The Voices of Silence

by Bel Mooney

  “Oh,” I said, “you look much better!”

  She was transformed.

  She’d been given another chance.

  Suddenly happy, I laid her carefully on my pillow – and decided in that instant to go out, and pay a call on Alys.

  As I approached Alys’s block, walking slowly because I felt a little nervous, wanting so much for Alys to want to be friends again, I saw a strange man slip around the corner of the building, and go in through the scratched swing doors. I stopped. He wore a big black overcoat, and there was something very shifty and suspicious about the way he had moved, as if afraid of being seen.

  But then, I thought, we’re all like that. That’s how it gets you in the end. You don’t hold your head up, because it’s safer to keep it down. Remember that proverb Tata used to quote? What was it? “The sword does not cut a lowered head.” They used to say that centuries ago in Romania. So we’ve ALWAYS been afraid.

  Reassured, I moved forward again, thinking about Alys. I’d say how sorry I was we had fallen out. I’d ask her if she understood why it happened … No, I wouldn’t. A waste of time, to talk about the past. I’d tell her … I’d tell her I wouldn’t spend any time with Daniel Ghiban, or Mariana, or Luminitsa – not any more. It would just be me and Alys again, just like it always was. And I could confess to her about Mary, knowing she’d understand.

  I started to mount the stairs to the fourth floor, glad the climb wasn’t as high as ours. There was the familiar smell of damp, paraffin, and boiling vegetables, which seemed to ooze from the walls of all these apartments. I was used to it. It was a part of life.

  When I got to Alys’s landing I paused. I could hear soft voices from her flat. That must mean her parents were in, and that pleased me. I’d always liked Mr and Mrs Grosu. They were older than my parents, but large and jolly. I wondered if Alys had told them about our falling-out … but knew she must have done. She was close to her parents. They’d always treated her like a grown-up.

  I knocked on the door, softly at first, then more loudly. The soft sound of conversation ceased. Then I heard quiet footsteps approach the front door.

  “Who is it?” said a man’s voice. It might have been Mr Grosu, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Flora!” I called.

  There was a silence. It seemed to go on for a long time. I began to feel uneasy – sensing something was wrong. Then there were more footsteps.

  “Hello?” said a voice. Alys’s voice.

  “Alys – it’s me, Flora!” I called.

  But the door was not flung open as I expected. Instead there was another puzzling silence; then a whispering.

  “Please open the door, Alys!” I called.

  After a couple more minutes – minutes in which I began to feel horribly unsure of myself, and wished I had not come – the door was at last opened a crack. Alys’s face peered out at me, white in the gloom.

  “What?” she said.

  “I … I want to talk to you,” I said.

  “No,” she said. Her eyes instinctively swivelled, as if someone was behind her.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Can I come in?”

  “No … no, you can’t,” she said.

  “But, I came … Oh, I need to talk …”

  Eyes down, she shook her head fiercely.

  It was as if some vile creature, a monster I couldn’t have invented in my worst nightmares, was plucking at the flesh of my heart with long, sharp fingernails. I was hurting so much it was impossible for me to move.

  So I blurted, “Please, Alys. I was playing with Mary … and I was thinking … remembering lots of things … Can you come out with me? I want to sort things out …”

  Alys closed her eyes briefly, the way people do when they are so irritated they can’t stand it any more. Then she stared at me, but she wasn’t really looking at me at all. Her eyes were as blank and blue as Mary’s. Yes, that was it. With her blonde hair slightly greasy around her forehead and those cold staring eyes, she was like a doll. Unreal.

  “Look,” she said, “I can’t talk now. I don’t … Oh, please just go away, Flora. Go away!”

  I lost my temper then. It was as if all my unhappiness surged up like a swollen river and burst the walls of the dam. “I came to make friends, Alys Grosu,” I yelled. “And you don’t deserve it! You hear me? You don’t deserve to have any friends! You’re a horrible cow, and I shan’t bother with you again – OK?”

