Bottled Goods Read online

  A Flower and Two Gardeners

  Dear Diary,

  Today we saw the last of my brother-in-law for at least three weeks. Honestly, I’m relieved that Liviu and I will finally be alone. It’s not that I don’t like him, but when Mihai started visiting every evening, it became too much. I haven’t cuddled with Liviu on the sofa in nearly two months, just the two of us, browsing the Bulgarian and Serbian stations. Our evenings at home are pretty much the same: Liviu and Mihai go into the kitchen after dinner so Mihai can smoke, while I sit on one of the living room armchairs with a book in my hands, too tired to read, aching for conversation. Sometimes, they can be bothered to wash their own plates, but mostly, they leave them on the dining room table for me to clean up after Mihai heads home. I hate that—dipping my hands in the cold water when I should have been wrapped in a blanket, sprawled in my own bed.

  They spend their evenings at the kitchen table, popping sunflower seeds, while Mihai is smoking. I can hear Liviu coughing, and I tell him it’s his brother’s fault, but he denies it. Once, I picked up one of Mihai’s cigarettes and lit it, and Liviu was really angry. He told me to put it down, that it’s not ladylike, not like me. It doesn’t become you. I was angry too, because, for a moment, he sounded just like my mother, and I’m tired of being told what I should and shouldn’t do, of dreading the punishment.

  Mihai invited us to the movies tonight and introduced us to his newest girlfriend. He booked seats at A Flower and Two Gardeners. That’s a really romantic and sappy Bollywood movie, so I was surprised that he took us too. I mean, when Somna’s husband saves the life of the child she had with her lover, that’s the perfect moment to huddle into your date, seeking comfort. As it was, my sharp gray eye was constantly glaring at this new girl whose name I forgot, at Mihai’s hand finding his way up that long, beautiful mantle of hers, toward her thighs and the purple-colored skirt barely covering them. Oh, the mantle. She took a plain black cloth and painted an abstract pattern on it, but it looked very artsy, very chic. She’s an art student, she said. She also said that she’d paint one of my mantles too, but I think that was the last we’ll see of her. I doubt she knows that Mihai is leaving for his vacation in France tomorrow.

  After the movie, he dropped her off at her house and came by our place. He sat on the floor on a huge pillow and told us how he met her at the market, how her parents are farmers and unrelenting churchgoers—the kind that go to church in spite of the fact that the Secret Services pick them up for questioning every other week after Sunday service. What he said made me wonder how deceiving appearances can be and what Liviu and his brother usually talk about, behind the closed kitchen door. I like to think it’s universal truths deemed too dirty for my ears. Liviu protects me too much from the outside world. I’m afraid that one of these days the dam he built will break and all the world’s ugliness will spill out and drown me.

  When I started to yawn, thinking about my classes tomorrow, Mihai went downstairs and brought a plastic bag from his car. In it were (extravagant) gifts for us: a Nina Ricci perfume for me and a pair of Levi’s jeans for Liviu. After Mihai left, Liviu told me that his brother had sold his apartment last week so he can go to France. I told my husband how stupid I thought this was—Liviu just shrugged and said, It’s Mihai. He’d give anything and anyone up for his dreams.

  I told him I would never do anything like that. Liviu clicked his tongue and said I know nothing about being poor and desperate. That’s when I caught fire. I told him that although I didn’t have a crappy childhood like he did, I had to work my ass off to help him finish college after my mother kicked me out and live in a boarding school room for two years. I told him that, anyway, it’s beside the point, selling the apartment wasn’t a last resort, just his brother’s whim. Liviu said, I’m sorry you had to do all that. Trust me, I’m grateful to you, but I’m also a bit sick of you bringing that up all the time.

  That’s when I slammed the door and told him to screw himself.

  I can’t sleep now. Liviu upset me too much. And I keep thinking about those jeans Liviu got from his brother. The Levi’s jeans were my dream. If I didn’t have to help my husband through college, I could have saved up for a pair of jeans.

