I Must Betray You(20)

“Your father’s hungry, Cristian, literally and figuratively. Ration cards in the 1980s? We had more food during World War II,” complained Bunu. “Do you see the lunacy of all this? They’ve got us brainwashed, standing in lines for hours, grateful for rotten beans. But what is the cost of self-worth?”

I didn’t have an answer. My self-worth was temporarily detouring through the sewer.

Liliana’s brother stood a few places ahead. He glanced back at me. If he was in line, that meant Liliana was still asleep. Did he know that his sister had invited me into their apartment? Did he know that I had held her in the dark? Did he know that I had thought about her all night?

I felt a tug at my jacket. I turned. Behind me was an elderly gentleman that Bunu used to play chess with. The squat man with the spongy nose.

“How’s your bunu?” he whispered.

“He’s fine,” I lied.

“Good, good,” nodded the bulbous face. He leaned in close. “Give him a message for me. Tell him the coffee’s not as tasty as I expected. I’ll come to visit him.”

I looked at him, confused. His eyes pivoted to his feet.

“They’re watching. The coffee, you’ll tell him?”

“Sure,” I said.

“You too,” he whispered. “No coffee.”

I turned back around. They’re watching? Of course they were watching. And coffee? No one had real coffee, except for bribes. Was he referring to a bribe? Or maybe it was a joke.

Or maybe, we were all going a little bit insane.





21


    DOU?ZECI ?I UNU




November arrived. I stood in the entry of the Van Dorns’ apartment, trying to ignore the burning in my fingers as they defrosted. Did the homes of all Americans feel like summer? The temperature in the apartment had to be nearly sixty-five Fahrenheit.

“Hey, Cristian,” Dan called to me from down the hall. “I thought I heard the door. Come on back.”

“Come on back” sounded like something we’d hear in American movies on video night. The way he waved me forward, I assumed “come on back” meant that I should join him.

The room had a large color television—certainly different than the black-and-white Romanian TVs. There was also a video player and tall stacks of VHS tapes. Connected to the video player was a cord with headphones.

“Is that how you watch videos?”

“No, family stuff.” Dan pointed to the light fixture and reached for a pad and pen nearby.

He wrote: These are videos that friends send us from home.

I took the pad from him: Your friends send you American movies?

He wrote: No, they film themselves with their video cameras.

“Not many visitors here,” he said aloud. “It’s nice to see people once in a while.”

Wait. Americans not only had video players and color TVs, they had video cameras to make their own movies? I looked at Dan, confused. The image on the screen was frozen. He handed me the headphones. I put them on and he pressed a button on the video machine.

A scene suddenly came to life. Three American guys were in a huge kitchen amidst a blaze of light. The ceiling alone had four lightbulbs. And they were all on.

“The Super Bowl is in New Orleans this year, but I wouldn’t bet on your precious Cowboys, Dan.”

Their voices rolled through the headphones. I heard them speaking, but my eyes were glued to the screen. Stuck to the lower right corner. Staring at a table and a large glass bowl— Of bananas.

Not just one banana. Many bananas. Large bananas.

A woman entered the kitchen and a boy began to complain.

“Aw, Mom, you stepped in the frame. We’re making a video for Dan to cheer him up.”

“Yeah, apparently communism sucks,” laughed another boy.

“It’s not funny,” said the woman. “Dan’s father says it’s very difficult in Romania. Hello, Dan!” she called to the camera as she circulated around the kitchen. “Tell your parents I said hello and that we miss them! Wish them a Happy Thanksgiving for us.”

As the mother spoke, she opened the door of a gigantic, towering refrigerator. Even the inside of the refrigerator had a light. And then I saw it. I felt my mouth opening. The wide shelves, they were all packed. Stuffed from top to bottom.

With food.

All kinds of food. In bottles, cans, cartons, dividers, and drawers. So many colors and quantities.

Of food.

I leaned closer to the screen.

Fresh. Ripe. Just waiting to be eaten.

A pang of desperate sadness filled my chest and crawled up into my throat.

That refrigerator had enough food to feed a Romanian for an entire year.

The woman on-screen removed a cluster of Coke cans from the refrigerator. She carried it to the table, along with a plate of crackers, sliced meats, and cheese. No one pushed or lined up. The boys casually grazed at the food while continuing to speak to the camera. I stared.

The bananas. Weren’t they going to eat the bananas? But the bananas remained in the bowl.

Untouched.

A hand on my shoulder. It startled me. I removed the headphones.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Dan gestured to the TV. “Cool, right? Far away but seems like they’re so close.”