by Bel Mooney
‘Haven’t you?’ Doina’s voice was brutal.
‘No!’ Ana dropped her face on her folded arms and started to cry.
Pitying her, full of remorse, Doina rose and put her arms around the hunched shoulders, crooning softly, ‘Shhh, shhh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, shhh, shhh … But come with me, Ana, come with me. Be brave.’
Gradually Ana’s sobs subsided, and Doina went back to her place. After a while Ana lifted her head, and asked quietly, ‘What about money?’
‘I sold all that was left of my mother’s things – the gold necklace and the ring. Radu wouldn’t take any of that, he was so stubborn. But I knew I had to get rid of it. What’s the point of the past? Anyway, the truth is, Ana, it isn’t costing me much at all. Nothing, compared to what Radu had to pay for the papers and ticket. Dan and his two friends – they’ve organized it for themselves, you see. They’re going whether I do or not … Have you got any money?’
‘Very little.’
‘It doesn’t matter. They’ve already paid the guide half, and we give the other half when we reach Hungary. It won’t make any difference if you come. I’ll tell Dan.’
Ana could not resist a jibe. ‘I suppose he’ll do anything for you, Doina – even take me?’
Doina shrugged, not choosing to respond. ‘Will you come then?’
‘When?’
‘The day after tomorrow. I’ll have to phone with the signal – and then I’ll go and tell him about you. You’ve got to make up your mind, Ana. Now.’
Twelve
As Michael Edwards was finally telephoning the Agency to inform them that Ana Popescu appeared to have gone missing, Doina and Ana were waiting to be picked up in the shadow of the Orthodox Cathedral. They carried nothing. They did not speak to each other, but watched anxiously for the blue van they had been told to expect. Doina’s eyes were constantly on the alert, fearing discovery. Ana stared at the pockmarked road surface, as if by studying it she could will the van to come.
It would be wrong to say she had made up her mind, urged by Doina, for that would be to allow her the dignity of decision, when in truth she was now beyond it. There were no choices, she felt, merely a stumbling onwards, clutching at what small branches might trail across the path, to prevent herself from falling.
What did I will? Ion was mine. I chose to send him away, offering him no choice. So now there’s nothing of importance left, only the drifting onwards with some faint hope that things will happen for the best. And does that make me enfeebled? Does it deprive me of humanity? Surely not, when I look around me here, on this road, and see all my fellow men and women as not worse, not better – just helpless scraps tossed here and there, according to the weather. Doina, though – she’s different. Give me some of your strength, Doina!
As if she understood, Doina glanced at Ana, suddenly, and said, ‘You must look relaxed. It’ll be all right – believe me.’
‘I believe you,’ Ana said.
When Doina saw the van approaching she waved her hand with casual imperiousness in the usual hitch-hiking style. The driver, a swarthy young man in his late twenties, pulled up and beckoned them to get in. Squashed in the front seat, the two women looked straight ahead as the vehicle gathered speed. Only a slight cough from behind them indicated the presence of the three men hiding in the back.
Once they were on the road heading north, Timişoara left behind, Dan Chindris allowed himself to lay a hand on Doina’s shoulder, whispering, ‘I’m glad you made it.’
‘I told you we’d make it,’ Doina replied sharply.
‘These are my friends, Mihai and Ianos …’
‘Yes … and this is Ana.’ Still Doina did not turn round, and to her surprise Ana found herself feeling a pang of pity for the young man behind them who still let his hand rest on her friend’s shoulder. What did he hope for – freedom, or Doina? And what were the others in search of – liberty, or all the miraculous accoutrements they knew to be the divine right of those in the West, from blue jeans to hi-fi equipment? For Ion it was bananas. And for her …? But then there was only mist before her eyes, with Ion’s voice calling through it, and somewhere, concealed, a memory of an ideal.
