Mihai sat immobile in his chair, watching them, a pained look on his face. His mouth opening and closing helplessly, like a fish out of water.
Alina rushed to them.
‘And that’s why I trained to be a barista,’ Bogdan said, giving a dry chuckle.
‘Should we help Alina?’ Darya suggested.
‘Yeah, maybe we should,’ he agreed. Neither moved a muscle.
‘What are the two fighting about?’ Darya asked. ‘Seems vicious.’
From where they stood, it appeared now as if Alina was trying to calm them down. Irina, in particular. She’d been thumping the air with her fist, shouting non-stop, incoherently, and when Alina arrived, she collapsed right into her arms, weeping. Oleg continued speaking, trying to be heard over Irina, appealing to both Alina and Mihai from time to time. His face was flushed, his skin gleamed with sweat. He stood awkwardly with his feet apart, his legs in distressed skinny black jeans, like two poles divorced from his body.
‘It’s something to do with his stomach,’ Bogdan murmured, looking puzzled.
‘Eh?’ Darya asked.
Putting down the cup and the cloth he was wiping it with, Bogdan leaned forward as if to listen better, straightening up a few minutes later, disappointed, because the trio had quietened down, and were now talking in whispers.
The high-schoolers lounging outside had walked into the café. They wanted to pay and leave, and as a side note, complained about the lack of attention to them. Without a word, Darya handed them their bill. One of the boys asked Bogdan what was going on at the far end. They’d heard shouting. Bogdan shrugged and gave a vague reply.
After the kids left, ‘Did you catch anything else?’ asked Darya.
‘Only that Irina thinks the blonde guy is way over his head,’ Bogdan replied. ‘He’d done something he wasn’t supposed to.’
But what?
‘It is action that matters, she says. Not symbols. Whatever that means.’
Darya had understood only a single sentence of what Oleg had said; she’d typed it on Google translate. With fists curled in tight balls and his eyes fixed on Mihai, as if apologising to him and him alone, Oleg had repeated the words a few times:
A trebuitsa o fac.
I had to do it.
Next, they watched in admiration as Alina linked arms with Oleg and gently but firmly guided him through the length of the café and out of the front door. She ignored the two gawking beside the counter.
Darya glanced back to see what was happening with Mihai and Irina. They sat side by side quietly, as if in silent commiseration, like an old couple. Mihai’s hands were on Irina’s knee. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes downcast. The scarf was askew on her head.
‘He’s not coming back here,’ Alina announced, walking back inside. ‘Ever again. No one let him in. Especially when Mihai is around. With Irina.’
‘What did he want?’ Darya asked.
‘No clue.’
Darya knew that wasn’t true, but at that moment, sensing Alina’s foul mood, she let go.
If only she hadn’t stopped then and had asked more questions … everything that followed from that day on could’ve been avoided.
Week 12: The Present Day
‘Helenka had seen Oleg and Alina a couple of times together and thought they were having an affair. She asked me if I knew anything about it. She didn’t mention his name though,’ Darya explained to Ana-Maria.
‘But Alina threw Oleg out of the café after an argument with Irina. She told me about it later.’
‘That could’ve been for show,’ Darya replied.
‘So were Oleg and Alina having an affair?’
‘No.’
Ana-Maria let out an impatient exhale, as if to indicate that part of the story held no importance for her.
‘On the other hand, I’d thought at that time … actually it struck me a week later when I met Brian at the café,’ Darya said slowly, ‘that Helenka had been talking about Brian. That is, Alina and Brian could’ve been having an affair.’ She didn’t add that she’d let her feelings for Brian cloud her judgment, misinterpreting Alina’s involvement in the whole matter.
‘Well, she was not,’ Ana-Maria commented.
‘She could’ve been.’
Because, not long after that, Brian came to Handsome Monk and Darya became aware of his familiarity with Alina, even though it took her a while to work out what that meant.
PART II
Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.
― Karl Marx
There is a reason why all things are as they are.
