16
ŞAISPRE ZECE
gift? Why do you need a gift?” whispered Cici the next day.
“Someone shared something with me. I want to return theA favor.”
“Was this someone a girl? Who is it?” pressed my sister.
I bit back the grin I felt emerging. “Liliana Pavel.”
“Ooh! Lili’s nice. Smart. What did she share? Study notes?”
I shook my head and dropped my voice beneath a whisper. “A Coke.”
Cici stared at me. She blinked. She mouthed the words. “A Coke?”
I nodded. “It was her Christmas present.”
“A Coke.”
“Shh . . .”
Cici would understand. I had to “reciprocate”—that was the English word. I couldn’t let Liliana share her Christmas present and not give something back. But what could I offer? To rig their TV antenna to get signals from Bulgaria? Not exactly on par with a Coke.
Cici shot a glance to make sure Bunu wasn’t looking. She reached under the sofa and retrieved her locked box. She opened it on her lap, contents obscured by the lid. I moved to sit next to her, but she motioned for me to stay put.
“What kind of things does she like?” asked Cici.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. What would a girl want?”
“Honestly, these.” Cici held up two narrow tubes wrapped in white paper.
“What are they?”
“They’re called tampons. Instead of wadding up old cotton or cheese cloth for your period, you use these. Way more efficient.”
“Come on, I can’t give her those.” Disgust raised my volume level.
“You asked what a girl would want.” She rooted around in the box and
displayed another option. “Chocolate?”
“Definitely!”
“And what are you going to give me?”
I pulled her farther from the light fixture above so I could whisper in her ear. “I have an American dollar. But foreign currency, it could get you in trouble.”
Her eyes flashed with alarm. “Of course it could. Where did you get a
dollar?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ll take it. I’ll keep it locked in the box. Maybe we can trade it for medicine for Bunu.” Cici looked at me, displeased. “A Coke and a dollar.
What’s going on, Pui?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” I assured her. “Just good luck and bad luck.”
Cici nodded slowly, suspicious. “Just remember, Pui, good luck comes at a price. Bad luck is free.”
Her statement. I should have written it down, thought about it. But I didn’t.
Once my transaction with Cici was complete, I went to the kitchen to check on Bunu. He was off the couch, examining our broken radio.
“I need some air,” said Bunu. “Help me out to the balcony.”
I helped him outside and stood, shivering.
“We need that radio,” said Bunu. “I hate missing the reports.”
“You know what I hate? The cold. I’m tired of warming bricks in the stove for bed.”
“I don’t blame you,” replied Bunu. “This hardship, it hasn’t always
been this bad, you know.”
I rolled my eyes.
“It’s true. When Ceauşescu assumed power in the sixties, things were fairly moderate; conditions actually improved for several years.”
“What changed?” I asked, rubbing my hands together for warmth.
“The debt?”
“Yes, the need to pay the country’s debts, but something else.” Bunu moved closer. His voice dropped to a rare whisper. “Building a cult, a cult of personality. Are you familiar with those terms?”
I shook my head.
“Listen, Ceauşescu may be near illiterate, but even I can admit that he’s a statesman and a mastermind. He’s slowly made people believe that he’s a god and we must follow him, blindly. And think about it, Cristi, he starts with toddlers. The little ones are just four years old when they’re indoctrinated.”
Falcons of the Fatherland. That’s what the communist toddler group was called. And in second grade, children became Pioneers and wore a red neck scarf. No one questioned it.
“Four years old. It’s cunning. More than a communist dictatorship.
Remember that.”
I nodded. I would add that to my notebook.
“But now—on to more important things. The conversation you had with Cici. Who is her and what can’t you give her?” A gleam appeared in his eye. “Got yourself a girlfriend, have you?”
I stared at him.
“Please. I might be dying but I’m not deaf yet, Cristian.”
My stomach clenched. If Bunu heard our whispers from the kitchen, what did the microphones pick up from the ceiling?