Lost Footsteps

by Bel Mooney

  It is as if existence was a series of accidents, herself powerless to prevent them, let alone to instigate anything, until the moment she sent Ion away. After that … she knows it is possible to take control, to embrace the random and the interconnected alike, in order to understand. And if the truth lies, not in the tears dripping from the tin birds on a churchyard cross, not in Rodika’s brave pieties, but in those ugly words that come from Cale the thief and whore (Luminiţa gave the game away) and in the devious manipulations of the wily young gypsy – then so be it. Truth it is – to be welcomed like the news of her father’s death, which proved courage, not abandonment, and in that was preferable to life.

  Very quickly Ana finds herself in the role of protector; Cale and Luminiţa loathe Rodika, and inevitably the serious, bespectacled woman – some ten years older than Ana – turns to the newcomer for protection.

  ‘It’s been terrible,’ she whispers, as the other two play cards, quarrelling noisily over the slivers of wood they use for chips, ‘like being locked up with a pair of wild beasts. But I suppose we’re all creatures of God … Anyway, I was so relieved when you came – you know, someone … like me …’

  Cale hears, and lets out her braying, mocking laugh. ‘Oh, someone like me,’ she repeats in a mincing voice, ‘someone educated and clean and nice, from a good home – an honest little God-fearing teacher, just like me!’

  ‘I’m not a teacher/Ana says quietly.

  ‘What do you do then?’ asks Luminiţa, sullenly.

  Ana tells them she’d been a secretary, without specifying where, then adds, ‘But don’t worry, I know how to get my hands dirty. I was a cleaner, once, at a library in Bucharest. That was before they made me a librarian.’

  ‘Ha – how’d you get to make a move like that?’ scoffs Cale. ‘It’s about as likely as me being the Virgin Mary.’

  ‘Well, you see, the old man who was the chief, he gave me special training,’ says Ana, barely able to suppress her grin.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ jeers Cale, scratching under her left armpit.

  ‘Yes, I had to go in each day and bend over his desk with my nose in the books. While he was doing it to me I learnt such a lot! And if he couldn’t get it up, I had to kneel down in front of him on a couple of thick books – just like in front of the priest – with my mouth wide open to receive all his knowledge. And after a couple of years of that I was ready to be a proper librarian, girls – so wasn’t I lucky?’

  There is a short silence. Appalled, Rodika stares at Ana without speaking. Cale and Luminiţa throw back their heads in helpless laughter, rocking back and forth and slapping their knees.

  ‘Now we can be real mates,’ giggles Cale at last. ‘Now I know you went to the same college as I did!’

  ‘Me, I did all that training when I was twelve,’ laughs Luminiţa, ‘only it was my uncle taught me. And when Dad caught us at it it was me he kicked out, not that old bugger, ‘cos Uncle Nic had this great deal going getting blue jeans in from Austria, and Dad took a big cut. Mum, she was too pissed to notice half the time …’

  ‘May God forgive them,’ says Rodika.

  ‘Him! I swear it was him taught Uncle Nic all his tricks,’ crows Luminiţa. ‘I mean, they say he made us all, don’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, and in his own bloody image,’ jeers Cale, ‘so it was really him Ana was kneeling in front of, and he was all the guys I’ve ever fucked. Lousy they were too.’

  Silently Rodika turns and lies on her bed with her face to the wall.

  ‘She can’t stand the truth,’ laughs Cale.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Ana says.

  ‘I thought you were one of us.’

  ‘I’m here, aren’t I? So I reckon that makes us all equal. But if she wants to believe in God, then that’s up to her – it’s none of your business, Cale. Anyway, if you actually know what “truth” is, then yours was a better college than mine!’

  The big brassy woman grunts, as if to concede the point. But the gypsy is looking at Rodika’s back with undisguised contempt. ‘Fancy getting done for Bibles!’ she says, biting her nail and scowling ferociously as if someone had offered her a personal insult.

  Making them all start, Rodika sits up quickly. ‘It wasn’t just Bibles!’ she shouts. ‘It was hundreds and hundreds of books about the word of God as well, and we had meetings and we sang and prayed – and it was wonderful. We were all together … we had faith together …’ Her eyes are shining now. Ana is moved, and sits down beside her, taking her calloused hand.

