The Voices of Silence

by Bel Mooney

  “OK? We don’t want any sprained ankles!” she whispered.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  There was only one snag to this plan. We were at the side of the block; the Securitate man was waiting at the front. Yet to go anywhere we had to cross the waste ground, because our block was at the very edge of the development, only a high wall behind. The four blocks were placed rather like the legs of a table, with the wall running all the way round, and a metal barrier at the entrance. It was, as Tata always said, rather like a prison.

  So all we could do was to creep across the stretch of ground between our block and the neighbouring one, then pretend we had come out of that entrance, and walk out in front, making for the barrier.

  The blocks were close, but it seemed quite a long way across, and I felt that each lighted window was an eye, watching. Although we were almost invisible in our dark clothes I imagined everybody must be able to see us, and any second someone would throw open a window and shout a challenge.

  At last we reached the next block, and walked along the side until we reached the front. We stood for a few minutes, plucking up courage to walk out to where the waste land was lit by dull yellow lamps. I was sure the thudding of my heart must arouse the whole neighbourhood.

  “Let’s go!” Alys whispered.

  We detached ourselves from the shelter of the building, and strolled out into the open. I wanted to look round, but didn’t – just kept on walking, concentrating on appearing relaxed. It was very hard. I wanted to run, and quickened my pace. So did Alys. I could feel eyes watching and felt that we MUST look obvious. But there was nothing else to do but walk on, making for the metal barrier.

  Beyond it was the road – and the black car.

  “I’m so scared,” I muttered, through chattering teeth.

  “Listen,” said Alys, “if they chase us you’ve got to get away. You’ve got to find your father. You’ll have to leave them to me.”

  “Don’t be silly!” I cried.

  “You must,” she said.

  Ahead of us we could see the entrance – the one-and-a-half metre metal barrier that would only be raised to let in a car, but no one I knew had one. It was illuminated by harsh yellow overhead lights – just there, just at the entrance. The development became progressively darker away from the road. At this moment I longed for a universal power failure – for the safe darkness that would cover our departure.

  I felt very small. The place was deserted: we were the only things moving on that bleak December evening. Every second I expected to hear a shout from behind us, and the sound of running feet but there was nothing. As we grew nearer and nearer to the barrier I thought of my father coming nearer and nearer home and had to control my muscles to stop myself breaking into a panicky run.

  I could see the car – about twenty metres off now.

  “Keep walking,” muttered Alys, “and keep your head down.”

  But I couldn’t help staring ahead.

  And I saw, as if in slow motion, the car door open, and a man get out. He stood there for a few seconds, staring at us. We kept walking. Then he began to move too, towards us – with only the barrier in between.

  I’ll never know if he recognized me or not. All I know is that I felt a moment of such terror, it made me stop in mid-stride, and half-turn, as if to run. It was a big mistake, for men like that are trained to interpret the slightest suspicious movement. He yelled, “You! Stop!”

  Then everything happened at once. Alys’s hand shot out, and she gripped my arm so there was no escaping. “Run, Flora!” she shouted, setting off and dragging me with her – but towards the man!

  As we pounded along she just had time to pant her instructions. “Don’t slow down … When we get there you duck underneath … don’t stop whatever happens … just think about your father … don’t think about me …”

  We were nearly at the barrier. The Securitate man was standing square in front of us, waiting. Then Alys did something I shall never forget. We were just a few metres away from the barrier, when she let go of me, shot ahead, and leapt. One hand on the top of the barrier, her whole weight swinging sideways with beautiful athletic speed, legs firmly together, and crash – the momentum of her brilliant vault took her heavy feet straight into his face.

  I was dimly aware of him staggering back and falling, and Alys’s voice screaming, “Go, Flora! Go!” And like a little hunted animal I darted under the barrier, and ran and ran. There was no time to wonder what was happening behind me. With the blood pounding in my head, my whole body straining to move faster than it had ever done, and the bitter air burning the back of my throat as I struggled for breath, I was beyond all thought, even all fear. Alys and I had ceased to matter. Tata … Tata … Tata … Tata … drummed the rhythm of my whole body.

  Of course, I knew the way he always came home. It wasn’t a direct route from the Underground; he always made a detour along a narrow side road where there were a few shops, and where sometimes one or two country people came to sell a few turnips or (if you were lucky) apples. We went there to shop. I reached it and ran down the street, oblivious to the stares of passers by. And as I came to the end I saw Tata just turning.

  Too breathless now even to yell, I ran up to him. My face must have been white; he stared at me in utter astonishment. Dragging him by the arm I pulled and pushed him back the way he had come. He realized that something was clearly very wrong and fell into step beside me without any protest. As we ran back towards the large black entrance to the Underground, gaping in the street like the mouth of Hell, I managed to pant out an explanation.

  But I only warned him they were waiting for him. I only told him they had been tipped off. I didn’t tell him about Daniel Ghiban. I didn’t confess that it was all my fault.

  “Tata … you’ve got to hide,” I gasped.

  We were at the top of the Underground steps. I thought I heard someone shout, some way behind us. Quickly we ran down and down, pushing past people, not caring how much they stared and protested. Through the gloomy tunnel we ran, our footsteps echoing like an army of people, running for their lives.

