Mr. Van Dorn carried fatigue of a different sort. His blue suit was crisp, but he didn’t seem as well rested and smooth-faced as most Americans. He probably spent long hours at the U.S. Embassy and long nights with his wife. The way he casually kissed her fingers, it had the look of it.
He caught me watching and hiked an eyebrow. I quickly looked away.
The heat crawling up my neck, was it visible?
Mr. Van Dorn turned to face me, his expression sincere. “It’s nice of you to walk your mother home. It’s rough in Bucharest at night, huh?” he asked.
“No, it’s not rough.”
He nodded. Extended eye contact. Evaluation. It felt so uncomfortable, but I willed myself not to glance up at the light fixture.
“No. You’re right, Cristian. Bucharest’s not rough. Just a little . . . dark,” said Mr. Van Dorn.
* * *
? ? ?
“You don’t have to come so often,” my mother whispered once we were out on the street. “It’s much too far. It could be dangerous. I’m authorized to interact with foreigners, but you’re not.” She threw a nervous glance behind us.
“The wife. She’s not American, is she?” I asked.
“No, she’s from Spain.”
“What do they think of Romania?”
“How would I know?” said my mother. “I’m just cleaning their toilets.”
“The husband. He seems . . . tired.”
Her head snapped to me. “He’s a very good man.”
Interesting.
If she was just cleaning their toilets, how would she know that?
16
?AISPREZECE
A gift? Why do you need a gift?” whispered Cici the next day.
“Someone shared something with me. I want to return the favor.”
“Was this someone a girl? Who is it?” pressed my sister.
I bit back the grin I felt emerging. “Liliana Pavel.”
“Ooh! Lili’s nice. Smart. What did she share? Study notes?”
I shook my head and dropped my voice beneath a whisper. “A Coke.”
Cici stared at me. She blinked. She mouthed the words. “A Coke?”
I nodded. “It was her Christmas present.”
“A Coke.”
“Shh . . .”
Cici would understand. I had to “reciprocate”—that was the English word. I couldn’t let Liliana share her Christmas present and not give something back. But what could I offer? To rig their TV antenna to get signals from Bulgaria? Not exactly on par with a Coke.
Cici shot a glance to make sure Bunu wasn’t looking. She reached under the sofa and retrieved her locked box. She opened it on her lap, contents obscured by the lid. I moved to sit next to her, but she motioned for me to stay put.
“What kind of things does she like?” asked Cici.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. What would a girl want?”
“Honestly, these.” Cici held up two narrow tubes wrapped in white paper.
“What are they?”
“They’re called tampons. Instead of wadding up old cotton or cheese cloth for your period, you use these. Way more efficient.”
“Come on, I can’t give her those.” Disgust raised my volume level.
“You asked what a girl would want.” She rooted around in the box and displayed another option. “Chocolate?”
“Definitely!”
“And what are you going to give me?”
I pulled her farther from the light fixture above so I could whisper in her ear. “I have an American dollar. But foreign currency, it could get you in trouble.”
Her eyes flashed with alarm. “Of course it could. Where did you get a dollar?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ll take it. I’ll keep it locked in the box. Maybe we can trade it for medicine for Bunu.” Cici looked at me, displeased. “A Coke and a dollar. What’s going on, Pui?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” I assured her. “Just good luck and bad luck.”
Cici nodded slowly, suspicious. “Just remember, Pui, good luck comes at a price. Bad luck is free.”
Her statement. I should have written it down, thought about it. But I didn’t.
Once my transaction with Cici was complete, I went to the kitchen to check on Bunu. He was off the couch, examining our broken radio.
“I need some air,” said Bunu. “Help me out to the balcony.”
I helped him outside and stood, shivering.
“We need that radio,” said Bunu. “I hate missing the reports.”