alive? Is she?”

“The truth?”

He waited.

“Darius, if she were still alive, wouldn’t Popar be in

contact with her? He would have told you and we wouldn’t

now be trying to decode some marks on a page that are

adjacent to some extremely important names.”

He’d been avoiding it, but his own instincts told him that

Eva was right. And Popar’s story about the police contacting

him because his house had been empty for so long, well, it

seemed a bit far-fetched. “I hope you’re wrong Eva. I feel

we’re getting closer to finding out.”

“Yes.” she said. “I think we are.”

“And...and we found each other, didn’t we?” He took

both her hands in his.

272
 “Yes, we did. And whatever happens, I’ll be here. If

that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want, darling Eva. It’s exactly what I want.”

“And what if we do find her?”

Darius went to the fridge and found another beer. “For

you?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Well, if we do...look Eva, I’ve changed. I’m someone

else now. I have indeed grown another skin. And I’ve gone

deeper with you...you are my palliative, you’ve become my

default zone. My...”

“Oh, stop it,” she laughed and grabbed his beer to take a

gulp.

“Tomorrow is Monday,” he said. “Costel’s trial begins.

I’ve cancelled my appointments. I’m going to be there.”

“Oh, but I’ve got to go…”

“That’s alright. Anyway, I intend to speak to Corvin and

it’s better I do it alone.”

25. The Trial

273
 Outside of law court number two Darius shifted and

fidgeted on the wooden bench and marvelled at the lack of

security; at the difference a few months can make. Before the

regime change, civil guards would have covered both arched

entrances to the neo-classical building and more of them

would’ve been deployed either side of each courtroom door.

Seven months on, and that had been reduced to three

policemen sauntering up and down the marble floor of the

main corridor. He also reflected that the place could use a good

scrub. A number of court officials flapped by in their dark

gowns, and reporters milled about, chugging on their Carpat

and Snagov cigarettes, eager to claim their spot in the press

box.

Fifteen minutes before proceedings were due to begin,

Costel’s lawyer appeared. “The trial will be delayed by an

hour. When it starts, at ten, the first hour will be spent in

completing legal formalities and necessary administration. You

can get a coffee across the street,” she said, “but don’t expect

to give your evidence today.”

Darius thought that she looked barely old enough to vote.

“How many murder cases have you taken before today?” he

asked.

“This is my first,” she replied in a supercilious manner,

“but rest assured, everything has been prepared to serve my

client’s interests as well as possible.” And off she marched.

274
 Out in the booming traffic the blackened walls and grimy

windows attested to the filth in the air. Overhead, the blue

summer sky was infused with a sickly grey pallor. On the far

side of the road, Darius spotted an advertisement for cola

behind a sullied pane of glass which flashed intermittently

between trucks and vans in ‘now you see me, now you don’t’

fashion. Perhaps they had tables inside. As he waited at the

pedestrian crossing with a dozen or so others, he wondered

how Costel was faring.

Then sitting at the tiny round table, he carefully stirred

one and a bit spoonfuls of sugar into his tiny espresso. With his

newspaper open before him, he flipped from page to page and

ran his eye purposefully up and down the columns in an

attempt to immerse himself in the day’s tidings, yet despite his

intense focus, his thoughts were drawn, like a magnetic needle

to true north, back to the trial. The trial of an innocent for the

murder of an innocent. All neatly packaged and lain on the

altar of the insatiable god of corruption, no mess, no

culpability, no consequences. Olivia would not be pleased.

Darius’s anger was an aching, knotted ball in the pit of his

stomach.

“Domnul!” he called. “This coffee is cold!”

The owner shuffled over and without a word, scooped up

the offending object and returned to his retreat behind the

counter.

275
 Five minutes or so passed before a replacement arrived -

lukewarm. Determined not to let an insignificant brew intrude

on his train of thought, he wondered how Costel had coped

with the rigours of a Romanian prison, after all, in his

professional opinion, the shepherd was probably in the later

stages of terminal cancer.

Darius returned to the courthouse to find the state

prosecutor in full flow, referring to Costel as a “miscreant who

cold-bloodedly preyed upon a defenceless young girl, a lonely

old man who had both opportunity and motive, and who was

familiar with the movements of the deceased. A man of evil

intent, a loner and a drunk.”

The doctor watched as the shepherd gripped his knees

tightly and stared hangdog into the abyss which had opened

before him.

The prosecutor eased into his stride. With a theatrical

flourish, he invited the court to take a closer look at “the base,

unworthy fellow, the callous perpetrator of such a foul deed,

both violent and unpredictable, and it wasn’t enough to

perpetuate such unbridled, perverted aggression on a... a

defenceless young girl, but he had to kill her; to take her young

life, then resisting arrest, his ferocious dog had to be subdued.”

And on he went.

276
 Darius could not have guessed at the shepherd’s multiple

injuries, but the nose bent to one side, his swollen cheekbones

and the dark circles around his eyes were a strong indication.

“...and there he sits,” continued the advocate, winding

up his opening statement, “the heartless killer, and if you are in

any doubt...” he said, turning full on to the packed courtroom,

“that...” jabbing his accusatory finger, “...is what a paedophile,

rapist and murderer looks like.” 

The young woman rose to speak on Costel’s behalf, and

in contrast with the prosecutor’s blustering gale of a speech,

her delivery carried all the impact of weak tea. She sketched

out the featureless existence of a lonely shepherd and

concluded her statement for the defence by declaring, “... and

domnul Birka pleads not guilty, your worships.”

The chief justice glowered at the defendant. “Stand up!”

he snapped.

It seemed that Costel hadn’t heard. Before the guard

could poke him, his counsel walked over, took his arm and

pulled him to his feet.

“Birka! How do you plead?”

The shepherd looked at his lawyer in despair.

“He pleads not guilty your honour, as I...”

“I want to hear him say it,” barked the judge. “Oh, we

don’t have time for this,” and the official exchanged nods with
277
 his two colleagues sitting either side and slightly below him.

“Call the first witness.”

A court official opened the double doors and called,

“Domnul Corvin Pesc! Corvin Pesc?”

As the official stood aside, Corvin entered the court.

At 12.00 sharp, the chief justice announced in his

brusque manner an adjournment for lunch. In the corridor,

Corvin ignored the reporters who approached him and hurried

outside. He felt a light tap on his shoulder. He spun around to

see his good friend doctor Darius.

“Corvin” smiled the doctor. “Good to see you here, I

hope you’re coping alright.”

“Oh, domnul doctor, you surprised me. I was thinking

about food. Well, my stomach was.”

“There’s a cafe just around the corner where they make a

delicious chorba. Would you...?”

Casa Mea had somehow escaped Ceausescu’s

bulldozers. The speedy conversion of the large single-storey

house into a traditional restaurant had been a great success and

within just a few months of opening, Darius had had to book a

table. The kitchen and bar nestled in the original kitchen area

and tables were arranged in the various rooms. The internal

doors had been removed and the space widened and a small
278
 central stage was now visible to all. Around the walls, brightly

decorated hand-made folk ceramics, hanging at picture rail

level, reflected the garb of the staff, and the tablecloths were

embroidered with traditional designs.

Today, a fiddler sat on a stool from where he alternated

between Hungarian verbunkos and chardash and Romanian

Gypsy dorul inimii folk melodies.

The waiter poured an aperitif – the usual brandy.

“A beautiful place” Corvin observed. “Perhaps we could

dance a little after coffee,” he joked. But Darius noticed how

his smile was anything but natural, more like a crack in a

mirror.

“I hope you enjoy the food, Corvin. I’ll order the

sarmale, especially for you.” Darius winked at him and they

raised their glasses.

“Hai, tovaresh! Comrade!”

“Hai, Sanitate! Health!”

After the meal, Darius ordered coffee. “Domnul Pesc,

can we talk about the trial?”

Corvin loosened his belt and belched into his hand. “I am

a witness, domnul. I am not allowed.”

“I understand Corvin, and this must be a most difficult

time for you. But I was simply curious about something you

279
 said and have no desire at all to talk about what you might

say.”

Corvin remained silent.

Taking it as a signal to proceed, Darius leaned forward,

elbow on the table; his thumb supporting his chin; his

forefinger pressed into his cheek. “I was wondering about the

harmonica.”

“What? Harmon...? Oh yes,” and he gazed out of the

window, appearing to focus on the stop – start flow of

vehicles.”

“You testified that Costel played the harmonica.”

“I didn’t even know you were in court, doctor. You could

have...”

“I sat at the back of the room.”

Corvin continued to gaze into the bottleneck that was

forming outside.

“So, Corvin?”

“So, what, doctor?”

Darius chewed his lip. “You said that he played the

harmonica.”

“Yes, it’s true. I did say that.”

“But domnul, I don’t remember him ever having a

harmonica. Are there other witnesses who claim he had one?”

280
 Corvin remained silent. “In truth, there was no-one except you.

You are the only one who claimed knowledge of it.”

Corvin began a pocket search for his wallet. “It was a

long time ago doctor. I almost forgot about it.”

“What reminded you, domnul?”

“It was the police, when they said that they’d found one

in the water, near where you discovered the...Olivia.”

“Have you seen him with one recently, Corvin?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Leaning across the table, Darius asked with a quizzical

look, “So why didn’t you say so? In court?”

“Because domnul doctor, his lawyer didn’t ask me.”

Darius was having great difficulty in relating to Corvin

right now. But he had to remain calm, if not, the man would

shut down. Corvin, the grieving parent, was probably not

thinking straight.

“Domnul, as far as the court is concerned, you are the

only person who has ever seen Costel with a harmonica, you,

Olivia’s father, father of the girl that he is accused of killing,

and you didn’t think it was important to mention that you

hadn’t seen him with a harmonica for some time?”

“I’m sorry domnul doctor. I suppose I should have.” He

placed a bundle of notes on the table, but Darius waved him

281
 away. “I’ll get this,” he said. “I shouldn’t tell you this Corvin,”

lowering his voice, “but Costel is dying. He barely has the

strength to stand now. How can we believe that he carries a

harmonica with him? A symbol of carefree happiness. And

how can we imagine that he raped and killed Olivia, a fit,

young girl at the peak of her health?”

Corvin’s eyes glittered. Darius thought he looked a little

mad; the madness of grief; of despair, perhaps? Yet, absent,

was the deep sorrow that Lydia had demonstrated.

“Domnul doctor, if he is dying then what you say no

longer matters. Whichever way you cut the pig, he’s doomed.”

“Did you see him? Did you see what they have done to

him?”

Unable to meet his gaze, Corvin replied in a flat voice,

“Yes, well.”

“And if Costel is innocent?”

“Doctor, Costel has admitted everything.”

“And since then, he has retracted his confession.” Darius

dug his fingernails into his palm. He had to remain calm. “I

know who they are. I know who killed her.”

“How can you know? There were no witnesses.”

“Corvin, there were. There were two witnesses.

“Oh? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

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 “Yes, well. They spoke to me in confidence. They passed

by the scene when she was there. They saw her talking to…

talking to Karl and Spandau.”

“Who, doctor? Who saw them?”

“As I said, they spoke in confidence. But now, domnul,

they have decided to testify in court. Those gangsters are the

true killers, Corvin.”

“The true killer...” and he swallowed hard, “the true

killer was in that courtroom this morning, and he’ll be there

again this afternoon.” Corvin screeched his chair back across

the floor and planting his hands on the arms of the chair, he

prepared to get up.

“Wait,” said Darius. “One more thing; it’s nothing to do

with the case.”

“Good, because I feel very uncomfortable about this.”

Darius looked straight at him and they locked eyes.

“Why did you lie to me about Lena?”

Corvin wrinkled his brow in a display of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“You knew I was looking for Lena. You also knew that

she’d been dismissed from her job at the town hall because of

me. And you employed her.”

“You’re imagining things, doctor.”

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 “I’ve spoken to Popar. Do you remember Colonel

Popar?”

Corvin gasped. “You know Pop...”

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That she lost her administrative position, that she was

lucky to escape prison and that she got a job at a girlie club.

Your club. The Go-Go Club.”

Corvin looked around, considering his response. “I, I

didn’t tell you because, well because the situation was highly-

sensitive.”

“Really? Highly sensitive topless waitressing? I’m more

inclined to believe the other theory.”

“The other theory?”

“Yes. That you’re hiding something!”

“That’s your prerogative, doctor. I must get back to

court. I thank you for the lunch.” He got to his feet and strode

out into the street.

Darius slammed the palm of his hand on the table. “Pula

mea!” he cursed. It hadn’t gone well. He was hoping for a

simple explanation to the Lena question, but Corvin had closed

tighter than an oyster. He suddenly felt alone, and yet... yet, he

wasn’t alone. No. He thought about Eva. She had become more

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 than, more than… well he wasn’t sure what she had become.

But it felt good. And she wasn’t just a consolation; no, she was

so much more than that.

OK, let’s regroup, he thought. In an act of self-

preservation, Floara and Flaviu Bontsica had begged to remain

anonymous, and who could blame them? Yet putting their

fears to one side, they now felt obliged to help an old friend.

They’d be the first witness for the defence. At least Floara

would be.

Darius sensed danger in all of this. And now Corvin, the

girl’s adopted father is content to stand by and let Costel take

the fall. Why? Is he hoping that Karl will desist from

haranguing him? That Karl will somehow forget about his

club, the Go-Go Club in return for his cooperation and

support?

If that is the game Corvin is playing, I will make every

effort to exposed him for it. I hope to god it isn’t.

One thing Darius knew for certain, he needed to keep

Corvin onside. He could do nothing in isolation, and he could

not afford for people to think that he was self-deluded; that he

got drunk on cold water.

26. The Accident

285
 Raducanu was a dreamer. Throughout his high school

years, he’d fantasized about freedom and democracy while

simultaneously, appearing, like everyone else, to worship the

cobbler who became king. In this way, he felt somewhat

heroic, for in dwelling on insurgency, there was always the risk

of talking about it in one’s sleep. But a commando he was not,

more the brains behind the bluster, so when he needed an

activist or two, he turned to the likes of Doctor Darius Kala.

Yet, few revolutionaries find a role in their new

revolutionary governments. Accepted practice is to eliminate

the competition. And in the case of the Romanian transition,

the old ruling communists appeared to be fighting it out over

who would retain power. Raducanu figured that landing the

role of senator in the newly formed legislative branch, his part

in the uprising must have been overlooked. Now that he was a

high-flying bureaucrat, he had developed an instant aversion to

picking up the phone.

Darius booked a call at the phone exchange in the centre

of town. He let the phone ring and ring and grew more

impatient the longer it went on. Soon, he began to curse.

“What are you doing Raducanu?” he shouted into the booth,

“I’m only the idiot who gave up his peace of mind for all

eternity because you begged for help! Yes, that’s right, you

mother, the man who made such enormous sacrifices at your

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 behest! The man you promised to help regardless of the cost.

Answer the fucking phone!”

It was no surprise that he was drawing a few stares from

the staff.

When the senator eventually lifted the receiver, he

sounded calm and detached.

“Raducanu, speaking.”

“Darius Kala, domnul. How are you?” Darius had to

remind him who he was.

There was no outpouring of renewed camaraderie, just,

“Ah yes, doctor. Uh, where are you?”

“Arad, and we have to talk. It can’t wait.”

Raducanu gave him the number of a nearby coffee shop.

“Please, give me ten minutes before you call.”

The third time the waitress answered the phone, she

swore at him. At the fourth attempt, Raducanu took the call.

The story was five minutes in the telling.

“OK. I know who to send,” he said. “He’ll sort this out.

He’s tenacious and lets nothing get in his way. I need a week.”

“Sorry, but we don’t have that long.”

“Well, the earliest would be the day after tomorrow.” He

paused. “Look, there’s something else that requires urgent

attention in your region. Perhaps we can bring that forward.”

287
 “What is that, domnul Senator?”

“I shouldn’t be sharing this, but…there’s a gang of

smugglers operating in your region, doctor. They’re taking

people, girls, across the border into Yugoslavia.”

Darius’s ear was glued to the phone. “But how is that

important, Raducanu? Smuggling has been going on across the

Danube since boats were invented.”

“Doctor Kala, they’re trafficking young girls into a

potential war zone. Certain people aren’t happy about it.”

“Oh? And which people might those be?”

“The UN, domnul. And we don’t want to upset them, do

we? Especially as we’d like to become members ourselves

soon.”

“Do you know who they are? The traffickers?”

“Indeed, we do, doctor. One is named after a prison, I

believe, and the other is called…what was it…?”

“Karl!”

“Yes. Karl. I see you know them.”

After Darius put the phone down, he whispered one

word. “Bingo!”

