Red Hands by Colin W. Sargent

Author:Colin W. Sargent [Sargent, Colin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Barbican Press
Published: 2019-12-21T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Dead dogs bite not

TO CELEBRATE the First of May, 1986, Valentin, Dani, and I were invited to a family party at the Ceausescus’ villa on Lake Snagov. I was surprised, since such invitations came only to Valentin, and he and I had long since stopped pretending it was otherwise.

Before I could make a decision to accept, I got a terse note from Zoia suggesting it would be rude of me to not attend when I was expected to be there. So she still didn’t understand why I’d skipped her wedding and still hadn’t forgiven me. Or had I simply been made the fall guy for this, too?

“Quit worrying,” Valentin said, “and have some fun. Do you always have to worry like this?”

“It’s my fault. I should have told her I had really wanted to go to her wedding. She helped us so when you were in London.”

“She hasn’t said anything. You’re imagining things.”

So Valentin had even forgotten his part in it.

“That’s right. And my imagination is improving. Do you see how she’s still angry?”

Or was it me?

SINCE THIS WAS my first visit to the Lake Snagov villa, Valentin offered a quick tour. He waved at “his” room–all brocade hangings and silk wallpaper. I was surprised to see a terrycloth robe, slippers, and tennis gear thrown on the expensive furniture by someone very obviously settled in. How often had Valentin been here when he was away on business?

Because the Ceausescus were now being openly paranoiac, in each room of this palace was a sink with a special transparent bottle of alcohol where everyone had to wash her hands upon entering. Securitate officials swept the rooms for bugs and changed telephones there daily, as they did in all the presidential villas. We passed through miles of icy opulence to the terrace. Nicolae was on a patio beside the lake, with his prize vineyards and orchards in full view, carving up a barbecued pig the size of a fourteen-year-old child. Zoia lounged on the terrace wall, dressed in a close-cut leopard suit with a shockingly short skirt, while Elena sat stonily fingering her pearls–a “gift” from Cartier. Nicu was there, drunk as usual but amiable tonight, and he patted Dani on the head as we headed toward the umbrella tables. Zoia pretended not to see me.

This was far from being just a family affair. Official photographers snapped away while the Stabi–big shots–“licked” Elena by praising the soirée and calling her “The Queen of the First May Dance and the Queen of Science, Recognized By 124 Worldwide Scientific Institutions,” from Rio de Janeiro to Chicago to Britain’s Royal Institute of Chemistry. This was absurd hyperbole to the few of us who knew she’d never finished fifth grade. The creature before me now stood with her blocky hips twitching, her wrinkled lips disappearing in a smile. The world had created this monster, not just Romania. According to international media accounts, she and Rosalynn Carter were “great friends”.

During unguarded moments she’d stare ca vitelul la

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