I Must Betray You(54)

They slapped us, over and over, prodding us to confess guilt. No one did. Not even the children.

“I am living history. I am freedom,” said a man. “That is my statement.”

“You’ve taken everything. I have nothing to lose,” whispered a woman.

They made their way to me, demanding confession.

I licked the wash of blood from my lips and nodded. My voice was hoarse with revolution, but I was ready. I would turn the tables. “He smokes BT cigarettes. Likes Steaua. Has hands the size of tennis rackets. He meets a pretty girl on the side of the road in the early mornings,” I said. “He has big plans. He’s the one you want.”

The guard’s brow narrowed with confusion, but he wrote down my words. They believed I was confessing. They looked at my identity card.

“Wait, I thought you said that this one . . . He’s only seventeen,” said the guard.

The torturer shrugged.

They began herding us outside, toward a line of waiting vans.

“Where are you taking us?” said a man.

“Where do you think?” sneered the guard. “To Jilava.”

Jilava.

No.

Jilava was where they sent maximum-security prisoners. Prisoners serving over ten years. Prisoners who would be tortured. They were sending teenagers and children to Jilava?

The vans were packed with injured captives. Some were crying.

No, I would not get in the van.

I stood at the back of the line, planning to escape at the last minute. I would kick the guard in the crotch. I’d try something, anything. I approached the open back of the vehicle. Smoky heat from the exhaust pipe swirled around my ankles. I needed to stay. I needed to fight. I needed to find Luca. I was not getting in the van. I was not going to Jilava.

“Hey, you,” whispered a man in the van. I looked to him.

He motioned with his head to a person sitting near him. “Someone’s trying to get your attention.”

I peered through the darkness. Beneath the interior light of the van I saw a familiar face, streaked with blood and tears. She raised her roped wrists and gestured with a green palm.

I jumped in the van.





67


    ?AIZECE ?I ?APTE




The doors of the police van slammed and the vehicle began moving. A man lit a cigarette lighter to inspect his children’s wounds. The light filtered briefly across her face.

Liliana.

I jostled over huddled bodies and wedged in next to her.

“Are you okay?” I whispered.

“Cristian, your face. The blood.”

Exclamations of blood covered my shirt and coat. I couldn’t draw a full breath. A rib was probably broken. My nose felt out of place.

I reached up with my tied hands and pulled at my nose. I felt a grinding beneath my fingers and heard a loud crunchy sound. I wrenched my nose back into place and an explosion of pain rocketed across my cheeks, down the back of my throat, and into my stomach. Blood gushed over my mouth and chin, but I could breathe easier. A man handed me a flask. I took a swig and cleaned my nose and mouth.

Liliana began to cry.

I set my wire-bound hands on hers, trying to hold her fingers. “I’m okay,” I assured her. “Are you okay?”

“They beat us with canes, kicked us, punched us,” she said through tears. “A man was on a special list . . . They scalped him.”

I knew about the special list. “How long have you been here?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, over an hour,” she whispered. “They grabbed me in University Square.”

“Me too.”

“Were you with Luca?” she asked.

I nodded and without warning, my face distorted with tears. “Luca,” I whispered. “They shot him.”

“What?!”

“At least twice,” I croaked. “I saw him fall to the ground and then everything went black. I couldn’t save him. I don’t know where he is.” I raised my hands to wipe away the tears.

“Oh my god.” Liliana leaned against me and whispered into my ear. “We’ll find him, Cristian. We will.”

“We have to.”

She nodded. Her forehead touched the side of my face. I pressed against her, ignoring the pounding in my head. We stayed that way for a long time, faces together. Silent.

“Are you kissing?” asked the little boy.

“No,” said Liliana, sniffing back tears. “I’m telling him a secret.”

“A secret? The regime is beating, shooting, and killing kids,” said a man with a thick mustache. “That can’t remain a secret. All of us, we had empty hands and empty bellies. They turned a peaceful protest into a bloodbath. And these torturers at the fourteenth precinct, they’re inhuman!”

“Shh . . . they’ll beat us again,” someone whispered.

“Yes, they’ll beat us again. Didn’t you hear?” replied the man with the mustache. “They’re taking us to Jilava. This is just the beginning.”

“What about the other demonstrators?” I asked.

“They’ll continue protesting,” he said. “The demonstrations are beyond Bucharest now. They’re happening in Arad, Satu Mare, Sibiu, Cluj, Ia?i, and other cities. But we need to turn the army. There are rumors that the Romanian military might side with the people.”