By early evening, he was heading home along the D79,

the major highway heading north; not the most direct route but

288
 the logic was simple: more streetlights and fewer potholes. As

night fell, drawing a cloak over the agricultural plain of Arad

county, he turned east towards Ineu. Through his tunnel vision,

he was soon following the headlights as they cut a groove

through the narrow lanes on the way to Pancota. Progress

slowed. Darius was well aware of how drivers took terrifying

risks on this road just in order to overtake. The route was well-

known for fatal accidents and his main concern was to avoid

getting caught up in someone else’s foolishness.

All the while, Costel’s appalling predicament remained

uppermost in his mind; the sight of the emaciated shepherd,

manacled, clearly unwell and bearing an unearthly stare, had

taken his breath away and left a nagging emptiness inside of

him. Raducanu said he should expect a ‘top man’ the day after

tomorrow, someone with an unwavering sense of justice. He

would also address the other business that needed taking care

of. It’s likely, he thought, that settling one question would be

tantamount to resolving both.

The doctor’s unease had been further compounded by

Corvin’s irrational and dogged refusal to consider any view

other than his own. He thought about how the lunch had

deteriorated into confrontation. Nothing he could say

penetrated Corvin’s obduracy; the man had a blindness. Even

when Darius raised the idea of witnesses, people who’d seen

289
 Karl and Spandau together with Olivia at the lake, Corvin

merely raised an incurious eyebrow.

The road began to rise, twisting its way up into the

foothills where there were no lights and no street signs. He

passed through a small village, then another, the second

comprising just a dozen or so dwellings, then from over the

next rise, flashing lights appeared in the night sky. At the brow

of the hill, he pulled off the road and gazed upon the chaos

below.

An officer flagged him down as he approached the queue

of about a dozen cars.

He leaned from the window and flashed his ID card.

“I’m a doctor. Can I help?”

The man scrutinised his ID. “Are you working locally?”

he asked.

“Yes, I’m based in Alba Jura.”

“OK,” said the officer and he led the doctor into the

arena.

With a creeping sense of dread, Darius surveyed the

carnage. The whole scene was lit up by headlights. Paramedics

attended the occupants of one car while fire officers were

attempting to prize open the door of a crumpled Dacia that lay

on its roof.
290
 “How long ago did this happen?”

“Not sure doctor. We think about forty minutes. We

didn’t get here until fifteen minutes ago.”

The officer led him to a Mercedes sports which had come

to rest in a field; one glance revealed a young man, with a look

of astonishment on his face, pinned by the steering wheel to

the back of his seat. The air bag had failed. “This one hit a

tree,” said the officer, “probably trying to avoid colliding with

the wreckage back there.”

Whimpering drew them into the shadows on the far side

of the vehicle and Darius’ heart began pumping faster.

“Someone is still alive here!” he shouted.

A young woman lay in the undergrowth. Her airbag had

functioned perfectly, forcing her out of the car and saving her

from the crush. So, no seat belt. She’d lost a lower leg.

Illuminated by the officer’s torch, he removed his shirt and

applied a tourniquet to her leg, then lifting her blouse, he

searched for any dark blotches on her flanks. Her body was

slick with blood to the armpits, but in the refracted light, he

found the tell-tell signs, on both sides. She needed immediate

attention. Who knew how bad the damage might be?

“We must get her to hospital and quick!” he shouted.

The officer called the paramedics over.

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 Out on the road, the two occupants of the overturned car

had been crushed. Darius peered into the flattened wreck then

gasped in shock. “I know them,” he told the officer. “They are,

were, my patients.” His heart sank. “Oh no! Oh no!” he cursed

quietly.

Behind the wheel, and upside down, Flaviu was barely

recognisable but Floara’s broach, still clasped at the throat was

clear to see. Hanging half out of the passenger window, she

seemed at peace and had escaped the kind of mutilation that

her husband had experienced. His side of the car had taken the

impact. The roof had completely crushed him.

“It drove over the precipice up there.” The officer

indicated the upper road somewhere above them, “and landed

right here. The other cars were trying to avoid it.”

“But, aren’t there barriers up there?”

“They’re under repair.”

“What does that mean?”

“The barriers were removed. They’re waiting to install

new ones; they haven’t arrived yet.”

“So, they just left a gaping hole up there?”

“Well, not exactly. There were warning lights...”

“I see.”

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 Soon paramedics approached pushing a stretcher. One

held out a bloody rag. “Is this your shirt, domnul?”

“Not anymore. Be careful with her, she has internal

injuries.”

“Domnul, she is dead. Like all of them. No-one

survived.”

Darius wanted his eyes to remain closed forever; to hear

nothing, to touch nothing; to step, in that moment, through a

star gate into an alternative universe, where all suffering and

insurmountable problems had been resolved and consigned to a

long-forgotten history. And where, if he opened his eyes, he

could watch a warm turquoise sea forever wash up on a long

golden shore. He heard the officer walk away, but kept his eyes

closed; heard people shouting; sensed the lights that flickered

on his eyelids. Then the man returned.

“Come, I’ll help you to your car. I’m sorry, I’d offer you

my jacket, but I can’t.”

“Thank you, but mine is inside the car. You know, death

is nothing new to me. I have seen it many times, perhaps too

many...but...but, this...”

“Nothing prepares you for this. Nothing.” The man cast

his eye over the chaos. “No matter how often you see it, it

always feels like the first time.”

293
 Darius looked at the officer. “Can you show me the place

where they went over precipice?”

Traffic on the much busier upper road had been confined

to one lane and officers were directing the flow and causing a

tailback which extended beyond the horizon. Standing behind

the barriers, Darius and the officer stared at the gap where the

car left the road.

“Just a second’s misjudgement,” Darius said. “Can you

shine your torch on the road?”

The beam swept slowly back and forth.

Darius was frowning hard. “There are no skid marks.”

The officer scanned the area more carefully. “You’re

right, doctor. None at all.”

“And the area is well lit by the warning lights, as we can

see.”

“He might’ve had a heart attack.”

“Yes, he might. Tell me, are there any of these lights

down there, down by the wreckage?”

“No need, doctor. There were no hazards down there, at

the time.”

“I’d like to check, all the same.”

294
 Back at the crash site, they scanned the area, but found

no hazard lights.

“As I said, doctor…”

Darius cut him off. “Don’t you think,” he said, “that

when they went over the edge, they would’ve taken one or two

lights with them?”

The officer rubbed his chin and screwed up his eyes.

“Well, I suppose they would have.”

“So, no skid marks, and no damaged warning lights.”

The officer continued to rub his chin.

“And don’t you think that there should be? Both of

them?”

The coin dropped. “Yes, of course.” The officer’s voice

rose and in a state of agitation, he searched for his words.

“There… there should be doctor. There should be both. What

the fuck are we dealing with?”

“When we do some tests on those two bodies, we’ll find

out if they were drugged.”

“What are you saying? That they were pushed over the

edge?”

Walking back to Darius’ car, the officer said, “I’m sorry

you had to see this. It’s one of worst I’ve seen.” He seemed to

295
 be deep in thought. “I had a recent case which sometimes

keeps me awake.”

“Oh?”

“A young girl; raped then strangled to death or drowned.

When I knelt next to her, I kept thinking, ‘what a waste! What

a pula-mea waste!’. But it was her eyes. A very striking colour.

Deep green. And now I can’t forget them.”

Darius shivered. “Where was it? Where did it happen?”

“Oh, not far, doctor. By a lake, near a village

called...called...”

“Alba Jura.”

“Oh, you know about it?”

Darius hesitated. “I knew her.” he said quietly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I...”

“Not for very long. Didn’t know her that well.”

Immediately he felt guilty. He was denying her, like Peter in

the Jesus story. He wanted to retract the words. He fought to

keep his mind from revisiting the scene.

“She’d been in the water for about twenty-four hours. A

lot of the forensic evidence was destroyed. But we arrested

someone.”

“Good,” said Bruno. “That’s very good.”

“Yes, it was the person we first suspected.”

296
 “And who was that?”

“An old shepherd. He raised the alarm

apparently. Well, he killed her, then ‘found’ her. Barca, Barcu,

something like that.”

Darius was already thinking about his next

move.

“Yes. An old lecher if ever I saw one.” He

looked at Darius. “Are you OK, doctor? You seem a bit

shaken.”

“Yes...I was thinking about the shepherd, he too

is a patient of mine and incapable of committing such a

dreadful crime.”

“Well…”

“Any witnesses?”

“You know what people are like, doctor, they see

something, and then they don’t.”

Darius narrowed his eyes in thought; the only

witnesses had ended up inside the wreckage back there. “I

see,” was all he could say.

“Come on, I’ll help you into the car. And don’t

forget your stick.”

27. Elvira’s Tale

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 The story goes…One morning, an old woman woke

to find that her dog had died while she was sleeping. She cried.

She cursed her god for his cruelty and wept as though her

entire family had been lost at sea. Inconsolable, she wept and

wept until her god, troubled by all the commotion, appeared

before her, and asked, “Old woman, why are you weeping so?

You’re upsetting everyone up here and even us immortals need

a good night’s sleep.”

“Lord,” she said through her tears, “you took my

dog away.”

“But it was old,” said god, “and in pain. It had a

good life and its time was up. So why make such a fuss?”

“Yes, it was old, and in pain,” said the woman, “but

my neighbour’s dog is still alive!”

The old woman is asking more than just ‘why me?’

She wants to know, ‘why not them?’ There is nothing passive

about it. She refuses to be a victim – even in the face of divine

intervention.

Elvira sat in Doctor Darius Kala’s kitchen, at two

o’clock in the morning, wincing each time the doctor pushed

his needle through the skin of her eyebrow, and seething at the

very idea that Karl had made her a victim. Her friend Silvi had

298
 tried to patch her up as best she could, but unable to stop the

bleeding, she, it was, who called the doctor.

“Looks like you’ve been three rounds with George

Foreman,” said Eva.

“Like you would know,” Elvira snapped.

Darius asked, “Don’t you want to tell me what

happened?”

Elvira and Silvi exchanged glances and remained

silent.

“Can you please stop hurting me!” she shouted.

“I’m sorry. I can’t freeze it. It’s too close to the

eye.”

Elvira tried in vain to stem the tears, but the dam

had broken; there was no holding back the waters now. “The

bastard!” she hissed under breath, “He’s going to pay, one way

or another, he will pay. I feel like a freak!”

“I had to take refuge in his pula mea car,” she said,

“I don’t know for how long, but it seemed like hours, while he

stood a few metres away, staring through the windscreen, with

just a few centimetres of his precious German engineering

separating us. I could see him trembling with fury, and all the

299
 time, I was thinking, ‘If you see a bear in the woods, keep it in

your sights. And don’t let it see your fear.’

Silvi tenderly wrapped her arms around her friend’s

neck.

“And then I remembered something, doctor. Shall I

tell you what it was?”

“Of course, I’d love to hear it. What else have I got

to do in the middle of the night having

just returned from a three-hour drive and with a full

day’s work ahead of me?”

She paused as he pushed the needle through again.

“God, that hurts!” she shouted.

“One more should do it,” he said, “on this side.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a large gash on the top of your head. You’re

going to lose some hair.”

“Oh great! I’m so excited!”

“Elvira,” Darius was getting frustrated at her impatience,

“I came past an accident on the way home. Everyone involved

lost their lives. What are a few hairs?”

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 “Oh, that’s terrible,” she said. “Sometimes I can be such

a selfish bitch!”

“Well, you may have concussion.” He pushed the last

stitch through. This time she suffered in silence.

“Anyway, what was it that you remembered

domnisoara?”

“When I was seven, I believe that whatever my mother

was screaming about, she must have enjoyed it. ‘We’re just

playing around,’ my father would say. And he was my father,

one of the grown-ups in my life. At the time, I was yet to catch

him out in a straight lie and my mother had never complained

directly to me. She would say that people had different ways to

show their affection. So, it must have been OK, right?” She

looked around the room.

Eva indulged her. “Right.”

“Later, he shone the light of his ‘affection’ on me.

Look, I’m a bitch, and I know it. Stand in my shoes. See how

you like it!”

“Hold still please,” said Darius, as he attempted to

freeze the gash in her scalp.

301
 Elvira flinched. “Bastard!” shedding more tears. “So,

tell me, doctor, is it a disease or something?” Using the pain to

express herself more plainly.

“Is what a disease?”

“Violence against women. Are all you men infected with

it. Because right now, it feels that way. Even you are hurting

me.” She cried some more. “It’s all so fucked up.”

Darius said. “There’s no excuse for such behaviour, but if

women spoke up every time, things might change, and to be

fair, the signs are not difficult to spot.”

“How has he got away with it for so long?” Elvira

sounded like she’d been victimized for the first time.

“Well, you’d know better than me.” Darius snipped away

at her hair.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, you’re close to him, you must’ve seen something

to make you wonder, eh?”

“Are you saying that I was a willing victim? I mean, I

didn’t sign up for anything like this, you know!”

“Of course you didn’t, but may I ask, when did you first

become aware that he used women for his own purposes?”

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 She glanced fleetingly at Silvi; something passed

between them.

“So,” said Darius, “you were both aware and you did

nothing.”

Silvi frowned. “But if I’d reported him, I would’ve lost

my job.”

“That was the contract you made with him.” Darius said.

“And if I’d gone to the police instead of coming here,”

said Elvira, “they would’ve laughed at me.”

“Look,” said Eva, “there is no such thing as a neutral

position.” She placed the coffee on the table. “You must’ve

known they were stalking Olivia. And you knew that they were

trafficking young girls. Didn’t that bother you? And what about

the girls they were procuring for the Go-Go Club?”

“What business is that of yours?” Elvira countered.

“Well don’t you feel anything for those poor young girls?

At the mercy of ruthless thugs?” Eva sounded angry. “And

what about Olivia? What about her?”

In the silence, Darius checked that the anaesthetic was

working, then he began stitching up her scalp. Silvi cleaned

Elvira’s face but she recoiled when Silvi touched her nose.

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 “I’m going to try to reset it,” Darius said. “It’s been too

long already. They’ll have another look at it when you go to

the hospital.”

“Hospital?”

“You may have concussion. You must have an x-ray.”

“I’m just another one of his victims, aren’t I?” she

muttered in disbelief. “And I thought I was the special one.”

When he pulled her nose into place, she screamed and

cried some more.

“I’ll give you something for the pain,” he said, packing

his equipment away. “I think there’s enough hot water for you

to get cleaned up.” He found a shirt in his wardrobe and

handed it to Silvi. “Here, she doesn’t have to return it.”

When she emerged from the shower with his shirt tucked

into her jeans, Elvira sat at the table and shivered. “OK,” she

began, “Do you still want to know what happened?”

“Changed your mind?” Darius asked.

“I’m not going to protect him any longer.”

“When you’re ready…”

“We were in the bedroom at Karl’s place. It’s next door

to the bar.” She swallowed the painkillers with some fresh

304
 coffee. “Something was odd about him. He seemed agitated.

Even nervous. Like he was bursting to tell me something. I’d

never seen him that way before.

“We started playing around. He was a bit rough with me,

but in a playful way. You know? I liked that about him, the

child inside. Then he produced something from his jacket

pocket. ‘Hey, Elvi,’ he said, ‘I’ve got something to show you.’

That’s how it began.

“‘Oh, what can it be?’ I replied, ‘I’m sure I don’t deserve

it.’ Still in child mode.

“He opened his fist to reveal a small polythene bag half

full of white stuff. He spilled a little of it onto a glass tabletop.

It sparkled in the light. You know?

“‘Have you ever fucked on snow?’ he said, and he

looked at me with a kind of animal stare.

“‘In snow, Karl,” I corrected him, but instantly

regretted it because he doesn’t like being put right. So I

quickly added, ‘Anyway, it’s summer. Look outside.’

“‘This,’ he tipped more from the bag, ‘this, is ‘snow’.’

“I took a closer look. ‘Careful!’ he said. ‘Don’t blow it

across the room!’

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 “He produced a pocket-knife and a twenty-dollar bill.

‘Watch.’ He said then separated the pile into four thin lines. He

syphoned two of them up through the note, one in each nostril

then rubbed his nose furiously for at least a minute.

“‘Your turn,’ he said, his voice sounded odd, creaky sort

of, and he held out the note. ‘And remember - sniff! Do not

blow!’

“My attempt was more messy, and Karl vacuumed up

the remaining few grains himself.”

“It turned out I’d never ‘fucked’ on snow. At one point, I

believed I’d never made love at all. We rearranged the furniture

and finally, with the bedclothes scattered around the room, we

lay there exhausted. I remember thinking how my skin had

taken on an odd sheen. Karl looked like he’d been circuit

training.

“Well, I suppose I felt confident in our new spirit of

sharing; perhaps the snow had given me an extra layer of

courage and being now a full member of the inner circle, I

asked candidly and stupidly, ‘So tell me, boss man, why

children?’

“‘What?’ he replied, too quickly; with too much edge. He

rose from the bed and sat on the end of the mattress, giving me

his back.