  With that, I couldn’t stop myself, I kicked out furiously at her door – wanting it to catch her in the face, to teach her a lesson. In her shock she stepped back sharply, and the door flew open.

  And before she had time to catch it and slam it shut in my face I saw two men standing in the doorway of the living room, just behind her. One of them was her father. But the other one was the stranger in the long black coat I had seen slipping into the building ahead of me.

  Blinded by tears I fled down the stairs, almost falling down the last four or five, only saving myself by clutching at the broken banister. When I rushed outside at last I could hardly breathe; my heart was thumping so strongly I thought it would burst from my chest. I leaned against the wall for five, ten, fifteen minutes … I don’t know how long. It was only when the cold began to penetrate my jacket that I recovered, and slowly started to walk away.

  All the suspicions of the last few weeks bubbled to the surface of my brain. Alys and her family had something to hide – otherwise why would she have behaved like that? Why would her father, listening, have let her treat me like an enemy? And that man … I allowed myself, now it was over, to whisper what he looked like. It was a word which chilled any Romanian, innocent or guilty.

  Securitate.

  The dreaded Secret Police.

  I remembered my father saying to my mother that there was something about them – “you can almost smell them,” he said, so in my upset state that is what I thought. I couldn’t help it.

  I could not go home. I knew Mama would look at me and know something had happened. And how could I tell her? It’s a terrible feeling to know you have nobody to talk to – nobody in the world. It was like not having a home, not belonging anywhere.

  So despite the small flurries of snow, and the icy wind, I made my way across the bleak wasteland, and walked in the direction of our school. It was just habit. I did that walk every day, and like a little lost animal, I was following a familiar route. My head was down. I hunched my shoulders against the cold.

  When I reached the school at last I stopped, confused for a moment, not knowing quite what to do. The road was deserted; the school looked dead. For a few seconds I gazed at the cluster of modern buildings I knew so well, as if I had never seen them before. Grey, grey, grey. Everything was grey, and straight, and ugly. I found myself longing for some colour to enter my life, some fun, like I used to share with Alys.

  I turned my back on the place, and crossed the road. Quite quickly I reached an older area, with nineteenth-century houses set back from the road, overgrown with ivy. They were very grand to me, these houses, although I knew that many of them were in fact divided into apartments. Wistfully I gazed through an iron railing into a wild garden, all overgrown and mysterious.

  Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder. I drew in my breathe sharply, feeling the cold hit the back of my throat. This is it, I thought, Alys has sent that man after me … I was trembling with cold – and terror – as I turned round.

  And there was Daniel Ghiban grinning at me. I couldn’t believe it, and thought my legs would give way with the relief. So I put my hand on my chest and laughed.

  “Phew!”

  “Who’d you think it was? The President?”

  “Oh yes – come to find me, to offer me a job running the schools!”

  “No,” he said, with mock-seriousness, “to say that you’ve been chosen to run the restaurant at the Intercontinental Hotel!”

  “Chief cook and taster!” I said.

  Feeling awkward now, I started to wal
k, and he fell into step beside me – quite easily – as if he had been intending to all along.

  “What are you doing this way?” he asked.

  “Just walking. I … had to get out of the house.

  You know the feeling? I didn’t expect to meet anyone. What about you?”

  “I live near here.”

  “Oh.”

  “Where are you going now?” he asked.

  Suddenly I wanted to cry. I couldn’t prevent my voice from wobbling, as I replied, “I … I don’t know.” The it slipped out, “I had a quarrel.”

  “Well … come with me!” he said brightly. “I think you need cheering up.”

  He started to stride, so that I had difficulty keeping up. But it didn’t matter. I was relieved to be taken control of, to follow without asking questions. All that had happened so far that day had been too much for me. I needed to be led, to be looked after.

