Tsura held Cristina’s arm as they followed Mihai up the steps to Dumitru’s, the most popular restaurant club in Bucharest. The October night air was cool, whispering of a coming winter that promised to be as harsh as the year before. The chill of the evening air drove them quickly through the doors to the heated foyer of the club.
She glanced down at herself. Her thick pleated wool skirt flared nicely. Everything was still in place. No one would guess she had seventy-five fake identification papers in canvas pouches strapped around her thighs. After all, who would suspect an exchange of illegal documents in the club that was most popular with all the German officials and businessmen in Bucharest?
“Remind me again, why did I let you talk me into coming?” Cristina growled.
“Because Elena heard Mihai and I were meeting friends here and she volunteered you,” Tsura said cheerfully. “Since you’re in need of catching a husband.”
Cristina shot her a glare and Tsura smiled sweetly. Over the last month, ever since the scare with Gheorghe, Cristina and Tsura had become friends. The baby had spent a week in the hospital before coming home, and Tsura had begun spending more time at their apartment. At first, she’d only been helping out with the children while Elena and Klaus were at the hospital and Cristina was scheduled to work. Afterwards it had simply felt natural to keep coming over.
Befriending Elena was still difficult, what with Herr Hitler staring down at Tsura the whole time. But getting to know Cristina had been a pure and simple pleasure. Elena and Cristina were as different as could be, and watching them sling subtle barbs at one another made up for any discomfort in the task of keeping up her friendship with Elena for appearances’ sake. Tsura didn’t know Cristina’s political leanings, but she suspected they varied greatly from her sister-in-laws. Tsura had even gone a few times to volunteer at the hospital where Cristina worked and had enjoyed being useful. Having a job would help reinforce her and Mihai’s appearance as a normal, patriotic Romanian couple.
Appearances were everything, especially on a night like tonight. She and Mihai must appear to be newlyweds out on the town, meeting friends of his so he could show off his new bride. All to hide the fact that they were actually here to meet with a contact to pass off the identification papers she’d completed and get a new list of names and photos. Cristina coming along was a last-minute added complication, but not insurmountable. If played right, her presence would only add to the believability of the little show they were performing. Tsura didn’t particularly like using her friend in this way, but circumstances were what they were.
As they stepped through the dimly lit area of the foyer to the social club, Mihai moved behind her to take her coat. His fingers brushed her shoulders as he removed it. She shivered. Just from the sudden chill of her silk shirt without the warmth of her coat. Or the nerves of going on her first mission.
They walked into the first room full of tables lit by candle light. Beyond it was a dance floor. A small band filled the stage at the front of the room where a violin player’s bow sang a passionate tango. Couples danced together in the Western style, face to face, chest to chest. Nothing like the folk dancing at the wedding. The music made Tsura ache for Luca and she said a quick silent prayer to God for his safety. Then she tried to put from her mind how cold he must be with winter coming. She had a job to do tonight and she would focus. Her second face must be played to perfection.
“I’ve heard a lot about this club but have never actually been inside,” Cristina whispered.
“Why not?” Tsura asked.
Cristina rolled her eyes. “Because it comes so highly recommended by Elena. Klaus comes here a lot for business.”
An attendant in a smart black suit greeted them, saving Tsura from the discomfort of the reminder of Klaus’s Nazi meetings. “Table for three?” the attendant asked.
Mihai didn’t say anything. He was already looking around the club.
“No,” Tsura said. “We’re meeting friends. They should be inside.” Mihai had already started walking away so Tsura scurried to follow him toward the back of the room where two tables had been shoved together and a group of people sat laughing.
“Look who it is!” Radu jumped up as soon as he noticed them. “The happy newlyweds!”
Radu was grinning as usual. An answering grin lit Tsura’s face. She nearly hugged him but a heavy arm on her shoulders stopped her. She stared up in surprise at Mihai. Was he doing his best to imitate what normal couples did, or had he known how close she’d come to slipping up again? No one could know she and Radu were old friends, they were supposed to have met recently at the wedding. Mihai wasn’t smiling, of course, but his arm remained curled around her shoulders. She tried to look natural in his awkward half-embrace. “May I present my wife, Alexandra,” Mihai said. “And her friend, Cristina Teodorescu.”
Radu picked up where Mihai left off, introducing the two at the closest end of the table first, Rareș and Alina. They were obviously a couple.
“How nice it must be,” Alina said, looking pointedly at Rareș, “to be happily married.” She leaned over toward Tsura. “You must tell me how you dragged him to the altar. My mama keeps saying this one,” she jerked a thumb in Rareș’ direction, “needs to ask me a certain big question or I ought to dump him and find someone who will.”
“Aw dear one,” Rareș put an arm around her shoulder. He was a skinny man with a lean, handsome face. “You know you’re the world to me. It’s just in these uncertain times we have to grasp at all the happiness we can get when it’s in front of us and not worry about tomorrow—”
Alina took a piece of bread from a basket in the middle of the table and shoved it in his mouth, rolling her eyes. “You and your pretty words. I’m looking for something a little more solid. And circular.” She wagged the fingers of her left hand at him.
Rareș finished chewing and swallowing the bread she’d shoved in his mouth and kissed her behind her ear. Her stern expression slowly dissolved into a giggle as he nibbled at her ear. Tsura looked away as she felt her cheeks grow pink.
Radu only grinned and went to continue introductions when his attention shifted from Tsura to Cristina. His mouth dropped open slightly before he gave her an overly grand bow and took her hand. Cristina glared at him and yanked it away before he could kiss it. He grinned at her as he rose back up, his classic I’m-irresistible-aren’t-I-grin that he pulled whenever he set eyes on a woman he liked out in full force.
“Radu, darling,” said a pouty blond woman sitting at the table beside Alina. “I need a light.” She waved her cigarette toward him. Cristina looked at the blonde whose hair color was obviously not natural and then back at Radu. Cristina merely arched an eyebrow and pushed past him.
