I Must Betray You(27)

She winked.

An American woman winked at me, as if sharing some sort of private joke. Was this as strange as it felt? I turned to Dan for his reaction.

“Thanks, Brenda,” he said, unfazed. “We’re off to rot our minds with pop culture crap.” He gave a salute.

“Rot away!” she said with a wave of her hand.

Was I misunderstanding their English? This was an official building. Yet they were being so casual, just like in the movies. Were Americans ever serious? No—I reframed the question. Were Romanians always serious?

Dan walked casually to a long table positioned near a shelf of newspapers. He tossed his backpack on the table and it landed with a thud.

“You can leave your bag here. Have a look around.”

I wasn’t going to leave my bag anywhere. It remained hanging from my shoulder as I walked through the warm building. There were shelves of fiction, nonfiction, biography, reference, and a section for children. There was also a section with books on Romanian history and language. Most of the books were in English. I wanted to read them. Every single one.

And I wanted to share them with Liliana.

I continued browsing the section. At the end of the bookshelf I noticed a wooden podium containing an official-looking album with the Romanian flag on the cover. I opened it.

The first page featured the new portrait of Ceau?escu. Two ears. Beneath the portrait was a paragraph in Romanian:

    Leader of the nation, Father of Romania, Nicolae Ceau?escu has established diplomatic relations all over the world and has visited over 100 countries.



The album contained photos of our leader during his travels or hosting other countries:

1969—U.S. President Richard Nixon visits Bucharest. He is the first American president to visit a communist country.

1975—U.S. President Gerald Ford visits Bucharest.

1978—U.S. President Jimmy Carter holds a state dinner at the White House in honor of the Ceau?escus.



The album was packed full of colorful photos featuring Beloved Leader and Heroine Mother with dignitaries and heads of state. I scanned through some of the names: UK Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, Queen Elizabeth II, Queen Silvia of Sweden, Indira Gandhi of India, Pope Paul VI of the Vatican, Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, Charles De Gaulle of France, King Juan Carlos of Spain, Queen Margrethe II of Denmark.

And this one:

    President Nicolae Ceau?escu of Romania joined the long list of international celebrities who have visited Disneyland, the world-famous “Magic Kingdom” in California, to meet Mickey Mouse. Ceau?escu was accompanied by his wife and children.



I stared at the photograph.

Mickey Mouse.

I flipped back through the pages toward the front of the album.

Ceau?escu hadn’t outfoxed America.

No.

He’d outfoxed . . . everyone.

They thought he was a benevolent dictator. They’d welcomed him into their countries.

It wasn’t disgust. It was despair. That’s what I felt, seeing the colorful photos of our leader cuddling with kangaroos in Australia and posing with Mickey Mouse in some citrus dream called California.

And . . . Disneyland. It was a real place?

Ceau?escu and his family were free to travel to every continent and experience all the world had to offer, but he kept his people caged within the country’s borders, working, full of fear, terrorized if they inquired about a passport. My parents longed to return to the Romanian seaside or to spend time in the mountains. But in recent years, Ceau?escu’s work mandates and petrol rations made that difficult.

I wanted my mother to have a lighted stairwell.

I wanted my father to have a real vacation or a car.

I wanted Liliana to have the birds she missed.

I closed the album and wandered to the shelves with magazines, looking for the one Mr. Van Dorn had suggested.

TIME.

I found it. The moment is forever engraved in my memory.

The headline of the issue:

THE BIG BREAK

Moscow Lets Eastern Europe Go Its Own Way I shot a quick glance over my shoulder. My pulse began to tick.

The magazine cover featured a large crowd with a teenager waving a flag.

A Hungarian flag.

Hungary bordered Romania.

Wait.

Hungary was no longer ruled by communism?

Hungary was free?





30


    TREIZECI




I quickly scanned through the article, struggling with some of the terminology. But I recognized a few words from the Radio Free Europe broadcasts: Democracy. Perestroika. Glasnost.

How much had we missed with a broken radio? We knew that Poland had been successful with their decade-long Solidarity movement, but now Hungary? Had they really broken free of communism? Did my parents know? I tried to memorize the details to share with Bunu.

I rejoined Dan, who was hunched over a glossy magazine. Flustered, I reminded myself of the agent. I made mental notes of the magazines Dan had pulled to read: Rolling Stone, Sports Illustrated, Billboard.

“Meet the love of my life,” said Dan, pointing to a picture of a woman playing the guitar. “She’s in a band called the Bangles.” He gave an exaggerated, heartsick sigh, then laughed. “Do you have a girlfriend?” he asked.

Did I? I gave a half nod. And maybe smiled a little too.