“I must betray you” is a story set in Romania in 1989.

During this time period Romania

was still under communist regime, led by Ceaușescu. The story describes what the last
few months are like for seventeen-year-old boy Cristian Florescu, who was recently
blackmailed into being an informer. My short story is from the perspective of Cici
Florescu, his sister, who unbeknownst to him, was an informer all along.
Most things from foreign countries were banned in Romania.

Key words:
Bunu, referring to their grandfather.
Securitate, the secret police in Romania
Pui, little chick, Cici’s nickname for Cristian
Informer, someone who spies on other Romanians for the securate

Disclaimer
“I must betray you” has many references to communism, dictatorship, human rights
violations, violence and death, therefore my short story carries many similar themes. If
you do not wish to read about any of the things listed above, then I do not suggest
reading this.

Work had ended, but my tiredness did not.

I work at a textile factory.
All I do is work.
They say that we work for the state.
I don’t.
I work for the better of my family. That is all.
The state are the people who allow days like these to happen. Examination days at the
factory. Working women are habitually and cruelly checked for pregnancy. Ceaușescu
wished to expand Romania’s population for economic growth. He tries to artificially
increase birth rate by decreeing things like:
“Heroic women give children to the homeland!” and “Anyone who avoids having
Children is a deserter!”
I can barely hide my disgust, and also my humiliation because of the inspectors. The
same humiliation that my mother had to go through. My mother had two children, and
was ashamed because of it. I am twenty years old now and have to go through the
same humiliation. Is twenty young to give birth in countries like America? I’m sure I’ve
heard about this one time at a video night. Video nights are illegal viewing of foreign
movies that have been dubbed in Romanian. A guy nicknamed Starfish makes money
off of people by letting them watch these movies at video night. My brother loves them.
I, however, have become more cautious. I’m more scared than ever before about what
could happen if the Securitate discovers us.
I continued my way through the grey and dull streets that were decorated with “box”
apartments made of cement and filled with disappointment. Our beloved leader
demolished city houses to create "the House of the People”, which in reality are small,
dark, “ashtray-sized” flats that were to be shared by the large families that Ceaușescu
also wished for. They cast an even darker shadow on the already dark lives that the
people in Romania lived in. Not even the street lamps would illuminate the city as they
were too costly. All of Romania's rich resources were exported to repay our countries
debts. I moved into a line for rations, I had a ration card on me that I had stored in my
pockets this morning. After work, school, or any free time that we were given,
Romanian’s waited in long lines for hours to get expired food that was left.
One day all of Romania will be able to eat like the Americans can. To be able to purchase
all the food that we need. I thought hopefully.
But will I even live to see it? I wondered.
My thoughts made tears well up in the corners of my eyes, but I did not dare to cry. In
the bitter cold of Winter in Romania, my cheeks could not bear to be any colder than it
already was. My brother and my Bunu used to make jokes about these kinds of things.
To cheer us all up.
“What’s colder than cold water in Romania? Hot water in Romania” He would say. At
least I believe that’s what he said. I don’t quite remember. He could only whisper it to
us quietly. In Romania, families follow the same matra: At home we speak in
whispers.
Bunu does not like these rules. He speaks up about it. That's why every day he tells my
brother, Cristian, a joke. These jokes to them are like a small revolution. It feels like
hope. A hope that I gave up on. There is something that I could never tell Cristi, or
anyone.
No, he’d hate me.
He’d never want to speak to me again.
I swear, I had no choice.
I’m an informer.
And now, Cristi, pui, is an informer as well. I betrayed him. I put the American dollar
in his stamp album so now the Securitate can blackmail him too. He will become a
traitor too. And it feels like it’s all my fault.
He wouldn’t understand. I did it for us. The Securitate promised to give us passports.
So we could emigrate to America, or somewhere else far away. It was to help him.
In Romania, deceit, treachery, hypocrisy is all justified. I lied to Cristi. I’m lying to
myself.
They say that one in five Romanians are informers, but it makes each of us feel so
alone.
Cristian says that guilt walks on all fours. It creeps, it encircles, it climbs. Today though,
guilt walks on two legs.
Waiting in line.
Ration card in her hand.
Losing hope.