― Bram Stoker, Dracula
Week 6: 1 week before Brian goes missing
Darya finds Brian acting oddly and learns a few things about Irina.
Every now and then, Darya liked to take her morning coffee on one of the benches next to City Hall, in the main square. Sibiu’s City Hall was a busy place, being the epicentre of weddings and contracts. However, mornings were usually peaceful, and Darya liked to witness the prep activities before the Hall opened for business. She also liked how the main square looked at that time of day as local life glided past languorously. Mothers walked about with their little ones bouncing in prams; children frolicked under the water fountains, chasing pigeons that flew away in panic, dropping stray wings; lovers strolled hand-in-hand, with nowhere in particular to go … Surrounded by fresh air and happy people, and with caffeine in her bloodstream, life seemed full of promise to Darya. For a moment, she forgot the mess she’d left behind at home.
That day too, legs stretched out, a cup of steaming coffee in her hand, Darya gazed at the freshly painted City Hall, bathed in bright sunlight. Buoyant thoughts rose in her head and she wanted to put off going to work.
She shifted to make space for a couple who’d joined her on the bench.
Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of movement.
It was familiar to her: awkward, sloping shoulders; a nervous bundle of hands and feet; long, unkempt hair; a slender figure in an orange T-shirt and a pair of blue shorts; his backpack in front of him, his arms around it, as if his very life depended on it.
Brian walked briskly past the City Hall, almost crashing into an old woman who’d emerged out of its doors. Tipping his head in a quick apology, he moved past her, took a turn underneath the arch that led to Piața Mică, or the Small Square, and disappeared from Darya’s sight.
Darya wondered for a minute whether she should run after him, but he had had a head-start and had been walking much too fast. And there were too many people between them.
Was he heading to Handsome Monk? But it wasn’t 8:30 yet, the café’s opening hour. And that wasn’t the direction …
Something niggled at the back of her brain. Brian hadn’t seemed his usual self; something was off.
She stuffed the half-eaten bagel into her bag, tightened the lid of her coffee cup and got up.
She was going to catch up with him.
She sprinted.
A few minutes later, she saw him again …
… but lost him to a crowd of tourists.
She waded through the throng and increased her pace.
She saw him.
But once again, she was thwarted when a group of children riding bicycles blocked her path.
Darya sighed. It was going to be impossible to catch up with him. He was walking much too fast. He had crossed the Stairs Passage and it seemed like he was heading towards Lower Town.
She took a sip of her coffee. People threw her curious looks as she stayed standing on the pavement, her eyes focused in the far distance.
There was no point. She’d phone him later. Or maybe not. She’d think about it.
It was then that another movement caught her eye.
Sibiu wasn’t a particularly religious city, and a young woman dressed conservatively in a headscarf, a full-sleeved blouse, an
d a billowing ankle-length black skirt was a rare sight.
Irina had walked past her on the other side of the road and moved ahead.
Skirt flapping around her legs, she walked hurriedly, clutching her shoulder bag tight, patting the yellow and green headscarf on her head often, as if afraid it might fly away.
With renewed energy, Darya crossed the road and started tailing Irina from a distance. She followed her down the Stairs Passage into Lower Town, struggling to keep up, but determined not to give up.
Because much like Brian, it seemed to Darya as if Irina too was running to keep an appointment.
Ten minutes later, Darya had lost her. A bus had pulled up in front of her and tourists tumbled out from it onto the street. Darya stopped, realising by the time she crossed the sea of people in front of her, Irina would be gone. Also, she was getting late and needed to be at the café.
She turned and walked back.
Her mind was racing.
Irina had been walking in the direction of the Old Church, but Darya knew it was under renovation. The street that led to the church was dotted with private residences and B&B’s and, therefore, she could’ve gone into any one of them too. Darya had no way of knowing.
Notwithstanding, something told her Brian and Irina were heading towards the same place. They were possibly meeting each other.
It was a mere hunch, but she’d been right often in the past.