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 “A chill breezed through my summer’s day. The magic

was losing its sugar-coating. I knelt behind him and put my

arms around his neck and snuggled into his back. No response.

All that fake elation, now frayed, left a dull ache in my

stomach and a rank, metallic taste on the roof of my mouth.

You know?

“I got up. ‘I’m getting some water.’ I said. ‘Do you want

some?’

“‘What did you mean?’ he said, sounding super

unfriendly.

“I cursed my lack of judgement and tried role play. ‘Baby

doesn’t have to worry,’ I pouted, ‘Elvi doesn’t mind,’ my child

in full flow, you know? And wriggling into my jeans, I

wondered which little boy I’d have to deal with now.

“He remained quiet, but I could feel his eyes on me as I

walked to the bathroom. I knew I couldn’t stay in there too

long; it would seem odd and soon he’d be banging the door

down. I was shivering like a scared rabbit. I splashed cold

water on my face, drank some, then ran my finger under my

eyes to clean up the smudged make up, trying to look

respectable. Funny word that, respectable. I took a deep breath,

cleared my throat, then opened the door.

307
 “He was there, larger than life. Filling the door frame. He

dragged me by the hair onto the bed and held me down.

“‘What, Elvira, did you mean?’

“‘It doesn’t matter, Karl, OK?’

“He slapped me hard. ‘What the mother’s pussy are you

talking about?’

“‘The children in the bus!’ I shrieked at him. ‘OK?

They’re just kids.’ My ears ringing loud from the slap.

“‘Who did you tell?’ he shrieked and raised his hand

again, but I lifted my knee and caught him in the groin. He

rolled off me.

“He crouched between the bed and the wall, I moved

towards him, wanted to comfort him, to say sorry. Perhaps it

would calm him. I didn’t know anything at that point. My head

was still reeling from the blow yet I was trying to touch

foreheads with him, to bond, you know, when something

slammed into my face. I reached out blindly, reaching out to

keep him away. Reachingoutmyarmsandfingers nonono no,

please don’t, please…I’m begging you Karl, don’t. Now he’s

shouting at me, words I can’t hear, can’t hear can’t think - I’m

deaf, Oh godohgod…

ohgodohgodnonononostoppleasestopleasestop. Then he hit me

again, hit hard, hard too hard hitmyheadhitsomethinghard hit

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 my head, onthetableorsomething. I want to, to shout shoutout

but my face…my face it’s the wrong shape the wrong shape

and I and I keep him away, away

awaykeepawaykeepawaypIease! I made myself small very

very small in the corner in the corner of the room and my face

is stretching my skin. Look through my fingers but don’t.

Don’t look. My shaking loud too loud don’t upset…upset him.

My my breathing, breathing small, small, and quick. Then he’s

gone. Gone. Don’t move. Don’t move.”

Elvira was trembling. She couldn’t stop. Silvi was

holding her and Darius gave her some water. “It’s OK, Elvira.

It’s OK. You’re in shock, but you’re safe here. He can’t hurt

you here.” Silvi hugged her tightly and kissed her bruised

cheek.

Her face wet with tears, Elvira said “How long was I

there, in the corner? I’m not sure, but long enough for the

blood on my face and scalp to dry. Long enough for the blood

to dry on my fingers and on my clothes. When I found the

courage to look, he was sitting on the end of the bed. In

silence.”

Silvi found her voice. “My god Elvi, he’s a monster! I

mean you could’ve been killed! How did you get out? I

mean…”

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 “I’ll make some more coffee,” Eva said. Then turning to

Elvira, “So why do you think he smuggles children?”

“Who knows? Maybe it’s easier. I don’t know. Maybe

he’s simply supplying the demand.”

“Or creating it,” Eva was sharp as ever. “And perhaps he

likes them.”

Elvira ignored the comment.

“And perhaps, domnisoara, you are still protecting him.

And maybe yourself too.”

“Anyway, I couldn’t control myself any longer. ‘Prick!’ I

blurted through the side of my face. I mean, that’s how it felt. I

felt deformed. You know?”

“‘Look, Elvi, I…’ he said.

“’Pula!’ I spat at him through the saliva and blood that

was dribbling down my chin.

“‘Elvi…it got a bit rough…’ he sounded all washed out

and distant and lacking any trace of that… that malevolence

that he’d unleashed on me. I heard him say ‘It’s OK now, I got

carried away.’

“I threw on the remainder of my clothes and snatching up

my bag and dashed for the door.

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 “Outside, I looked up and down the road. The crickets

were in full voice. I don’t know what they had to celebrate.

Then I heard the footsteps behind me, drawing closer. I

wouldn’t make the bar. Anyway, it might be empty. Nowhere to

run…except…the car. I dashed for the driver’s side. It was

open. Heart in my mouth, I dived in, drew my legs inside the

low rider, and slammed the door shut. I hit the door lock just as

Karl grabbed the handle. Looking down, I saw the keys

dangling from the ignition.

“He was still there after it grew dark and I should’ve

been at work, in his bar. Each time he begged me to open the

door, I showed him the small nail scissors that I kept in my bag

and held them against the plush leather seat.

“I can tell you, doctor, I’d sooner have dipped my naked

toes into a bucket of writhing snakes than release the locks.

And he’d rather pull out his own fingernails than take a

crowbar to his ‘baby’. And all the while, I could feel my face

swelling like a balloon.

“This can’t go on,” said Darius. “Sounds as if he’s losing

control. But your priority now is to get to the hospital in Ineu.”

“OK, doctor. I’ll go in the morning, but there’s

something I have to do first.”

311
 “You know you can’t sleep until you’ve had an x-ray.

What’s so important?”

“The truth?” she grinned painfully. “I have to go to

church.”

“You aren’t going to die, you know.”

“Anyway, the first train isn’t due until five thirty.” Then

she added, “He’s going to pay for this. He didn’t even

apologize. He’s going to regret what he did, you know?”

“Tell us about the girls, where does he get them?” Eva

said, unmoved by Elvira’s distress. This was a side to her that

Darius had never seen. A toughness that brought balance to her

smarts.

Elvira avoided Eva’s gaze. “You’ll have to ask Karl

about that. Anyway,” looking at Darius, “I never thought we’d

be doing this when we first met.”

“Oh? When was that?”

“You know, doctor. When you came to the bar looking

for Karl. As a matter of fact, I thought you were really brave.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I did.” She tried to smile at him.

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 “I…I don’t recall” he said. “Strange. Think I’m just a bit

tired.”

After they left, Eva said, “Well Darius, perhaps you

should cancel your appointments tomorrow. You’re working

too hard, so soon after…”

“After what?”

“After your experience in…in…”

“Oh that.” He finished packing away his equipment.

“No, I’ll be OK in the morning.”

Behind the dilapidated reformist church, Elvira stood in

the shadows of an outbuilding from where she’d retrieved a

key to the rear of the main building. She held it up in triumph

for her friend to see. “Now, we’re in business,” she whispered,

wincing at the effort.

There were no lights back there to pierce the shadows

and after inserting the key, she struggled to locate the tumblers

inside the lock. But she’d done it before, more than once, and

finally, they dropped into place.

Together, they barged the door open.

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 “What’re we doing here, Elvi? What if someone sees

us?” said Silvi.

“Shhh! No-one’s going to come. The place only opens on

Sundays. Now, grab one end of the ladder over there and help

me put it through that hole in the ceiling.” It was a long way

up, and the ladder seemed to have been purpose-built.

In the dark, they managed, but only after the ladder had

swayed past the hole a few times, and as Elvira planted one

foot on the lowest rung with a sports bag in her hand, she said,

“Wait outside and let me know if you hear anyone

approaching.”

Within ten minutes, Elvira appeared at her friend’s side.

“OK, we can go now.”

“So, didn’t you come to pick something up?” Silvi asked.

“I wanted to check that something was still there, and it

was.”

Silvi wasn’t sure what to think. “So, nothing happened

then?”

“Nope. Nothing at all. But if anyone asks, we were never

here. OK?”

Silvi looked worried.

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 “I said, OK?” repeated Elvira.

“Yes, OK. We were never here.”

They made one more stop at the cemetery. Again Silvi

stood guard, this time outside the gates and again she had no

idea what Elvira was doing. When Elvira reappeared, Silvi

asked, “Still there?” Elvi nodded. “Let’s go,” she said.

Soon, they were sitting on a bench at the station

watching the sunrise imbue the morning with glorious,

translucent colour. The first Green Dart was an hour away and

Elvira took another aspirin to quell the throbbing in her head.

Despite the pounding, she risked a slow, stinging smile at the

very idea that in two locations known only to her, a very large

amount of high-denomination US dollar bills lay safely hidden,

waiting for her to return.

28. Karl disappears

Karl noted Spandau’s puzzled expression but decided to

let him work things out for himself - which he probably would.

He was trying to get a response out of Elvira. One look at her

face was enough for Spandau to know why. She and Karl

danced around each other like repelling magnets, neither one

able to enter the other’s zone and if Karl so much as glanced in

her direction, she quickly stood behind the big man. If there

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 was one thing that Spandau found irresistible, it was a damsel

in distress.

A mere twenty-four hours had elapsed since Karl had

visited his superior strength upon her; had shown her what a

real alpha male can do, yet, accompanied by her new best

friend, Silvi, she’d turned up for work regardless, and on time,

and wearing her courage and vulnerability like beacons, and in

equal measure. She half expected Karl to be there, despite the

early hour, before the regulars wandered in. He couldn’t get

near her; Silvi manoeuvred herself between them at all times

and Spandau settled himself on a bar stool, a good deal closer

to her than to his boss.

Horrified by what Karl had done, Silvi supplied his

drinks in silence, responding in curt, muted utterances as

required. She’d already resigned herself to finding alternative

employment. She simply couldn’t engage with such brutality.

As for Spandau, he wasn’t going to condemn the boss outright,

but he wasn’t quite the eager beaver that he’d been yesterday.

Nobody was talking to anyone.

Elvira tried a cynical smile at Karl from her stool behind

the bar but her injuries prevented him from reading it, and she

loaded that look with as much vengeance as her bursting heart

could bring to bear, mouthing silently at him, “You will pay,

you pig; you pula!” In truth, he already had, he’d find out

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 when he reached for his stash. And she knew all of his

business. She kept the records, which could explain why he

hadn’t kicked her out. He was going to have to show some

respect.

When they saw Elvira, the customers registered shock;

they couldn’t help but ask the question. And because she could

barely speak, Silvi answered for her saying that her friend had

had an accident. Each customer responded in their own fashion

but almost all showed concern.

When the phone rang, Silvi answered. “For you, boss,”

she called and left the phone by the till.

“Yes?”

“Is that Karl?”

“No, it’s the bastard Pope. What can I do for you?”

“You must get out.” The voice registered no emotion.

Just stating a fact.

Karl recognised the smooth delivery in an instant. “What

do you mean?” He was almost whispering, anxious not to let

the others hear, much less the clients.

“They are coming for you.”

“Who? Who is coming?”

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 “The police, domnul. Not your friends, of course. It

seems you have stepped on some rather sensitive toes. The

commanding officer is a charming man whom we call the

Minister. It’s better that you don’t meet him.”

“How have I upset anyone?” Karl was confused. Hadn’t

he done their bidding? Played by their rules?

“Trafficking girls across the river, into unstable territory,

domnul.”

“Right. So why are you warning me? Why bother?” He

waited.

“The world runs on favours, domnul. I thought you

knew that.”

“But you don’t owe me any favours...and I don’t owe

you, so...why?”

“If the Minister gets his hands on you, which I pray for

your sake he doesn’t, you’ll tell him everything and that would

be in no-one’s interest, would it?”

“When? When are they coming?”

“Later tonight. Just pack a bag and go. Drive to the

station but park your car further down the road. There’s a

ruined house next to the carpark. Wait inside. Someone you

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 know will meet you there in half an hour. Make sure no-one

sees you.” The line went dead.

He headed upstairs and returned a few minutes later with

a travelling bag.

“Got an urgent meeting,” he said to no-one in particular.

He walked outside, got into his car and drove away.

Spandau stood rooted to the spot, staring at the door, not

quite believing that Karl had left without him.

“What was that all about?” said Silvi.

Elvira grabbed a pen and wrote on a pad, ‘Looks like

trouble to me,’ then added, ‘His time has come!’ Happy face.

She forced herself to smile. The pain… a small price to

pay.

By the time Karl reached the reformist church the sun

had retreated after another day of scorched earth and melted

tarmac.

He inserted the key into the back door. This lock always

gave him problems. “Come on. Come on!” he gasped through

gritted teeth. But the key needed to sit exactly right. “Please!

Just be nice, OK?” but the lock wasn’t listening. Then he felt

319
 the tumblers slide into place. Experience told him to twist hard

at this point—or start again. And suddenly, the door was open.

Inside, the smell of mould was overwhelming, and no

matter how hot the day had been, it was always cold in here.

Damp had climbed the walls and discoloured the plaster which

had bulged in places; elsewhere, it had simply fallen away. He

wondered how in the name of Vlad himself, they continued to

hold services here.

He fixed the single extension of the ladder to its full

height. On reaching the hole, he groped around for the light

switch and flipped it on. Nothing happened.

Pula light! Pisda!

But he knew where to look. Over in the corner, under a

pile of moth-eaten textiles. Soon his fingers found the hard

metal of the cash box. He heard voices. Women’s voices.

“Who left that ladder there?”

“Well, I didn’t,” said the other.

“It’s dangerous, leaving it there like that. Come on, let’s

put it back against the back wall.”

He had to think quickly. If he were forced to drop from

that height, he’d surely break something.

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 Clutching the box, he headed for the hole.

“Good evening ladies!” he shouted. Upside down. “I’m

looking for the costumes for the summer fete. Have you seen

them?”

The women looked at each other and laughed. “Never

heard of people keeping them up there,” one said. “No,” her

friend said, “They wouldn’t be up there. It’s filthy in that loft!”

“Perhaps they’re in the church hall next door,” said the

first woman.

“OK. Coming down then.” he chirped.

He waited for them to go about their business then

carefully descended, hoping to hide the box with his body.

They were cleaning around the pulpit as he left.

“Can I leave the ladder for you to put away?”

“OK, domnul, we can do that, and look next door. It’s the

same key you used to get in here.”

Within minutes, he was driving like a maniac towards the

north side of the village. He drew up at the gates of the

cemetery. The white moon guided him as he picked his way to

the right tomb, the tomb of his long-dead grandfather. He

glanced around to make sure that he was alone then began to

pull at a corner stone of the structure. He reached into the

321
 space and smiled as his fingers located the second box. He

grabbed it and slipped it through the gap. No need to replace

the stone now.

In the car, he headed for the south side, for the railway

station. He left his beloved car in a side street nearby and

headed for the derelict building. He could hear the diesel

engine of the Green Dart idling not fifty metres away. His

watch said he had ten minutes to wait. Standing just inside the

ruin, he heard something scuttle about in the debris that lay

everywhere. Something smelled disgusting. The light from his

zippo revealed that he was standing in excrement, both human

and quite fresh. Gingerly, he stepped away from it and tried to

scrape it off his shoe with a sliver of wood.

Impatient to check out his booty, he took out his bunch of

keys and isolated those for the cash boxes. Selecting the first

key he thought about how he was going to start a new life

across the border, across many borders. The key didn’t fit.

Must be the other key, he thought. Come on! His throat was

constricting as he began to choke on the stench from his shoe.

He fumbled the second key into the lock and turned it. Inside

he found an assortment of old papers and ledgers with

accounts. His accounts. Elvira’s accounts. A surge of panic

rippled up his spine. The whore! And then he knew what she’d

done. He shook the second box. Not the sound of tightly rolled

322
 bills packed into plastic sachets. “Fucking bastard!” he

shrieked and hurled the box against the wall.

“Good evening, domnul.” said a familiar voice from the

darkness within the old house. “That’s no way to greet a

friend.”

29. The Raid

That hush before the tsunami strikes, just a few clicks

when the ocean empties out, when the moment to raise the

alarm has passed. The silent note before the orchestra strikes

the first chord of a symphony, that pause which signals

something primal; triggering each organism to prepare or

fooling them to pretend that all is well.

On this Wednesday evening at the Bar Continental, the

hi-fi played non-stop Manelay club, and locals, in their free-

flowing inebriate babble, were yapping merrily about this and

that, and the idea that a life-altering episode was imminent

could hardly have been further from their stewed cerebra. For

those present had quickly become accustomed to Elvira’s

pitiful appearance, and so normality was resumed. Nothing

suggested that change was at hand: no distant rumble; no

squawks of alarm and no sharp intake of breath as the universe

stood still at the rim of event horizon.

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 When the police piled through the door, some jumped,

some dropped their glasses, and some cried out. One, an old

hand, slipped through a door at the rear.

