The Story That Cannot Be Told

by J. Kasper Kramer

  Below, the prince revealed himself. How glad I am to see you in my garden, little sister.

  Ileana glanced down, feigning surprise. She scribbled a note onto a piece of parchment, folded it into a heart, and tossed it to him.

  My prince! the note read. Only your father’s golden apples can heal my poor sick sisters. But this fruit is terribly hard to reach! Since you are so handsome and brave, perhaps you can give me a hand?

  Only if you give me yours first, the prince said, smiling a villainous smile.

  Cunning Ileana smiled back, reading in his eyes the wicked plan to pull her down into the blades. When she reached toward the prince, sure enough he grabbed her wrist with both hands, yanking as hard as he could. But Ileana was stronger, and with one arm she lifted the prince into the air, then plucked his fingers off one by one till he dropped into his own death pit.

  Oops! Ileana signed as he writhed, screaming. What a simple girl I must be!

  Just then the monarch’s palace guards burst forth from hiding. When the princess saw she was surrounded, she plucked several golden apples from the tree and retrieved the fairy log out of her basket. Grabbing on just like the witch had explained, she wished as hard as she could, just as the soldiers dove toward her.

  There was a flash of light, and then Ileana found herself back at the mountain castle.

  Immediately she knew that something horrible had happened.

  Everything was silent and still. The battle had ceased. Even the blizzard had relented. There wasn’t a single other person in sight. Cunning Ileana crept through the halls, eating a golden apple on the way. She cleared her throat, trying to speak, but the words stayed stuck in her mouth. When she heard a noise in the dungeon, the princess took the stairs two at a time.

  To her horror she discovered her father, lifeless, on the floor of a dirty cell.

  Tata! Ileana cried without sound, dropping her basket.

  She ran to him, but realized at once her mistake. It wasn’t the emperor in the cell after all, but a dummy meant to lure her into a trap. The youngest princess spun around just as the iron door slammed shut. With a ridiculous laugh, the monarch emerged from the shadows, Cunning Ileana’s father beside him.

  Hello, sweetheart, the emperor said.

  Ileana grasped the bars with both hands. Behind her father were the courageous knight and her two sisters, all three gagged and bound. The emperor tried to smile.

  The thing is, darling, the monarch’s right, you know. His teeth are just the best. And it’s really totally fair how mean he is and how his sons steal secrets from everyone. I’ve been such a fool. So we’ve got to make it up to him, he said. Since you’ve kept such good faith, unlike your sisters, I’ve given my blessing for you to marry the monarch’s youngest son.

  Ileana gripped the bars tighter, eyes widening as she shook her head.

  We’ve sent for the prince already and will host the wedding as soon as he arrives. Unless, of course, you refuse?

  Cunning Ileana screamed at the top of her lungs. She kicked the cell door, shouting every bad word in the book. Of course, there was no sound at all. After allowing this to continue for some time, the monarch nudged the emperor, and the princesses’ father smiled again.

  Okay, then, he said. It’s settled. We’ll get the cooks started on the wedding feast right away!

  Alone in the dungeon, Cunning Ileana sank to the cell floor.

  The Radio

  When Gabi came inside, she could tell at once that something was wrong.

  “Why are you sitting in the hallway?” she asked, and then her brow lifted. “Have you been crying?”

  I wiped my nose and used the wall to stand. “I was just thinking about my favorite goat, Scaparici.”

  “Oh, Ileana.” Gabi came over and hugged me. “Your heart’s too big for this world.”

  When my grandparents and Sanda returned, the veterinarian called us into the kitchen.

  “Did someone come by the house?” she asked. “There are boot prints leading to the back door.”

  “No,” I said. “We were playing in the yard, though. So maybe we didn’t hear.”

  Lies are much easier the second time you tell them.

  Sanda turned to Mamaie, scowling. “Those damned Securitate. Wait till I catch them peeping on our girls.”

  Though the snow had stopped, the wind picked up again after dark. All night it howled through the valley, muffling the crackle of machine guns in the distance. I clutched my blanket to my chin, barely able to sleep.