  I deserve them. I earned them. Tomorrow I’ll wake up before Liviu does and try them on. If I am lucky, they will fit.

  The Saturday When Everything Changed

  6:30 a.m.

  Alina wakes up, brushes her teeth, applies unobtrusive makeup for school (a dust of powder and lipstick in a soft brown tone). On her way to the kitchen, where she will make the coffee, she wakes Liviu up with a soft caress on his arm.

  Nothing has changed.

  7:25 a.m.

  Alina, wearing a dark-blue pencil skirt and a white shirt with short sleeves, makes her way to school. Before the doors to the school are thrown open for the pupils, she has time to drink another cup of coffee with her fellow teachers in their break room. Miss Puiu, the music teacher, always comes in at 7:30 and makes coffee for all the staff. The coffee is as diluted and discolored as herself: her clothes, her hair, even the memories of her sad childhood, which now don’t impress her audience anymore from too much telling. This morning, Miss Puiu repeats the story about how she and her seven siblings were only allowed to have milk with their polenta on Sundays. Everybody kindles their own thoughts, humming and nodding as they pretend to listen.

  Before class begins, Alina and the children sing “The Tricolor Flag,” the national anthem, while looking admiringly at the picture of CeauŞescu. From above the blackboard, the Beloved Leader smiles, watching over them like a big brother.

  Nothing has changed.

  10:45 a.m.

  Alina assigns the homework in Romanian for Monday. This time the children have to write an essay explaining why books are their friends. She wishes them a nice day.

  Nothing has changed.

  11:20 a.m.

  Though Liviu will not come for hours, Alina already prepares herself. She puts on a lime-yellow dress that ends a palm’s width above her knee. She uses a dark-blue pencil for her mismatched eyes (it works with both gray and hazel) and the burgundy-red Helena Rubinstein lipstick, the one Liviu gave her for her birthday. She dabs a little on her cheeks.

  When she is done, she sinks onto the armchair in the living room, a historical novel in her hands, The Soimaresti Family. She glances every few minutes at the door. She reads page 127 eight times. She should be working on the math problems she has to prepare for the textbook.

  Nothing has changed.

  2:10 p.m.

  Alina calls her mother. They discuss the neighbor’s daughter, Alexandra. She is a childhood friend of Alina’s who has just run off with a married man. “Run off” is one way of describing what happened (“eloped,” to borrow a term from Alina’s mother, is another), but the truth is far less romantic than what might seem to be a page from a Victorian novel. The two live in Alexandra’s one-bedroom flat, a few blocks away from the married man’s former home. After sufficient ooh’s and aah’s, “Her poor mother” and “Who would have thought?” have been spoken, Alina’s mother invites her daughter to have lunch with her. Alina refuses, saying she has plans. Alina’s mother is offended and tells her daughter that she only comes by when she needs something. This is unfair, but before Alina has the chance to say so, her mother has already hung up. Fortunately, Alina has no time to be wistful, because Liviu finally arrives.

  Alina grabs her white vinyl purse. Liviu wraps his arm around her shoulder, and she caresses his hand with the tips of her nails, manicured in an oval shape.

  At the restaurant, Liviu orders schnitzel with chips. He cuts the schnitzel in bite-size chunks and the chips in halves. By the time he starts eating, Alina has devoured half of her kievskaia* and is taking small bites, combining the chicken, the pickled cucumbers, and bell peppers on the tip of the fork. She begins making small talk, even though she knows that will slow Liviu even more.

  “Rodica wrote to me this week.�
�

  Liviu hums.

  “You know, Rodica, who coordinates the textbook we are working on. She says that my math problems are very clever, and that I need to start publishing a few. In math journals for elementary and middle school.”

  Liviu grunts while chewing very slowly on the tender meat.

  “Do your teeth hurt again?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “I never thought about that. Getting published, I mean. Rodica says I have to make a bit of a name for myself. Before the textbook comes out.”

  “Yes, honey. Do that.”

  “When is your brother coming back from France? We haven’t seen him in a while. In more than a month.”