Tsura could’ve laughed. Most women melted at Radu’s feet when he flashed that grin. She enjoyed the slightly astonished look on his face as Cristina promptly dismissed him.
His muteness lasted only a second before he swept his arm out at the table. “May I introduce Alina’s lovely friend Dana.” He winked at Dana, the blond, and she giggled. It was a high-pitched noise. Cristina visibly winced at the sound. “Then that’s Emil at the end there.” He nodded toward a tow-headed man at the end of the table.
All of them looked several drinks in. No one at the table could be above thirty, and the men all wore suits, or, at least, what was left of suits after coat jackets had been slung over chairs and cravats untied and hanging. Alina and Dana were dressed similarly in cap-sleeved silk blouses that tucked into tidy A-line skirts—though Dana’s plunged more daringly in front—and they both wore bright red lipstick.
Tsura and Cristina greeted everyone and took their seats. Mihai simply nodded once to the table and sat. Tsura was glad to slip out from underneath the weight of Mihai’s arm. The canvas pouches were thick and scratchy against her thighs. She sat slightly lopsided until a subtle readjustment underneath the tablecloth shifted one sack to the left and she could sit correctly. She’d continued smiling politely and chatting with
everyone the entire time. The canvas against her skin felt like a delicious secret, a mockery of all these well dressed patrons who danced the evening away in glittering dresses without a care about the wrongs in the world.
“It’s been forever since we’ve seen you out, Mihai,” Emil said, shaking his head at Mihai. He was a round-faced man with a neatly cropped mustache and spoke in heavily accented Romanian. “Not since I lost everything but my shirt to you at poker. No one has a game face like you! Though I guess you’ve had good enough reason to stay in lately.” His eyes stayed on Tsura for an uncomfortably long time until Radu smacked him on the side of the head.
“Eyes to yourself, idiot. She’s spoken for. And Miss Teodorescu…” Radu looked at Cristina, his woman-slaying grin back in place. “Surely a woman as beautiful as you has a beau?”
Cristina looked back at him with a saccharine smile. “Well, I’m usually too busy nursing wounded soldiers who’ve had various bits of their bodies blown off to think about beaus. Somehow all that blood doesn’t quite mix with thoughts of romance or going to the cinema.” By the end of the sentence, the sugar in her voice had turned venomous, though there was still a smile on her face.
Dana appeared to only have heard one word though: cinema. Her eyes moved from watching the dancing at the other side of the room to Radu. “Oh, have you seen the new movie that’s playing?” Dana asked him, blinking her eyes prettily as she leaned in.
“The Heinz Rühmann comedy?” Emil spoke up.
Dana nodded.
“Oh it was so funny!” Emil said, his mustache jerking as he smiled. “I dragged them all to see it. Except Mihai of course, who never comes to the cinema.”
Mihai gave an infinitesimal shrug. Though he’d been quiet throughout the conversation, he was such a large man that he still felt like a presence at the table. It was more than his size. It was his bearing, the firm set of his shoulders, his cool eyes watching everything going on around him in such a way that you couldn’t tell if he was mildly amused or bored or busy thinking terribly brilliant thoughts.
“I don’t like having to read subtitles, though.” Dana’s pretty brow furrowed. “I liked it better when we used to get French films. Those at least I could understand since we all learned it in school.”
Emil glowered. Radu merely laughed. “Don’t you know it’s bad form, my beauty, to mention Romanians used to be absolute Francophiles? Makes our new friends feel we’re being disloyal.”
Dana only stared at him, and Tsura thought the girl might not have understood what he meant by Francophile. Dana waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want to see a movie I can understand without having to read everything!”
Emil laughed at this, appearing charmed by her. “Well soon the young people here will grow up learning German instead of French.”
Tsura almost choked on her sip of wine. Did he really believe that? Didn’t he know the Germans were losing more ground each day against the Russians? The papers were all putting positive spins on the war news, but anyone with eyes in their head could see the Russians had been forcing the German and Romanian armies’ front lines further and further south ever since the turning point at Stalingrad earlier this year.
“But that won’t help me at all, now will it?” Dana laughed back. “Most of the time I can barely even tell there’s a war going on. I hate any reminders.”
“So you must avoid all newspapers then,” Cristina lifted an eyebrow. “And the radio.”
“Oh no,” Dana said, apparently missing Cristina’s acerbic tone. “I adore the radio. As long as they are playing tangos and those upbeat songs.” Dana pulled out another long cigarette from her tiny purse. Radu leaned forward to light it. She sucked in a long breath that made her cheeks pucker, her eyes on Radu, then blew it out in a steady stream of smoke that mingled with the already smoke-clouded room. Radu eased an arm casually over her shoulders—a move Tsura had seen many times before back in his and Luca’s university days. But his eyes were still on Cristina, who was studiously avoiding looking at him.
“How is it you speak Romanian so well?” Tsura asked Emil. “Have you lived here long?”
Emil smiled widely, eyes bright from the beer he’d been drinking. “My parents are Romanian but my family moved to Berlin right after I was born. I only came out here last year to buy up a couple local businesses. It was such an opportunity, I couldn’t pass it up.”
Tsura’s stomach soured further. He was one of those vultures Elena had spoken so carelessly about, buying up Jewish businesses the government had seized. “Nice,” she said, pasting a blinding smile on her face that was all teeth. “How lucky for you that there is a war on. Those properties you buy up are such a steal!” She turned to Mihai, suddenly unable to sit at this table one second longer. “Oh, darling, I love this song they are playing. Come, let’s dance.” She stood up without waiting for a reply and grabbed his hand, taking him with her. He was so big she couldn’t have dragged him if he didn’t let her, but he took her cue and followed easily.
