33
TREIZECI ȘI TREI
hear them.
The clapping men.I Clapping.
The image is blurred and then I realize.
There’s a plastic bag over my head, cinched at the neck.
Where did it come from?
Breathe! shout the clapping men. Breathe! they chant in unison.
I tug at the bag. I tug at the band squeezing my neck. I look at them.
I can’t breathe. I can’t obey their command with a bag over my head.
I’m losing air.
A swarm of black Dacias arrives, full of agents in leather coats.
Breathe! they yell from the windows of the cars. Breathe!
“I can’t,” I croak.
The sea of clapping men parts. A small man in a rumpled suit
approaches.
“Leader,” I plead. “Help me.”
Ceauşescu raises his right hand as if to bless me. To save me.
He then turns his back and slices his palm through the air, conducting
the chorus.
Breathe! . . . Breathe! . . . Breathe!
• • •
I woke up, choking. I stumbled out of the closet, straight to the bathroom,
and threw up— Nothing.