Under a Red Sky (14 page)

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Authors: Haya Leah Molnar

BOOK: Under a Red Sky
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“What happened?” I ask.
“I found it broken on top of the bureau,” Tata says without looking up. “I was going to ask you if you knew anything about how this happened.”
“No,” I stammer. “I didn't see it broken, but I was late for school and I ran out.”
“Well, it was broken when your mother and I got up this morning.”
“I didn't do it, Tata, I swear.”
“I hope not,” Tata says as he holds a sharp shard of porcelain with a pair of tweezers and tries to fit it together with another broken piece. I notice that his face is flushed, but Tata's hands are as steady as if he were doing surgery on a person. “Who would do such a thing without owning up?” he asks, never lifting his eyes from his work to look at me.
“I don't know,” I tell him, and let out a long breath. “But I saw Margareta leave this morning with a big valise.”
“She left this morning?” Tata asks.
“I bumped into her in the yard on my way to school.”
“I thought she wasn't due to leave until Sabina comes back, not for at least another week or so. Go ask Grandma. Hurry!”
Grandma Iulia is napping with her mouth half open. The book she was reading is resting on top of her duvet. My entrance startles her even though I tiptoe in.
“I'm sorry I woke you,” I say.
“That's all right, sweetheart. It's not good for me to nap during the day. Now I'll be up all night again.”
“Grandma, Tata's upset because he found his mother's vase broken in pieces on top of our bureau, and Margareta is gone.”
Grandma sits up at once. “What do you mean she's gone?”
“I saw her leave this morning with a big valise.”
“Oh no,” Grandma groans, reaching for her robe. She opens the armoire door and slides her hand under the stacked linens. Not finding what she is looking for, she takes everything out, placing all the crisp sheets and pillowcases on her bed and sifting through each one. “I was afraid of this,” she murmurs.
“What's wrong, Grandma?”
“That little witch did a lot more damage than break your father's vase,” she whispers through pursed lips. “She stole the only piece of jewelry I had left.”
“What jewelry?”
“After the war I sold everything. I'm not one for baubles, and with the Communist takeover, it was too dangerous to keep any gold and stones anyway. But I saved a gold chain with a Magen David pendant for you.”
“What's a Magen David, Grandma?”
“It's the Star of David, darling, the Jewish star. But it's gone now. I am so sorry,” she says. Her eyes are full of tears.
“That's okay, Grandma. I wouldn't be able to wear it in school anyway.”
“I know, but I wanted you to have it. I was hoping you could wear it someday.”
“It's not your fault, Grandma,” I tell her, trying to make her feel better, but she is as upset as Tata. Except she can't glue the pieces back together.
UNCLE NATAN
shows up in the dining room with a bunch of books and plops them down next to mine. I'm doing my homework. He sits across from me, opens his notebook, and starts writing on the lined pages with a squeaky pen. Every now and then he takes off his thick, greasy glasses and wipes them with his T-shirt. When he does this, he always makes a snorting sound as if he's about to sneeze. His nostrils flare and I can see the black hairs sticking out of his nose, but his sneeze never happens.
“Uncle Natan?” I ask softly, not wanting to disturb him.
“What?” he answers, without looking up from his notebook.
“What are you studying?”
“I'm reading up on Charlie Chaplin,” he says, sliding one of the books across the table so I can see it. The book has a black-and-white photograph on its cover of a little man with a mustache. The guy is wearing a round hat, and his pants and shoes are too large for him.
“Who's Charlie Chaplin?” I ask.
“Charlie Chaplin is the greatest comedian in the world,” Uncle Natan declares, his frog eyes looking up over his glasses. “Your
grandpa used to show his films all the time, when we owned the movie house. Before the war, I saw every Charlie Chaplin movie that was ever made, at least three times.”
“Is he funny?”
“Hilarious.”
“I wish I could see him,” I answer. “What made him so funny?”
“Everything. You see the outfit he's wearing?” Uncle Natan asks, pointing to Chaplin's baggy pants. “He created this character called ‘the Tramp,' who always gets into trouble.”
“What's so funny about the Tramp getting into trouble?”
“People like to laugh at other people's misfortunes. It's called ‘comic relief.'”
I can tell Uncle Natan is getting impatient with me, but I'm too curious to stop. “Why are you studying him if you've already seen all of his movies?” I ask.
Uncle Natan shuts his Charlie Chaplin book with a thud and answers me in a solemn voice. “I've been invited to be a contestant on a new game show on the radio, Those in the Know Are in the Dough. I could win a lot of money if I do well.”
“You're going to be on the radio?” I ask, astounded.
“I am.” Uncle Natan taps the end of a cigarette against the table and lights his match with a single flick of his wrist. His nostrils push out two long tunnels of smoke as he continues. “You're going to have to be a good girl and allow me to study so that I can win for all of us. We need the money now.”
“You mean because no one has a job anymore, except for Uncle Max?”
Uncle Natan ignores my question. Instead he announces, “If I do well, I'll buy you any present you want.”
“You will?” I'm so excited I pinch myself right above my knee-highs under the table.
“Yes, I'm going to buy everyone a present. Grandma Iulia and Grandpa Yosef, your mother and father, Aunt Puica and Uncle Max, even Sabina.”
“How does the game show work? Are you sure you can win?” I ask.
“I hope so. They give every contestant a choice of category, such as geography, history, economics, Romanian literature, theater, and so on. I chose film, of course.”
“Of course,” I add quickly. “But what made you choose Charlie Chaplin?”
“Why not?” Uncle Natan asks. “They gave me a choice between comedy and horror. No contest there, but I still have to study.”
“How much money can you make?” I wonder out loud.
“Enough to buy you two presents instead of one. What would you like?”
“I don't know,” I answer quickly, hoping he won't change his mind. “I definitely want a blue velvet dress with a white lace collar and also a toy or a game, but I'm not sure what yet.”
“Done. The blue velvet dress will be yours,” Uncle Natan says, smiling. “You let me know what toy you want and I'll add that to my list. But now you'll have to run along so I can study, okay?”
I don't mind giving up the dining room table for a while, not if I can get my blue velvet dress and a toy out of it. On my way out I bump into Uncle Max, who's just arrived from work. Uncle Max already knows all about Uncle Natan's upcoming appearance on Those in the Know Are in the Dough.
“Natan's going to win,” he reassures me, picking me up in his arms and giving me an itchy kiss with his mustache.
“How do you know, Uncle Max?”
“Because Natan's smarter than all of us put together.” Uncle Max laughs. “That boy's got a photographic memory. If I had his brains, I would be a doctor living the good life in South Africa, which is exactly where he could have been today if he weren't scared of his own shadow. You can thank your grandmamma for that. She's coddled him as if he were still in diapers.” Uncle Max takes me into his room and sinks into his armchair with a sigh. He loosens his shoelaces and takes off his shoes. “What is this, Eva? I can't count on you for my slippers anymore?”
“They're under the armchair,” I tell him, sliding his slippers under his feet. “Uncle Max, do you really think Uncle Natan's got a chance at winning on Those in the Know Are in the Dough?”
“Absolutely. Unless he blows it all on the last question.”
“What do you mean?”
“They give you an all-or-nothing choice at the end. If you answer the ninth question correctly, then you have a chance to double your earnings. If you blow it, then you've just forfeited all of your previous winnings and go home with nothing. What do you think, that Communists are stupid? No one likes to give away money. That's why they always save the most difficult question for last. Of course, Uncle Natan can pass on answering the ninth question, in which case he gets to keep all his earnings without doubling them. That's up to him.”
“Wow. Do you think he'll want to answer the ninth question?”
“I have no idea. It all depends on how he does up to that point. If he gets eight questions right, then chances are he'll have the correct answer to the ninth as well.”
“I want him to win big, Uncle Max.” The thought of losing my beautiful blue velvet dress even before I get it is dreadful.
 