“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea. I do so love to dance!” Dana squealed from behind them. She pulled Radu to his feet. Radu’s eyes were on Cristina, but he allowed himself to be hauled away toward the packed dance floor.
As they wound through the other tables and the cloud of smoke that floated above the dining room, Mihai leaned down and spoke into Tsura’s ear. “Maybe we shouldn’t dance. What if the…unmentionables become loose?”
She laughed, a light airy sound that anyone around them would mistake for a response to whispered love words. She leaned up on her tip toes, hands on his chest to whisper back. “Don’t worry so much. I used an entire role of tape securing them to my legs. I brought scissors in my handbag because I’m fairly certain I’ll have to cut them off.”
He gave a stiff nod and then pulled away from her. He was dressed smartly and his hair was smoothed back in pomaded lines.
She laughed again. “You do realize we have to touch if we are to dance.”
Without saying anything, Mihai pulled her to his chest, startling her to silence. He positioned his arms easily, one held out to frame her, the other settling in the curve of her waist. It was the correct position for the tango. Tsura’s mouth opened with surprise, but she laid her right hand in his and settled her left on his shoulder.
Mihai wasn’t stiff at all as he pulled her smoothly into the dancing crowd. In fact, he seemed to glide. The canvas pouches on Tsura’s legs made her movements a little less smooth than normal, but she quickly adapted.
She tilted her face up to look at him quizzically. “You have a hidden talent,” she whispered. “Luca taught me to dance, but where did you learn?” Then she grinned. “Or did Luca teach you too? I can just imagine you both waltzing around the living room after I was asleep.”
Mihai only looked down at her with one eyebrow raised. “I learned in Paris.” But then as Tsura watched, his face slightly reddened.
Tsura’s grin deepened. At times, Mihai was so dreadfully easy to tease. “And who was your teacher?”
His lips became a taut line. “No one. Just a woman.” He averted his gaze.
“Was she your lover?” Tsura prodded.
Mihai looked down at her sharply. “You are too young to know about things like that.”
She almost choked with her laugh. “I’m hardly an innocent.”
Mihai’s shrewd eyes were locked on hers, and he seemed to sense something in her gaze. Now he did stiffen under her hands. “The boy at grandfather’s house?” His jaw went hard. “I’m going to kill him.” The tone of his voice made it sound as if he actually might.
“His name is Andrei and he’s not a boy,” she whispered, leaning in. “I love him and I’m going to marry him. I already told you this.”
Mihai only grunted in response, looking away from her out over the crowd as they continued to glide around the room. Tsura continued to stare at him, though.
“Did you love her? This Parisian girl
who taught you to dance?”
Mihai’s head swiveled back to look at her so sharply she wondered if his neck would hurt later. It was absurd, asking about love while in a club that catered to Nazi sympathizers, in the middle of a war. But she still wanted to know, so she didn’t look away. She didn’t know if Mihai was going to answer her when he finally let out an explosive breath.
“No, I did not love her,” he said. “But she was a good teacher, in many things.” He looked away again as soon as he said it, his neck pink.
She grinned. After the war, maybe she and Luca could find a nice soft girl for him. She frowned at the thought. It might be hard to find someone who wasn’t afraid of him. What kind of women did he like anyway? She suddenly wanted him to find something like she’d found with Andrei.
She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined she was in Andrei’s arms. But no, that didn’t work because Andrei was so thin and slight of frame. She couldn’t imagine the broad chest and wide shoulder she held onto was anyone’s but Mihai’s. And he smelled different, that crisp clean scent of his aftershave. Different from Andrei’s earthy smell.
Tsura breathed it in for a moment. But then suddenly thinking of Andrei while dancing with Mihai felt odd, maybe wrong somehow. Before she could think too long on it, however, a small hand grabbed her arm, startling her, and Cristina’s distressed face appeared beside her.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Cristina said, “can we talk?”
Tsura nodded and then Cristina was pulling Tsura by her wrist toward the edge of the crowd.
“Excuse us,” Cristina called above the music as she shouldered roughly past dancing couples, disrupting their slow waltzes. She ignored their disgruntled exclamation and continued leading Tsura. Mihai followed, face impassive but watchful.
“What’s going on?” Tsura asked.
“That greasy German, Emil, can’t keep his hands to himself and keeps trying to take the words of the song as an invitation,” Cristina gestured toward the stage, where the singer crooned the popular Cristian Vasile tune, Sarută-mă. Kiss me.
“I’ll keep him away from you for the rest of the night,” Mihai said firmly.
Cristina waved a hand. “You know what? None of this is really for me. Coming out tonight was all Elena’s idea. And the loud music is giving me a headache.” She winced and pressed her palm to her forehead. “I’d really rather just go home.”
Tsura flicked a glance up at Mihai.
Seeing the look, Cristina went on, “But I don’t need you two to walk me home. I’ll take a coach. I saw several lined up outside.”
“I don’t know,” Tsura said, rubbing her thumb across her palm. Tsura peeked surreptitiously at Mihai’s watch. They still had fifteen minutes until the scheduled meeting with their contact. They hadn’t bargained on having Cristina along. Maybe they could get her to wait in the lobby for half an hour?
“We’ll see you back to the apartment,” Mihai said. “It’s not safe to go home alone in the city.”
Cristina waved a hand at him. “Oh please, I walk back and forth to the hospital alone every day.”
“But not at ten at night,” Mihai said. They’d have to miss their meeting to take Cristina home. If Mihai felt any disappointment or annoyance, it didn’t show on his face. Bringing Cristina had seemed like a good idea—not that there had been much choice since Elena had all but forced the issue earlier this afternoon—since it meant an extra layer for their cover story, but it had obviously been a mistake.
“Come,” Mihai said, “let’s get you home.”
Before Mihai could gesture towards the door, though, Radu stepped out from among some others crowded along the edge of the dance floor, right behind Cristina.