“Turn off that Gypsy garbage!” the captain shouted at

no-one in particular. Silvi complied immediately. The officer

turned slowly and studied each face in turn. The clients

shuffled about like cornered stoats trying to find a less

obtrusive space, each looking to hide behind the other.

“You are all under arrest…” and with an eyebrow raised,

the officer drew out the final syllable and left it hanging there

to dangle like bait above a trout stream, “…for farting in the

bath!”

The silence didn’t last long. A few suppressed guffaws

became open ribaldry until the officer screeched at them, “Be

quiet!” He pressed a stiffened finger against his lips and

nodded towards the door. In seconds they were gone.

He looked at Silvi. “Wait outside.” Before she could

react he screamed in her face. “Now!” She tried in vain to

shield herself from the stench. She grabbed her coat and bag

and rushed into the yard where a number of officers were

smoking. She found a wall to lean against and lit a cigarette of

her own.

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 “Where is he?” He demanded. No greeting. No

acknowledgement, just the question. “Where is he?” he

repeated, unblinking.

“I don’t know.” Elvira said. “And fuck you!” It was a

major error.

Whip-like, he reached across the bar, grasped her

ponytail, and tugged sharply. Her head snapped back exposing

her throat. He grabbed the front of her dress and pulled it

towards him, tearing it. She moaned, unable to open her mouth

to scream. He felt her knees buckle and he relaxed his grip.

“Where’s Karl?” he said.

“No. I...I...” The pain and the shock brought tears to her

eyes.

“Where will he be now?” he hissed and gave another tug

on her hair. She yelped in pain. “I am being kind to you

because you deserve an opportunity. Where is Spandau?”

“In the toilet.”

He kept his grip on her hair. She told him where to look.

“Why are you doing this?” she said. “I’m innocent ...”

“Innocent? I know the face of innocence, domnisoara,”

and his hard, black eyes bored into her, “and I don’t see it

325
 anywhere around here. In my experience, it is almost always

found in lunatic asylums...and in some children.”

Her knees gave way again as the fetor of his breath

wafted past her face but his grip on her hair kept her standing

there.

He motioned to an enormous officer. “Mozoc! Drag the

piece of shit out here!” Mozoc squeezed through the bathroom

door and beat the door to the cubicle. It soon collapsed.

Everyone listened and waited until he reappeared with

Spandau, who now seemed of average size.

“Where is Karl?”

“I don’t know,” said Spandau.

Mozoc gripped him in a headlock and ran at the bar.

Spandau’s head made the first contact. “Aaaahhh!” he

screamed and collapsed to the floor rubbing at his damaged

skull.

“OK, OK.” Spandau blubbered through his pain.

“When we talk later,” said the captain, “you will tell me

everything I want to know.”

“OK,” replied the trembling heap from the floor.

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 The captain stood near Spandau’s head and hissed, “I

didn’t hear you, pussy!”

“OK! I will tell you everything.”

“And…” he added, “I hope you didn’t mess with any

kiddies, because I know that your friend did. Put him in the

van,” he shouted to no-one in particular.

A few officers grappled with the whimpering Spandau

and hauling him to his feet, manhandled him outside.

The captain turned to Elvira and drew a deep breath

through his nose.

“Karl disappeared,” she sobbed. “They returned from a

job. We had a row, and he did this to me.” She indicated the

livid bruising on her face. “He was furious.”

The officer held up a finger and she stopped. He looked

back at the uniforms that had gathered behind him. “‘He was

furious’,” he echoed, his fixed grin a signal for them to laugh.

And they did. “Furious,” they repeated to each other,

“Hahaha...furious”.

The blow caught her square on her mouth. She had no

time to turn or deflect it. Blood sprang from her broken nose

and both her lips split. A tooth fell to the floor and skittered

across the room. She slid down the wall behind the bar, but

327
 they dragged her to a table where they held her down, her arms

and legs akimbo.

“We found his car at the railway station,” said the

captain. “Now, talk to me.”

She struggled to catch her breath.

“I’ll tell you,” Silvi stood in the doorway, shivering and

ready to help her friend.

The captain looked up. “Go ahead.” And he beckoned

her forward.

“There was a... a phone call. After that, he went upstairs,

packed a bag, and left. He said…he said it was something

urgent.”

“Who was it?” the officer screamed at her, giving her

head a hard shove. “Who called Karl?” Silvi dithered, in a

panic, seeing the blood and Elvira stretched out across the

table. “Who the fuck called Karl?” he shrieked.

“I...I... he didn’t say. He didn’t say.”

“Did you recognise the voice?”

“No, sir.” she said meekly, trying to hide her face.

“What was the voice like?”

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 “It was...it was very...um, very educated, and I think it

was an older man...I think.”

“And when was this?”

“About an hour ago, I think.”

“Sit down. Over there. In the corner.”

Elvira told him everything: the girl trafficking, the drug

smuggling, the money-laundering, the shiny, new German cars

that appeared and then disappeared, the persistent intimidation

of Corvin over the club and the argument they’d had which led

to the beating.

“Over what?” asked the officer, now much calmer.

“I didn’t agree with the girl-trafficking.”

“So, you were OK with him messing other people’s lives

up, stealing from them, scaring them, hurting them, but you got

sensitive over a few prostitutes? Really?”

“Well, I thought they were a bit… a bit young.” She

began crying again.

“How young?”

“I never saw them; I just heard their voices...”

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 “I saw them.” Silvi piped up. “I was in the mini-bus on

one occasion. They, they...oh god.”

He marched over to her, grabbed her hair and tugged

hard. “What did you see!” he shrieked.

She gasped in pain. He had her hair in his fist. “Children!

They were kids!”

“Children? How old?”

“Ten or eleven...about.”

“The bastard.” Elvira whispered.

“Where did he get them, domnisoara? Eh? Where?”

Silvia wanted to hold onto her own hair, to relieve the

pain. Before he could tug it again she blurted, “An orphanage,

I think he had an arrangement with an orphanage,” she quickly

added, “I don’t know which one.”

“Is that it, dear one? Everything?”

“Well, he and Spandau...they, they joked about the fact

that the kids might’ve had AIDS and that whoever was abusing

them got what they deserved.”

“And yet, domnisoara, he was raping them himself,

yes?”

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 Silvi mumbled something. Before the captain could tug

her hair again, she said, “Yes, yes he was,” loud and clear.

He let her go and she dropped in a heap to the floor,

whining and clinging on to her scalp.

He walked over to Elvira. “Get up!”

She got to her feet.

“Why did he suddenly get so violent? You had a long-

time understanding, I believe.”

She spoke through her fingers as if she were trying to

keep her face together. “I think it was the cocaine, it made him

crazy.” Then she lost control. “He was fucking them!” she

shouted, spraying blood at the same time. The uniforms all

thought it hilarious and needed a moment or two to bring

themselves under control.

“You see?” continued the officer. “You are a comedienne.

You meant to say that he was raping them, of course!” She

looked away in an effort to avoid his gaze and his halitosis.

“Probably,” she muttered.

“What did you say?” he demanded.

“I said probably he did. Yes, he fucking raped them.”

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 “Did he rape the girl in the woods?” the question was

delivered softly, soothingly.

She thought for a moment then decided. “Probably,” she

said again.

“Only ‘probably’?”

“I wasn’t there, was I?”

He touched the bandage covering the tip of her nose and

pushed hard. She screamed in agony.

“Oh dear, oh dear. Looks like another trip to the hospital

for you, domnisoara.” He waited for her to recover.

“He told me about the girl. He said he had sex with her.

That’s it.”

“And did he kill her, domnisoara?” his question barely

above a whisper. Everyone was listening now, frozen. The air

itself became still. He had drawn her out, onto a tight rope,

unwavering, perfectly balanced.

She met his eyes and kept her focus steady. “Yes, I

suppose he could have… but I don’t know for certain,” and a

trickle of blood ran from her nose and down her chin. She

began to sob.

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 “Domnisoara, now, I think, you understand something

about the monster that you’ve been cohabitating with. I believe

that you always knew it, that you were happy to ignore it as

long as you could continue to enjoy.... what...?” he paused, “to

enjoy... this.” and he gestured with open arms at the room; the

bar and everything in it. Then he left.

They tore the place apart saving only some spirits that

they helped themselves to. They reduced the furniture to sticks

and left the building untenable. As the last uniform was

leaving, he turned to Elvira and spat into the rubble on the

floor. “Well, he wasn’t in here, was he?” He thought for a

moment then added, “The Minister is far too polite. I and my

colleagues, we...uh, we were going to teach the pair of you a

lesson,” and he gripped his crotch for emphasis. Then he

turned to join his colleagues.

Within hours, she’d gathered up the cash hidden in and

around the property. She added it to the considerable sum from

his two stashes in the church and the graveyard and when she

left the train at Arad, the next morning, she emptied the bank

accounts that she used to pay the bills, pay off officials and

launder some of his earnings. Karl had plenty of cash in

foreign banks, but now she had enough to start a new life.

333
 At the hospital, when the doctor came and sat next to her

in the emergency room, she spluttered with a tremor in her

voice, “I’ve been robbed!”

“But domnisoara, someone has stitched you up,” replied

the medic. “Someone extremely skilled.”

“Yes, doctor, but when I got off the tram, I was followed

and mugged. I think my nose is damaged again.”

“Well, let’s have a look, shall we?”

Throughout the ignominy and pain that she endured for

the second time in a matter of days, she found consolation in

reminding herself of the cash that she’d left in the locker at the

railway station. For a pussy, she thought, Karl certainly knew

how to make money!

30. The Minister

Friday. Darius had finished surgery and was checking his

list of house calls. The phone rang.

“Doctor Kala?” Colonel Popar’s cultured tones sounded

a continent away. “I should have mentioned it earlier… you

have an appointment at the police station this afternoon at

three.”

334
 “With whom, colonel?”

“I’m not at liberty to…”

“Not at liberty, Colonel?”

“Doctor?”

“Yes Colonel?”

“Try to be on time.”

Darius was on his guard. He had a strong aversion to

surprises and the last meeting with the colonel left him feeling

more than uneasy. What to expect? Would he be arrested? At

whose behest? Popar’s? The mayor’s? What might the charge

be this time? Treason, or something of similar gravity? But if

they were going to arrest him, wouldn’t they be barging their

way into his house? Or perhaps the help had arrived from

Bucharest.

He was punctual. The uniform at reception was

engrossed in a comic, ‘The Adventures of Tudor’. Darius

remembered reading the same one when he was twelve.

“Take a seat there,” said the officer indicating the bench

opposite his desk. “My name is Imre,” he said. “My father told

me about you, doctor.”

“Please give him my regards.”

“He said you are a good man...”

The doctor nodded.

335
 “...which is why we allowed you to make your own way

here instead of dragging you out of bed by your heels at two

o’clock this morning!”

Darius looked stunned.

Imre waited a few seconds then began braying like a

donkey. He bent over double and lapsed into convulsions. It

sounded as though he were choking. In between gasps, he

blurted “Sorry, sorry...your face...” Then he started again.

Franz had described his son, Imre, as an idiot. Oxygen-

starved at birth. As a doctor, Darius felt inclined to agree.

Within minutes he was summoned by a different voice.

“Kala? Darius Kala?”

“Doctor Kala, yes.”

“Come this way.” A man with a bushy moustache

beckoned from a nearby doorway. The officer led him across

the room, through another door and into a short corridor. “This

way.” Darius wasn’t sure whether the officer was giving him

orders or always spoke in such a brusque manner.

They passed through another door and into a windowless

room. A pebble-dashed room.

“Wait here. Water?”

“No. No water.”

336
 The man disappeared and closed the door behind him.

When Darius tried the handle, it was locked. Perhaps the idiot

wasn’t joking after all. He sat at the table and checked his

gold-plated Sturmanskie with its bomb logo. Yuri Gagarin, the

first man in space, had worn a similar one on that first epic

journey. He’d been in the station for fifteen minutes already.

A fluttering in his chest beat its concern and he

considered, for the first time, the possibility that he was going

to be interrogated. At the speed of thought the idea grew until

he was fighting off memories and images of his cell, of that

darkness... in that room, in that…

The door swung open. An officer so large that he had to

bow to enter, squeezed into the room.

Shorter by half a metre, a thin man followed him

wearing a suit that might have been designed for a Bavarian

hunting party, right down to the jack boots.

The gorilla took up his position by the door and crossed

his huge arms. The other smiled at Darius but there was no joy

there.

“Domnul Kala?”

That voice! Rasping and splintered. Surely, it

can’t be!

337
 The man leaned across the table, craning his neck like a

vulture and bathed the doctor in his foetid breath. “We have

met, I believe,” he said, then gesturing at the colossus by the

door, “And Mozoc, do you remember him?”

My God! It’s him! It’s the Minister! That voice

that reminded him of crows scrapping over a carcass. And the

rank odour. Unmistakeable. The Minister. The officer at Hotel

Bulevard. A man he’d never seen, a man who hid from the

light in, in that, that chamber of horrors. A man he imagined

only existed in his nightmares. And now, before him, the

monster was unmasked. Sick to his stomach, Darius was

desperately trying to keep his lunch down. “Yes, we met.”

“Do you remember my name?”

“The Minister,” whispered the doctor. “Short for

‘Bastard’.”

“Yes, you are not the first to make that

observation.” He grimaced. “I have a message for you...” he

paused. “Stop!”

“Stop? Stop what?”

“How long has it been? Two years? Three?”

“A little more than a year.” Darius tried to keep

his voice level.

338
 The officer exploded, shrieking into Darius’s face.

“And you have already forgotten not to fuck with me!”

Darius would surely have fainted with the stench.

It also occurred to him that the monster could have a stroke.

The Minister produced a paper. It was one of the

leaflets. He waved it in front of Darius’s nose. “This. Stop your

pursuit of the silly gangsters. I interrogated the stupid one

myself, what’s his name?”

“Spandau.”

“Yes. Spandau. Like you, he’ll never again walk

straight. If he knew that Karl had killed her, he would have

told me. He’s not made like you doctor. He’s just a big pussy.

While the pula called Karl was having his fun with Olivia,

Spandau sat in the car and waited. He said he couldn’t do that

to someone he knew. Karl returned to the car after about

fifteen minutes. He told Spandau, ‘That’ll teach Corvin to fuck

with me.’ And that’s it. That’s all he said. So, did he kill her or

not? But Karl’s the smarter one. Disappeared before I could get

to him. It looks as though someone called to warn him. But

everything I understand about this case is no more or less than

I would have expected. And what is one murder, more or less?

I believe the idiot shepherd did it. Understand?”

339
 Darius envisaged his fingers around the Minister’s

scrawny neck. He nodded.

“I’m only telling you this because Popar asked me

very nicely to. I’d just as soon break your precious fingers.

Then you’d have a matching set, no?” He grinned, baring his

top set of rotting teeth.

But Darius was finding his courage. “The regime

has gone, you prick!”

“Hah! You believe that bullshit? I work for the

same people as I always did. Did you say democracy? Just

another word for delusion. Ask the hypocrites in Brussels!”

“But what about truth?” Darius blurted. He felt

affronted. “Doesn’t that matter? Even to you?”

“The truth? Which truth, eh? My truth is the truth

of my paymaster, who also decides what justice is. So, you

see? We’re working towards the same goals, you and I. The

same objectives. For the same leaders, whoever they may be.

They are your leaders too.”

“But the truths that you seek, domnul Minister, change

according to the whims of politicians, and we all understand

how corrupt they are. The truths I seek are universal. They are

always true.”

340
 “Doctor Kala,” the Minister wasn’t going to give any

ground, “who gives a fuck about that truth? It’s merely

sanctimonious garbage spewed from the mouths of hypocrites

like yourself. We have fabricated a world so corrupt, and it is

so ingrained, so compelling, that no-one recognises that ‘truth,’

in fact, it would be easier to eat your own shit,” then staring

hard at Darius he added, “Oh, I’m so sorry...I was forgetting...”

and the lower half of his face cracked in an insane grin once

again.

“But you,” The Minister pointed his finger, “you are

forgetting the most important thing. Your idealistic morality,

yes, let’s call it that, only matters if people give a damn. And

from where I stand and watch the daily bedlam, the chaotic

procession of misery, everyone is far too busy watching their

gods on television or drinking potions or consumed with greed,

or all three, to treat your theory with anything but amusement

at best, and contempt at worst. And they are the morons that

you sacrificed yourself for! And neither will they thank you for

it. Oh no. They’ll continue to watch TV and get fat. Ha!”

Darius understood that disputing the moral high

ground wasn’t going to work. He made an appeal to the

Minister’s sense of posterity. “Look, if we don’t start speaking

the truth, we’ll just end up going round in circles. Revisiting

341
 our past mistakes over and over. People will continue to get

hurt: to suffer for eternity.”

