58
CINCIZECI ŞI OPT
he next morning I sat alone in our apartment, alone with my thoughts.T Would the protests continue? Had Mr. Van Dorn read my notebook? Was Dan back in America? What time did the Secu generally come to our apartment?
The phone rang. One ring. The code from Luca.
I ran downstairs to meet him. Oddly, the weather had warmed. Nature was joining our crusade, inviting Romanians to take to the street.
I passed the Reporters, dutifully stationed on their balconied perches.
“University dorms are under surveillance,” Luca whispered.
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Overheard it in the stairwell. The Reporters heard rumors that Beloved Leader will give a TV address tonight.”
“Luca, he’s not beloved.”
“Sorry, habit.”
Luca’s eyes drifted over my shoulder. I turned to look.
Liliana stood on the sidewalk, staring at us.
“Hey, there’s Starfish,” said Luca, pointing in the opposite direction.
“See if he knows anything. I’ll be around. Call me and use the signal if you hear something.”
I nodded, half listening. My eyes were on Liliana, following her as she walked alone down the sidewalk, away from our buildings. Where was she going?
The dogs, Turbatu and Fetița, clipped behind Starfish. “Got the papers I mentioned. You got the money? I’m only taking Western currency,” he said.
“How many papers and what are they? How do I know they’re worth it?”
“Oh, they’re worth it. Two sheets of paper, covered in coffee but still legible,” said Starfish. “Lots of big English words.”
“And why would you sell them to me?”
He shrugged. “Don’t have to.”
It felt like a trap. “Fine, then don’t,” I said. Another English word I had learned that described Starfish: hustler.
Starfish nodded slowly, staring at me. “Your bunu. He was rare, one of the few good ones. He was my friend. He’d want these papers, so I figured you would too.”
Starfish was friends with Bunu? I looked at him, skeptical.
“You don’t believe me? Your bunu told me that I was special. That with one eye I had a unique view of the world. He gave me a book of poetry by some guy named Homer. Said the guy was blind and if he could write beautiful things with no eyes, imagine what I could do.”
That definitely sounded like Bunu. “Did you read the book?”
“Nah, I sold it,” said Starfish. “You want the papers or not?”
“Yes, I want them. You hear anything new this morning?”
“Yeah. A new American ambassador arrived recently. Lots of activity at the U.S. Embassy. Bring the money down. I’ll be around for another fifteen minutes.”
A new American ambassador. Dan had told me.
And I had told Paddle Hands.
I nodded to Starfish and started for my building.
Our apartment was empty. I needed the dollar from Cici’s locked box. I also wanted the pocketknife she kept hidden for me. I retrieved the box from beneath her bed. Could I pick the lock? And then I remembered—the ring of keys in her sewing basket. She wouldn’t mind.
It was easy to determine which key fit the lock. It was smaller than the rest. I opened the box and found my dollar beneath the white tubes she called “tampons.” I also grabbed my small pocketknife. What else did she have? I quickly poked through.
A small bottle of perfume, a wrapped square called “Trojan,” rose- scented soap, a thick envelope, two packs of Kents, and—lightning bolt earrings. Wait, those belonged to the woman from Boston. Why did Cici
have her earrings?
And then I saw them.
My fingers went cold.
Loop rings made from the package of BT cigarettes.
The loop rings that Agent Paddle Hands constantly fiddled with during
our meetings.
A wave of nausea rolled through me.
No.
I opened the thick envelope. Inside was foreign currency. A lot of foreign currency.
American dollars. British pounds. German marks. And something else
— My Bruce Springsteen article.
The one I’d kept hidden in my closet. The one that disappeared. The
one that Paddle Hands mentioned.
My hands trembled.
No. How was this possible? The walls slowly began to fold in on me.
Cici.
My beloved sister.
My devoted friend.
She was working with the Securitate.