The van rattled. The driver chainsmoked Kents without offering them to his passengers, and sat hunched at the wheel, rarely removing his cigarette, but sucking in small puffs of smoke, and narrowing his eyes as the ash grew longer and longer, until finally it dropped in his lap. Ana glanced sideways at him, and noticed that the band of his dark blue cap was shiny with grease. His profile was good, almost aquiline, but the longish hair that hung down beneath the cap was lank. His indifference to them was frightening, Ana thought; they might as well have been a cargo of sheep.
Nearly two hours later, after swerving and bumping down rutted lanes, they stopped. Ana felt sick, and longed to bury her face in the cool grass she could smell as the van doors were opened. ‘Where are we?’
Doina shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Not far south of Oradea,’ whispered Dan.
His friends stood and stretched; Ana could hear them but she could barely see their faces in the darkness.
Suddenly their driver gave a peculiar whistle, a flat, wavering note that sounded terrifyingly loud. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness she saw another man emerge, as if from nowhere, the other side of the van, in answer to the signal.
‘Who is this?’ Chindris hissed.
‘The guide,’ said the driver.
‘But I thought you …?’
‘No, I drive you. He is a better guide. For years he knows these paths. He will take you.’
Dan Chindris muttered to his friends, ‘We have no choice.’
‘No,’ said the driver coolly, offering the newcomer a cigarette. As the match flared Ana noticed both profiles bent over it – the nose fine but sharp, the mouth narrow, the eyes heavy-lidded. Father and son, that’s what these gypsies are, she thought, but why do they not admit it?
‘He will take you,’ the young man repeated, ‘but first – the rest of the money?’
‘We’ll give it to him, when we’ve crossed the border,’ said Ianos.
Both gypsies shook their heads. ‘No,’ said the younger man. ‘What if he’s caught on the way back, with the money on him? … You give it now.’
‘You mustn’t!’ cried Doina, gripping Dan’s arm.
‘I think we have to,’ he said.
A few minutes later the guide threw his cigarette away, as the driver pocketed the bundle of mixed notes, wrapped in brown paper. ‘Come,’ he said, and walked quickly off into the darkness, so they had no alternative but to follow.
A short distance from where the van was parked they ran into a patch of thick, closely-packed bushes that were hard to push through. Forced to walk in single file, they had to keep their eyes fixed on the feet of the person in front, twisting and turning along pathways set by the guide. The sky was dark, and yet a patch of sickly light over to the north indicated that perhaps the moon would soon break through. It seemed to Ana that she could hear everyone’s breathing, rasping and loud, as if inside her own head, and keeping time with their soft footfalls on the coarse, springy grass.
After a while the path widened, and she caught up with Doina, slipping an arm through hers.
‘Are you OK?’ Doina asked.
‘Afraid.’
‘Me too.’
Behind them the tall Hungarian, Ianos, stifled a cough, and at the slight sound – magnified horribly in the silence – Ana stiffened and withdrew her arm, feeling, as she did so, Doina start to tremble uncontrollably.
They lost track of time, but it seemed they had been walking for hours, round and round, twisting and turning, with the patch of murky yellowish light shifting its place in the sky. Sometimes the ground was stony, sometimes soft; Ana’s ankle ached where she had banged it on the edge of a small, unseen rock. It was as if there was no beginning and no end to this journey, this silent procession into utter darkness,
following a man none of them knew, on and on, until belief was suspended, and with it – strangely – terror. They marched as if in a dream.
Now they were making a gradual descent into a little valley, and Ana thought she heard the sound of a stream. She stopped and listened, but there was nothing. Only the sound of Radu and Ion rowing away, the ripple of that water, the dip of those oars. Ion made a picture once, of him and me in a boat in the world beneath the well, the world where all is possible. Maybe I entered that world too, when a man with light hair and brown spectacles and a wide smile rowed my son and me on a lake, in sunlight. The sound of water lapping, the feel of it cold around my feet as the boat leaked, more and more, and we had to go back. Go back, go back …
Ianos pushed past her and caught up with his two friends, close behind the guide. Ana heard him call ‘Wait,’ in a penetrating whisper. They stopped, and Ana and Doina joined them, puzzled and afraid – at the moment the moon finally struggled to break free of the clouds, and illuminated the scene with a pallid light.
