The Girl They Left Behind

by Roxanne Veletzos

  The one she had chosen was very small, so tiny, in fact, that it might have easily gone unnoticed among the larger, more elaborately wrapped packages. Yet when she tore away the paper, a delicate velvet box rested in her hand. She had opened it slowly, gingerly, almost afraid to peek in, not expecting anything so breathtakingly lovely. A pair of ruby earrings, each with three crimson buds encased in the most exquisite gold, glimmered like stars in the intermittent flicker of Christmas-tree lights.

  Her cousins had flocked around her, oohing and aahing, shoving one another out of the way to get a better look. But the conversation among the adults had grown suddenly quiet. She’d caught an exchange of glances between two of her aunts as one of them strode to the bar cart.

  “Really, Anton, does a girl of merely seven need such jewelry?” she had said with what was supposed to be a trace of amusement, refilling her port glass.

  If her father had heard her at all, there was nothing in his expression that showed it. He had stood there, still in his coat, with his arms crossed, his eyes only on Natalia, twinkling mischievously.

  “Thank you, thank you, Papa!” she had screamed, her own eyes glistening, auburn curls bouncing over the lace collar of her best holiday dress.

  Then, right there, amid the raised eyebrows of her mother’s sisters, she had run into his arms and rewarded him with the biggest, most unrestrained hug that her small arms were capable of.

  11

  THE NIGHT SHE HAD RECEIVED the earrings, Natalia couldn’t sleep. She gazed at them the entire night, so small and delicate in the palm of her hand, the crimson stones catching the soft glow from the night-light over her bed. Early the next morning, she took them to her mother’s room and sat at the vanity table, in front of the oval mirror. Carefully, she clasped them on and covered her face with her hands. When she withdrew her hands and saw them glimmering in her ears for that very first time, she didn’t want to take them off ever again.

  “You shouldn’t wear them every day; they’re for special occasions,” her mother had said resolutely, standing above her with an extended hand, waiting for her to hand over the earrings. “I will put them in my jewelry box. They’ll be safe there.”

  It was the first time Natalia had refused her mother any request. “Please, Mama,” she had begged, interlocking her fingers, dropping to her knees on the rug in an imploring gesture. “Please let me keep them for one more day!”

  Despina agreed, but the next day, Natalia pleaded with her again. One day turned into a week, then into a month, and the earrings never came off. Eventually, her mother gave up insisting that they be stored alongside her own earrings, her sapphires and emeralds and strands of pearls, which she kept under lock and key. She no longer scolded her about wearing them to school.

  Oh, but how Natalia reveled in the envious looks she received from the girls in her class! Surely they had their own jewelry—all their parents were wealthy enough—but she’d never seen any of them wear anything quite as lovely. The nuns gave her long looks, too. But no one commented on them. At least not for a while.

  One day, a spindly girl a whole head taller than her approached her in the school yard. Natalia had seen her around, but they’d never spoken before, so it caught her completely off guard when the girl stepped right in front of her, cutting off her path.

  Hands on her hips, puffing her chest like an ostrich, the girl pronounced loudly enough for all to hear, “So our little orphan princess has got herself a pair of nice earrings.”

  It felt like a blow to her stomach. Natalia stared at the girl, dumbfounded, feeling herself grow cold. There was a bitter taste in her mouth, and she swallowed against it. She had stepped to the side to go around her when she heard it again.

  “That’s right. Bastard!” the girl shouted even louder, cupping a hand around her mouth.

  Something like a flame exploded inside Natalia’s head. She didn’t know what was happening. It was as if she was watching herself in someone else’s body. The fist, curling tight as a rock. The feel of the girl’s hair, her sleek ponytail almost sliding out of her grasp. The O of the girl’s mouth, silent, her body pinned to the ground underneath Natalia’s own weight. It felt good. Whatever she was doing, it felt good, and she couldn’t even hear the girl’s screams, and she couldn’t stop until suddenly she was lifted up in the air.