“I have no children, doctor. For me, the future is

here and now. We are animals. Beasts. We grub around with

our noses in the dirt. We breed and spawn another generation

of preliterates. It’s what we do. That is the truth. That is the

future. My bosses want people to appreciate their freedom, so

they make sure that their freedoms are not violated, that those

privileges are valued. And if you’re looking for someone to

uphold the values of this society, then I’m your man.”

“OK,” Darius gave up. What was he doing

debating such principles with this monster? “There’s

something else. I want closure. Do you understand?”

“You have it already.”

“I wish I did.”

“Ha! So, you want revenge; to pull out my fingernails,

one by bloody one?” He scoffed.

Darius was silent. The Minister was making a kind of

sense, however twisted.

“And by the way,” the Minister took on a look of piety,

“doesn’t your god preach forgiveness?”

342
 “God? Did you say god? You, yourself brought me to the

understanding that there is no god.”

“Then what about your precious morality, doctor?”

“I still want you to die. With all of my heart.”

“Because I hurt you? Because I did what I had to

do? I see you have regained something of your spirit, domnul.

Perhaps our acquaintance was too short, but remember this,”

and Darius clapped his hand over his face, as the Minister

moved so close that they were eyeball to eyeball, “I‘d do it

again, in a heartbeat. In the name of my own god.”

Darius stepped back. “Your god?”

“You haven’t been listening, domnul doctor. My

god ran things before the regime existed and has done so since

its collapse, last year. He puts bread on my table and he’s

always right. Mess with him and you mess with me – as you

have found out. I’d just as soon skin a traitor like you as

separate a toddler-touching pervert from his balls. And we’ve

undertaken more than a few of those delicate procedures,

haven’t we Mozoc? Ha! Oh, and let’s not forget your betrayal,

doctor. You remember? How you provided us in so much

detail with the information that led to the arrest and

interrogation of other traitors like you? You see? The truth

343
 always comes out. And in the end…” he held Darius’s gaze.

“In the end, I am justice. And I can be your worst nightmare.”

Darius felt sick. He just wanted to leave. He got

to his feet, but the Minister grabbed his stick.

“You’ll leave when it suits me, you pula prick.”

“So, you didn’t come to the village just to find out

if they killed her; I suppose that Raducanu asked you to do that

as a favour.”

The Minister, always just a moment away from

insane frenzy, looked the doctor over as he considered his

words. “The English have an expression: to kill two birds with

one stone. The pricks were trafficking girls into a war zone.

United Nations don’t like it. Sent a warning to bring it to a halt

or forfeit early NATO negotiations.” He glowered at Darius,

and screeched, “Fucking laugh that is!” Then turning to

Mozoc, they both chuckled. “You see? Even Mozoc thinks

that’s funny. And he never laughs. Now get the fuck out!”

The gorilla grabbed Darius by the arm. Darius

remembered the grip: it’d threatened to stop his blood flow.

But he wasn’t satisfied. He turned back, but the Minister

pushed his face into Darius’s, his black eyes impenetrable.

“Don’t give me a reason, pula!” and Mozoc hauled him back

344
 down the corridor and out to reception where he finally let go.

The Minister followed, carrying Darius’s stick. “Oh, I nearly

forgot. Talking about the shepherd, as we were; he died

yesterday. Fell over I believe. Case closed. Good day, doctor.

Very nice to see you again,” and he handed over the walking

stick, “I hope that soon you won’t be needing this.”

31. Feteasca

Darius had consumed too much coffee. All through his

appointments, he’d been vibrating at a speed, out of sync with

mother nature. His voice said words that approximated his but

weren’t, he felt less in tune with his patients and his dismissal

of them caused him to doubt his own compassion let alone his

capacity to wield an axe. But fate had provided fewer patients

than he might have expected and having escaped at an early

hour, he was pleased to find Eva at home.

“Looks like you’ve given the place a deep clean,” he

said, not unhappily.

“I had nothing else to do,” she explained, “and I bought

some salad, to go with the schnitzel.”

“The schnitzel?” he asked, shouting from the bathroom.

“Yes! To go with the wine; something I found at home!

Feteasca 2005!”

He stuck his head around the bathroom door, water

dripping everywhere. “But 2005 was an exceptional year.”

345
 “I know. And you are an exceptional doctor, doctor.

Otherwise I would have bought a table wine from the Crama,”

she laughed. “Dinner in five minutes.”

Darius was reluctant to discuss his meeting with the

Minister the day before, yet it was uppermost in his mind. He

had to share it. He poured himself a glass of the Feteasca, “The

schnitzel is excellent. Did you make the sauce?”

“I could lie, but yes, I did.” They toasted, “to the future,”

she said.

“And to us,” he said.

“Yes, to us.”

“So who knew about the witnesses, that Flora had agreed

to testify?” The shower had reinvigorated him. He was as

buoyed as ever.

“Popar knew. His spy, the man who trailed us, must’ve

told him.”

“Which means, of course, that Popar is involved and

doesn’t want Karl to be implicated, just like the mayor and the

local police.”

“It’s getting scary Darius. Are we all on our own here?”

He savoured the wine, letting it settle in his mouth. Not

too dry and not too bitter. So not too many tannins. “We are

not alone, Eva. I called for help.”

“Help? Who did you call?”

346
 “I called a friend in Bucharest. He works in the

revolutionary government. We were both dissidents, he and I. I

was caught and he is now a Senator. Well, he sent someone

and yesterday I met him. They’ve arrested Spandau. Spandau

admitted that they raped Olivia but didn’t kill her. I’m sure he

told them the truth. I’m familiar with The Minister’s methods.”

“Who Darius? Who is the Minister?”

“An old acquaintance, someone I thought I’d never see

again.”

“Is it a secret?”

“Not from you, dear Eva.” He took another gulp of his

wine. “The Minister is the monster who tortured me, and I

know that…”

“Oh, Darius. I’m so sorry…”

Darius ploughed on. “And he told me that Karl has

gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes, he vanished the night after Elvira came here… the

night after he beat her up. Someone warned him that the

Minister was looking for him, to question him about child

trafficking.”

“Seriously? But that’s good news.”

“He also told me that Costel died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I nev…”

347
 There was a knock at the door.

Darius got up, “Pour me another glass of that excellent

wine. What was it called? I’ve forgotten.” Looking back he

said, “I don’t know who this is, but tonight, I’m going

nowhere.”

Eva wasn’t a wine drinker but having decided that there

was no harsh or acidic aftertaste, she thought it tasted fine, and

after a glass, she was feeling fine too. Fine and relaxed.

Perhaps she should get more while it was available. Tonight

they had a real reason to celebrate. The gangsters were no

longer a threat. She raised the glass to her lips and savoured the

smooth flavours of the vintage. Perhaps, she thought, I’ll order

a whole case.

She began to feel the evening chill on her skin as the

night air encroached through the open front door. “Darius?

Who is it?”

No response.

“Darius?”

She rose from her seat and made her way along the hall,

running the last few steps. The door stood ajar. No-one there.

She stepped outside. From the gate, she looked one way, then

the other. Nothing stirred. “Oh my god,” she whispered,

“They’ve taken him.” Not quite knowing who they were.

348
 She waited. Somehow, she knew that calling the police

was not an option. Around half an passed, then the phone rang.

“Hello? Darius?” she said, unable to keep the alarm out of her

voice.

“Get out!”

“What? Who is this?”

“Go home. Do it now. And say nothing to anyone if you

want to see him again. Do you understand?”

“Uh, yes. I think so.”

The line went dead.

32. The chair 

The hot flushes came and went. He fought it down;

stopped the panic from overwhelming him. Thoughts of

Kerouac being ‘cool’. ‘Stay cool,’ he thought. ‘Really cool.’

‘Daddio’. Eva would be proud. Yes, make her proud, and keep

your cool. No sense in struggling against his bindings. Where

was this place? Was he back in that stinking hellhole? Perhaps

he’d never left. Perhaps he’d just dreamed everything up: his

return to the village, dreamed up Olivia, the gangsters, Corvin

and Eva. Here he was, tied to a wooden chair, much like the

chair in Jilava, but without a hole in the seat. Close, sure. But

yes, a different chair.

349
 Through the loose weave of the hood, he could discern

light; dull and yellow. Artificial light. Inside the hood, his head

was throbbing. Who were they? These people? His captors in

Jilava would never have allowed him to wear his own

clothes.  They were here, close. He sensed them, smelled them.

He’d tried to speak, once. Someone had pushed his head

sharply forward. “Say ‘one’ or ‘two’ for the toilet,” the voice

said. “Understand?” 

How long? An hour? Maybe two? He just made out the

breathing, mainly his own. Someone slapped him hard. It was

that last thing he’d been expecting, and it startled him as much

as it hurt. It stung him and made his ears ring and through the

ringing he heard, “Where is it?” 

“Where is what?” he responded. It was the wrong

answer. Another slap. “You bastards!” he shouted into the

room, trying to rail against them but the tape held him fast. His

wrists hurt. Fingers at his throat. Choking him. He couldn’t

breathe. Severe pain below his jaw.

Regaining consciousness, he felt sick. A voice said, “Tell

me about the symbols.” 

“Symbols?” 

“Symbols doctor, the lady with the symbols.” 

350
 Mariana. They must be talking about her. He sensed

another assault. Quickly, he said, “Wait! It’s the lady I met

who worked with Lena. Is that it?” 

“I ask the questions. Keep going.” 

“I wanted to find Lena. The lady responded to my

advertisement. She told me, when we met, that they’d been

friends at school, and they lost touch. They met again by

chance in Ineu and resumed their friendship.” He stalled. “May

I have some water, please?”

The hood lifted just far enough for him to drink from a

cup. The thought crossed his mind that it might be urine, a

favourite source of amusement for the guards in Jilava. He

sipped with caution. Then he guzzled it down.

“The symbols.”

“Yes, they became good friends, and Lena told her about

a club where she worked, and the woman got a job there too…

I can’t remember the details exactly, there was a ledger which

Lena found with strange symbols in it. Apparently the owner

got angry when he saw her looking at it. She drew the symbols

for her friend, and her friend drew them for me.

“Name?”

“She never told me her…”

351
 Another slap. Harder. “What was her name!?”

“Fuck!” he shouted. “I’m going as fast…OK, OK, when

we met,” he was speaking too fast now, “she said it was better

I didn’t know. And fuck you!”

They laughed. He detected at least two voices, but it

could be three. He was becoming more stressed, his heart was

racing. No warning when the next blow was coming. Or from

which direction.

“What do the symbols mean domnul?”

“I think one of them meant…” he paused, “fuck you and

your moth…”

A punch this time, to the temple. It would have knocked

him and the chair over, but someone held him upright. The

blow stunned him. He almost blacked out. He shook his head

and shouted “bastards!” again, and remembered the old routine

with the Minister, how he would tell himself police jokes.

Maybe they weren’t police. He had no idea who they were, but

he would do it anyway.

“How many policemen does it take to change a light

bulb?” he blurted. “Come on! Guess.”

Then the lights went out.

352
 They were still moving when they bundled him out of the

car. Now free of the plastic ties, he broke his fall with his arms

and rolled over, hitting his head. The hood remained in place

and exacerbated his panic. He lay there for a moment or two to

catch his breath; to confirm he was no longer under threat of

punishment, to give his heart time to stop pounding. With

grazed hands, he pulled off the hood to find himself in the road

outside of his house. He lay in the quiet, in the dark, hurting

just about everywhere. But mostly his knees and one hip,

which bore the brunt of his fall, and his hand.

How to get in? He had no keys. He limped to the kitchen

door. It was unlocked but something was behind it. He

shouldered his way in, enough, at least, to open a gap he could

squeeze through. A chair was blocking it, but once he pushed it

aside, he found the light switch then slumped to the floor. The

scene was one of devastation. Had an earthquake happened?

All the cupboards were emptied out, their contents strewn

everywhere, many of them broken. He straightened a chair and

sat near the phone.

“Hello, operator?”

“How can I help?”

He gave her Eva’s number.

“Hello?”

353
 “Eva?”

“Darius!” she gasped.

33. Clean up

She inserted her key into the front door and tried to

shove her way inside. The resistance was plenty of cause for

concern. Eva had no way of knowing what to expect but once

inside, the scale of the wreckage took her breath away. Clothes

were strewn everywhere and wooden panels which lined the

hall had been ripped off, revealing rough plasterwork and

wiring which hung loose from its housing. “Oh, my good god,”

she whispered. Venturing further very slowly and careful not

to step on anything.

“Darius?” she called. “Darius!”

In the kitchen she stopped and listened. What was that

sound? Kind of muted and persistent, like a sick animal.

“Darius! Oh my god!” She rushed forward. “Darius!

What happened to you?”

Slumped in a corner, his grazed knees exposed through

the torn fabric, dried blood encrusting his hair, his hands and

his clothes, his bruised and swollen face was barely

recognisable.

“What happened to you, Darius? What did they do?”

354
 He looked up at her, his face streaked with dried blood

and tears, and said, “I didn’t tell them. Please believe me, I

didn’t tell them anything.”

“Of course, I believe you, dear Darius. But what didn’t

you tell them?” she said, inspecting his head for gashes. Then

she noticed he was holding one hand with the other, gripping it

tightly.

“Can I see it, darling Darius? Can I see?” She tried to pry

his fingers loose, but he gripped more firmly.

“They asked about the symbols,” he said, gasping and

wincing.

“I need to see it, my darling. OK? Let me see.” She eased

his fingers away until she could see what he was holding so

tightly. She gasped. Three fingers on his right hand were

missing the nails.

“Because I betrayed them. That’s why they did it.

Because I killed them.”

He was babbling, almost incoherently. She asked, “Who

did you kill? Who, Darius?”

“The others, before. When I was in…in Jilava. Living

with the cockroaches - like one of them, like a bug.” He was

delirious.

She put her arms around him and rocked him. “It’s all

over now, Darius.”

355
 “I never mentioned anyone, not a word, Eva. I promise.”

She bolted the doors and unplugged the phone. He had

strong painkillers in his case. The brandy bottle was

miraculously intact, she gave him a shot then bathed his

wounds then put his damaged hand in a sling. She sat in a

bedside chair and watched him while he slept. And when she

began clearing up, he never flinched.

Eva could see the sun rise through the bedroom window.

With a mug of coffee in hand she tried to connect with a rather

shabby-looking copy of On the Road. It was falling out of its

spine and opened at a place where a ‘tenorman’ was engaging

with someone who was asking what the good of a ‘ball’ was.

Impenetrable she thought. But, in any case, she was finding it

hard to concentrate. Darius hadn’t moved. Sometime in the

following afternoon, she woke to find him watching her. It was

difficult to know how long he’d been awake or whether he was

pleased.

“Would you like to eat?”

“Toast,” he replied. “And coffee.”

“Shall I call for a doctor?”

“Nothing’s broken,” he said. “Not even my spirit.” He

didn’t return her smile. He couldn’t.

356
 “I’ve cleaned up,” she said. “Do you want to keep that

painting. It’s damaged.”

“Show me.”

He became animated when he saw Nicu’s painting. The

canvas had a tear. He turned it over with his good hand. They

had ripped away the cardboard protection on the back. Even

though it was a gift from Olivia, he wondered if it was worth

keeping. Tape had been used to fix the cardboard to the

wooden frame and most of it was still in place. With Eva’s

help, he began to pull it off, strip by strip, and when it was

gone, he saw, on one side, a sliver of paper had been tucked

between the rear of the canvass and the frame. Carefully, as if

it were ancient, fragile papyrus, Eva teased it out.

“Eva! Look at it!” he sounded excited. “What is it?”

It had been folded longways to sit concealed behind the

frame. When they smoothed it out flat on the bed, they saw

that it was the centre fold of a ledger.

“Oh my god!” Eva could hardly contain herself. “It’s part

of a ledger! See? On the left, the date, in the centre the names

and on the right, the strange symbols.

“It’s from the ledger that Mariana talked about!” He

looked at Eva. “It must be what they were looking for.”

“But who stashed it in there?” she asked.

357
 Immediately, Darius’s mind returned to when he first

noticed it on the wall. “Olivia gave it to me. She put it up one

day while she was cleaning.” In great pain, he tried to move.

“Can you help me to sit up a little?”

Stuffing more pillows behind him, she asked, “Is this

OK?”

But he was trying to remember something. “I remember

now,” he said. “She said something like, ‘the truth is right

there, you can’t see it, but it’s there.’ She must’ve taken it from

Corvin’s ledger and put it in there. Must’ve known how

important it was.”

“This is what they were looking for, Darius. They

ransacked the place for it.”

“Yes, of course.” He seemed shocked. “They kept asking

me about the symbols, kept saying, ‘where is it?’ and I had no

idea what they wanted.”

They stared at the paper. “And we still don’t know what

we’re looking at,” she said.

“Effectively,” she said, “we have four pages here.” They

poured over it, gasping at each new discovery. “Oh my god.

Look at these names, Darius. Just look!”