  Then we were on the platform. For a moment I glanced at the dull silver of the rails, stretching into blackness each way, and thought what a relief it would be to jump down onto those rails and end this terror, and the agonizing pain in my ribs. But the thought disappeared as soon as it came. Like so many people in terrible circumstances I realized how strong is the will to survive. Because in your heart you believe, you really do believe, that everything will be all right in the end.

  I heard the rumble of a train. “Take me with you, Tata,” I begged.

  “No, little Flora,” he said grimly, flinging an arm around my shoulders and pulling me to him. “You’ll be safer away from me.”

  “I want to be with you,” I cried.

  “You must look after your mother for me. Do you hear me, Flora? Look after Mama!”

  Then there was the regular flash, flash, flash of lighted windows as the train pulled in with a roar. The doors slid open, a few people got out, there was a last, fiercely loving pressure on my shoulders, then I was alone on the platform. The next second, the door crashed shut in front of my father’s frightened face, and the train rumbled off in the darkness, taking him away.

  NINE

  Stunned by grief, I made my way slowly back home, not knowing what I would find. And it was so strange, so unreal … the fact that there was nothing to be seen. It was as if nothing had happened. No car, no Alys, no man outside the entrance to the block – nothing. All wiped off the face of the earth.

  But when I reached our own front door I heard voices inside. One rough and angry, the other weak, yet defiant. When I entered the living room Mama was standing face to face with a thickset man in a black leather jacket.

  “Well, what have we here?” he said unpleasantly, as I stood looking at him.

  “Leave the child alone,” said my mother, clutching her dressing gown around her. She wa
s pale.

  “Do you know where your father is?” he demanded, ignoring her.

  I shook my head, deliberately looking stupid.

  “Why should she know?” asked my mother.

  If she was afraid, she didn’t reveal it at all. And I knew I mustn’t show my own fear. Men like this might be brutal, but they weren’t necessarily clever. The only chance was to keep calm and bluff.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Mama,” I said.

  “Where’ve you been?” asked the man, suspiciously. But my heart gave a little skip at that. He didn’t know. The other one must have chased Alys.

  “Oh, I had to do some jobs after school,” I said vaguely.

  “Good girl,” said Mama, calmly.

  He looked at us, his cold gaze moving from one to the other, then back again. Then he asked, “Did your husband tell you of his plans?”

  “Of course not!” said Mama, “Do you tell your wife about your plans? I never knew a man who told his wife anything!”

  “You’re not a very good liar,” he said.

  “No – and that’s why I always tell the truth,” she replied quickly.

  I went across to stand by my mother, slipping my arm around her waist. Her dressing gown was wet through with sweat. And I felt her trembling as if she might fall.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Waiting for your father,” he said.

  “You can’t wait here,” said my mother – and this time, I could hear the first note of panic in her voice. She began to cough again.

  “My mother’s been very ill. You’ll get all her germs. So why don’t you wait downstairs?” I said. At that I felt her stiffen, as if in protest. But I dug my fingers into her flesh, as if to tell her to be strong.

  “Please go,” I repeated, “my mother’s got to lie down.”

  He hesitated, then lit a cigarette, blowing smoke in my mother’s face. Her coughing was deafening now as it racked her whole body. “Well,” he said, “I won’t be far away. Don’t try anything, because there’s nothing you can do. He knows that too.” And with a mocking nod he turned and left the flat.

  I ran across the room, switched on the radio and I told her all that had happened. She burst into helpless tears. She had to muffle the sound by burying her face in the pillow. “Oh, Constantin … my Constantin,” she sobbed.

  “At least he got away, Mama!”

  “That’s thanks to you and Alys,” she whispered.

  “I wonder what happened to her?” I said miserably. “They might have arrested her!”

  And all we could do was cling to each other helplessly, crying quietly. Neither of us believed that anything would be right ever again.

  When at last I went to bed I looked at Mary, then slowly removed her finery. She would remain plain, I thought, because that was the truth. For I’d been taken in by glamour and deceit. What Daniel Ghiban had turned out to be was far uglier than my poor doll. Guilty and full of grief, I put the scarf around my neck, and vowed to wear it every day until I saw my father again.

  It was ten days before Mama was allowed to leave the flat. And I was ordered not to go to school. Always there was a man on duty downstairs – a rota of three different faces, all of them horrible-looking. It was a sort of informal house-arrest, only there was no charge, and there was no one to whom we could complain. I did my best to get us food. We lived on bottled cabbage, stale bread, pickled gherkins, cheap, fatty sausage, and potatoes. And all the time I worried about Mama never getting better. My father’s absence affected her very deeply; it was as if she had forgotten how to smile. As if she felt there was no point in going on living.

  Then, one day, there was a knock on the door, and there was Alys. I hadn’t dared to go anywhere near her block but I felt we’d have heard if there had been trouble. Still, I was longing to know what happened after her spectacular, chin-smashing vault.

  At last she was able to tell us. And when she saw the astonishment on my face, she grinned, “Somebody up there pulled the ghoul off your doorway,” she said cheerfully. “Sorry it’s taken me so long to come round, but I didn’t think it would be wise.”