  The next day, the green phone rang on the wall. Mamaie answered.

  “Liza?” she said into the receiver, her eyes widening. I perked up from the sofa nearby. “Liza, is that you? Where are you, darling? The call’s breaking up.” After a heartbeat my grandmother’s eyes turned to me. She hesitated before saying, “Yes, she’s here, but we haven’t seen her father. When did he go missing? Yesterday morning?”

  I wandered into the kitchen, feeling sick. My mamaie passed me the receiver, concerned.

  “Mama?” I said, clutching the phone to my head.

  “Baby,” my mother replied, already crying. Just the sound of her voice was enough to take away the breath from my lungs. “Are you all right? I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to call.”

  I pressed the plastic to my ear till it hurt.

  “Mama,” I said, my voice breaking. “Are you coming to the village? Are you coming to bring me back home?”

  “I’m trying,” she said. “But right now I have to find your father. Your mamaie says he hasn’t stopped by. You’re certain you haven’t seen him?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and dug my nails into my palms, gripping the phone like I was holding on for my life. I told myself Tata had headed back down the mountain. I told myself he’d gotten stuck in the cold on the way, taken shelter in a little farmhouse or barn. I told myself that if he’d actually done as I’d begged him—if he’d really gone after my uncle—I couldn’t risk saying the words. The Securitate would hear it over the phone. And if not, my grandparents, out of good intentions, might give him away. They might go to the officers, asking for help.

  “If you come to the village, we could look for Tata together,” I said. “Maybe he’s somewhere nearby.”

  But it was like my mother couldn’t hear me.

  “Something’s not right,” she whispered, voice shaking. “He’s done something reckless. I know it. I’m so sorry, Ileana. This is all my fault. I love you, you know that, don’t you?”

  I nodded, but I couldn’t seem to make any sounds. I kept gripping the phone tighter and tighter.

  “Things are going to get better, you’ll see. The whole world is going to change.”

  And just like that, the line went dead.

  “Mama?” I said. “Mama!”

  My grandmother pried the green phone from my fingers.

  “There, there, now,” she said, stroking my hair. “It’s okay, child! Don’t worry. Your father will turn up, I promise. And look at this! We know your mother is safe.”

  Mamaie glanced at Tataie, but her expression wasn’t as optimistic as her words.

  A couple of hours after the phone cut off, the power went out, so that evening Gabi and I had to light candles before setting the table for dinner. However, hungry as we all were, no one seemed particularly interested in eating more potatoes, especially the adults. They were clearly desperate for news, so they barely had two bites before moving to the living room.

  “Something’s happening,” Sanda said. Since she couldn’t plug in the portable radio, she’d had to scrounge up an old pack of batteries in the basement. “All this secrecy and then Liza just gives everything away? Our country is boiling and we’re the frog in the pot.”

  The veterinarian checked first for soldiers, then threaded the antenna wire out the window. Gabi and I finished our food and went to sit on the floor behind the couch. We looked at our map by the light of the woodstove, but it was hard to concentrate through all the gas
ping and whispers.

  Protests had spread over all of Romania. That morning, in response, the Leader had given a televised speech from my city. Foreign fascists were blamed for Timişoara. The crowd booed and shouted. The Leader raised his hand to silence them, gaping in shock, but at the sound of gunshots, chaos erupted. A hundred thousand grew to hundreds of thousands, and in the University Square a student ripped a hole in our flag as the masses swayed and sang, “Down with the dictator! Death to the criminal!”

  The Leader responded with tanks.

  Chaos was everywhere now. There was bloodshed on the streets near my apartment.

  I rose from behind the couch, heart pounding.

  “They’re saying the people are fighting back.” Sanda put her ear close to the speaker as the broadcast came in waves. “They’re saying it’s only a matter of time.”

  I stared at the little gray radio, blinking as the adults whispered in excitement and fright. The fire blazed behind the iron door of the stove, warming the air so the windows fogged up in the corners.