  Liviu wipes a bit of grease from the corner of his mouth with the linen napkin. “The chief inspector told me yesterday that he sent all the papers to Bucharest, to the Ministry for Education. They should be confirming me as an adjunct headmaster in a few weeks.”

  Alina claps her hands. “Eeee! That’s great! I’m so glad!”

  “I’m taking you out for another treat today. How about a marquise cake at Tosca?”

  Alina’s smile freezes a little. She was thinking about a different kind of treat. Those Levi’s jeans, eluding her since high school.

  Nothing has changed.

  4:40 p.m.

  As they approach their home, Alina falls silent. The thought that she has not worked on her math problems, not even a single one, is nagging her. Liviu will want to make love, and she cannot put him off.

  In front of their blockhouse, two men in gray suits in spite of all the summer around them are waiting. Alina is wary. When the men take a few steps to meet them, Alina can feel her heart thumping in her ears.

  One of the men, the short, balding one, grabs Liviu by the flesh underneath his elbow, burying his fingers into it, and says, “Please come with us. We have to ask you a few questions.”

  Liviu tries to yank his arm free, but the thick fingers that look like drumsticks dig even deeper.

  “What is this about?”

  “Please. Don’t make a scene. Come with us.”

  “Please,” says Alina, putting her moist hand above the bald man’s. “Please. He has done nothing wrong. He couldn’t have.” Her world is a blur as she begins to lose control over her tears.

  The taller of the two men in suits takes her gently aside and says, “No, he hasn’t, comrade. He just has to answer some questions. We have reason to believe that your husband’s brother will never return from France.”

  Everything has changed.

  Alina’s Mother

  Alina’s mother likes to put her fur hat on half an hour before she has to leave for work. Fur looks as natural on her as if she has grown it herself. The fur is white with gray tips, and Alina doesn’t remember which animal it once belonged to.

  Alina’s mother swirls the green telephone cord around her finger while she talks to the headmaster, calling in sick for her daughter. To some women, these things come naturally.

  Alina’s mother says, Stay put. Don’t leave the house. When I come back from work, I’ll bring your favorite records. Make me a list.

  Alina’s mother doesn’t call the entire day. Alina cowers under a blanket in her mother’s house, wondering if she will ever see Liviu again, wishing she were no older than eight.

  Alina’s mother brings her the records: Phoenix and the Beatles and ABBA. They are playing in the background while Alina and her mother cook beef medallions in red sauce. Alina is preparing the mashed potatoes. Alina’s mother swings her hips to the rhythm of “Waterloo” and Alina means to tell her that it is bad taste to be so cheerful while she is hurting, but even at twenty-six, she’s still a bit in awe of her.

  Alina’s mother places the plate with the medallions on the table without spilling a single drop. Alina scoops a piece of meat, bleeding sauce on the yellow tablecloth. Her mother frowns. Really, Alina, at your age.

  Alina says, Stop exaggerating! In this house, everything is a catastrophe, more shrilly than intended.

  The thin, rounded eyebrows of Alina’s mother shoot upward. Look, dear, I know you worry about Liviu, but you shouldn’t make a scene out of everything. Is that what you learned in our house?

  Alina stabs at her piece of meat furiously. Alina’s mother says, When and if he ever comes out alive, take care. Don’t do anything foolish. I’ll be watching.

  Crumbs

  Alina waits for ten minutes before knocking again on the metal door. Today, she’s late. She had to feel her way with the tip of her boot in the darkness. The slush from yesterday turned into ice and, to save power, the city lights went off at three o’clock in the morning. Every Sunday, at six o’clock sharp, she has to be at the back door of the bakery, waiting for Mrs. Popescu to hand her a plastic bag. The bag contains steaming bread, cheese pies, and sometimes apple strudels. Liviu loves apple strudels.

  Liviu often tells her about the apple strudels his mother baked for them every Sunday. It is one of his dearest memories. After she died, he was the one who had to cook for his younger siblings.

