* * *
? ? ?
That night, all of Romania sat by their radios. Was Mr. Van Dorn listening? Had he found my notebook?
My father stood with his hand on the radio, as if to protect it.
“Gabriel, step away. What if the regime sends an electric shock of some sort?”
“You think they’ll blow up the radio?” I said.
“Well, the transmitter for Radio Free Europe must be powerful if it can broadcast all the way from Munich,” whispered Mama.
The transmitter was powerful. Over a thousand kilowatts. I thought of Bunu, trading the Kents to repair our radio. It was our main source of information, but only if the electricity was on. When would it snap off?
At 10:00 p.m. the announcer’s voice appeared through the static. I jumped from the couch.
??Tensions escalated yesterday in Timi?oara. It’s been reported that thousands have been killed. The recording you’re about to hear was smuggled out of Romania by a German tourist and delivered to us at Radio Free Europe.??
I stepped closer to the radio. Audible static—and then the sounds came through.
Chaos. Screaming. Crowd noise.
A woman’s pleading voice. “Stop! Shame on you, they’re Romanians, just like you!”
A man’s voice, “Shoot, you bastards. Shoot!”
A breath of silence.
A wave of gunfire.
Children screaming.
“They’re shooting them,” I gasped.
“The sound could be misleading,” said Cici. “Please, let’s hope it’s wrong.”
“I don’t care if it’s three people or three thousand. Our country is murdering its citizens!” I exclaimed. “We can’t just stand here and do nothing!”
“You’re right.”
The voice, it startled me.
“You’re right,” repeated my father. “They’ve blocked the borders. They’re trapping us.” He quickly began gathering things in the kitchen. Knives, broom and mop handles.
“Gabriel, what are on earth are you doing?” asked Mama.
“Preparing,” said my father. “When it’s time, we have to be ready.”
“For what?” asked Cici.
“To fight,” he replied.
58
CINCIZECI ?I OPT
The next morning I sat alone in our apartment, alone with my thoughts.
Would the protests continue? Had Mr. Van Dorn read my notebook? Was Dan back in America? What time did the Secu generally come to our apartment?
The phone rang. One ring. The code from Luca.
I ran downstairs to meet him. Oddly, the weather had warmed. Nature was joining our crusade, inviting Romanians to take to the street.
I passed the Reporters, dutifully stationed on their balconied perches.
“University dorms are under surveillance,” Luca whispered.
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Overheard it in the stairwell. The Reporters heard rumors that Beloved Leader will give a TV address tonight.”
“Luca, he’s not beloved.”
“Sorry, habit.”
Luca’s eyes drifted over my shoulder. I turned to look.
Liliana stood on the sidewalk, staring at us.
“Hey, there’s Starfish,” said Luca, pointing in the opposite direction. “See if he knows anything. I’ll be around. Call me and use the signal if you hear something.”
I nodded, half listening. My eyes were on Liliana, following her as she walked alone down the sidewalk, away from our buildings. Where was she going?
The dogs, Turbatu and Feti?a, clipped behind Starfish. “Got the papers I mentioned. You got the money? I’m only taking Western currency,” he said.
“How many papers and what are they? How do I know they’re worth it?”
“Oh, they’re worth it. Two sheets of paper, covered in coffee but still legible,” said Starfish. “Lots of big English words.”
“And why would you sell them to me?”
He shrugged. “Don’t have to.”
It felt like a trap. “Fine, then don’t,” I said. Another English word I had learned that described Starfish: hustler.
Starfish nodded slowly, staring at me. “Your bunu. He was rare, one of the few good ones. He was my friend. He’d want these papers, so I figured you would too.”
Starfish was friends with Bunu? I looked at him, skeptical.
“You don’t believe me? Your bunu told me that I was special. That with one eye I had a unique view of the world. He gave me a book of poetry by some guy named Homer. Said the guy was blind and if he could write beautiful things with no eyes, imagine what I could do.”