  I tried not to think. I tried not to picture my tower-block concrete apartment, explosions going off outside my bedroom. My fingers clutched the side of the couch.

  I tried not to picture my father shielding his head from gunfire—his nose red, his lips blue, his hair covered in snow. He’d walked such a long way in the cold to come see me—to see I was safe and to do the best that he could to keep my mother safe too.

  I tried to keep my feet, tried to keep the words in my head, but for all my effort I couldn’t. Mamaie and Tataie and Sanda must have sensed something was wrong. They turned to me, and my eyes filled with tears. I lowered myself to my knees.

  “I know where he is.” My voice trembled. “Tata’s trying to rescue Uncle Andrei. He’s gone to the top of the mountain.”

  The room went quiet but for the crackling wood and the static on the fading broadcast. Gabi peeked over the back of the couch.

  “I made him go. I called him a traitor and a coward.” The tears spilled, running down my flushed cheeks. “He’s out there in the mountains all alone. It’s freezing and dark. They’ve probably caught him.” My voice dropped to barely a breath. “He said the Securitate wanted the manifesto. He said that was the only reason Uncle Andrei was alive. But I didn’t tell him where it was. And now maybe they’ll both die because of me.”

  For a long time, no one said anything. Sanda’s hand was at her mouth.

  Mamaie took a big breath and let it out slowly. “We have to do something,” she said.

  “I’ll go get the papers,” said Tataie. “I’ll try bartering with the officers across the street. Make a trade. Half now. Release them. Half later.”

  Something flickered at the corner of my eye, drawing my attention to the front hall.

  “That’s a terrible plan,” Sanda said, her voice hushed. “How can you trust them? They might take half the papers, then grab someone as a hostage. Or they might say sure, agree to release her father and uncle, but shoot anyway when they have what they want.”

  The flicker came again—lights outside the window. I wiped my nose, rising, and made my way across the room.

  “There’s just one choice,” said Mamaie. “One of us has to go up there ourselves. Offer the trade right at the source.”

  “It could still turn out bad,” said Tataie. “And how do we decide who will go? I’ll say me; you’ll say you. We’ll talk in circles all night.”

  The adults and Gabi were still distracted when I reached the door. They didn’t see me open it. They didn’t see me freeze in place.

  Flashlights dancing in houses all down the street.

  Flashlights in the yard.

  A beam cast right in my face, blinding me as I turned back inside, door still open. Everyone in the living room was looking my way now, but I couldn’t make myself move. I couldn’t do anything but drop my eyes to the radio. Only seconds to hide it. Soldiers merely footsteps away. Soldiers who could hear every word I might use. Only a code would be enough to warn them in time.

  “What is it?” asked my mamaie, frightened by my expression.

  I opened my mouth, but the story that could not be told stuck in my throat.

  Behind me, armed men burst through the door.

  The Rescuer

  We all cried out as the soldiers rushed in, pointing flashlights and shouting commands. I ran to Mamaie and grabbed her arm, clutching tight as they circled around us. A Securitate officer picked up the radio and started yelling to the rest of the men as they turned over furniture and pulled up rugs. We stumbled our way through the living room and were marched into the street before we could even put on our coats. Soldiers barked orders as we were herded down the dark road. I wrapped my arms around myself, shaking. There was a similar commotion up ahead, yelling and lights reflecting off snow. I realized where we were headed when I saw the glow of lamps through the windows of the schoolhouse.

  Inside, the stove had not been lit. A layer of frost covered the chalkboard. Desks and chairs were all shoved to the walls. Books toppled from shelves as people bumped by, pages torn under feet. All the villagers who remained, less than fifteen, were made to sit in the center of the room on the floor. I heard one Securitate ask another about the nasty bedridden woman who lived across from the church. Whatever response he got made him smile.

  The villagers were restless, muttering and panicked as the soldiers paced back and forth, standing guard at the door, their guns pointed toward us like a firing squad. Even I could tell, though, that some of the uniformed men looked incredibly anxious.