  Cale lets out a short laugh. ‘Yeah, but who tipped them off, then? One of you wasn’t being so “together”, I reckon – one of you had more faith in Securitate.’

  When Rodika says nothing, she and Luminiţa return to their card game. Luminiţa says pointedly, ‘If there’s one thing I hate more than the God-botherers, it’s snooty, stupid cows who think they’re too good for this country, and try to get out, while it’s good enough for us lot to stay in the shit!’

  Ana stares, amazed, for she has told them nothing. But Luminiţa knows everything: her mind slips in and out of the cells, hearing things, getting round the guards, even Pincers.

  Ana still sits beside the other woman, and for a while both watch the two heads bent over the cards – one large and fair, the other dark, both lank and dirty – as they dip and nod with swift suspicious movements, like birds. There is a rank smell in the cell; it’s hot and Cale is sweating freely, wiping her grubby hand over her forehead every few minutes. Ana’s own head itches uncontrollably; she suspects lice.

  ‘Well, now you know my story,’ whispers Rodika, ‘but I don’t know yours. Is what she said true?’

  Ana is unwilling to confide in this odd, almost comical little woman, imprisoned for peddling God in a state which accepts the peddling of Kent and Johnny Walker. Yet the moon face, with its frizz of grey-brown hair, is turned towards her with such a gentle look of questioning that Ana feels guilty: they are in this cell together, like beasts in a cage, and it can only be civilized by trust, she thinks.

  ‘Oh, it’s not a very long story,’ she sighs. ‘I tried to escape, that’s all. And I wish to God I hadn’t. It was a mistake – an impulse. And it all went wrong – we were betrayed, by …’ She glances across at Luminiţa, and stops.

  ‘It happens all the time,’ says Rodika, soothingly.

  ‘Yes, but …’ Ana hesitates, then, needing to talk, tells Rodika about Ion, in a low voice. When she has finished she waits, expecting condemnation. But Rodika strokes her hand.

  ‘God understands,’ she whispers, ‘he knows you acted out of love. He’ll protect you both.’

  Tears fill Ana’s eyes, and she grips Rodika’s hand tightly to prevent herself from crying out. Cale and Luminiţa have been eavesdropping; now Luminiţa looks up and shrugs … ‘You sent your kid away? There’s no big deal about that. I had one when I was fifteen. Left it on the orphanage steps.’

  ‘Didn’t you ever go back to see him?’ Rodika asks.

  The girl shrugs. ‘Course not! No point, was there? And it was a girl – poor little bastard.’

  ‘Do you have any children, Cale?’

  The prostitute glares at Rodika. ‘Mind your own fucking business,’ she snaps, flushing scarlet.

  In control of herself now, Ana says gently, ‘Look, we all have to live together, so why can’t we trust each other? I mean, we haven’t got much choice …’

  ‘If I could choose I wouldn’t be in a cell with a holy cow like her!’ Cale snaps, jerking her thumb at Rodika.

  ‘Exactly,’ Ana replies in a calm voice, ‘so since there’s no choice, and since we’re all women, why not try to be friends? Rodika only asked if you had any children because she’s …’

  ‘Don’t talk about my children?’

  ‘Oh, so you have got some then?’ says Luminiţa, curious now. ‘When I asked you, weeks ago, you said you hadn’t!’

  The big woman sits in silence, her shoulders hunched, her red fists clenched. Ana notices a
scar on her arm, and another small one on her neck, running down from the ear. Cale screws up her face grotesquely, for a few seconds, like someone with a stomach pain, to avoid crying out. Then she swings round towards them, almost falling off the box she sits on.

