“Apparently word has traveled that I’ve been . . . unwell. It’s attracted attention.”
I was an idiot.
Did I really think that Paddle Hands would give me medicine for Bunu during our meeting? No. He’d send someone. To spy further. But if Bunu received medicine, did that mean the agent felt I was delivering?
The Van Dorns’ apartment. It was definitely bugged. Maybe the agent heard me asking about the American Library. But if he was tracking my every move, why did I need to meet and report to him?
My head was spinning.
Bunu looked over the balcony and again shook his head. “Evil Secu. This regime couldn’t exist without them. And this black bat who lives beneath us has the entire apartment to himself. All that space, but so much merchandise he stores some on the balcony?”
“You think he has ration limits of five eggs per month?”
“He probably craps five eggs per morning,” said Bunu. “Agents. Informers. Rats. This country is full of them. We’re infested. And they keep multiplying. They’re in our streets, in our schools, crawling in the workplace, and now they’ve chewed through the walls”—Bunu looked directly at me—“into our apartment.”
I gripped the balcony railing. Panic hissed throughout my body.
Bunu stared at me. “Yes,” he whispered. “An informer. In our apartment. Right here. Can you imagine that, Cristian? And suddenly medicine appears. But at what cost?”
“Bunu—”
“Shh. Say nothing. I’m the only one who’s figured it out. It’s too painful to discuss. Besides, I have no idea what I swallowed. For all I know, it’s the breath that blows out the candle.” Bunu shuffled toward the door and I helped him inside. His grumbling voice echoed in the darkness.
“You know what, Cristian? Dante was wrong. Hell isn’t hot. It’s cold.”
26
DOU?ZECI ?I ?ASE
We sat, whispering in the darkened stairwell.
Liliana’s arm rested on my back. Her fingers grazed the stray pieces of hair fringing beneath my hat. Her touch on my neck, it was driving me crazy. I wanted to exhale and relax into it. But as soon as I closed my eyes, the hatch of guilt turned and groaned. The conversation with Bunu felt lodged in the back of my throat.
I lifted the edge of Liliana’s purple scarf. It smelled like her.
“Alex asked Cici on a date,” I whispered.
“He said Cici asked him.”
“Really?”
“That’s what he wants me to believe,” said Liliana. “You know my brother’s hardly shy.”
“Cici came to me about it, said she would cancel if it felt weird.”
“What did you say?”
“That it felt weird.”
Liliana laughed.
“But I told her not to cancel. Are you okay with that?”
“Yeah. But it is kinda weird, isn’t it? Maybe we gave Alex the idea. He saw us at video night. He said we looked comfortable hanging out and asked what we were laughing about.”
“Hanging out,” I whispered. “Is that what we’re doing?”
She laid her head on my shoulder in response and slid her hand into mine.
I smiled. “Tell Alex we were laughing about Gumela. And how I liked you back then but was too scared to admit it.”
“You didn’t have to admit it,” she said quietly. “I knew.”
I nodded. She probably did. There were things I wanted to know about her. “Hey, if we lived in the West and you could choose any job you wanted, what would you do?” I asked.
“That’s easy,” she said. “I love books. I’d work in a library.”
“Yeah, you could sneak in outlawed books for me,” I told her. “Speaking of librarians, did you hear? The school librarian told Luca she thinks I’m a bad influence.”
“You are,” she laughed. “Some are intrigued by the look of you, but they don’t know what to make of you.”
Could I blame them? Sometimes I didn’t know what to make of me either.
“So, mister bad influence, if you lived in the West and could choose any job you wanted, what would it be?” she asked.
Could I tell her? Should I tell her? I could barely confess it to myself.
“A writer,” I whispered.
She nodded. “That makes sense.”
“It does?”
“Of course. Writers are dangerous. And you’re a brooding, philosophical Virgo. You’re not a follower. Even your hair’s a revolution.”