  “At fourteen, I could have written a cookbook by myself,” he says with a smile he doesn’t mean.

  * * *

  The door creaks, and a shy streak of light scares the darkness away. The bonneted head of Mrs. Popescu appears and a chubby hand offers the bag. Alina begins searching for her wallet, but the baker is already closing the door. Alina only has time to slip in a quick “thank you.” Mrs. Popescu never takes her money, but Mrs. Popescu’s daughter, Carmen, is in Alina’s class. Alina overlooks minor mistakes in Carmen’s homework and tests. Last year, Alina would never have done anything like this. But she needs the apple strudels.

  Since the chief inspector summoned him to his office, apple strudels are one of the few things that still make Liviu smile.

  “Comrade Mungiu, my sincere congratulations. We hear nothing but the best about your methods. You are one of the most capable history teachers in the county,” the chief inspector said.

  Liviu replied with a gleeful “thank you” to the first kind words he’d heard in weeks. Since his brother had fled the country, his friends were avoiding him and the authorities were harassing him.

  “Your motherland needs you at Seceratu, comrade Mungiu,” the inspector continued. “I sincerely hope that you will not fail her.”

  The peasants in Seceratu were notorious in the county for having the highest dropout rates in elementary school. They had no use for a history teacher.

  Not even her aunt Theresa, with her high connections, could rescue Liviu from Seceratu.

  “My hands are tied,” she had said, the gold bracelets on her thin wrist chiming merrily. “They’d been clever. Disguised it as an honor. It would be an offense not to accept this position. Or would you rather be working in the fields?”

  * * *

  Alina’s breaths are fog clouds melting in the darkness. If she could distinguish colors, she would see that her fingertips are purple. She left her gloves at home and can’t keep her hands in her pockets because she has to use them for balance. She walks by the CEC Bank, by the town plaza, by countless gray buildings. At the vegetable market, she notices a dozen people standing in line in front of a butcher’s shop.

  “Are they getting a delivery today?” Alina asks a toothless man.

  “Minced lamb and beef, they said. That lady with the fur hat in front of the line, she knows one of the men who work behind the counter.”

  “Lamb and beef!”

  She could make stuffed eggplant with the lamb and the beef. Moussaka. Meat pies. The possibilities are overwhelming, so Alina stops and stands in line. The line is like a train with many, many wagons.

  Liviu rides the train, too. Three hours every day. When he comes home, Liviu smells of alcohol.

  “Everybody on the train drinks,” he says. “If I don’t drink, they call me snobbish.”

  * * *

  Dawn is cracking. Alina swaps the plastic bag between her hands, placing
the free hand into her pocket. Dozens of people have gathered behind her. The line looks like a fidgety snake. The passersby stop and place themselves at the back of the line, waiting patiently for the doors to open.

  Alina always opens the door when Liviu comes home. She keeps looking out the window, watching for him. He doesn’t kiss her anymore when he arrives, but she doesn’t mind. The smell of alcohol makes her nauseated. She also dislikes the silence settling between them like frost, so during dinner, Alina makes winding monologues.

  * * *

  When she finally arrives at the front of the line, the butcher is already out of pork, but there is still minced lamb. There never was any beef.

  At home, Liviu wrinkles his nose when he sees the strudel.

  “It’s stiff and cold,” he says.

  “I bought lamb,” she says and remembers she wanted to buy eggplants.

  Alina takes her gloves and heads back out into the cold.

  When she returns from the vegetable market, all that is left in the plastic bag are crumbs and a few oily napkins.

  Strigoi

  Outside, the air is blow-dryer hot. As soon as she arrives at Aunt Theresa’s, Alina asks for water.

  “Or even better, your special drink, the one you make with jasmine, black tea, and your secret ingredient.”

  Aunt Theresa points at the glass cabinet in her living room. At first, Alina thinks she’s pointing at the cat, Absala, standing on it like an Egyptian statue of itself: fine-wristed and sleek, even though its color, white with dark patches like stains, gives it away as a former stray. Alina moves to pet it.