  Mother Superior never rose from her chair. Rumor had it that she suffered from some grave bone disease, which explained why only on rare occasions would she be spotted anywhere but behind her desk, where nonetheless she ruled the school with the efficiency of a dictator. So when she pushed her chair back, when she smoothed out her skirt and stood to her full height (taller, it seemed, than a mountain), Natalia’s blood froze.

  Her gaze dropped to the ground, and she felt herself shaking. Only when the old nun stood firmly before her did she dare to raise her eyes. A vein she had not seen before had appeared across the wide forehead of Mother Superior, and her face looked nearly purple against her perfectly starched ivory wimple.

  “It is unfathomable, Natalia!” Mother Superior began. “Unfathomable that a girl of your upbringing, of your family’s standing, should behave this way!” There was a wooden ruler in her hand, and she kept tapping it against her palm, which terrified Natalia even more than her tone. “To think that you’d conduct yourself in such a barbaric way, that you’d . . .” She shook her head as if no words were adequate to describe the horror of her actions. “Well, what do you have to say in your defense?”

  Truly, Natalia didn’t know what to say. The tears that she had counted on wouldn’t come, nor did any pleas for forgiveness. She did not have an excuse. Yes, her behavior had been appalling, but how to explain to Mother Superior that even a meek little orphan like herself had boundaries? How could she explain that what that girl had spat at her had felt like a bullet? Before today, there had been no orphanage, no other life. Until today, she had been a girl like any other, a lucky little girl whose mother and father loved her enough to bestow beautiful jewelry on her. Now all she felt was a deep, ugly wound.

  Mother Superior let out a long sigh, tapping and tapping the ruler. For a moment, Natalia thought she would ask her to extend her hand for the usual punishment, but she only stood there, appraising her with those beady eyes in which Natalia could see no saintliness.

  “Detention after school for three hours. And that is just to begin,” she pronounced soberly. “Since you have nothing to say for yourself, your parents will be called in, of course. Surely they will be ashamed, but maybe they can talk some sense into you.”

  For the first time that day, Natalia felt the sting of tears.

  The street was vacant and dark when she stepped out through the school gates, dark and cold, and the wind pricked her bare legs, but she barely noticed. Even now, she could barely stifle the rage that swelled up inside her when she thought of that girl, that name she had called her. Now everyone knew, and her life could not be the same. Perhaps that was what she should have told Mother Superior. Then maybe she wouldn’t have made her face a blank wall for three hours—she’d been punished enough.

  Hoisting her bag under her arm, she came down the rest of the steps and headed up the cobblestone lane. The school was nestled away from the rest of the neighborhood at the end of a cul-de-sac, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. At least walking in solitude for a block or two would do her some good.

  There was, of course, the matter of her parents. What would she say to them when she got home, what excuse? No doubt her mother had come looking for her and—seeing the empty playground in the late afternoon—thought that she’d gone home with Clara, her one friend who sometimes invited her over after school. Surely as daylight waned, she’d begun to worry, and Natalia pictured her now in a full panic, pacing the length of the living room, calling everyone in the phone book, starting with Clara’s parents and ending with the police. Yes, there would be trouble to face when she got home, and she would have to do it one way or another. Wrapping he
r coat tightly around her, she had quickened her step when all of a sudden she heard someone call out her name.

  “Natalia!”

  She stopped and turned, surveying the street, but there was no one there. Surely she had imagined it. Quickly, she resumed walking, but only a moment later, she heard it again, louder, more distinct.

  “Talia! Hello!”

  The voice, it took her a moment to grasp, had come from across the street. There was a car there which she’d not noticed before, a black car about half a block ahead, with its lights turned off. She could see a ribbon of cigarette smoke wafting from that direction. Her father must have sent a car for her; it was dark, after all. But then, just when she’d sprinted across to the other side, she realized she’d made a mistake. This car was not her father’s Buick. It was larger, and the back plate was different.