  “Oh, Alys!” I cried, and gave her a huge hug, joined by my mother, so that in the end she protested cheerfully that she couldn’t breathe, and made funny flapping movements to wave us off.

  When we were sitting down, she began her story, starting with the end. “I got him right in the face,” she said with delight, “and while he was still wondering what hit him, I was off. I went the opposite way to you, Flora, thinking that they’d have to choose which one to follow. He chased me – he was yelling! Really mad! But how could he catch me – stupid, fat old man!”

  “You were very brave, Alys,” said Mama quietly.

  “No, he didn’t have a chance,” said Alys dismissively. “It was Flora who showed how well she could run.”

  I told her how I’d met Tata, and then we fell silent for a few seconds, thinking about him.

  “I didn’t tell him,” I said at last in a small voice, “about Daniel Ghiban. Oh, Alys I …”

  “Flora, you …” she began at the same time, and then we both stopped. Mama looked puzzled, but I didn’t want to explain. I needed to hear Alys’s story.

  “Tell me,” I said.

  She explained how she had been suspicious of Daniel from the beginning, with no proof. But then, (she took a deep breath at this point) her parents had taken her into their confidence at last, and she had learnt that her father was a part of an underground movement committed to rising up against Ceauşescu. They had started daubing “Down with Ceauşescu” on walls around the city. With contacts everywhere, they had discovered that Daniel Ghiban’s father was an important man in the secret police.

  “That day I came to your flat!” I cried, remembering.

  “My father was having a meeting,” she explained, “and I felt awful – but how could I let you in? How could we trust you?”

  She said sadly that she couldn’t have explained at that point. We both knew how much could have been avoided if only she had. My mother knew it too. She sat with her head in her hands, looking tired and sad.

  “Ghiban made me suspect you,” I said.

  “You didn’t believe him!”

  “You don’t know what to believe, when you’re confused.”

  “That’s the way these people work,” said Mama. “They pour poison all over the place, knowing that sooner or later it’s bound to kill somebody.”

  “Why did you trust him, Flora?” asked Alys.

  I was silent – ashamed. I knew it was because of many different things: my need for flattery, my weakness for good things like chocolate, my feeling of being cut off from my parents, my longing for friendship. And yet, and yet … Weren’t all those things perfectly normal? You could have scratched the surface of any of my classmates, and found similar truths.

  As if she read my mind, Alys murmured, “Maryon trusted him too.”

  “Poor Maryon,” said my mother. “But what about the teacher?”

  Alys shrugged. “My father thinks maybe Maryon told Daniel something about Mr Paroan. Or else he just followed him one day, and saw something … I suppose we’ll never know’

  “But Daniel seemed so … so … nice!” I burst out.

  “Flora, Flora, you should know better,” said Mama softly. “Can you trust what people look like?

  All over the world there are murderers who look like good neighbours, and good people who look ugly.”

  “But Daniel! Why did he do that?”

  “If I was feeling kind I’d say he had no choice,” said Alys sternly. “He’s just a true son of his father, who’s a true servant of Ceauşescu. And so it goes on. Anyway, he got well rewarded for informing, didn’t he?”

  I hung my head again. If Daniel Ghiban had walked into our flat at that moment, I swear I’d have jumped up and hit him, and kicked him, and paid him back for everything he had done. No choice? Was that really true? Could people g
et off that easily? When soldiers kill little children, and their mothers, is it enough of an excuse to say they were obeying orders, and had no choice? NO, I thought, if you don’t take the responsibility for what you do you might as well be a robot, not a human being. Yet I knew how wrong I had been too …

  And somewhere within me a small voice was asking if Daniel Ghiban ever hesitated. If he ever felt a flicker of doubt because he really did like me. I hoped so. But we would never know that either.

  “I wonder where Constantin is?” said my mother, half to herself.

  “My father’s asked people he knows. They say his two friends have disappeared too,” said Alys. “They might have been picked up,” said Mama. “But at least I’ve got some hope. Maybe they crossed the border right away.”

  She sounded so sad I couldn’t bear it. I ran across and flung my arms around her. “He’ll get in touch with us soon, somehow or other – I know it! We’ve got to have faith, Mama!”

  That was the chink of light in the black period. You have to believe in the people you love. And you have to believe in history too – that just around the corner there is a shift, which will take you off in a direction you never dreamt of.

  Just two days later people were fired on in Timisoara, in the west of our country. It began with a humble priest – that’s all. He was called Laszlo Tokes, a Hungarian, and when the people in charge tried to kick him out of his job, all the people who supported him took to the streets. It spread and spread – all the people’s hatred of Ceauşescu, and all the years of oppression – coming to the surface at last. Some of them, including children, were killed by troops. And really, it was the beginning of the end for the dictator who had ruled our country for so long.

  Of course, at the time my mother and I knew nothing of this. We were still being watched, although not for twenty-four hours a day any more. In a way we chose to remain prisoners in our flat, only going out to try to get food. My mother was sure some message would come from my father and she was determined to be at home when it did. The cold December days dragged on towards the year’s end. We had no thought of any celebrations.