“Did I overhear that you need an escort home? I’d be happy to volunteer my illustrious services.”
Cristina jumped at the voice in her ear and whipped around. “Don’t you need to attend to your lovely date?”
“She’s not really my date,” Radu said easily. “I’ve only gone out with her a few times, but it was never going to work out between us. Besides, she came with Alina and Rareș tonight, not me.”
Cristina rolled her eyes, then looked back and forth between Tsura and Mihai. “Fine,” she said with a sigh, turning toward Radu. She narrowed her eyes at him. “But only because I don’t want to ruin Alexandra and Mihai’s evening. And this is just an escort to the door of my building, nothing else.”
Radu grinned and held out his arm to her. “I don’t suppose you’d like one dance before we go?”
Cristina pushed past his arm and strode toward the front of the club. Radu laughed as if he’d never been more delighted and then jogged after her.
Tsura was still looking at Cristina and Radu when Mihai bent, his breath warm on her ear. “Come, we want to be seen dancing.”
An involuntary shudder went down her spine and she pulled away from him. It was only because his breath had tickled, but still. For a second it had made her feel strange.
She shook away the bizarre thoughts. If she was stiffer in Mihai’s arms than when they had danced before, either he didn’t notice or didn’t say. They danced a few more songs. The crowd was heavier than ever and no one was looking their way. Mihai glanced down at his watch and then gave a slight nod. It was time.
Tsura felt her heart thudding in her chest. It took all her self-control not to look to see if anyone was watching, but that might bring attention to them. She’d have to trust Mihai.
He took Tsura’s hand and led her along the crowded edge of the dance floor. They went down a hallway past the restrooms and then, with a quick glance behind them to make sure no one was looking their direction or stepping out of the bathrooms, he knocked twice, then three more times on the door. A second later, it creaked open. Mihai pressed his hand to Tsura’s back and hurried her inside.
The small room was packed with boxes labeled with various wines and barrels of beer. A short, slim man with a neatly trimmed mustache welcomed them in.
“Mihai, it’s good to see you,” said the man.
“You as well, Stelian. May I introduce my wife, Alexandra.” Tsura was surprised he didn’t use her real name, but then she supposed it made sense for them to expose her secret to as few people as possible. Tsura was a recognizably Roma name.
The space was tight, but Stelian directed them around to a corner hidden by stacked boxes. The walls and floor of the room were brick, but looked like they hadn’t been washed in a long time. The sour, yeasty smell of beer permeated the air.
“We need to make this quick,” Stelian said. “You have the papers?”
“Yes,” Tsura said. She went behind several boxes stacked waist high, for modesty’s sake, and used the scissors from her purse to cut the tape holding the bags to her thighs. She winced as she peeled the rest of the tape from her leg. She returned and gave the bags to Stelian.
He opened them eagerly and thumbed through the identification papers inside. His gaze shot back to Tsura. “And these are the ones you created?”
“With the tools left behind by Levi, yes,” Tsura said, then bit her lip.
Stelian turned one of the IDs over in the light, examining it from all sides. “They’re very good. I think they’ll pass with no problems.”
Tsura let out a sigh of relief, only realizing now she’d been holding her breath in anxiety as he evaluated her work.
“And you can do more?”
Tsura nodded eagerly. “What I need are the photographs and the information they want on the ID: names, marriages, children, any specific addresses or dates need to be noted. I can begin immediately working on as many as you get to me.”
Stelian rubbed his chin thoughtfully and nodded. “Having you house the equipment and create the IDs is far better than the moveable labs we’ve had in the past. And the quality is unquestionable.” A shot of warmth flooded Tsura’s chest. She’d done it. Then Stelian looked sharply at Mihai. “But this means keeping up appearances with the Germans is more impor
tant than ever.”
Mihai’s face didn’t change from its normal stony expression. “Of course.” Tsura couldn’t tell if he was irritated by the other man’s warning.
“Any other news?” Stelian asked Mihai, looking toward the door as if nervous to be spending any more time than necessary here.
“The Germans were notified of Filderman’s proposition for the partial return of deportees,” Mihai said, his voice so low it could barely be heard. “The German ambassador will block him at every turn.”
“Well, next week Filderman will send another proposition,” Stelian whispered. “This time to return all deportees. We need to know how it’s received. Antonescu can’t bow to German pressure forever in this matter.”
Tsura looked between the both of them. “Could that really happen? All the deportees being returned?”
Mihai’s brows furrowed as if calculating. “The Germans will postpone as long as possible, but the Russians are at our borders. Soon Transnistria and its concentration camps will no longer be under Romanian control.”
“How soon?” Stelian asked.
“Yesterday there was a report that the Germans have fallen back as far as the Crimea.”
Stelian’s eyes widened in surprise. “So close?”
Mihai nodded. He leaned in, dropping his voice even lower. “What’s left of the Romanian Army detachments are leaving the Germans to fall back to hold the Transnistrian line in the coming weeks. They will fail.” His voice was completely matter of fact. “The Russians have superior numbers, equipment, and ammunition. It’s only a matter of when, not if now. The Red Army will flood through Transnistria on their way to Romania. The German and Romanian armies will have to clear the entire area, including the deportees within the next six months unless something drastic happens to keep the Russians back.”
“What if the army leaves the deportees behind to be abandoned to the Russians?” Tsura asked in a whisper.
Mihai shook his head. “Antonescu and the Deputy Prime Minister want to repatriate the deportees to garner good will with the West in case Germany falls. The fact that they’re already willing to bring back some is a good sign.”
Tsura swallowed hard as she thought of the deportees being returned. In as little as six months she could have Luca back again. If he was still alive. But no, she couldn’t think like that. Of course he was still alive. She swallowed hard and lifted her head. “When the deportees return, where will they go?”