And if they were meeting each other, it was certainly very odd.
She didn’t want to ask Alina, so she asked Bogdan what he thought of Irina.
‘I don’t believe in them,’ he said.
‘Them?’ Darya was confused.
‘The godly types,’ he replied with a scoff. ‘Always claiming they can cure you of this and that, or that God will, but that never happens.’ He winked. ‘Something else does.’
‘Something else what?’
‘Something else cures bad things,’ he said solemnly.
‘Yeah, what’s that?’ Darya asked, trying in vain to mask her impatience, wanting to get back to the point again.
With a smirk, ‘Coffee,’ Bogdan announced.
Darya sighed. ‘Write that on the board outside,’ she muttered.
‘It can cure sarcasm, too,’ Bogdan suggested.
Darya made a face.
It was 8:15 p.m. and the café had closed for the day. Bogdan and Darya were cleaning up and readying things for the next day. Alina was throwing them wary glances from time to time, and Darya suspected it was because she’d gotten it into her head that Bogdan fancied Darya. She’d asked Darya about it a few times, adding for good measure that if you ask me, workplace romance is a bad idea. Best to keep one’s personal and professional lives separate. Miffed at the insinuation, Darya hadn’t corrected Alina. She didn’t think her café life was her ‘professional’ one; it was just a temporary gig, and, in any case, she didn’t fancy Bogdan; he was many years younger and not the type she preferred.
‘Irina’s not too bad actually,’ Bogdan said, assiduously rubbing a spot of rust on the refrigerator door. ‘She’s a prude and very religious, but quite harmless.’ He stopped briefly to scowl at the drops that had spilled onto his shoe. ‘She used to be a nun; Alina told you that?’ He threw a glance at Darya. ‘Yes, I see she did.’
‘When she came here, she was escaping from something dark in her past life. No one knows exactly what and she never speaks of it, but we know there was something.’
Darya leaned forward, ignoring the scrub digging into her skin. ‘Do you know anything?’
‘Not much.’
‘Perhaps Alina knows?’
Bogdan flashed her a hurt look. ‘I said not much. So, I do know a few things. Peter told me.’
‘Peter?’ Darya cocked an eyebrow.
Next, Bogdan told Darya the story of Peter, Irina’s nephew. Sixteen years old, but seeming ten, he’d come to Handsome Monk asking for Irina two years ago.
‘He was a funny-looking chap. Pale, nervous, with braces on his teeth and blonde hair so thick it looked like he had a yellow toupee on,’ he said. ‘They shared the same surname. Brasovnski. He was from Biertan, like her.’
The boy had looked anxious and tired. He’d traveled for hours and was famished. After Bogdan fed him croissants and coffee, Peter started talking.
Their family was finding it hard to make ends meet. He’d heard from his father that Irina had found work with a rich man in Sibiu. He’d come looking for her, hoping to find employment with him. Asking around in Sibiu, he’d discovered that his aunt visited the café every Friday. He didn’t have Irina’s number and coming to the café to meet her had been his only option.
‘Was it a Friday?’
Bogdan nodded. ‘An hour later, Irina came in with Mihai and saw Peter sitting right here,’ Bogdan gestured to a table. ‘I thought she was going to have a heart attack. Her mouth fell open like this …’ He put on a comical imitation, ‘… until Mihai tugged at her elbow and she got hold of herself.’
‘A blast from the past.’
‘A past she wants to forget, I imagine. They left with Peter soon afterwards,’ Bogdan said. ‘Irina took Mihai’s help to find Peter a job in Bucharest. Later, she told me … nay, instructed me not to talk to anyone about it. Their family was the vindictive type, she said. I believed her. The boy had looked terrified.’ He straightened his back. ‘When the boy’s father came looking a few weeks later, Alina and I denied ever meeting Peter. He asked about Irina, but we told him we had no clue how to reach her and we also let Irina know he was here.’
‘Had Alina met Peter?’