  Daniel was wearing a vivid green scarf which stood out against the smart, dark blue of his anorak. His cheeks were red with cold. I thought he looked brilliant.

  He turned right, and soon we were in a small park area I didn’t recognize. The grass was covered with a light sprinkling of snow; the trees were like lace against the sky. Daniel bent down quickly, scooped up a handful of frosting, and scattered it over my hair.

  “Diamonds!” he laughed.

  “Pig!” I shouted, feeling the snow melt on my face, and bending to get my revenge. My handful fell short of its target, scattering on the air.

  “You won’t catch me, little squirt!”

  He started to run, and I followed, knowing I didn’t have much chance of catching a boy as athletic as Daniel. Alys would have caught him easily …

  “If you catch up I’ll give you a present,” he yelled over his shoulder, running quite slowly ahead of me, but still too fast for me. Then he was weaving, and doing funny leaps, and generally behaving so ridiculously – all just out of reach – that I was helpless with laughter.

  “Oh … oh … I’ve got to stop! My stomach hurts …” I puffed, between giggles.

  “Truce?”

  I nodded.

  “OK then … let’s go and have a rest.”

  He led the way to a little shelter, open on three sides, and built in the style of a sort of peasant hut. I was warm now, from the running, and just wanted to sit down. When we were seated on the wooden bench, Daniel turned to me with a big smile.

  “Now comes the cheering-up bit,” he said.

  “I’m already cheered up,” I said.

  “Well, this’ll make you feel even better,” he said, putting his hand in his pocket. I heard a tantalizing rustle, and watched mesmerized as he drew out – a bar of chocolate!

  It was Swiss milk chocolate.

  I can see the wrapper now – pale blue, tucked neatly at the corners, with the word Lindt in lovely curly lettering.

  I reached out a finger to touch it, and he smiled.

  “Do you want to look at it for ever – or taste some?”

  “Where did you get it?” I breathed.

  “The usual.”

  “Don’t tear the wrapper! I’d like to keep it,” I cried.

  Then followed the happiest forty or fifty minutes of my entire life. He divided up the chocolate equally, and I leaned back in bliss as it melted, smooth and creamy, in my mouth. We ate slowly, making each piece last. And as we ate we talked about many things. I told him about my chocolate island dream, and he told me that he always used to dream of flying off the top of a mountain, and floating through fluffy clouds. I told him about Mary, and he confessed that his favourite toy had been a teddy bear called Nicolas.

  “I bet you don’t have it now,” I smiled.

  “Somewhere in one of my cupboards – but don’t you dare tell the other boys,” he grinned.

  Then we talked about school and our favourite subjects, and what we wanted to be when we left school. I said I wanted to work in a museum or art gallery like my mother, because I liked the idea of all those precious things around, and being in charge of them. He said he would like to be a teacher in the University of Bucharest, which really impressed me.

  That led the talk on to Mr Paroan and more painful matters at school. I don’t know who mentioned Alys first, but I felt my face flame scarlet and tears fill my eyes. He asked me why I was upset, and his voice was so gentle and interested, it was as if all my terrible loneliness and confusion disappeared, melting like snow in watery winter sun.

  So I told him how I had been thinking of the past, and wanting so much to be friends with Alys again. And what had happened when I got to her flat. As I remembered, the relief of talking was too much for me, and I started to sniff.

  “I … I … just wanted a friend,” I faltered. “It’s … it’s been so awful at home. I’ve … I’ve … I’ve …”

  “What, Flora?”

  “I’ve been so unhappy,” I cried.

  “But why?”

  I couldn’t stop the tears. After all, they had been building up inside me, unshed, ever since I heard my parents talking about Tata’s plan. Or was it before? It all merged into one now, and had to come out.

  “They don’t talk to me. I hate it. I hate their … their secrets. It’s not fair,” I sobbed.

  “Shhhh, shhh,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. It was boyish and embarrassed, but he meant well, and I was glad of the human contact.