“Many of their homes have been taken by the government,” Stelian said, pacing back and forth in the small space. “The Jewish Federation will do what it can to place those who return. We’re already preparing for the first wave of returnees.” He looked to Mihai. “Any word when it will go through?”
“Possibly as early as December. But only because they’re allowing veterans and former civil servants to return. It will take much longer to get all the deportees back.” Mihai’s mouth twisted down. “If Antonescu will agree to it. Foolish man is planning another trip to Berlin. He knows they are losing, but still won’t risk alienating Hitler.”
Stelian shook his head in disgust.
“But that’s not the reason why I wanted to meet with you face to face,” Mihai said, iron gray eyes fixing on Stelian’s. “I have requested in my last several reports assurances that all your contacts actively search for a deportee named Luca Draghici. The Roma with one leg.” Mihai’s face was cold even as Tsura felt her cheeks heat and her heart rate speed up. “And yet I have heard nothing back.”
Stelian nodded again, his face neutral. “We understand that this is important to you. But we all have loved ones we care about. It’s more important to focus on the many, though, not just the few. Now, we have already risked being here too long, I’ll leave first—”
Mihai’s eyes narrowed as he grabbed Stelian’s arm roughly to stop him from moving. “You are not going anywhere until we have settled this point. Every ounce of information—and lei—I donate, I do for this man you dismiss with a wave of your hand.” His voice was low and dangerous. “Do you understand me? There’s no one as well connected as me in the German consulate. The Germans will get desperate now that they are on the losing side.
“Ambassador Killinger is a crazy bastard who will inflict as much damage as he can before he goes. And Richter, his advisor on Jewish affairs is more determined than ever to imprison or execute Filderman before it’s all over.” Mihai’s voice lowered in timber as he gained intensity. “Richter already put a stop to letting the starving orphans from Transnistria emigrate to Palestine. And it’s not only Jews who have to be worried. They even tossed Tudor Arghezi—one of the most respected national writers in the country—in prison, just for writing a satirical poem in the paper about Killinger. I watched Killinger light a pile of copies on fire in his office. These are not stable men and you need eyes on them.”
“Are you threatening not to give us information if we don’t help find your friend?” Stelian asked, his voice a raised whisper. He was leaned slightly back. Though Mihai had never taken a step, he’d angled himself forward, invading the smaller man space. “And threatening to cut off your financial support at the same time?” Stelian seemed to gain back some of his footing. He squared his shoulders. “All these years we believed you were an exception, that unlike others, your generous donations were not motivated by a desire to purchase something.”
Generous donations? All these years? Tsura looked back and forth between the two men. Mihai had been giving money to the Jewish community for years? She hadn’t known. She’d thought he lived in such a small apartment because he was a stoic, pragmatic man who simply didn’t see the need for more space. Was the truth that he’d been living frugally so he could give his money away? And how much had he given?
“I don’t particularly care what you think of my motivations.” Mihai’s face was still hard as marble. “No matter what they were, or are, the fact remains: I have worked for the Jewish cause for many years now without asking a single favor in return. Except this one. And it’s a favor I must demand.”
“And if this one legged Roma is already dead?” Stelian asked. Tsura winced as if she’d been slapped. Stelian didn’t notice her since his gaze was locked on Mihai.
“Then he is dead,” Mihai said, his voice unreadable. Tsura wanted to scream at him for even saying the words out loud, but then he was speaking again. “But if he isn’t, I will be notified the moment he reenters Romania among the deportees. I’ll pay three million lei in return for this favor.”
Tsura struggled not to choke at the figure. From what Luca had told her, Mihai’s maternal grandfather had left him a fortune when he died, money his father couldn’t touch. Maybe three million lei was nothing to him. Or maybe it was everything left in his bank account.
“You may be a mercenary,” Stelian’s voice was low, “but we are not. We don’t care about your money.”
Mihai laughed, low and caustic. “You are many things, Stelian, but rarely a liar. Money buys lives. Money keeps your people out of the labor gangs. Not to mention that you will need it to rebuild after the war. For more bribes. To buy boats to take you to Palestine. And in the meantime, you need the information I can provide. No one is as well-placed as I am.”
“Fine, fine,” Stelian said, then smiled sardonically at Mihai. “You are a hard man. I agree to your terms. We will question every deportee we can find until we locate your Roma friend.”
Mihai’s jaw relaxed, but only slightly. “That is all I ask. Do you have the new drop location?”
Stelian nodded. “You go to the library often, correct?”
“Yes,” Mihai said.
“There will be a hollowed out book on the second floor stacks. Memorize this call number.” Stelian produced a piece of paper with letters and numbers. Mihai examined it carefully, his thick eyebrows bunched together, his lips moving silently. After another few moments, he passed the paper back.
Stelian pulled out a lighter and burned up the slip of pa
per, shaking the flame out when only a small unmarked corner of the paper was left.
He handed Tsura an envelope. She peered inside and saw a stack of photographs and a folded sheet of paper, no doubt another list of names. She slipped it into one of the canvas pouches attached to her thigh she’d kept empty for just this purpose.
“That concludes our business then,” Stelian said.
They all stood and Mihai and Stelian shook hands. He walked toward the door. “I’ll leave first. Wait five minutes and then you can go. The door will lock behind you.”
Mihai nodded and they waited behind the boxes. Tsura studied Mihai. With everything she’d learned about him, somehow his face didn’t seem as harsh as it used to. In spite of the fact that she’d just seen him be intentionally intimidating, the heavy jut of his eyebrows seemed less severe, his nose less blunt. His face might still be made of angles like cut granite, that heavy brow, the slice of his jaw leading to the sharp triangular point of his cleft chin. But all the features together didn’t seem menacing like she used to think.
She looked away. “I didn’t know you’ve been giving money to the Jewish Federation,” she whispered.
Mihai shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
Tsura smacked him on the arm. “It’s not nothing and you know it. Do you have friends who are Jewish, is that it?”