‘She knew of him.’ He paused and flashed Darya a meaningful look. ‘But what I was coming to … Peter told me a few things that day about Irina, at least hinted at them. I sensed …,’ he paused ‘… something bad had happened to Irina at Biertan. Her grand uncle was involved. Biertan is a crazy place. Plenty of stories.’
Darya’s ears prickled. ‘Bad like what? Sexual abuse?’ Sexual molestation in religious institutions was not an uncommon occurrence, even in Romania, and it would seem logical if Irina had experienced and escaped it.
‘That … or other things,’ Bogdan murmured. ‘Orthodox churches in this country mean business. They can go to any length to collect wealth while keeping their followers in check.’ He leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Let me tell you a story. A couple of years ago, a young nun was killed in Sighișoara. It was a national scandal and all over the papers. The dead nun had been caught laughing during mass and when scolded, claimed Christ was talking to her. A medical diagnosis confirmed she was schizophrenic, but the head priest of the church claimed she was possessed by Satan, adding “you can’t take the Devil out of people with pills”. Thus, an exorcism was necessary. So, an exorcism took place. The young nun was tied to a cross, anointed with holy water, and kept off food and drink for three days. Obviously, the woman died. She was barely twenty. After her death, the case was widely publicised in the Romanian media and, following a lengthy trial, the priest and the four other nuns who helped him were convicted.’
Darya searched his face. ‘But that’s not all, is it?’
Bogdan winked. ‘As journalists started covering this case, more emerged.’
‘Cases of exorcism?’
‘No. Mysterious deaths. Inexplicable. They sounded natural enough, but always something was off.’
‘Explain.’
‘For example, an old lady falls to her death off the stairs she’d walked on for years. Or an old man chokes on the tobacco from his regular pipe. Crib deaths. Suffocation in confession chambers. Just weird stuff.’
‘Coincidences.’
‘Poison was found in the bodies that were autopsied.’
‘All of them?’
‘In the cases where the family was suspicious and asked for an autopsy …’ His brows furrowed as if he had remembered something. ‘I also watched a documentary on it once.’
‘But they didn’t die of poisoning,’
Darya said, trying to understand.
Bogdan shrugged. ‘I don’t remember the details.’
‘And?’ Darya said. ‘What happened after that?’
‘Fizzled out. Never heard anything post the initial buzz. Bet the church clergy snuffed out any gossip. Enough harm had been done already. And the church that was tainted with the nun’s death … They closed it down and built another one. Not too far from the first,’ Bogdan chuckled. His hands continued to wipe the mugs expertly, not missing a beat. ‘We can’t do without churches, can we?’ he murmured. ‘They’re our lifeblood. More important than oxygen. So, no matter what they do or what is found in these churches, we have to have them. More and more of them.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘We have over eighteen thousand orthodox churches in Romania … that is, for a population of eighteen million … that means there’s one church per thousand people. There’s no money for schools and hospitals, but sure, let’s build more churches. Because that’s what we need. Have you seen the amount of gold the church patriarchs have on them? The head patriarch of the Romanian Orthodox Church owns a Mercedes which he changes every year. That’s what God decreed; don’t you know?’ He looked at her questioningly. ‘What’s it like in your country?’
Before Darya could answer, Alina yelled from across the room. ‘Both of you!’ She looked exhausted. Her glasses fell crookedly on the bridge of her nose. Hair had escaped from her tiny top knot, forming an unruly fan around her face. ‘If you two could conclude your chit-chat and close up quickly …’
Bogdan flashed a set of yellowing teeth at Darya. ‘Mama has spoken,’ he said. ‘Better finish fast.’
Darya muttered under her breath, ‘To answer your question, it’s the same in mine. But you know how it is … we need religion, no matter how bad it is. We need a crutch to make it easier to live … to go from one day to another. It keeps us busy; makes us social. It’s a community building tool.’
The Darya Nandkarni Misadventures Omnibus: Books 1-3 Page 58