  “Surely by now they’ve heard,” whispered Sanda. “They must know what’s happening in the cities.”

  For a long time we sat there, for hours, freezing on that hard classroom floor. But then, finally, the man in the brown suit came bustling in. He emptied a box of things from villagers’ houses onto Mrs. Sala’s wooden desk. A cookbook from Italy. A collection of tapes—Elvis Costello, Michael Jackson, Madonna. Mr. Ursu’s portable radio with its long, thin wire. The man knelt down in front of Tataie.

  “Are you in league with the fascists?”

  My grandfather blinked. “The fascists?”

  “The ones in the forest. You’ve been caught with terrorist contraband. What other explanation could there be?”

  “The radio is mine,” Sanda spoke up. “I was listening for news from Bucharest.”

  The man in the brown suit narrowed his eyes. He moved so that he was standing right above her, looking down. “And what does the news say?”

  The veterinarian hesitated, glancing at her daughter. “There are protests everywhere. There’s fighting.”

  The man in the brown suit smiled his awful smile. “Lies. The trouble is contained. The last of it will be over by morning, I assure you.”

  Gabi’s back was pressed against mine. She started breathing heavily, in and out through her nose.

  “But for you,” the man said to the room, “for you things are not looking well. Contraband. Illegal activities. We know you’ve been supporting the terrorists in these mountains.”

  When someone started to protest, the man yanked a gun from the arms of a soldier beside him and fired it repeatedly into the roof. People shouted. Chunks of ceiling dropped down to the floor. One of the old farmers started to cry.

  Gabi began coughing.

  “You have one chance. There is a document. A manifesto with names.” The man in the brown suit lowered the gun and his voice. “One chance. That’s it. Tell us where it’s hidden. Otherwise, those resisters you’re helping will die, and in the morning we’ll burn down the rest of your homes—perhaps even with you inside them.”

  There was commotion then. The crying grew louder. People tried to stand, yelling. More shots were fired.

  Through it all, the only thing I could hear was my friend beside me, gasping for air.

  “Help! Help her!” I screamed.

  Sanda turned to her daughter and caught her by her shoulders. She loo
ked into her eyes.

  “My medicine,” Gabi said to her mother. She was wheezing, convulsing.

  “Help her!” I cried again. “She’s just a kid!”

  The other noise quieted down. Sanda got on her knees, crawling forward.

  “Please, I’m begging you. Sir, please. Her medicine! She needs her medicine!”

  The officer’s face didn’t change. “The manifesto. Where is it?”

  “It could be in a few places. I’m not sure. We’ll tell you everything we know, I swear, but how can we trust that you won’t still harm us if you let my little girl die! I need to help her back to the house. Please. I’m begging you, please.”

  Sanda started to sob. Gabi’s eyes turned up into her skull. The man looked at her brace, then at me.

  “You. Take your friend to her house. Come right back,” he said.

  He motioned to one of the Securitate officers, who pulled us to our feet. I stood, blinking, my limbs weak, as Gabi grabbed onto my neck. For some reason, though, even as I helped my friend to the door, the fear in Sanda’s eyes only grew. I realized the look had spread to Mamaie and Tataie as well.

  “She’s just a child. She won’t know how to administer—” Sanda started.

  The man in the suit took Gabi’s arm. He shook her till she almost slipped out from under me.

  “Do you want her to get medicine or not?” he shouted.

  Sanda lowered herself back to the floor. My tataie took my mamaie’s hand.

  “You don’t have to go. It’s your choice,” he said to me, and this time I was certain he was hiding something else in his words. I looked at him, confused, till Gabi started coughing again and I led her away.

  Out in the cold, the night was black, the sky full of clouds overhead, but the ground was so white that I could still make out the houses and the frozen tunnels we’d dug in the yard. The officer trailed along as we staggered through the snow. I hadn’t realized who he was till just then—the same man who’d taken my voice the afternoon Old Constanta had saved me. He didn’t offer to help even once as Gabi leaned into my shoulder, and that, more than anything else, made me furious.