Mihai shrugged again.
“Shrugging isn’t an actual answer, you realize this, yes?”
He shrugged again, but this time there was that tiny edge of a smile.
Tsura rolled her eyes, but then she smiled back at Mihai. They stared at each other for a long moment before Mihai cleared his throat and looked down at his watch. “Time for us to go.”
Right as they turned to go, though, the noise of a key scratched in the lock. Tsura’s breath hitched and she immediately went to duck for cover behind the boxes. Mihai stopped her with a strong arm around her waist. She didn’t dare risk voicing the question to ask him what he was doing as he swiftly untucked his shirttail. He loosened his tie and undid a few buttons, then pressed Tsura’s back against the wall. His hand went to her hair, pulling out several pins and mussing it.
Then the door opened and Mihai clutched her to him, dropping his face against her neck. His breath was warm against her throat, his body cinched so tight to hers she could barely breathe, or maybe that was because of her terror at what would happen next.
“None of that in here,” said a voice from behind them. Mihai pulled away, breathing hard. He looked over his shoulder at the tall man who’d entered the room. The man had on the crisp black and white suit that all the servers wore. “How did you get in here?” he barked.
Mihai stepped in front of Tsura. “What? The door wasn’t closed all the way. It opened when I pulled it.”
“I’m so sorry,” Tsura piped up, infusing her voice with abject embarrassment to match the genuine blush spreading across her face. Her hand rubbed at the spot on her neck where she’d felt Mihai’s breath. “We’re newlyweds you see and—”
The server held up a hand. “Fine, fine. But this room is off limits to guests. I trust you will remember that in the future.”
Mihai bowed his head and nodded, then grabbed Tsura’s hand and pulled her stridently through the door, fixing his appearance as he went. As they walked down the hall back to the dance floor, Tsura adjusted the pins in her hair, feeling too many things at once. They’d gotten away with their meeting and her body felt light with exhilaration, like with each step she took she might just lift right up off the ground. But if that server had come in only minutes earlier, he would have caught them with Stelian. That had her sinking straight back to earth.
Then there was the lingering embarrassment about being pressed so intimately against Mihai for those few fleeting moments. Her flaming cheeks in front of the server hadn’t all been an act.
She clutched Mihai’s hand so tightly she realized only belatedly that he’d probably have her nail marks in his skin. She tried to let go of his hand, but he refused to release her. He pulled her back through the crowd onto the dance floor. She knew what he was doing, keeping up appearances as the happy couple, but she’d never felt less like dancing.
She threw herself into it anyway. Mihai danced them back toward the side of the room where Rareș and Alina were. Tsura glimpsed Dana arm-in-arm with a very handsome man a few couples away. Even Emil was dancing, with a slender woman who was taller than he was.
“Where’ve you two been?” Rareș said over Alina’s shoulder.
“On the other side of the crowd,” Tsura said easily. “We slipped out to say goodbye to Cristina and make sure she had a ride.” Hopefully that was enough explanation so that if anyone had actually been looking for them, it would reason away their brief absence from the floor.
Tsura braced herself for more questions, but Rareș just nodded once and went back to his partner. Mihai and Tsura exchanged a glance, and then he pulled her back into his arms as another tango came up. Suddenly Tsura started laughing.
Mihai looked at her, eyebrows drawn together. “What is funny?”
Tsura applied slight pressure to his shoulder to get him to dance them further away from Rareș and their group of acquaintances. When they were thick in the throng of strangers, she finally gasped out through her giggles, “The look on that server’s face, when you turned around with your shirt untucked!”
It was more than that, of course. Maybe it was the sheer perverse delight at having met with a fellow shadow worker right under everybody’s noses. Maybe all the intensity of the last half hour had to come out one way or another and tears would be harder to explain on a dance floor. Mihai didn’t laugh, or smile even, but he seemed to catch her mood and his grip on her loosened. The next song was a popular tango and as he spun her around the floor, they passed by at least two men wearing Nazi armbands. All the laughter fizzled out of her, but in its place another idea sprung up. Stelian had approved of her IDs. He said they were quality work. She hadn’t realized until this moment, but this had been the test she’d set for herself—if someone other than her and Mihai believed they were worthy, then she would finally believe it too. It wasn’t real until now. She was actually a forger. Which meant she could make IDs for anyone she wanted to…
She and Mihai danced tirelessly for another half hour, neither of them saying a word, before following Rareș and Alina to the sidelines.
“Thank you for the evening,” Mihai said, “but we’ll be going now.”
“But I just ordered a pitcher!” Rareș said, holding up the newly arrived beer. “You have to stay and help us drink it.”
All Mihai offered in response was a curt, “Have to work early tomorrow.”
“Fine, fine,” Rareș waved sloppily at them. He’d obviously drunk enough already that he may not remember much about this conversation in the morning. “I suppose I should be delighted you stayed as long as you did or danced at all!” He turned his bright eyes toward Tsura. “My dear, you are a positively good influence!” He put the pitcher down and clapped Mihai on the back.
“Goodbye,” Tsura called over her shoulder as Mihai pulled her toward the exit.
To Tsura’s surprise, Mihai didn’t let go even after they’d left the club and walked into the crisp October air. They began walking the six blocks home instead of waiting to hail a trăsură. The horse and buggies were busy on Friday nights and it could be a long wait. Besides, Tsura didn’t feel afraid walking through the darkened streets lit by only the occasional street lamp. Mihai was beside her.
“I’ve had a wonderful idea,” Tsura said, excited to tell him what she’d realized on the dance floor.
“Oh yes?” The left side of Mihai’s mouth lifted incrementally. “And what idea is this?”
Tsura felt so energized she was almost bouncing. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I mean, I guess I just didn’t really believe it was real. That the IDs I was making could pass for the real thing. I thought they were good, but now I
really know they’re quality enough to pass inspection and do you know what this means?”