The guide stopped just ahead and turned around. ‘Why do you stop?’ he said. ‘Come.’
‘Why are we walking in circles?’ asked Ianos. ‘I tell you, we are! Round and round! Where are you leading us?’
‘To the border of course. I know the way, but it’s not easy.’
He walked back to where they stood, and put his hands on his hips. ‘Are you coming? Or maybe you want me to leave you here?’
With one stride Ianos was towering over him, his hands around the older man’s throat. ‘You take us to the border now, or I’ll kill you. And if there’s anything wrong …’
Dan and Mihai seized his arms and pulled him back; Ana heard the rattle of Doina’s teeth and turned to see the whites of her eyes in the darkness. Now it was her turn to be strong; she put her arm around Doina’s waist and squeezed her reassurance.
The guide was glowering at his attacker, who stood helplessly between the other two men, all fight gone. ‘You’d better lead us on,’ said Dan Chindris quietly, and without a word the stocky man turned and made his way, surefootedly, down the stony slope. They all followed, not in single file this time, but spread out.
When he reached the small clump of trees ahead of them the guide stopped and waited. The moon was now bright, sailing wildly in its patch of sky, so that it seemed to them they must be illuminated and visible for miles. But in the shadow of the trees they felt safe.
‘We will have a cigarette now,’ said the guide, and (surprisingly, Ana thought, in view of his son’s meanness) pulled out a packet of Kent and offered them round. She took one and waited for a light. But Ianos asked suspiciously why they could not continue.
‘The border is not very far away. I’ll go on ahead to make sure there is no patrol. Usually there’s none at this place I know – but I’ll just make sure. Then I’ll be back to get you. So you can rest for a short while and have a smoke – OK?’ After this long speech he grinned at them, showing blackened stumps of teeth, handed Dan his matches, and then slid off through the trees.
They waited, drawing deeply on the cigarettes, relishing (even in this tense state) the rush of smooth smoke to the lungs. In the distance a creature (a fox, Ana guessed) let out a strange yelping sound which seemed to echo around the hillside, making them all jump. Dan Chindris reached out and put his arm around Doina, who did not push it away.
‘Why hasn’t he come back?’ she asked, after some time passed.
‘Soon,’ said Dan.
‘Something’s wrong – I think we should follow him,’ muttered Ianos.
‘Yes – let’s go,’ said Mihai.
The two men left the cover of the trees and strode out across the stony turf. Helplessly, Dan, Ana and Doina went to follow them.
‘STOP!’
Ana felt her stomach fall. It was as if someone was rubbing ice over every inch of her naked skin.
‘STOP AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR OR WE’LL SHOOT.’
They turned. Behind them, across the hillside, the moonlight glinted on weapons as men in uniform strode down, in a fan formation, towards them.
‘Oh sweet God – we’re betrayed,’ groaned Dan, and his whole body seemed to sag, as he raised his hands in the air.
Ianos looked back wildly, and began to run, ducking and weaving through the low shrubs away in the direction the guide had taken.
‘Don’t!’ yelled Mihai – but it was too late. The tall man was brought down, flailing wildly for a few seconds, and then lying still, as the echoes from the shot seemed to ricochet around the valley.
The soldiers were running now – about twelve of them – as if afraid they would lose their catch. Two of them fell upon Mihai who stood rooted to the spot, a little way away from the other three, his eyes fixed on the still body of his friend where it lay, a black shadow on the silvery grass. There was a crunch as the rifle butt clubbed him to the ground, and then the sickening thud of boots on flesh as they began to kick him.
Dan Chindris managed to gasp, ‘Doina, I’m sorry!’ as he too was pulled away, towards Mihai, and beaten to the ground. Ana closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears to try to block out the sound of grunts as the soldiers put all their strength into the blows and kicks. She was aware of Doina clutching her arm, fingers digging into her flesh in terror.