  ‘All right then!’ she shouts. ‘If you really want to know … I had two – once. Mircea, he was the first, and a right little fighter he was! Don’t know who his father was, so don’t ask me. Could have been anyone. Anyway, it was great for a while, just him and me, and then I met this bloke, Stefan, and everything started to go bad. Christ, he was a villain, but of course, I didn’t know it at first. You don’t, do you? I was crazy about him, I don’t mind telling you. Stupid fucking fool! Anyway, it wasn’t long before he started knocking me about, but it didn’t bother me, I mean, I was used to it. But then I got pregnant and he got really mad, and then one day he was hitting Mircea, and the kid was screaming, and I lost my temper and went for him.’ She spread out her stubby fingers. ‘Had nails like yours then, Luminiţa – nearly took one of his eyes out. Anyway, he was kicking me in the stomach, and I was out here then… huge! The kid was born early, another boy, and it was mental, you know? Not surprising, really. So he’s in some place, some home, that one – Constantin, I called him, and he was ever so pretty, except for his eyes … Stefan took him away, I don’t know where, some special place …’

  Her voice tails off. Luminiţa is examining her long, hard, curved nails; Rodika keeps her hand cupped over Ana’s, both now engrossed in Cale’s story. The silence yawns. Feeling she has to say something, Ana begins, ‘I’m sorry – please don’t feel you have to …’

  But Cale runs her hand across her shiny forehead, smearing more grime, and continues in a dead, determined voice. ‘Oh, that’s not the end of it. You said you wanted to know, so you’d better stick it out. Stefan got worse after that…’

  ‘Why did you stay with him?’ Rodika exclaims.

  The big woman shrugs. ‘Dunno, really. You do, that’s all. You wouldn’t know … And he could still turn me on, that’s the trouble. He kept me at it, and took all the money I earned, but when he said he loved me I just melted, you know? And he did say it – sometimes. You need to hear it, you know? It’s nice … Should have known better, stupid cunt that I am! Anyway, when I got pregnant again he said I had to get rid of it, and my God, that was terrible. Stefan found out where to go … This filthy man, and I swear he didn’t wash his hands, and I was bleeding like a pig. God, I was ill! Thought I was going to die, and Mircea kept crying “Mama, Mama, please get better” – he was that frightened. I was never right again after that; it did for me – handy in a way – no more kids for Cale! But I couldn’t work for ages – Stefan got real mad. That’s when I started the thieving; that was his game.’

  Ana hears Rodika mutter a prayer under her breath.

  ‘You should have stuck a knife in that bastard,’ says Luminiţa, involved despite herself.

  ‘I wish I had! Jesus, I wish I had. Then I’d have still had … still had …’ – she gulps air like someone going under – ‘I think it was the tuica – he was always drunk – but Stefan started to go really crazy after that. I was really scared of him, and so was Mircea. He was five now, Mircea, and he had lovely dark hair. And you should have seen his eyelashes! Clever too … But Stefan, he started to take it out on the kid, find fault with him all the time, you know? And he’d clout him for the least thing – I tried to stop him, but then he’d do me over. He was savage, that bloke, he’d do anything. Anyway, one day I went out’ – her voice became very flat, and she spoke more slowly than ever – ‘and when I came back … when I came back … and opened the door … Mircea was lying on the floor, and he was really still. His face was bruised, and there was blood … And I screamed at Stefan to get some water, but he’d already tried, and anyway it was too late. He told me he’d only hit him once, and the kid had fallen over and knocked his head, but he was lying! He’d beaten the shit out of him, I know he had! And he looked so little lying there, with all his lovely hair matted, and his eyes closed, and me, I just wanted to die. I passed out, I just remember screaming and screaming, and he slapped me once, and then – nothing. I couldn’t have helped Mircea, anyway. He was dead right enough, but they couldn’t pin it on Stefan. He stuck to his story about the kid hitting his head, and anyway, nobody cared very much. Who gives a fuck about a whore’s bastard, eh? The day after he was buried Stefan fucked off and left, and I was glad. I think I’d have killed him, if he’d stayed. I still dream about hearing his bones crunch under a lorry, and I’m driving it, and when he cries out and asks me to stop I just laugh and take the wheels over that face of his. He was good-looking you know, but not as good-looking as my Mircea would have been …’

  Cale’s lips are white but there are no tears in her eyes, when she looks directly at Rodika. ‘And that God of yours,’ she cries, ‘where was he when my Mircea was beaten up? Why didn’t he look after a poor little kid who never hurt anyone?’