  “Hello, Talia,” came the voice again, as a tall figure stepped out of the shadow and into the light of a post. “Please don’t run. I don’t wish to scare you. I only want to talk for a few moments.”

  She couldn’t look up from the ground. Her bones had gone suddenly soft, steeped in terror. All she could do was look at the pair of loafers moving toward her, stepping over a tiny puddle. But then he stopped at a distance, and his hand came up in a greeting gesture, and she saw that he was no monster; he was a man. A young one at that, and nice-looking. He wore a fur-collared coat and a dark fedora like the ones her father liked. He smiled a bit awkwardly, as if he was somehow afraid, too, as if all he meant was to introduce himself. Something about him seemed oddly familiar. Natalia couldn’t pin it down right away, but a moment later, it came to her with crystal clarity. The tiny mole on the man’s cheekbone was identical to the one on her own. They bore the same mark.

  Her knees nearly buckled, and she took a few steps backward, clutching her bag. “I have to go,” she mumbled, more or less to herself. “I have to go.”

  Then there was nothing but the echo of her steps striking the pavement, the sound of her breath, and her heart pounding in her ears. Her bag slipped from her grasp, but she did not pick it up. Only at the end of the block, where the boulevard that led home opened up like an oasis, did she stop for a second. A few cars whirled by her and honked as she darted across the wide thoroughfare.

  On the other side, she felt a little less frightened. There were pedestrians and a peasant boy selling flowers wrapped in newspaper, shouting out the price to no one in particular. “Fifty lei! Only fifty lei for fresh-cut carnations!” The intersection looked as it always had. It would have been impossible for the man to try to lure her into his car here, not with all the zigzagging traffic, people walking by. She was safe. But something seemed unusual, something seemed off.

  Just beyond the spot where the boy crouched near the flower buckets, the thick iron gates of the Swiss embassy swung open. Natalia had never seen them open before, except on the rare occasion when a limousine or town car rolled through, the guards posted at the gates checking papers and inspecting the passengers before letting them pass. But there were no guards there tonight. There were no cars, no officers, no signs of life. Yet the gates were wide open. Only a small window in the second story flickered faintly.

  She did not know why at that moment she turned and glanced across the boulevard to see if that car was still there. She did not expect to see it. But there it still was, barely visible underneath the dim light of the post.

  The man was leaning against it, arms folded over his chest. Even from this far, she could see that despite the long stare, his eyes were resigned, as if he had no intention of pursuing her.

  Shuddering in the evening breeze, she broke into a full sprint, and this time she did not stop until she found herself directly in front of her home.

  12

  April 1944

  IN THE GOZA HOUSEHOLD, ARRANGEMENTS for Easter Sunday always began one week in advance. In her bed every night, Despina tossed and turned, going over the seven-course menu in such detail that by the time she drifted off to sleep, every pinch of salt or pepper was accounted for, every spice measured in her mind so accurately there was no chance this could be anything but an epic feast. By the morning of Good Friday, only the shortbread pastries were still to be sprinkled with sugar and arranged in neat rows on the silver trays, like worshipful angels with folded wings, welcoming the most festive day of the year. And this Friday in particular held the promise of a glorious Easter. A restless, effervescent energy swelled and bubbled over the city, causing perfect strangers to smile as they lined up for last-minute things—color for eggs, nutmeg, or white candle pillars to light in the church at midnight mass and carry home to burn in their windows.

  With no other details to attend to that morning, Despina glanced inside the china cabinet and realized with a flurry of alarm that only ten wine goblets had survived their last dinner party. Ten matching glasses—not enough for the table, even if she was to combine them with a smaller set, which she would never do, not with a new guest joining them for the first time. There wouldn’t be much of a point in protesting, Anton knew, nothing to say to deter her from going out at the last minute to hunt for new crystal. And so both he and Natalia had exchanged a look and followed her out into the crisp morning. Crystal or not, the day was indeed glorious.