Then hands took hold of her and dragged her along, throwing her roughly to the ground. She could not help but open her eyes, and so she saw that four soldiers were standing looking at her, grinning.
‘Hey, it’s a catch this time! A blonde and a brunette.’
‘Give me the blonde – she’s got bigger tits.’
‘This one’s better looking, though. And who cares about the tits? There’s only one bit interests me!’
They started to snigger as the one who had just spoken handed his gun to the man beside him and started to undo his belt.
Ana heard someone shout from some way off, ‘Save some for all of us,’ and then a laugh. A soldier squatted down each side of her head, holding her arms as hands tore at her shoes and trousers. When she tried to kick, someone slapped her hard across the face, so that blood rushed into her mouth, hot and bitter. Oh Ion, Ion, Ion …
And then she heard Doina start to scream.
Part Two
Mother, my first tomb,
A blazing darkness
Forsaken with such foolish impatience
When every lump
Of its clay
Resisted that departure without sense.
Will you ever forgive my resurrection,
The hasty resurrection tearing me from you
So that, from light to light,
I could be drawn to yet another death?
It’s getting colder still,
The foreignness steals into me,
As I climb, the road sweeps itself away.
It’s such a distance to you,
That churches could be raised
To mediate the prayers between us.
Ana Blandiana
Thirteen
Ion clutched Radu’s hand very tightly. It seemed they were being bombarded by light and noise – and such colour! Orange and blue burned into his brain, as disembodied voices gave instructions in a language he did not understand to people who strode confidently past carrying bags and cases, not stopping. Nobody stopped; nobody even paused – they whirled along, and around, in obedience to a force outside themselves, but one with which they were completely at ease, whilst Ion shrank into Radu, wishing some miracle would carry both of them home.
‘What will happen, Radu?’ he whispered.
‘I … don’t know,’ came the gruff reply – and that was almost more frightening than the vast, indifferent swirl of Frankfurt Airport.
Ion knew that were he to let go of Radu’s hand, the sweat that stuck their flesh together would not fail, because it was the product of Radu’s own fear. And yet, up to that moment, through all the dangers they had experienced, Radu had been strong – s
o strong that Ion had been persuaded this was truly an adventure, not a source of terror. The crossing, the long, painful scramble through bushes and accidental soaking in a stream, the rendezvous with an old black Saab whose lights illuminated the road around them for just a second, the drive, the waiting at Belgrade for the right member of ground staff to come on duty … Through all that, Radu had kept up his game of generalship, so that Ion, bewildered and frightened though he was, had no option but to follow suit.
But now … Radu was sweating, his face unhealthily pallid, teeth chewing at his lower lip until it was flecked with blood. They walked slowly, Ion clutching his little bag to his chest with his free hand, and feeling through the fabric the wheels of his little motorbike, precious and familiar. Two businessmen in dark suits, carrying small briefcases and beige raincoats, made noises of impatience as they sought to overtake this shabby pair – the huge, bearded man and the little boy – in a sudden mêlée of passengers, rushing for the last call for London.
Suddenly Radu stopped. They were emerging from the long corridor into a huge open area, where the noise and colour intensified. Radu pulled Ion over to one side, where there were seats. He told him to wait, pointing towards the phones. Ion watched him in the distance, clumsily sorting through the German coins the man had given him and reading the dialling instructions. He thought of his mother, then bit his lip so that it hurt. He must do as she said; he must do exactly as she said …
Soon Radu returned. ‘I spoke to them.’ he said. ‘They know we’ve made it this far.’
‘Mama?’
‘She’s fine. Well –’ he made an attempt at levity ‘–let’s say, Goodbye passport! You saw us through this far, old friend, but we don’t need you any more …!’ He put the document into a waste bin. ‘Now,’ he said hoarsely, turning to face Ion and holding him by both arms, ‘we’re coming up to passport control. This is it, Ion. This is where you have to be very brave. You remember what…’ he hesitated ‘… your Mama told you?’