She didn’t wait for Mihai to answer. “I can make one for Andrei and we can go get him! We can bring him back to Bucharest with us! We won’t have to hide him if he has papers. He can be,” she waved her hand, “Radu’s second cousin or something and stay with him at first. We can help find him a job and I can go and see him all the time.”
She was looking down at the cobblestone street, carefully assessing her footing in the heeled shoes Elena had lent her. When she finally glanced up at Mihai’s face, his expression was unreadable.
“Isn’t that a good idea?” she pressed. “We can take the train together up to Bacău and—”
“No,” Mihai said immediately.
“What?” Tsura paused, stunned. She’d just figured out the solution to all her problems. She wouldn’t have to wait until the end of the war to be with Andrei. And Mihai thought he could get in the way of that?
Mihai’s jaw tensed when she stopped and wouldn’t budge. “I only meant, no, I’ll go alone to retrieve the boy. Bogdan is still recuperating in Bacău and it’s too dangerous for you there.”
“But—”
He cut off her protests. “I knew Bogdan growing up and I knew him while he was in the Iron Guard. He was a bully as a child and became a violent pig of a man. I would not let you within a hundred kilometers of that town while he is there.”
Tsura wanted to argue. She wanted to see Andrei as soon as possible. And she hated the idea of having to cower from the man who had unjustly attacked her. But Mihai said he would bring him to her. She breathed out a frustrated huff. She could be patient for the extra day or two it would take for Andrei to come to her.
As the idea settled in, a smile grew on her own face until she felt it might crack her cheeks.
“Thank you!” She threw her arms around Mihai. As always, he was stiff under her embrace, but she only laughed. Finally, she let him go and they continued walking home.
As they turned the corner from a main boulevard onto one of the smaller side streets leading to their apartment, Tsura heard a man’s muffled shout of pain. The noise was followed by loud derisive laughter. She froze, the familiar sting of fear crippling her steps. This was an old terror. Had she been feeling safe only moments ago?
From the shadow of the building where they stood, she saw two uniformed police officers and an older man with white hair lying crumpled and bloody at their feet. “Please, I’ve done nothing wrong!” the man moaned.
“You were born a Jew. That’s enough to condemn you to hell,” the taller officer sneered, then sent a vicious kick to the man’s stomach. Tsura and Mihai were close enough to hear the man’s gasp as all the breath was knocked out of him. He couldn’t even scream now. The second officer took his turn to kick, landing a hard blow to the man’s back.
Tsura started to yell at them to stop, but a hand clamped over her mouth and waist, dragging her sideways into a darkened alleyway. Oh God, oh God, had more of the policemen come from behind them? She writhed and kicked wildly until she heard Mihai’s voice in her ear, “Hush, Tsura, it’s me.”
She went limp in his arms, but he didn’t let go of her mouth until he’d pulled her halfway down the alley.
“What are you doing?” she asked in an explosive whisper as soon as he let her go. “We have to go help that man.” She started back down the alleyway, but Mihai grabbed her by the waist again, holding her back to his chest.
“Let me go!” she seethed, trying to smack his hands away. He held on tighter. Was it only moments ago she’d been glad for his size? Now he was using it against her and she hated him for it.
“There’s nothing we can do for him.” Mihai’s arms were like a band of iron around her waist, pulling her in the opposite direction she wanted to go.
“How can you say that?” Tsura whipped her head around to look at him. “You’re helping the Jews, working for the Resistance to stop things like that ever happening again and—”
“Hush!” Mihai’s whispered voice was hard. He hauled her up against him. “There are ears everywhere. Don’t you know that by now?”
“Of course I know that!” her whispered vehemence matched his. “But that man back there. They might kill him! We can’t stand by and let it happen!”
Mihai spun her around and pressed her back against the outside of one of the brick buildings, his body like a cage around hers. “What do you think would happen if we went back, hmmm?” His voice was low and rough, as if he was barely containing himself. “You think they’ll listen if we just ask them nicely to let the poor Jewish man alone? You think they won’t ask us questions? Demand to look at our papers? Add our names to their watch lists?”
He inclined his head, his mouth cruel. “Once they find out where I work, won’t it look extremely suspicious that I was so bothered over the plight of one old Jew? This is the work that we do. The shadow work, as you call it. We are trying to save many more than one man. Not to mention that if my standing is put into question, then so is yours. And I won’t endanger your life for some stranger.”
“But you’re strong! You could have jumped out and surprised them,” Tsura said stubbornly. “You could distract them long enough for me to get the man away from them. Maybe knock them unconscious. Then they couldn’t ask any questions.” She heard the absurdity of what she was saying even as it came out of her mouth, but she couldn’t get the image of the man out of her head. He was so old. She could only imagine how brittle his bones were. How easily they would break.
There were other reasons too. Because in her mind she was suddenly on the ground, tall shadowed boys standing over her, jeering as they took turns kicking and stomping. Her hand went to her nose and the bump where it had been broken. “You don’t understand. We have to try. I can’t not even try.”
Mihai noticed the gesture and his face softened. “They’ll most likely leave him alive. And we can’t interfere.”
She sputtered out of fury and frustration, but then took several long breaths to calm herself down. He just didn’t understand. She had to make him understand, and quickly. She had the sense that at any moment he was about to throw her over his shoulder and bodily carry her away. “Did I ever tell you the story of the foxes and the wolves?”
Mihai stopped, eyebrows furrowing at her apparent change in subject. “Not now, Tsura,” he said with a backward glance over his shoulder. She wasn’t deterred.
“There was a family of foxes,” she began quickly, feeling cold all the way down to her bones. “They were good at fiddling, so the wolves would hire them to play at their parties. The foxes were always afraid of being among wolves, but the wolves said, we won’t harm you, we want to dance to your music and we’ll pay you for it!”