He nodded. “Is there anyone here that you don’t know?”

TV personalities, politicians, party members, all from the top

tier of society.

358
 Eva pointed to a name halfway down the first page.

“Marescu,” she said. “He was secretary to the party for the

whole of Transylvania at one point. He gets a bicycle. How

about you?”

Darius touched a name on the right-hand side. “Not sure

who this, ‘Lupica’ is.”

“When they taught you at school, about how the party

was transformed, you must have been sleeping. He was part of

the incoming ‘inner-circle’.”

“Oh.”

“And our domnul Lupica gets a...an oblong on an arc.”

At the foot of page four, came the greatest surprise. “And

here,” said Darius, “is our old friend Popar. A glittering, black

jewel at the heart of this dark subterfuge.” He felt like a child

who had discovered a treasure chest in a secret cave. “He also

gets an oblong on an arc. It appears,” he said, “that only three

or four attended the club on any one date.”

“So, doctor, the club was made available to just a handful

of these at a time. Very exclusive, and I’m guessing, very

expensive.” She made a quick calculation. “To summarise,

then, having counted everything up, eighteen enjoyed sex

while riding a bicycle, fifteen preferred to rock backwards and

forwards in order to intensify…”

359
 “What did you say?” He’d only been half listening. “The

last thing.”

“I said, fifteen preferred rocking…”

“That’s it! Let me see…” he checked the symbol, an

oblong on an arc. “Don’t you see? You truly are a genius, Eva.”

She stared at him. Mouth agape. “What?”

“It’s a rocking horse.”

She checked the symbol. Looked at similar examples.

“Yes. It’s a bit of a stretch, but yes, it is a pula mea rocking

horse.” Then she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I

didn’t mean to...” she blushed.

Things were sliding into place like the tumblers on a

safe.

And now they looked at the third image. The test tube on

a line on a circle.

“Instead of glass, what about, metal?” he suggested.

“No.”

“Wood?”

“No, again.”

“I know—what do we use in safe sex?”

She looked up. “We use rubber. Yes, we do.”

Again, they scrutinised the symbol, “So rubber...”

360
 “Got it!” she jumped out of her seat. “It’s a stupid

dummy!”

“A dummy?” he couldn’t make it out.

“Yes, a baby’s dummy. See? The circle for the grip?”

“Yes, yes I see it.” he shouted. “I think I’d like to drink

something stronger.”

She found the brandy and poured one for herself too.

“So, eighteen like to ride a bicycle, fifteen a rocking

horse...” he said, “three while sucking a du… but that can’t be

right...” Then his eyes lit up. “Of course, of course.” He held

her face between his thumb and fingers of his good hand. “The

symbols refer to stages of childhood.”

“Yes!” she said. “It’s so obvious! And the colours, the

colours… well, they refer to, to… to gender! Blue for boys,

red, or dark pink, for girls.”

Now, as they scanned the pages afresh, they digested the

full horror of what they were looking at.

“Eva, it can’t be,” his eyes wide in disbelief.

“Yes, domnul doctor. Yes, it can.”

“Oh, my g… but this is grim. And now we have a

crime.”

“And now we have dozens of crimes.” She sat back in

her chair and emptied her glass.

361
 In Darius’s current inspired state, he made a further

connection. The image of the three girls crayoned on that

bedstead came to mind. “So that, Eva, that’s why they needed

my house. My fucking house!”

“What are you talking about, Darius?”

He told her about the crayon drawing of the three girls.

“They used my house to accommodate these children.”

“Oh my god! Darius, scumpetele, this is very, very

dangerous.”

“Indeed. It’s radioactive. And it’s unstable.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll go to the surgery. I have to make a

photocopy of this document. Eva, if you want out, I

understand. I really do.”

“Doctor, I’m in for the ride, all of it. Just try and stop me.

But who can we trust? Eh? Who can we trust?”

34. Warning

“Is it real?” Darius asked, sniffing the scent on Eva’s

scarf. She had doused it in Chanel No. 5 and pulled the scarf

up to her eyes.

“The Gypsy assured me that it was genuine.”

“Well, that guarantees it then,” she smiled.

362
 “Look. Before I paid him, I read every word on the box.

My French is perfect and there were no, that is, ‘non,’ spelling

mistakes.”

They found a parking space then entered the police

station together.

Without looking up from his children’s comic, Imre

pushed his policeman’s cap back on his policeman’s head.

“Buna ziua doctor. Have you come for your interrogation?”

“Ha, ha, yes, thank you Imre. You’re so funny. And your

father asked me to remind you that it’s time to go home for

your supper.”

“My father said that?”

“Imre, I’d like to speak to the Minister.”

“I wouldn’t advise that, doctor. He doesn’t like being

disturbed.” He looked up and found that he was unable to stop

staring at the doctor, his mouth wide open. “What the pula

mea…what happened to you doctor?”

“It’s urgent,” said Darius. “Just get him.”

By the time Mozoc showed up, they’d been waiting ten

minutes or more. He looked Darius up and down. “Did you get

trapped in some machinery?” he grinned, then turned his

attention to Eva. “She Muslim?”

363
 “No, she isn’t.” Eva said. “She is sick.”

“Is she coming?” Mozoc still refusing to address her.

“Yes, she is,” he replied.

“Why?”

“I want her there.”

“Show me your face!” He demanded, finally facing her.

“I want to see what you look like.”

She lowered the scarf and Mozoc stared at her for a few

seconds.

“Now, you stay here,” he said.

“No! I’m coming with the doctor.”

“That’s right,” said Darius. “And I have some very

important information for your boss. Show him this.” And he

handed Mozoc an envelope.

“Wait here,” and Mozoc disappeared through the door

which said ‘private.’

The pair had been sitting on the hard bench for twenty

minutes or so when he returned. He simply gestured for them

to follow, and leading the way, ushered them into the room

then took up his place by the door.

364
 The Minister was sitting on the edge of the table. “Take

off your scarf!” he said to Eva. “Show me your face.”

She took a step back.

“She’s sick,” said Darius, “She…”

“I said… take it off.”

She pulled it down and as the captain stepped closer, she

held her breath. He scanned her face, every centimetre of it. “I

won’t forget you,” he hissed. “Not, ever. Do you understand?”

She nodded and pulled the scarf back in place.

“I didn’t hear you, domnisoara!”

“Yes!” she shouted back at him. “Yes! Do you pula-mea

hear me now, domnul boss man!”

Darius smiled at her, and he was still smiling when he

looked at the Minister. The fear had gone.

The captain picked up some papers that lay on the table.

“This is a photocopy,” he said, “and I have noted the names on

it. What the mother’s pussy do you want?”

“As I recall,” Darius said, “you mentioned that you’d

just as soon castrate a pervert – a child molester - as skin a

traitor. Is that correct?”

365
 No reaction. The Minister glared at him. Then he

blinked. Once. “Where’s the original?”

“In the bank. Just in case. You know.”

“Keep it there. Do you understand? Never take it

out. If you do, it will be the end of you.”

“But you don’t understand what...”

“I understand everything… perfectly.”

“Everything?”

“More than you know, doctor.”

“Then...”

“You have been warned. If I tell them you have this

paper, you’re dead. There will be nowhere for you to hide. You

know your way out.”

“God, I could smell it through the Chanel!” Eva was

applying antiseptic to his damaged fingers. “Darius, I’d like to

ask you something personal, I hope you don’t mind.”

“What is it?”

“If he’s the one who, who tortured you…I mean…”

366
 Darius took a sip of his wine. “All history now. Yes, he is

the monster.”

“Then what I don’t understand, is why you were willing

to gamble by going to him for help.”

“I didn’t. Raducanu sent him. But in hindsight, he was

the best candidate. The bastard is merciless.”

“When he looked at me, I shivered inside. It was as

though he could see into my soul. I never want to meet him

again.”

“Me too. So, who do you think sent the jokers who

kidnapped me and ordered the search of the house?”

It seemed that Eva had already considered it. “Two

candidates: Corvin or Popar. Corvin because it’s his ledger and

Popar because he’s in it.”

“Yes. And I can’t approach either one to tell them to stop

because then, they’d know I have the ledger entries.”

Eva put her hand to her mouth. “Yes, and once they have

it, they’d kill you. And me too.”

“So, the Minister is correct. Leave it in the bank and

forget about it.” He met her gaze and opened his mouth to

speak, “But then…”

367
 Dear Diary 3

September offers no respite as from an unbroken sky, the

sun continues to irradiate all life. The sound of crying children

is a daily mantra, and a rumour has circulated that the well is

drying up. Whenever conditions become unbearable, people

prophesy for the worst in a kind of death-wish which almost

but never quite includes kicking the stool away. Nevertheless,

the thrill of the possibility remains.

With this in mind, it becomes easier to comprehend the

mindset of the local chief-of-police who was discovered in his

garage, hanging from a beam that had refused to snap, and

wearing nothing more than erotic female underwear of a pale

shade of green. Not recognising the frilly baby doll outfit nor

the accompanying fish-net stockings and suspenders twinset,

the 60-year-old widow, in a frantic attempt at denial, has

appealed for the real owner to come forward, but regardless,

has been incongruously dubbed, ‘G-string’, in the same way

that Costel was assigned the title of ‘Flat Dog’ and Loredana

the ‘Luminous One’. It’s the potency of stigmatism, the

unfailing weapon of choice for citizens of the underclass, who

deploy it in order to feel good about themselves.

I heard, a week or more ago, that the Bar Continental

has closed down. The owner, the demagogue Karl, has

vanished and Elvira, his partner followed suit after her run-in

368
 with the Minister. Corvin, being alone now, threatens to leave

for Sweden, or so he says. I hope he finds peace there. I’m not

sure he has ever understood what it means.

And the Minister? After cleaning up the trafficking for

which Spandau has shouldered the burden, he’s crawled back

into his hole never, I imagine, to show his face here again.

Curiously, he now guards my secret, and my safety therefore,

rests in his hands. Did I detect a soul in there? No, surely not.

Interestingly, I have come to pity him which in my eyes,

equates him with the homeless and the starving.

I got the job of resetting Spandau’s nose and inserted a

few dozen stitches. I also treated his feet as best I could; I

considered mentioning that speaking from experience, walking

would be different now. I passed.

Baba was right. You look for one thing and find another.

Eva can never replace Lena, neither does she want to. With

her, I have a future I could never have imagined. It’s more than

enough.

In Romania, so the saying goes, anything can happen.

That’s the hope and the fear of it. Every day, I apply plasters to

the wounds of the incurable and marvel at their powers of

endurance. They know that I’m on their side. Fighting their

corner.

369
 35. The Gypsy

Winter

Darius closed his journal. Today’s entry, a retrospective

endeavour summarising his new life, now almost a year old,

highlighted the futility of expectation. The gratitude and hope

he’d felt on returning to his childhood home hadn’t lasted

twenty-four hours. And in the event, the mayor hadn’t fired

him; the motivation to do so had evaporated with Costel’s

death. Lena had in fact, vanished as too had Karl, and the

‘accidental’ deaths of Floara and Flaviu, would feed the loose

tongues for a generation.

‘What’s one more murder?’ Wasn’t that what the

Minister had said? Well, Darius thought it was time to pay his

respects to a young life, Olivia, who might have amounted to

something, a young girl with true existential promise. The grey

heavens, full to brimming, finally released its cargo and by the

time he reached the spot, everything lay beneath ten

centimetres of snow.

The black metal cross that stood guard at the roadside

accompanied a message on a wooden plaque. ‘For Olivia, a

promise unfulfilled. One of the innocents. One of us’. Just

beyond the line of trees lay the clearing that led to the lake.

370
 And as he considered making his way to the spot where he’d

dragged her stiffened body from the water, large globs of snow

began to pitter-patter on his shoulders. He pulled his cap down

to protect his face.

Long before he saw the man, he heard him. The

rambling, not-quite-out-of-tune refrain seemed to go on and

on, round and round, never reaching a climax. Darius thought

it ‘jolly nonsense’. The Gypsies would have another name.

He came crunching through the snow, pushing his

outsize bicycle and spoke through his Fu Manchu moustache

that was coated in a fine glistening powder.

“This is not a good place, domnul. Something bad

happened here.”

How should he respond? How should he begin

discussing the tragedy of Olivia with a complete stranger?

“Indeed,” he replied, barely above a whisper.

The man moved away then he stopped and looked back.

“I was here you know.”

Darius came alive. Circuits in his brain flickered on and

connected; the dormant engine behind his eyes began to hum.

“What did you say?”

“I was right here...when it happened.”

371
 Darius’s head was spinning. He stood closer. “You mean

just after it happened? Yes?”

“No, domnule, I mean when it happened.” He eyed the

doctor from beneath the wide brim of his black hat, “I heard

them, eh? They were in there” and he pointed into the clearing.

Darius became animated. “What...I mean, I’m not sure if

I heard you correctly…what happened?”

“I was walking past, pushing my bike, just like now, eh?

I didn’t really see them, but I could see their movement

through the trees. They were arguing. He was very angry, and

she was crying.”

“Why didn’t you do something?” Darius raised his voice

and the man stepped back.

“What should I have done, domnul? A man and a woman

need space to settle their differences, eh?”

Incredulous, Darius continued, “And what did you hear?

I mean, what were they, what exactly were they saying?” He

was rushing his words.

“Oh, he said terrible things to her. I don’t want...”

“Domnul! What did he say?”

372
 “Well, he was calling her names... like ‘whore’ and

‘slut’. And she was screaming at him, ‘it’s not true!’ and ‘it’s

not fair!’ She said it over and over again.”

“It’s not fair?” Just a child, he thought, after all…

“Yes.”

“And then...?”

“I heard something, it sounded like he hit her.”

“My god.”

“I’m sorry, domnul.” The man gripped the handlebars on

his bicycle impatiently.

“No, no wait. Please.” Darius counted his breaths, one,

two, three, hold, out, two, three... “And what happened then?”

“I didn’t really stop...just slowed down as I went on my

way. Well, after he hit her, everything became quiet.”

“And did you see the vehicle?”

“Yes, it was right there,” he pointed to the black cross,

“next to a bicycle. Nicer one than this, domnul.” and his head

bobbed from side to side in apology for his rusting machine. “I

just kept going, eh? And later, the car passed me.”

“And that’s it?”

373
 “That’s it.”

“Domnul, I heard you playing the harmonica.”

“Oh yes,” the Gypsy smiled. “All my life I played her,

eh!” He gave a quick trill up and down the scale.

“And you were playing a harmonica on that day?”

“Always, domnul.” A big grin now, showing the gaps in

his teeth.

“But not this one, eh? Not this harmonica.”

“Well...”

“So, domnul, tell me what happened. You have nothing

to fear from me. I’m a doctor.”

The man hesitated, then came to a decision. “OK. I’ll tell

you what happened. I went back. I’m curious, you know?”

“Curious about the nice bicycle?”

“No! Domnul. No! Not for that. And anyway, when I

returned, there is no bicycle,” he said, almost in triumph.

“And?”

“I went there.” Again, pointing at the black cross. “I

stepped into the clearing. I see nothing. I walk towards the

lake. Then I see...” he hesitated, “I see her...in the water.”

374
 “Did you try to get her out?”

The man bowed his head. “She was gone. Turned the

corner, eh? Staring, she was, at the sky, flies already circling.

She was beautiful, domnul. A beautiful gajica, yes, very young

and very beautiful. Then the water spilled into her mouth

and...and she...she was gone, you know? I got away from there.

Quick!”

“And that was it?”

“Everything, domnul. Everything.” He waved his arms to

push ‘everything’ away. “When I was far away, I remembered

my harmonica and looked in my pocket…and she’s gone too! I

must have dropped her, back there. But I wasn’t going back to

look. A bad place domnul.”

“And the men in the car? Did you see them when they

passed you?”

“It was a long time ago. I don’t know. And it wasn’t

men, it was ‘man’. Just one man.”

“Just one? Are you certain?”

“Tovaresh, I can count you know. The difference

between one and two, even I know, eh?”

“Did you see his face? At all?”

375
 “Sorry, domnul, sorry.”

“But what was the colour?”

“Colour?”

“Of the car. Please try to remember. It’s very important.”

“To you domnul: important to you. So, tell me, how

important is it?” His eyes sparkled and Darius understood.

He fumbled around in his pockets, but the man waved at

him to stop. “If you give me baksheesh, I’m going to the

Continental to get drunk, and then I’ll wake with a swollen

head and an angry wife. My children will still be hungry, and,

domnul” he hesitated, “you’ll never know if I told you the

truth.”

Darius was startled at his matter-of-fact summation.

“Will you tell me the truth?”

“I will exchange the truth.”

“An exchange? An exchange of truths? What do you

want to know?”

“Why was she so important to you? Why are you still

curious about her death?”

The questions hung there, between them. The snow fall

became heavier, cocooning them inside the moment.