  “What secrets?” he asked then.

  I shook my head. “Nothing … nothing.”

  “Won’t you feel better if you tell somebody?” he asked. “It’s not good to have things bottled up inside you.”

  Daniel’s voice sounded like that of a man so much older – someone caring and wise. I knew in a flash he was right. And so I told him all the things that had been making me miserable, from the overheard rows that I didn’t understand, until the awful night when I discovered the truth. I told him everything.

  “And you see,” I finished, “what makes it worse is I feel so guilty. I know I should be worrying about Tata getting caught or something. But instead I’m just angry with him for making the decision. It doesn’t seem fair.”

  “It hurts you …?”

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  He had his hands clasped in his lap, and looked down at them, shaking his head. “I can see just how you feel,” he said. “Anybody would feel hurt. It’s very hard for you …”

  He understood. The relief of telling made me lean back against the shelter and close my eyes. I knew I must look a mess, with a red nose and swollen eyes, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the knowledge that I wasn’t all alone any more. There was someone to talk to – a friend who understood.

  SEVEN

  All that happened on a Sunday. On the Monday, in school, I felt that there was a new, secret bond between Daniel Ghiban and myself. Nothing needed to be said. We chatted about the usual things: teachers, school work, things we would like to own, or eat. Nothing important.

  All that mattered were my own feelings. Even though nothing had really changed – my father was still bent on his mad plan; Alys was still a terrible worry – I felt better. At the centre of my mind, like a warm flame, was the relief of having confided in someone and the flattering feeling that the person thought me special. So it was me, me, me. I know that sounds selfish, but people can’t help worrying about themselves. Looking back, of course, I hate myself. I think what a silly, self-centred little girl I was. Why wasn’t I thinking more about my parents, and what they were going through? But you don’t, do you? You are the centre of your own universe – until something happens to knock you off that pedestal.

  An odd, quiet time followed, in which people stopped talking about Maryon and Mr Paroan, and just got on with their lives. There was a sense of Christmas approaching; we all chatted vaguely and wistfully about what our parents might buy us, knowing all the time it was likely to be little. But we had lots of tests in school too, which was boring – but useful too, in that th
ey united us all in hating being forced to learn all that boring stuff. Dates. Formulae. Grammar. Names.

  I wondered if, as well as having chocolate and bananas to eat, kids in the West had to suffer like this as well. They must. And I was actually rather glad!

  At the back of my mind, though, was the Big Question.

  WHEN?

  When would Tata make his move?

  My mother wondered too, I knew, because she grew very tense, as the weather got colder and colder, and we rolled into December. They didn’t talk so much, although he still showed her plenty of affection. Just one little comment I overheard. They were both in the kitchen, and thought I was in my bedroom, and he said to her bitterly, “You see, Rodi? The Wall comes down, and the Czechs and the Poles raise flags of freedom, and Hungary’s borders are open, and even the Bulgarians have seen the light – but what about us? Not in a million years. Now do you see …?”

  There was a silence, but she probably nodded. What else could she do but agree with him?

  Not long after that, she got ill. It was nothing serious, just something a bit worse than a very bad cold, but it made her shiver and sweat, and she had to stay in bed. I felt so sorry for Mama, lying there with bright, feverish eyes, and her long dark hair in rats’ tails round her face. She fretted that she couldn’t go out to queue for food, and go to work, and cook, and do all the things she usually did. My father and I reassured her that we could cope.

  “I’m thirteen now, Mama,” I said. “That’s almost grown up!”

  So my life changed a bit. In the morning, (though it still felt like night) I got up over an hour earlier, wrapped myself up in as many layers of clothing as I could find, pulled my woollen hat well down over my eyes and ears, and went out into the freezing darkness to join a queue. My father did the same. We would walk out together in silence, really tired still and each longing to be in bed, and trudge to the shops, parting company to join different queues. My job was usually to get the bread.