I'M DYING TO FIGURE OUT what kind of game I can get, but I don't know where to look. I've never been to a toy store. I'm not even sure that they exist in Bucharest. Where do toys come from, anyway? Certainly not from the farmers' market where I got my chicken with Grandpa Yosef.
“What are you daydreaming about?” Uncle Max asks.
“I still haven't figured out what kind of toy I should ask Uncle Natan to buy me when he wins on Those in the Know Are in the Dough.”
Uncle Max looks at me with a big grin on his face. “How about I take you out to the toy show that just arrived in town? Then you can have something to dream about.”
“There's a toy show in town?”
“There is. There are marvelous toys on display from abroad. What do you say? Want to go?”
“Can we go right now?”
“Now? I just got home and haven't even eaten. Your aunt Puica will get mad if I skip a meal.”
“Can't you eat when we get back, Uncle Max?”
“Go grab your coat,” he says.
I'm in the hall closet in a flash, tugging my coat to loosen it from the hanger that's too high for me to reach. The coat lands on the floor in a pile of dust, and I push my arms through the armholes so
quickly that my sweater bunches up. Uncle Max grabs his hat and shouts in the direction of the kitchen, “Puica, I'm going out with the Child. We'll be back in a couple of hours and we'll eat then.”
Uncle Max lets the front door slam behind us before hearing a reply. I take his hand and pull him down the stairs and through the front yard before anyone has a chance to call us back.
 
THE TOY SHOW is in a huge, crowded tent in one of Bucharest's central squares. Parents and kids are fighting for space around the display tables to see the latest toy imports. Most toys come from other Communist bloc countries, like Hungary, Bulgaria, Poland, and the USSR, but there are a few tables featuring dolls from France and board games from Italy. Those tables draw the largest crowds. I let go of Uncle Max's hand and crawl on all fours, maneuvering between the spectators' legs and feet until I reach a table. I pull myself up with both hands anchored to the edge of the table and take a good look.
“Eva, where are you?” Uncle Max's voice floats above a sea of drab winter kerchiefs and fur hats that smell of cigarette smoke.
“I'm here,” I answer, but I don't care if he's heard me. I only have eyes for what's on that table. The track before me is a whirlwind of speeding color. Ribbons of red, blue, and yellow toy cars are racing one another as voices from around the table cheer them on.
“Red, red, revolution red! Goooooo, red!” a boy with a red ski cap is hollering while waving his fists in the air. “True blue. Go blue. Blue is true!” chant a father and son in unison. “Yellow, yellow, yellow brings good luck,” an old man with gnarly hands is muttering under his breath while shaking his finger at his favorite car as if he could magically make it win the race.

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