376
 Darius brushed the snow from his face. “At that time, she

was the only friend I had.”

“My dog is my best friend, tovaresh,” he laughed. “One

day, he’ll also go around the corner. So please, answer my

questions.”

Darius creased his brow and focused his thoughts. Then

he spoke. “She was loving and considerate and very kind. She

was funny and observant...and she had good taste and, and she

was desperately confused...and... she liked me…and I really

miss her.”

“And she lived it all in that little space in time, eh?” he

spoke quietly now. Almost reverentially.

“Yes. I suppose she did.” Darius looked up to see the

man disappearing behind a white veil. He blinked the snow

from his eye-lashes, “And she was a free spirit like no other.

She accepted me, without question for who I was. A true

friend.”

“So, you act out of friendship?” The man’s voice calmer

now, more measured.

“More than that. I loved her in a way that I cannot

explain. She was so vital, she brought light into my life and she

was so very innocent. And I should have protected her.”

377
 “So much for one so young, eh?”

“Yes. So much, and…” And her killer is still out there,

he thought. If I can find the truth, bring him to justice then no

one can say I didn’t do my best.

“And… doctor?”

“Well, there’s something else. Her situation was difficult.

She asked me for help. I turned her down. Had I acted

differently, she’d still be here now, I’m sure of it.”

“Ah, yes. How powerful is guilt? Eh? But you shouldn’t

be so hard on yourself; you must’ve done what you thought

was best.”

“Yes, of course… but it isn’t the first time I’ve let

someone down.”

“With such tragic consequences, doctor?”

“Probably, probably,” he said. And once again, he heard

Olivia’s voice saying ‘probably…help’. “I betrayed them,

domnul, I might as well have put the noose around their necks

myself.”

“And this was before the fall of the devil and his wife?”

“Uh, yes.”

378
 The gypsy considered the information for a moment or

two.

“Forgive me but, is your walking stick related to your

‘betrayal’, doctor?”

Darius nodded.

“Yes, now I understand,” he said. “And the scar on your

face… did you get that in prison?”

He nodded once again.

“I think you’ve already paid the price, domnul doctor.

And thank you for your honesty.”

Darius looked at the man through the white matrix, “But

now it’s your turn.”

“I’ve already had my turn, nu-i-asha? And now you

know that everything I’ve told you is the truth.”

“The car? The black Mercedes?”

“Mercedes? I know what a Mercedes looks like. I named

my eldest daughter Mercedes and my first boy Elvis. It wasn’t

any fancy German car. It was the same one that everybody

drives...and it wasn’t black.”

“What colour was it?”

379
 He shrugged, “sorry,” he said simply. He held out his

hand and gripped the handlebars again, “If I don’t go now, I

won’t be able to go anywhere.”

“But why?” he asked the gypsy, “Why did you not tell

anyone? Why?”

“Look,” said the Gypsy, “we say, nothing good comes

from nothing good, eh?” He rubbed his chin. “Look at me

doctor, when the policeman sees me, what does he see, eh?

And once they’d discovered my harmonica by the lake, what

more proof would they need?”

Darius looked at him as if for the first time. “I’m sorry,

domnul. You have spent a lifetime dodging bullets.”

“Oh, that’s alright, that’s what keeps me sharp, and I

have to stay sharp, eh?”

“Look, my comment about the nice bicycle, I didn’t

mean...”

“Anyway...” the man interrupted, removing his hat to

shake off the snow, “it’s all over now, tovaresh. They got him,

didn’t they?”

Darius’s fingers and toes were becoming numb. He

shivered as the encounter had brought all the memories back.

380
 But he’d changed; perhaps he’d become a little more glib,

more callous even.

Resuming his journey, the man called back, “See!” and

he held up his harmonica “I have a new one!” and he continued

the same meandering ditty as if their conversation had been a

mere interruption.

Darius’s mind couldn’t keep pace as the pieces of the

puzzle were dropping into place. In a daze, he watched as the

black hat disappeared into the bleached landscape. The weather

was deteriorating fast. He didn’t like this. No. Not at all.

He couldn’t stop thinking about a lone killer driving a

Dacia. He scoured his memory, concentrated hard to remember

something important, to make a link. Then he had it. Nicolae

wasn’t old enough to drive, but when he came to the surgery in

Vedra Noua, two villages away from his home, he’d driven his

uncle’s car. Yes, that was it.

On the way back, he expected to pass the gypsy at any

moment, but he’d vanished. There were no turnings he might

have taken, nowhere to shelter from the storm. He thought

about the white horse.

36. The Diary

The journey home was a blur and he had little

recollection of it; of how he’d struggled to stay on the road

381
 while avoiding the ditches masked by heavy snow drifts; how

he’d maintained momentum so that he wouldn’t end up

spinning his wheels but getting nowhere. When he arrived at

home, his muscles were as tight as a drum. The terracottas in

the kitchen and the living room needed stoking and re-lighting

and log supplies had to be replenished from the woodpile in the

road outside. Everything done in a daze, on autopilot, while he

attempted to sift, to make sense of the information that the

gypsy had so matter-of-factly dropped in his lap, turning his

world on its head.

He wandered over to the piano and sat down, and in the

silence, in the dark, he was suddenly transported back there, to

that time when Olivia had said, ‘Uh...probably help…probably

help.’ What had she been playing? Something by Eric Satie.

He tried to remember. Removing the dust sheet completely for

the first time since she’d played it, since that other, long ago

time, he opened the keyboard and spread his fingers on the

notes. He hit low C. There was strong resistance. No

movement; no sound. The hammer hadn’t touched the string.

He tried the notes either side of it. The same.

Lifting the top lid, he peered inside. Not much light. He

fumbled around. Something lay there, at the lower end, holding

the hammers down. His fingers made contact and he retrieved

a slim package. His hand was shaking as he pulled out the

382
 brown paper bag, and he took it through to the kitchen. He

removed the contents. A book. It had a swirling black and

orange pattern on the vinyl cover. This was important. His

heart picked up a pace and he held the book as though it were a

holy relic. It wasn’t in the piano when Olivia had played it. She

must’ve put it there.

Inside, on the first page, the words ‘My Diary’ were

written in large, left sloping letters. She used to leave notes for

him; her jerky yet eminently readable hand was unmistakeable.

It was her diary for sure; a diary which she had decided to hide

in his piano. Yes, that day when she’d been sat at the piano,

asking some very probing questions, asking ‘for a friend,’ and

Corvin had interrupted them. Things happened so fast: the

slamming of the lid, the smashed ballerina. He thought she had

shut the keyboard lid but now he realised it was the top lid –

after she’d deposited her diary inside. Of course! She didn’t

want Corvin to see it. Corvin’s voice came back to him, ‘Did

she leave anything here?’ he asked. ‘A package that didn’t

belong to her.’ When Darius prompted him, he wouldn’t say

what it was. That day would be the last time he’d see her alive.

He read the diary from cover to cover and with

each page his horror grew until he sat hugging the book in

shock. In disbelief.

383
 In the snow bright early evening gloom, he stood

across the road from Corvin’s house. The falling temperature

had halted the snowfall.

“Corvin!” he shouted. “Corvin!” Over and over

until eventually the man appeared.

“Is everything OK, doctor?”

“She was right, Corvin. Wasn’t she?”

“Who? Who was right?”

“Your beloved, traumatised and extremely

courageous wife. That’s who. I’m talking about Lydia,

domnul.”

“And what was she right about, doctor?”

“‘Don’t let him fool you’ she said. Don’t you

remember?”

Corvin stared at Darius and slowly a smile spread

across his face.

“She was upset, as you know. She blamed me for

everything.”

Darius took the diary from his coat pocket and

held it up for Corvin to see.

“Is this what you were looking for?”

384
 “Looking for, doctor? I don’t understand.”

“That night in the summer. We had a power cut.

You left everything as you’d found it, well, almost. You must

have given up and left before the power returned. It’s how I

knew. The lights came on. I never leave the lights on.”

“Me, doctor?”

“Yes, Corvin, you. Using the key you took from

Olivia.” He dangled the book in the air. “I’ve read it. All of it.

More than once. It contains everything you feared it would.”

“Really?”

“You probably thought it would be hidden in her

room somewhere, no? That after you killed her, you would

turn it upside down until you found it. Isn’t that how it was,

Corvin?”

“I have no idea what...” and he took two steps

towards Darius. “Let me see it.”

“It won’t make any difference. There is a witness.

He saw the whole thing. He saw you, Corvin. Saw you take

that beautiful life. I spoke to him today. Out by the lake.”

Corvin took another few steps until there were

just three metres between them.

385
 “Why domnul? Why did you do it? To stop her

talking? Stop her telling the world about what’s in here? How

you raped her, ritually, consistently so that she had no idea

whether she should cry for help or hang her head in shame

because she was to blame. Or did you do it because she told

you that she was pregnant with your child? That the truth

would emerge as a result.”

“It’s just the wild imagination of a teenage girl,

you know, hormones rising...”

“No, no, tovaresh, it’s you, you who have the

wild imagination. I was there when you made your

arrangement with Spandau to go and see them in the bar. And

you made a deal with Karl, didn’t you, two days after the

wedding; they could have her, if they left you alone with your

club. Then you turned up afterwards and killed her and they

would get the blame. That takes imagination, Corvin. And

supreme opportunism.”

“You are wrong, doctor. There was nobody...”

“Nobody else there, Corvin? Is that what you

were going to say? The man told me he continued on his way,

not thinking you’d kill her, but he had to go back and check.

And after you drove past him, that’s what he did. It all fits.

Everything. And this is all the motivation you needed.” He

386
 held the diary aloft again, tauntingly, and like a striking cobra,

Corvin lunged and snatched it from Darius’s hand.

“I thought you might try that. That’s why I

removed the diary from its wrapping. It’s safe, but now, after

this, there can be no doubt about you.” And Darius spat at

Corvin’s feet, for his disgust, for the horror of it all and for the

wasteful taking of a young life. “You will burn in hell forever,

domnul Corvin Pesc. There is nowhere to run. Nowhere to

hide.”

Corvin dropped the diary cover and ran back into

the house.

With the engine running, Darius sat in his car,

wondering and waiting to see what would happen next.

Corvin reappeared, pistol in hand. The doctor

shifted the gear stick and drove off, slowly at first, then as fast

as he could manage without losing traction, all the while

waiting for the impact of a bullet. On reaching the high street,

he drove into the next turning and waited, cursing himself for

not calling the police straight away. He had acted without

thinking.

In just a few minutes, Corvin’s car passed the

turning, heading west along the high street and going too fast.

In no time, Darius was in pursuit, but soon came upon the blue

387
 Dacia which had run into a ditch, the driver’s door left open.

He parked close by and grabbing his stick, followed Corvin’s

tracks. They led towards the cemetery at edge of the village.

Could he be visiting Olivia’s grave? Not

unreasonable in a moment of remorse. Somehow, it seemed

unlikely. A dog began barking, then another. He scoured the

landscape. The coating of snow created a bright and spectral

glow, and Corvin’s figure was not difficult to discern,

staggering across the blanched grasslands and dwarfed by the

great pylons that marched away over the horizon. The rough

furrows that he’d carved through the deep, virgin snow cut a

jagged scar in the tundra.

Darius watched him fumble something from his coat, a

bottle. He took a deep swig before throwing the bottle away.

Then he pulled an object, small and dark from another pocket.

Darius knew it would be the pistol, and alarmed, set off on his

hobbled feet, his walking stick in hand. In thirty centimetres of

snow, progress was severely restricted.

“Corvin! Corvin!” he shouted, but the occluded air

swallowed the sound.

More dogs appeared, he could count five, all following

Corvin but at a safe distance, and all barking furiously as

though to warn him to turn back, that ahead lay danger.

388
 A puff of smoke and a muted ‘phut!’ spanned the fifty

metres or so between them and Corvin fell to his knees. Darius

detected a dark streak down the side of the man’s head. He

watched him shake the pistol violently when it went off again.

‘Blam!’ clearer and louder this time.

Darius drew ever closer, stumbling and tripping,

shouting, “Corvin, stop!” but the cold conspired to contract his

lungs and there was no power in his voice. More dogs

appeared, some behind Darius, and the howling and yapping

created great pandemonium.

Then he stopped and watched as a third puff of smoke

dissipated into the darkening sky, accompanied by a muffled

‘crack!’ Corvin’s head jerked violently to one side and his hat

flew off, landing some two metres away. A dark spray spurted

and glistened for a few moments then his body slumped to one

side, his left shoulder buried in the snow. The gun dangled

obliquely from the fingers of his right hand.

Standing over the body, the doctor watched the blood

seeping from the wound. “What happened, Corvin?” he

shrieked. “What did you do?” He resisted the temptation to

straighten him out.

The chill breeze latched onto something that protruded

from Corvin’s jacket pocket. A paper. A suicide note, perhaps?

Or a shopping list? Better leave it alone.

389
 The barking brought him into the present. The dogs had

grouped, and standing at a distance, they continued to yap and

howl as though fending off a wolf pack. And as their noise

intensified, the wind teased at the note.

“Ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff!”

“Yap, yap. Yap, yap, yap!”

A gust lifted the paper until it broke clear, tumbling and

skittering over the frozen waste. Darius leapt, in goalkeeping

fashion, to grab it, but it took flight.

“Ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff!”

“Yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap!”

The he had it. He could just make out the crude logo. A

bill for car repairs.

I can’t throw it away. But why keep it? I can’t put it

back.

He turned it over. In a pointy scrawl he read ‘I didn’t

mean to...’

37. The River

Later. Much

390
 A strong scent of jasmine drifted in through the open

window and pervaded the room. It brought Darius to his

senses. He wouldn’t go back to sleep now, not so unusual these

days. He’d take a midnight stroll in the garden in the warm

night air. Entering the living room, he paused briefly to admire

the folky décor that had fed his obsessions over recent years,

the bright red and green fabrics that jostled against the black

ground of the floral wall-hangings and the earth colours of

traditional ceramics which adorned the shelves. It was the kind

of setting in which Lena had been raised. She would have

approved. It bore her mark.

Down the few steps and into the garden, unaided now,

his stick mostly redundant these days, he left it propped against

the wall by the door. The lush, moon-kissed lawn, now in need

of a trim, looked inviting. Underfoot, the soft grass felt good

on his naked feet. At the far end of the garden, he pushed

through the forest of bamboo and stepped through the gap in

the fence and into the meadow beyond where once upon a long

time ago, Costel would bring his sheep to graze. A gentle

tintinnabulation drew him to the bank above the fast-flowing

water, a tributary of the Chisinau-Cris river. The warm night

felt like summer, yet the river was rushing by. Had it always

flowed so freely at this time of year? He gazed into the surging

water; at the moon’s reflection dancing, stretching; each ripple

a unique event. Like fleeting moments in the vastness of time;

391
 gone and never to return. And time was what he had in

abundance these days.

A sudden breeze brushed his skin, bringing with it an

urgent need to piss. He arced his fluids into the stream and

watched it spatter and merge, and he imagined that amid the

ever-changing, dancing points of light, he saw something

familiar, at the edge of his vision. Just the racing of an

overactive mind. But when he looked again, trembling with the

cold anticipation of recognition, he saw, just beneath the

surface, that pale face, now fluid and fragmented, that he knew

so well. The glint of those dazzling green eyes, which held him

for a lingering moment in their tender gaze, smiling in touches

of colour.

A stronger, chilly gust made him shiver. He felt exposed.

This was no place to loiter. Heading back across the lea, back

through the gap in the fence, he wanted to quicken his stride,

but his body was too stiff, and his feet hurt him when he tried.

Where was his stick when he needed it? The threadbare lawn

tormented his pain-wracked feet and he limped over the tufts

of frost-encrusted grass.

Inside at last, and into a long white corridor, he passed

one door, then a second and at the third he stopped. As easy as

1-2-3.

Here she is.

392
 Through the door, he hobbled the short distance to the

bed in the far corner where he clambered under the blankets

and snuggled up to Lena, his beautiful Lena, cosy and warm.

She woke. Aghast. Her twisted, toothless mouth wanting

to shout in protest, but lacking the strength, she could only

gasp.

“Nurse! Nurse!” The alarm went up from across the

room. “Nurse! He’s here again. Nurse!”

The orderlies appeared and knew where to look. “Come

on doctor, come on.”

But he clung desperately to his love and began to cry as

they prised his fingers from the pulpy flesh. And even while

they pulled him away, he reached out to the ancient, wispy-

haired form that cowered against the wall, her eyes racked in

torment.

“Please...Please, don’t…” he begged, struggling as the

needle penetrated his thigh.

“It isn’t her, Doctor Darius. It isn’t Lena. OK?”

A thin voice called out as they led him towards the door,

“He can come and keep me warm if he wants. My Nelu won’t

mind!” which triggered a round of snickering and cackling

from the other beds.

