“‘I knew I had to leave the village before I brought shame on my family and my father’s anger on myself. I thought of trying to find the old woman who had given me the coin. Perhaps she would take me in and let me cook and clean for her. She had come from one of the villages above the Arges, near the castle of thepricolic, but I did not know which village, or whether she was still alive. There were bears and wolves in the mountains, and many evil spirits, and I did not dare wander through the forest all alone.
“‘At last I decided to write my sister Éva, something I had done once or twice before. I took some paper and an envelope from the house of the priest, where I worked in the kitchen sometimes. In the letter, I told her my situation and begged her to come for me. It took another five weeks for her answer to arrive. Thank the Lord, the farmer who brought it in with some supplies gave it to me and not to my father, and I read it in secret, in the woods. The middle of my body was growing round already, so that it felt strange when I sat down on a log, although I could still hide my roundness with my apron.
“‘There was some money in the letter, Romanian money, more than I had ever seen, and Éva’s note was short and practical. She said I should leave the village on foot, walk to the next village, about five kilometers away, and then get a ride in a wagon or truck to Târgoviste. From there I could find a ride to Bucharest, and from Bucharest I could travel by train to the Hungarian border. Her husband would meet me at the border office in T- on September 20-I still remember the date. She said I should plan my travel as well as I could to arrive there on that day. Enclosed in her letter I would find a stamped invitation from the government of Hungary, which would help me enter the country. She sent me love, told me to be very careful, and wished me a safe journey. When I came to the end of the letter, I kissed her signature and blessed her with all my heart.
“‘I packed my few belongings in a little bag, including my good shoes to save for the train journey, the letters Bartolomeo had lost, and his silver ring. One morning as I was leaving our cottage, I hugged and kissed my mother, who was getting old and sicker. I wanted her to know later that I had said good-bye to her in some way. I think she was surprised, but she didn’t ask me any questions. Instead of going to the fields that morning, I set out through the woods, avoiding the road. I stopped to say good-bye to the secret place in the woods where I had lain with Bartolomeo. The four weeks of notches on the tree were already fading. At that spot I put his ring on my finger and tied a kerchief over my head, like a married woman. I could feel winter coming in the yellowing leaves and cool air. I stood there for a few moments, and then I set out along the path to the next village.
“‘I don’t remember all of that trip, only that I was very tired and sometimes very hungry. One night I slept in the house of an old woman who gave me a good soup and told me my husband should not let me travel alone. Another time I had to sleep in a barn. At last I found a ride to Târgoviste, and then another to Bucharest. When I could I bought bread, but I did not know how much money I would need for the train, so I was very careful. Bucharest was very large and beautiful, but it frightened me because there were so many people, all in fine clothes, and men who looked boldly at me on the street. I had to sleep in the train station. The train was frightening, too, a huge black monster. Once I was sitting inside, next to a window, I felt my heart lifting a little bit. We rode past many wonderful sights-mountains and rivers and open fields, very different from our Transylvanian forests.
“‘At the border station, I learned that it was September 19, and I slept on a bench until one of the guards let me come into his booth and gave me some hot coffee. He asked me where my husband was, and I said I was going to Hungary to see him. The next morning a man in a black suit and hat came looking for me. He had a very kind face and he kissed me on both cheeks and called me ”sister.“ I loved my brother-in-law from that moment until the day he died, and I love him still. He was more my brother than any brother in my own family. He took care of everything, buying me a hot dinner on the train, which we ate at a table with a tablecloth. We could eat and look out the train window at everything passing by.
“‘At the Budapest station, Éva was waiting for us. She wore a suit and a beautiful hat, and I thought she looked like a queen. She hugged and kissed me many times. My baby was born at the best hospital in Budapest. I wanted to name her Éva, but Éva said she would rather name her herself, and she called her Elena. She was a lovely baby, with big dark eyes, and she smiled very early, when she was only five days old. People said they had never seen a baby smile so young. I had hoped she would have Bartolomeo’s blue eyes, but she looked only like my family.
“‘I waited to write to him until after the baby was born, because I wanted to tell him about a real baby, not to tell him only about my pregnancy. When Elena was one month old, I asked my brother-in-law to help me find an address for Bartolomeo’s university, Oxford, and I wrote the strange words myself on the envelope. My brother-in-law penned the letter for me in German, and I signed it with my own hand. In the letter I told Bartolomeo that I had waited for him for three months and then had left the village because I knew I would have his child. I told him about my travels and about my sister’s home in Budapest. I told him about our Elena, how sweet she was, how happy. I told him I loved him and was frightened that something terrible had happened to prevent his returning. I asked him when I would see him, and whether he could come to Budapest to get me and Elena. I told him that no matter what had happened, I would love him to the end of my life.
“‘Then I waited again, this time a long, long time, and when Elena was already taking her first steps, a letter came from Bartolomeo. It was from America, not from England, and it was written in German. My brother-in-law translated it for me in a very gentle voice, but I saw that he was too honest to change anything it said. In his letter Bartolomeo said he had received a letter from me that had gone first to his former home in Oxford. He told me politely that he had never heard of me or seen my name before, and that he had never been to Romania, so that the child I described could not be his. He was sorry to hear such a sad story and he wished me better fortunes. It was a short letter and very kind, not harsh, and in it there was no sign that he knew me.
“‘I cried for a long time. I was young and I did not understand that people can change, that their minds and feelings can change. When I had been in Hungary for several years, I began to understand that you can be one person at home and a different person when you are in a different country. I realized that something like this had happened to Bartolomeo. In the end, my only wish was that he had not lied, had not said he didn’t know me at all. I wished that because I had felt when we were together that he was an honorable person, a truthful person, and I did not want to think badly of him.
“‘I raised Elena with the help of my relatives, and she became a beautiful and brilliant girl. I know this is because she has Bartolomeo’s blood in her. I told her about her father-I never lied to her. Maybe I didn’t tell her enough, but she was too young to understand that love makes people blind and foolish. She went to the university and I was very proud of her, and she told me that she had heard her father was a great scholar in America. I hoped someday she might meet him. But I did not know he was at the university you went to there,’ Helen’s mother added, turning almost reproachfully to her daughter, and in this abrupt way she finished her story.