I Must Betray You(6)

But no one discussed it.

Everyone will live together! Everything is collectivized, shared by the Party! was the mantra. When Ceau?escu spoke the words, he sliced the air with his hand. The Aplaudacii, his faithful supporters, clapped and clapped. Those applauding men, did they shiver when a cold wind whisked through their hollow hearts and abandoned souls? I searched for English words to describe the Aplaudacii. I put them in my notebook: Bootlicker. Butt-kisser. Fawner.

Liliana grabbed my arm, yanking me from my thoughts.

“Cristian! Oh no!”





6


    ?ASE




Stray dogs stalked a young girl across the street.

“Don’t run!” I called out. I grabbed the stick from Liliana. A scream tore through the darkness.

I was too late.

The animals lunged at the girl, growling wild and guttural. She frantically swiveled her torso, holding her small fists protectively in front of her neck. Teeth landed, found anchor, and ripped. The sound, it still lives in my ears.

I ran and pressed in front of her, trying to block the dogs.

“Culcat,” I ordered, extending the stick for the gnashing dogs to bite, speaking low to subdue them. Others rushed to join our circle, stamping their feet. The dogs, eventually outnumbered by the group, ran off to search for easier prey. Frantic chatter ensued, arguments about the strays.

“If we don’t kill them, they’ll kill us!” wailed a woman.

“It’s not their fault,” snapped Liliana.

Stray dogs. They were everywhere. And Liliana was right. It wasn’t their fault.

When the regime bulldozed the city, dogs were lost and left to the streets. Starving and wild, the poor creatures drifted and hunted in packs. The month prior, our teacher’s baby was mauled to death in her stroller. Some people, like Liliana, carried sticks for protection.

The young girl’s coat now hung in shreds. Her wool mitten lay on the ground, splashed in blood.

“Were you bitten?” Liliana asked.

“I don’t care about a bite,” sobbed the girl. “My mother stood in line for months to get me a coat. Now it’s ruined. What if she’s angry?”

“She’ll understand. We’ll walk you home,” said Liliana. She looked to me. I nodded.

Liliana’s hand grazed the torn edge of my jacket. “They got you too,” she whispered. “You okay?”

Her touch on my jacket. Her concern. Suddenly, the dogs, my coat, and the meeting with the agent—it all faded into the background.

“I’m fine. You okay?” I asked. She nodded.

We said nothing after leaving the girl at her building. I wondered if Liliana’s thoughts mirrored mine. Being eaten by wild dogs—did kids in other countries have to worry about that?

We turned onto our street and I recognized the bowlegged silhouette.

Starfish.

He was a few years older and wore black-market Levi’s, Adidas, and concert T-shirts from the West. Sometimes he wore black boots with silver studs. It wasn’t illegal to wear clothing from the West, but it was difficult to get. And very expensive. And very cool.

When people asked Starfish where he got his clothes, he shrugged and said, “I know someone.” I tried to find an English word to describe Starfish and found this one: operator.

He lived in my building. We called him Starfish because he had lost an eye and the thick stitches pinching his eye socket closed left a scar shaped like a crooked star. Beside him trotted our community block dogs, Feti?a and Turbatu. Liliana’s building fed Feti?a. We fed Turbatu. But for some reason, the dogs loved Starfish best.

We stopped in front of our apartment blocks.

Mine on the right.

Hers on the left.

“Video night,” whispered Starfish. “Saturday. My place. You in?”

“We have school,” replied Liliana.

“You have school during the day,” said Starfish. “This is tomorrow night. Are you coming?”

I couldn’t see Liliana’s face through the darkness. I took a chance.

“Yeah, we’re coming,” I said.

“Okay, I’ll add you to the list. Ask your pretty sister.”

“Ask her yourself,” I told him.

“Bring your money. Five lei each,” said Starfish. He walked off, disappearing through a seam of black with the dogs.

I had never seen Liliana at a video night. Maybe her parents knew someone with their own videocassette player? A video player wasn’t illegal, like a typewriter. But it was expensive and hard to get. The cheapest video player cost thirty-five thousand lei, half the price of a car. Most families needed a Dacia more than a video player.

“You don’t have to go tomorrow,” I told her.

“Okay. But . . . what if I want to go?” she said. “Can I go with you?”

Did she really just say that? I tried to search her expression through the shadows. “Sure. Meet me outside at nine o’clock.”

We stood, feeling others nearby, but unable to see them. I was alone with Liliana, in a private wrapper of darkness.

“Cristian,” she suddenly whispered. “Do you ever wonder . . . if any of it’s real?”

“If what’s real?”

“The things we see in videos—in American movies.”