393
 “Casanova!” called another. “Haida!”

In the corridor, the doctor looked up at one of the

orderlies. “Who are you? I don’t remember…”

“I am Ovidiu, Doctor Kala,” and he made an extravagant

gesture of obeisance, “at your service,” and this is my

colleague, Sasha. Just as we were yesterday and the day before.

We’ve been looking after you for some time.”

Sasha, the younger of the two asked, “So where have you

been tonight Doctor? Anywhere interesting?”

“Interesting? Oh yes. The river.”

“This river?” Ovidiu pointed through the window in the

corridor.

“I saw something... something beautiful but I can’t

quite...” His eyes began to glaze over.

“In your pyjamas, Doctor?”

“Pyjamas?”

“But it’s minus twenty out there.”

“Like a summer’s night,” he murmured. “Jasmine

summer, jasmine...”

The orderlies exchanged glances and the taller of the two

reached up to check that the padlock on the bolt was still intact.
394
 The stooping figure looked up and smiled weakly, “Why can’t

I stay with her?” The fight still in him.

“Because, Doctor, she isn’t yours.”

“Oh. She isn’t?”

“No, Doctor,” said Ovidiu kindly, “she never was.”

But he was gone.

A figure appeared, a silhouette in the doorway at the far

end of the corridor, wearing a high-shouldered, fur jacket.

With the grace and poise of a much younger woman, she

approached the small group until she stood before them.

“Buna seara, Darius,” she whispered, “Good evening.”

And gazing into his emptiness, into his clear, expressionless

eyes, she stroked his cheek. A tear broke free and ran down her

face.

For a moment, a light flickered behind Darius’s eyes and

he reached out and pressed his fingertip into her moist cheek to

catch the tear. He touched it to the corner of his own eye.

Another tear fell, then another and weeping silently, she ran

her fingers through his grey hair, “My beautiful, brave, crazy

man.”

He pushed his finger into his mouth and sucked it dry.

395
 38. Epilogue

Niagara USA 2021

This morning, the rising sun lit up the Eastern sky with a

brilliant industrial orange. I sat on the porch and allowed the

rays to warm my face and my body in turn, and as the golden

orb climbed over the horizon, I wondered, after 55 years, at

how the beauty of the dawning day still had the power to take

my breath away.

And life continues to throw up surprises; this week, the

mailbox held one. She’d asked me to message my address on

Facebook and now, I was holding an actual letter, hand-written

from an old friend, and it prompted me to pack a bag and head

off for a rendezvous with the long ago past. And as I tossed a

few things into the case, thoughts about how I’d got here and

who I’d become filled my head and tilted my existential bliss.

My Anahata needed re-aligning; my high blood pressure was

desperate for a walk in the woods. Suddenly, I felt a little

concerned about the existence I’d come to take for granted, and

for the equilibrium which had for over two decades defined my

social well-being. And all this, just when I thought that the

rhythm of my life had settled into a regular beat.

396
 God knows it’s been so long, almost thirty years, since I

saw her, but I recognised the immature handwriting at once,

those large inflated circles bouncing childishly, like space

hoppers, along each line. At an alarming speed, questions

began to line up: had some tragedy befallen her; did I really

want to hear anything which might upset the fine balance of

my Muladhara, even if the news is positive? After all, change

is not something which sits easily or readily on even the

broadest shoulders.

I liked Silvi, my friend, colleague, and my confidante,

despite her determination, on occasion, to allow her dimness to

shine. Not that I’m especially drawn to intellectual dexterity,

yet a certain innate ingenuity does have its appeal. It’s when I

meet a, a... what do people here say? a ‘wise-ass’ that I bristle.

Who knows? Maybe I have just grown more cynical. Me?

Surely not!

No, I prefer the plain-speaking, laugh-out-loud type

which is what I liked about her and what attracted me to Karl,

at first; but that illustrates just how wrong you can be. Silvi

was as straight as a shepherd’s stick and by and large, tended

to accept the cards that life dealt her.

I decided to open the letter; curiosity was holding the

stronger suit.

397
 ‘Draga Elvi,’ it began, it was the way she always

addressed me, ‘I’m sure you’re surprised to hear from me after

so long...’ Familiar names and references stoked the embers of

memories that I’d buried I don’t know where and by the time

I’d read the last word of the last sentence, I understood the

extent to which the years had played around with history,

creating their fictions, taking this bit out and moving that bit

over there.

I stared at the paper blankly, concerned at the way things

had turned out after I’d left. After returning the letter to the

envelope, I thought about resealing it, but the gesture would

have been futile. The genie was out of the bottle.

Something is very odd about her contacting me now. It’s

an anomaly; a blip on the monitor; on my monitor. And hadn’t

it all happened in another lifetime? Perhaps now, like me, she

is someone else, another country. Transformed and

unrecognisable from the simple girl I knew. She asked to meet.

Why not? What harm can it do?

Speaking personally, I have evolved; it comes with the

territory. For example, not only do I own a Chevvy – I’ve

bought shares in the company! And I won’t apologise for

sounding a little western seaboard. It’s true that days here, in

this adopted land are routinely similar and never require a body

to reach deeper than they need – or want to for that matter.

398
 That’s the price of security I guess, a lowering in intensity of

life’s flame. Fellow compatriots who made it here spent no

time at all in making the necessary adjustments; they talk

glibly, as the natives do, of their air-cushioned existences yet

only when they raise a glass or two in salutation of the old

country and recall the time when they rode the coat-tails of

destiny, do their eyes shine with the fervour of true passion. By

and by I wonder from the comfort and safety of my ringside

seat whether all of the events I’d consigned to history could

really have taken place; while the whole of Eastern Europe

struggled in post-communist chaos, the unimaginable was

unravelling in a remote village of just a few hundred souls.

The Native Americans who inhabited the forests

hereabouts, used to say that to talk about a person is to invoke

their spirit; I guess that applies to reading and writing about

them too. I hope they were wrong.

As I sit in my vantage point, just a little downstream

from the spectacular and mighty falls, incidentally, a

therapeutical hotspot for my Svadisthana, and therefore why I

decided to come here to meet up with yet another destiny, a

phrase keeps looping in my mind – ‘white water up ahead’.

The first time that Silvi came through the lounge, she

passed right on by. Well, I don’t think it was just the Ray

Banns; she wouldn’t be expecting to meet someone who could

399
 afford such a thorough and extensive makeover. Anyway, I

was engrossed – watching the tiny boat, full of old-timers with

their gummy, jutting jaws, hoping to re-activate their

redundant ‘thrill switch’ just one more time as the craft drifted

as close as it dared to the crashing cascade. I stopped her dead

on the second pass.

“Oh my god! Is that you Elvi?” she said.

I stood and gave her an ‘it’s been sooo long’ hug. Mwah!

Mwah! Left then right.

“Wow! You’re looking good,” she said, and she looked

like she meant it.

“You too Silvi, draga. Who would’ve thought it, eh?”

We sat. I called the waiter. We ordered. We laughed,

mostly about my accent, then her transformation to

international explorer, then the good old days. But not for long.

“And how is life here, in the promised land?”

“Oh, good to me, very good to me and I managed to stay

away from bar work and waitressing.”

“Yes. I can see you’re doing well.”

When she cast her eyes over me I saw no sign of envy.

She approved.

400
 “How about you?” I was curious to know about where

she’d found her inner glow.

“I moved on too.” she said. “Got a job with the EU.”

“The EU?” I mimicked her extended ‘yooo’. “Sounds

important.”

“It’s just a temporary post. Doing some historical

research on the transition period, you know.”

I was impressed, she’d acquired a basketful of

confidence from somewhere. This was hardly the Silvi that I

remembered. “Hey!” I said, moving things along, “How long

are you staying?”

“Oh, I thought I’d stay awhile. Maybe find a job. I have

relatives in the south west who said they could help me out.”

“So, you’re looking for work?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

“Thanks.” she said, rummaging in her bag. “I wanted to

show you something. You might find it interesting.”

“Sure,” I said, “I don’t have to be anywhere just now.”

She didn’t laugh.

401
 She slid a large envelope onto the table. “You remember

Corvin, don’t you?”

“The creep with the club? Whose daughter was killed?

How could I forget?”

“Soon after you...you left, he uh, he died.”

“Really? Shit happens, eh?”

“Well, it was a bit sudden. Anyway, it seems he killed

the girl, his own step-daughter.”

“He did?” This was unexpected. “But didn’t they want to

pin that on Karl? That doctor wanted to get Karl arrested,

didn’t he?”

“Yes, but anyway, because they couldn’t trace his wife,

Lydia, Corvin’s assets were frozen for some years.”

I was inspecting my nails and my watch alternately now.

“Finally, they gave up and...”

“Is this part of your historical research?”

“I’m archiving the history of events. So... the property

eventually went to a cousin, who, I believe, lived in the south,

in Oltania, an old woman...”

“Oltania?” I feigned interest and called the waiter again.

402
 “...and she decided to sell everything. The land, the

house and his club.”

“I bet she didn’t see that coming, eh?”

“Well, the house took a while to attract interest, but the

club was sold almost immediately to a gypsy who in no time

began...”

“She must have made a packet.” I interrupted, eager for

the important details.

“A packet, Elvi?”

“A – lot – of – money,” I spelt it out.

“Around half a million euros I think.”

“Wow! She could buy a lot of pigs and chickens with

that, eh? Eh? A whole lot.”

“The gypsy began laying in new foundations for

expansion.”

“Uh, huh.”

“So, guess what they found under the concrete in the

yard?” Her eyes twinkled as she removed a photograph from

the envelope. She pushed it across the table.

I looked. “A hole in the ground?” I suggested.

403
 “Look harder, Elvi.”

“God! Is that a skull?”

“And below the skull, what do you see?”

I looked extra hard and then I saw it. “No! It can’t be!

Tell me it isn’t true.”

“What do you see?” she insisted.

“It’s a gold chain, a heavy gold chain, just like Karl’s

chain.”

“It is Karl’s chain and that...” pointing to the skull, “...is

Karl.”

I caught my breath. “Are you crazy? Karl got away

before the police arrived.”

“They’ve done tests, Elvi. It’s him. And he was shot

through the head. Twice.”

“I see.” I had no idea what all this meant. And after so

long. “And who…?”

“Who do you think?”

I juggled the known facts around, as I understood them,

then did it again. I came back to the same name. “Corvin?”

“In one. We...they matched the bullets to his pistol.”

404
 “Wow,” was all I could say. I felt my pulse pick up.

“And that’s not all.” She was relishing this. And I could

swear she was watching me, watching my reaction. “When

they dug up a little more of the concrete...”

“What did they find?” I jumped in. “That doctor…or that

hideous policeman who came to the bar that day?” I laughed.

“Too much to ask, I guess.”

“No, Elvi, they found his wife.”

“Oh no.” I was getting dizzy now. “His poor

wife...uh...Lydia? Was that her name?” I was in imminent

danger of cerebral overload. Too unexpected. Too fast. I would

need to do some work on my adisthana after this. “Wait, wait.

Didn’t you say he killed Olivia?”

“Yes.”

“Then Karl? then his wife?”

“Yes.”

“A fucking serial killer?” I couldn’t believe my own

words. I’d been sucked back in time. Into a world I thought I’d

never seriously consider, ever, again.

405
 “Where’s the waiter with those drinks?” He heard me

and soon placed them very precisely, on the coasters, in front

of us. The right way around.

I put the straw between my lips and pulled deeply on it.

“So, are you looking for work?” I repeated.

“I am. Do I need a permit?”

“For the business I’m in, no.”

“And what is that?”

I hesitated for a moment. But this was Silvi, wasn’t it?

“Same as before, you know.”

“Thought you said no bar work.”

“No, no. Same as the boys were doing. You remember?”

“Stolen cars? Drugs?”

“Try again.”

“Girls?”

“Close.”

“Then what else?” she looked puzzled.

“Very lucrative too,” I couldn’t help a small self-

congratulatory smile. After all, I’d earned it.

406
 Then she found it. “So...” she said, “if not girls...” and

she held her down-turned hand out about a metre above the

floor.

“Exactly.” I said.

“Here? In America?” she gasped.

“Uh, hello? This is the hub, dearest. The motherfucking

epicentre.” I leaned closer for effect. “Silvi, there are more of

these perverts here in the States in ten square metres than in the

whole of goddam China! And well-protected too.”

“Protected?”

“Little sister, whenever trouble rears its ugly little head,

someone from up on the hill just straightens it out. No

problemo.” She looked at me, askance. She still hadn’t quite

got it. “The hill in Washington, you know? That hill.”

She stared at me and blinked away her disbelief.

“OK, occasionally someone really big gets fingered, a

sacrificial lamb, we had a big name who mysteriously choked

to death… well they couldn’t take the risk, what with all the

people he…well anyway.” Suddenly, I realised I was ‘running

off at the mouth,’ as they say in Hollywood.

“So, what do I have to do?” she asked, enthralled.

407
 “Placate the product, like you did with those girls that

time in the min-bus, remember?”

“Right. I’ll...I’ll think about it.”

“It’s good money, Silvi, and I need people I can trust.”

She gathered up the photo and the envelope. “Well, that

changes things,” she said quietly.

“It does? Changes what?” I felt a little off balance.

“Elvi,” she pushed her knees together and covered them

with her palms, “Karl was killed around August of that year,

not long after the phone call warning him to get out. You

remember, I took the call.”

“Uh-huh.” I didn’t know where this was going but she

had my full attention.

“His bank accounts in Romania and Hungary were

cleaned out in early September.”

Now I got it. Like someone had quietly slid a knife under

my ribs. I had no words. Fara cuvinte.

“And only one person, apart from him, had access to

them.”

I hadn’t seen this coming, seen her coming. “And?

Doamna detective?”

408
 She fixed me with a hard stare. This wasn’t the Silvi I

knew. “Who the fuck do you work for?”

She smiled briefly – at someone behind me. A man came

and took the seat next to mine.

“May I introduce,” she said, “the hideous officer who

you met in the bar on that day so long ago, who, fortunately,

we didn’t have to dig up from Corvin’s yard.” Silvi was not

smiling now.

I recoiled, a reflex action.

“Don’t worry, doamna. I’ve long since had treatment for

gum disease, see?” And he breathed his peppermint breath all

over me. “And… I heard and recorded your entire

conversation.” The lower half of his face grinned. The bastard

was still insane.

“So, what do you want?” I tried to be indignant.

“I see your memory is very short. Let’s see if I can

refresh it.”

I sat in silence, frantically running through my options.

“So, Elvira,” he continued, “we originally planned to

take you back to the old country, to face all the charges Karl

would have faced regarding fraud, money-laundering, tax

evasion and anything else we might dig up. After all, you made

409
 off with quite a fortune, no? But...” he paused, “in the light of

your revelations today… I think we’re in a position to make a

trade.”

“Trade?” I was nervous. “You can’t deport me. This is

my country now.”

“Doamna,” he went on, “Your papers are no doubt

forged, we checked. You are an illegal. If I tell the authorities

what I know, I think they’d deport you for us. That’s if your

friends on Capitol Hill didn’t get to you first for posing such a

risk to their operations. Understand?” The vampire glowered at

me for a second or two. “As we speak, people are excavating a

site in the woods near that lake, you know? The lake where...”

“Yes. I remember the lake.”

“The burials date from an earlier time. From when

Corvin was an officer in the secret service. It seems he was

very busy.”

“Who have they found? I can’t imagine...”

“Children Elvi. Small children. Perhaps as many as six.”

“Who...I mean...”

“It’s possible there are other sites too. It’s the service he

offered in his club, the Go-Go Club. Children...for high-

ranking VIPs.”

410
 Silvi looked grim. “Children provided by your boss, Elvi.

Remember?”

“Wait! Wait a second. I had nothing to...”

They were both smiling now, watching as it all began to

sink in. What could I do? “It looks like I’m snookered, as the

English say. In check mate. Tell me about the trade, asshole.”

“That’s the spirit!” he said. “Something else the English

say. I want the names of the perverts you provide for and

details of your supply chain. Got it?”

“Be reasonable,” I said. “I’ll end up in the river.”

“OK,” and he got up. “Are you ready?” he asked Silvi.

“Yes boss.”

Two other men at the next table got to their feet. “These

gentlemen are immigration officials. We’ll be on the plane in a

couple of hours.”

“What about protection?” I asked. “That’s not

unreasonable, is it?”

“Once you get us into the circle you can go home.”

“Home? This is...”

“Back home.” he snapped. “Where these bastards can’t

reach you.”
411
 “Listen, asshole,” I said. “‘These bastards are

everywhere. I know. They’re back home, in the Vatican, on the

fucking moon. There’s nowhere to hide.”

“You have enough blood money,” he said. “Spend it

while you can.”

I heard Silvi say, “You’ll be able to buy a lot of pigs and

chickens Elvi, a whole lot.

412
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