  ‘I can’t answer that, Cale,’ says Rodika, gripping Ana’s hand.

  ‘I bet you can’t!’ said the woman, triumphantly. ‘And I bet, for all your talk of heaven and all that crap, you can’t think of a single reason why I shouldn’t want that man’s soul to rot in hell forever! Can you?’

  ‘Christ died for the forgiveness of sins …’

  ‘Oh, come on, Rodika!’ says Ana, drawing her hand away impatiently.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Rodika says humbly, ‘but I just have to cling on to what I believe. I never tried to explain evil away – it’s the biggest mystery, and I’m not clever enough to understand it. But all I know, Cale, is that your Mircea is with Jesus Christ now, among the blessed saints. I know it!’

  It is only then the tears came, breaking from the woman in great, racking sobs as she hits the rickety table with her fist, making the cards jump and scatter. ‘I don’t want him to be with your fucking Jesus Christ, I want him to be with me! I want him to be with me! God knows, I was a lousy mother, but I loved him, 1 did, and I’d have got better … I want him back …’

  Ana can bear it no longer. She jumps up, and stands by Cale, cradling her shuddering head and shoulders, stroking the lank blonde hair, dark at the roots, while Luminiţa, embarrassed, bends to pick up the cards, and Rodika buries her head in her hands.

  ‘Shhh, shhh, I know, I know,’ croons Ana, again and again, rocking her all the time, and thinking of Ion.

  ‘You don’t fucking well know,’ says the muffled voice, after a while.

  ‘I do, Cale,’ says Ana, still rocking, the big tough woman nestling into her stomach like a child, the rank sweaty smell of her rising, her tears and dribble soaking Ana’s threadbare prison dress.

  Ana is solemn with horror and pity. But an unexpected joy is there too, revealed within that squalor: she knows she is blessed after all, simply because her child is alive.

  Twenty-Two

  ‘That’s what it sounded like – I know it was a hiss.’

  ‘On the street? Impossible.’

  ‘I know it’s impossible, but it’s true. I’d have thought you’d have lived here long enough to know things can be impossible and true at the same time!’

  ‘Oh, I know it! But …’ Doina shook her head, and dipped her brush thoughtfully into the cloudy-blue water.

  ‘How many more do you have to do?’

  ‘Not too many now. Just as well, since they need them by the end of the week. Not much good delivering Christmas cards in February. But my neck aches.’

  ‘My back aches. Sometimes I think if I see another bucket I’ll put it on my head and run down the road screaming.’

  ‘No one would say anything. They’d think you were an agent provocateur.’

  ‘Did you find anything to eat today?’

  Doina gestured towards the pile of printed Christmas cards she was colouring by hand. ‘These?’ she grinned.

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Ana, smiling back, ‘have you heard the one about the old woman
who goes into the butcher’s and asks for some cheese? The man shakes his head and points to the shop over the road. “No,” he says, “here we don’t have meat; over there, that’s where they don’t have cheese.’”

  ‘Not bad.’ Doina swirled a pale blue wash over the mantle of the Madonna, again and again.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Ana, ‘that leads me into my great surprise, Doina – look!’

  She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a brown paper package, which she opened with proper ceremony. ‘Look!’ she repeated. Three bread rolls, a piece of blue cheese, and six slices of salami were spread out before Doina, who gave a little cry of pleasure.

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘From the brasserie … at least, that’s where it came from, but Dinu Balescu got it for me.’

  Doina rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, yes, oh yes, so what does that mean, Ana? What’s he want in return?’

  ‘Me, I suppose. But he’s not going to be lucky.’

  ‘I don’t know – he’s not bad-looking. I had a good stare that day I came to meet you. I wouldn’t say no to him in bed.’

  ‘Doina – you wouldn’t say no to Nicu Ceauşescu in bed!’

  ‘Now come on, Ana, what do you think of me?’

  Ana laughed. ‘I think you’re sex-starved, that’s what I think. As for me, I’m just starved …’

  ‘Which is harder to fulfil, I wonder?’

  ‘Well, you can’t buy sex in the shops, that’s for sure, but you can’t buy anything else either.’