Storytelling was always the easiest way to talk of secrets and soon she was able to look Mihai in the eyes as she continued. “So the foxes played and the wolves danced and it seemed like there were no problems in the world. One of the fiddlers had even brought his baby fox kit with him. Oh, she would have scoffed if you called her a baby to her face. She was almost a full grown fox! Soon she would go off and start a family of her own! When her father had fiddled long into the night, the baby-fox-who-claimed-she-was-not-a-baby got tired. Her brother lived in a far away city so another friend, no older than the girl, said he would walk her safely home to the fox den.”
Tsura drew in a long breath and cast her eyes back at the dirty cobblestones below. They needed to get back to the old man. There wasn’t much time. He’d already been bleeding so much. Her heart sped up in her chest. But she had to convince Mihai to help. She had no doubt he’d force her to leave otherwise. This might be the most important story she ever told. This story could save a man’s life. But only if she could make Mihai feel it, feel it to his soul.
She continued. “But some of the wolves followed them. They said to themselves, Who invited these dirty foxes? They should not even be allowed to breathe the same air as us
, to walk on the same ground! So they put their bellies to the ground and slunk after the foxes. Hunting them.”
“Tsura,” Mihai put a hand on her arm. “We should go home. You don’t have to tell me this—”
“And then they attacked,” Tsura went on, ignoring him. “The boy fox fought bravely, but there were three wolves and he was only one young fox. The girl fox howled and tried to help him, but one wolf was so strong he slammed her to the ground and pinned her there. And so she watched as the wolves devoured the boy fox. When they were done with him, his body was broken and he would not rise off the ground. Then all three wolves turned on the small girl, their evil eyes beady in the moonlight.
“Mount her, said one of the wolves. That will be funny, to mount one of these foxes who walk around on all fours and pretend they are wolves.”
Mihai winced, his face drained of color, but to his credit, he didn’t look away. “And did they?”
Tsura squeezed her eyes shut. “No. The leader couldn’t get his body to do what was required. The other wolves taunted him, an embarrassment that enraged him. So he stomped and tore at the young fox until you could barely recognize she was a girl at all, and he made sure she would always stay a girl and never a woman who could bear little foxes of her own. Other woodland creatures walked by while the two little foxes lay there bleeding on the ground, one unto death, and the other near to. And no one stopped to help them.”
Mihai kicked a piece of gravel hard, suddenly looking much younger than he had ten minutes ago. The usually taut lines of his face were softened—not in relaxation, but as if struck with a childlike sense of being lost. “Luca could never bear to talk about it.” Mihai’s voice was quiet. Strained. “Even after you’d been transferred to the hospital in Bucharest and he visited you every single day. But he had a rage in him that I’d never seen before. One day when they were weaning you off your medications, he came home and said you’d been screaming in pain. He got so drunk but still he couldn’t speak of it.”
Tsura looked back up at Mihai. “So you understand now, don’t you? Why we have to go back? The policemen are probably gone now. We can get the man to a hospital. Oh Lord, we’ve already waited too long.”
She started back in the opposite direction, but once again, Mihai’s hand clamped around her arm. “No.”
She looked up at him in shock and anger. “Didn’t you listen to my story? Don’t you understand that I can’t be the one who walks by and doesn’t help? I swore to myself, swore, that if I was ever on the outside, I wouldn’t stand by, that I would step in and help.”
“Tsura.” Mihai’s voice was quiet. “They are still wolves. They would still tear you apart if they knew who you really were. I won’t allow that to happen.”
Tsura yanked at his arm, but he didn’t give. She’d just bared the most painful part of herself, a story she’d never even told Luca in full, and he was acting as if she’d never said a word. “Why should my life be worth more than that man’s?” She finally pulled her arm away from him, only to shove him hard in the chest. “What about atonement? Isn’t that what you said you’re trying to do? Doing good to help right the scales of the wrong you’ve done? Or is that only a lot of talk?”
He laughed darkly. “You don’t think the scales will actually ever even out, do you? I’ll never do enough good to save my soul.” He grabbed Tsura’s chin, eyes flinty. She thought she’d seen his face hard before, but it had been nothing to what she saw now. He was ice. No, ice could melt. He was stone.
“I told you before. Never make the mistake of thinking that I’m a good man. Don’t try to pretend I’m something that I’m not.” He shook his head. “That old man back there is only one more among many I’ve left to their fates. Before I started this so called atonement,” he spat the word, “I sold oil to Nazis and made all of their atrocities possible. And worse, I stood back and did nothing while the Iron Guard beat and murdered Jews in our city. We all knew it was happening. And we did nothing. I had no excuses then. I had no shadow work.”
“So do something now!” Tsura grabbed his forearm, not caring that her fingers clawed at him or that her whispered pleas now edged toward desperate begging. This was no longer only for the old man’s sake. It was for Mihai as well. “It’s not too late.”
There was a long moment of silence when Tsura believed she was getting through to him.
And then his jaw tightened. “I do what has to be done now, that’s all.” His voice was a low growl. She dropped her hands from his arms but in the next second he was holding her shoulders, again caging her in. “And I’ve never fooled myself into believing the cost of atonement will lead me anywhere but to hell.”
She tried to yank away from him, but he didn’t let go. “If you won’t help him, that’s fine!” she hissed angrily. “Then let me go, and I’ll do it myself.”
His grip on her grew firmer, just short of bruising. “I promised Luca I would protect you, and I will, even if it’s from yourself.” With that, he swung her around so that her back was to his chest.
He brought his left arm around her neck in a chokehold and cupped the back of her head with his right hand, forcing it down. Almost immediately, she felt lightheaded and black spots invaded her vision. The last thing she heard before she lost consciousness was his voice hot against her ear. “I don’t expect you to forgive me for this.”
Chapter 13
Tsura: A World War II Romance Page 16
