“Radu,” Heinz said softly.
He did not want to put his hand on the child for fear that he might startle him. When this failed to wake Radu the old German raised his voice a little bit, speaking up as if he would in normal company. Radu stirred, his eyelids flinching. Heinz smiled.
“Hey, are you going to sleep all day?” he asked. In truth, Heinz just did not want to be alone in the big empty house.
“I wouldn’t mind sleeping all day,” Radu answered in a daze. His eyes remained closed, but he smiled. It lit up the old German’s heart. A bit of humor would do him well right now.
“Come! Let’s go have breakfast. I’m cooking,” he told the boy, and threw his previous day’s clothing on his bed. Of course Greta would never allow such a thing as wearing the same clothing two days in a row, but she was not here.
The atmosphere in the kitchen was depressing. The dark weather draped its dusky grey on everything.
“I think I want omelets,” Heinz said enthusiastically. It made Radu smile that the old man tried to be nice to him.
“With custard stuffing,” Radu added, evoking a grimace from the old German. Heinz leered playfully at him and pretended to give it some thought.
“What the hell, go get the leftover custard from the silver fridge. And bring me the eggs in the white fridge. We will need strength for the day ahead,” Heinz said.
They spent the entire rainy day inside, playing board games. Radu really enjoyed big scary Heinz and his dry sense of humor and in turn Heinz found someone that did not care who he was or what he was entitled to, only that he was a companion and that life was something, adults failed to realize, that should be taken one day at a time.
Chapter 21 — Local Flavor
Professor Petra Kulich and her small group arrived at the International Airport of Cluj-Napoca, Romania on a quiet sunny afternoon. One by one they sauntered from the large doors to breathe in the capital of Transylvania. It was beautiful. Petra’s previously procured minibus was already parked off the main parking lot where the driver said he would wait.
“Welcome to Cluj! Welcome, welcome! I am Stefan Antonescu, your guide,” the friendly driver exclaimed. He was dressed in casual beige pants and sandals, with a loose black T-shirt with countless of braided bracelets on both wrists. Nina was amused by his cheerful manner. Stefan was about forty five years old with oily black hair taken back in a braid that reached down between his shoulder blades. In his right ear she saw two small golden earrings as he introduced himself and shook everyone’s hands.
“Lovely to meet you, Stefan,” Petra smiled. “It is so good to be back in Cluj. I was here once before a few years ago when we vacationed here. I was astounded by the architecture of St. Michael’s Church.”
“Is that the picture you showed me, Professor?” Igor asked, as he helped Nina load her bag into the back of the minibus.
“Yes, the one with the statue of Matthias Corvinus. Do you know him, Nina?” she asked.
Sam just felt like a fish out of water. He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked around at the mundane goings-on of the airport.
“No, I’m afraid not,” Nina shook her head.
“Oh he was a wonderful monarch who promoted arts and sciences and embraced the Renaissance movement from Italy. Such a down to earth king from the 15th Century who chose to ignore the social statuses of people and chose them according to their talents and abilities. How cool is that?” she winked.
“I remember you are booked at Escala Villa in Crisan Street, correct, Professor?” Stefan asked.
“Yes, we will be staying there for a few days while we go out to the forest. Let me just make sure — you are going to take us in there, right?” Petra asked.
“Yes, madam.”
“In where?” Sam asked, finally finding something that struck his interest.
“Baciu. It is a village near the forest. We are going to see if we can find Petr Costita and talk to him about the stuff in the trunk,” Petra explained. “Did you manage to obtain all the memory cards you would need for this excursion? If not, you should do that today in the city.”
“No, no. I have everything. I went shopping for all my gear back in Prague,” he smiled and nodded as they got into the vehicle.
The afternoon sun was bright and unchallenged by clouds, leaving the majestic city of Cluj to bask in its warmth and display its ancient beauty at its best. While Petra had seen it before and Igor did not care much for architecture, Sam and Nina marveled at every other building the vehicle passed while driving through the town center. The cathedrals and churches towered in antique authority over the other more modern buildings, silently conveying the local events in history through their spires and Gothic prowess.
“Oh my god, this is such a beautiful city. It reminds me of Edinburgh, Sam. Aren’t you just a little homesick?” Nina cooed as her eyes ached to look all the way up the towers from the confinement of the vehicle.
“I miss my cat,” Sam answered dryly.
To his surprise, Igor chuckled at his reply, especially when Nina gave Sam one of her looks. The two men looked at each other, laughing. Nina turned to face the window again, hoping her own smirk would not reflect in the window and give away her own amusement.
“Look! Look, everyone! There is the statue of Matthias Corvinus on his horse!” Petra exclaimed like an excited child as they drove past Unirii Square.
It was very special. The massive bronze statue stood sentinel on top of a bridge-like structure built in a castle motif in stone, accompanied by four other bronze figures, dressed in what a layman would construe as knight’s armor, two on each side of the of the monarch’s horse. Nina and Petra were in awe by the size of the monument, dwarfing tourists and pedestrians into minute figures.
“Stefan, we don’t have to wear long skirts and stuff, hey?” Petra asked the flamboyant driver who was munching on a piece of beef jerky.
He laughed heartily.
“I don’t think they will mistake you for Romani women, Professor. You are too…fair to be a Gypsy,” he replied. “Baciu is a village like every other. There would hardly be a caravan of horse carts and vardos with old women reading your palm!”
“I’m just making sure. People in more remote areas are normally still traditional and easily offended,” Petra explained.
“Professor, you have been living in First World countries too long, where people are offended when there is nothing to be offended by. It makes me sick, I tell you. Here, well, with my people in particular, we don’t care if they call us Gypsy, or if women wear pants,” Stefan smiled.
“I guess your family have adapted more to the modern ways and abandoned some of the more rigid rules, then. But why?” Igor asked as they turned onto the circle at Strada Emil Racoviță, close to their destination.
“We Roma have adapted to other cultures merely to survive. In the Second World War especially, our people were literally hunted and killed in masses to rid Eastern Europe of the filthy Gypsy blood. They used to refer to us as vermin,” the Romanian guide explained.
“It is true, unfortunately,” Nina nodded to the others. “My thesis on the culling of Indo-Aryan cultures by the Nazis has led me to that especially appalling piece of German history.”
“The only way most of our bloodlines could survive was to disappear. You know when someone wants to kill you because of your looks, you had better look like someone else,” he said with a shrug, looking at them in the rear view mirror.
“That is absolutely true,” Igor chipped in while he stared out at the passing houses, “and very wise.” He looked at Sam, but Sam did not notice. Nina noticed and it bothered her for some reason. Hopefully it was just Igor’s jealousy of Sam, but something told her that there was more to the threatening look, especially after she had seen the more forceful side of Petra Kulich’s assistant.