  It wasn’t until a couple of hours later, after they had trailed her from one end of town to the other, that Despina’s determination began to dwindle and a slight listlessness crept into her step. Even the famous Lenox storefront, once set in a spectacular ensemble of crystal and silver, lay barren and so poorly lit one could hardly make out whatever remained on the shelves.

  “Oh, no, Anton. Look,” she uttered with a tinge of despair, letting her hand drop from his arm. “They’ve closed, too. How is it possible?”

  “Darling, it will be all right. It’s just family, after all, and we can make do with what we have. It won’t really matter.”

  “Yes, but it is Easter, Anton. What will your new friend think?”

  Anton smiled and patted her hand. Under usual circumstances, he might have agreed with her, but his new friend, as she called him, would probably have been content to sip his wine out of a ceramic jug. “Victor will not be bothered in the least. Believe me.”

  Despina frowned and pursed her lips. All week long, she had fretted about the invitation. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to Anton bringing new acquaintances to the house—he did it all the time—but never on a holiday. Holidays were strictly reserved for their extended family and children. Already they were so many in number it was a challenge to fit them all under one roof.

  “Do you think this is the right time, Anton?” she asked again as they hurried to catch a cab that had pulled to the curb. “Why not invite him for a Sunday lunch, when it will be just the three of us and we can get to know him better?”

  “He has no one, Despina,” Anton said, holding the door open. “He has no family, no friends. He will be alone on the holiest day of the year.”

  “All right.” Despina relented, scooting in next to Natalia in the backseat. “But I hardly think he’ll feel comfortable among twenty-odd people he’s never met.”

  Anton had met Victor by chance. He was locking up the shop late one evening when he spotted a young man at the end of the block rummaging through a trash bin in front of a neighboring café. The young man seemed oblivious of his presence, as he poked through sodden brown bags and discarded boxes, cursing quietly under his breath. He was quite tall and lanky, all sharp edges underneath his unbuttoned trench coat, and Anton guessed that it wasn’t the first time he’d had to scrounge for leftover food. Yet despite his hunger, evident in the intensity with which he peered inside that trash bin, there was an air of nobility about him, something oddly dignified that gave him the air of a poet more than a beggar.

  From the corner of his eye, Anton stood there watching him. The young man brought back memories of a forgotten time. He looked vaguely familiar, too, although he wasn’t quite sure why. Where ha
d he seen him before?

  Then he remembered. The young man was the occupant of a small loft above the store. They had crossed paths on the service stairs several times as he was hauling in deliveries or putting out empty boxes in the alleyway behind the building. They had never exchanged a single greeting.

  After twisting the lock for good measure once more, Anton deposited the key in his pocket. The vertical shutters clattered noisily as he pulled them down despite his best efforts to lower them quietly, and the young man looked up from the bin. Dropping the lid on the sidewalk, he pulled his trench coat tightly around himself and began walking briskly in the other direction.

  “Sir!” Anton called after him, but the man did not stop. He continued in large strides across the plaza, darting through the circling traffic and disappearing on the other side. Anton followed him, struggling to keep up. For a while, he thought he had lost him, but then he spotted him rounding the corner and practically ran to catch up.

  “Sir, please, I didn’t mean to startle you!” he shouted just as the young man quickened his pace again. He had trailed him for another block when the man came to a halt and swiveled abruptly.

  “What do you want from me?” he spat. There was panic as well as a trace of rage on his angular face. “I haven’t taken anything. I haven’t taken anything that is yours,” the man went on a little less sharply, and Anton did not dare come any closer.

  “Of course not,” Anton replied, flushing with embarrassment. His intentions had been completely misunderstood. “No, of course you haven’t. I just wanted to help. To see if you need anything.” He fumbled nervously with the key ring in his coat pocket.

  “Need anything?” the man said with a sardonic half-smile. “Yes, I could use some food. Nothing fancy, you see. Any scraps, any leftovers would do. I haven’t had anything to eat all day.”