Under a Red Sky (15 page)

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Authors: Haya Leah Molnar

BOOK: Under a Red Sky
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I am so hypnotized by the speeding cars that I cannot blink. I imagine myself in the driver's seat of the red car with the air rushing past my ears. My eyes are glued to the road. My mind wills the wheels to respond to my commands. “Go steady on the right and gain on yellow.” The car swerves right, following my thoughts. The finish line is in the distance, but a blue car is gaining on me to the left. I press on the accelerator and change lanes. There are blinking lights and flags waving as my car races past the gate. “We have a winner here! Red is the winner!” a voice booms as the blood rushes to my ears. I step on the brakes, and the car rolls to a halt.
A shrill whistle blows directly above my head. I look up and see Uncle Max standing in front of the table with the race cars, with two fingers stuck in his mouth, signaling everyone to come to attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, comrades and esteemed members of the Communist Party … has anyone ever seen anything as exciting as this recent import from our lowlife capitalist neighbors? Imagine, comrades, if we work our butts off and pool all of the cash from around this table, perhaps we can buy a real car for all of us to cooperatively share by the end of the century. Excuse me, I meant by the end of our next five-year cooperative economic plan. But it really doesn't matter, since we don't have far to drive. We can drive around the block in Bucharest, or around this game board, because God knows, we can't drive out of this country, not even if we're Jewish. Forgive me, comrades, how stupid of me to mention God. No, we must be firm believers in Mother Russia and our savior, the Communist Party.” Uncle Max is surveying the tent with a straight face, but I can see the hint of a smile breaking under his mustache.
I lower myself onto my hands and knees and slide under the table again. Doesn't Uncle Max remember Silviu's warning? “Comrades, this is the closest any of us will ever come to sitting our asses down in the driver's seat of one of these vehicles.” An uncomfortable silence descends. I get up and grab Uncle Max's hand and tug at him to go. Everyone around us is smiling sheepishly.
A man behind the table wearing an official-looking name tag eyes Uncle Max carefully and breaks into a polite smile. “Sir, are you interested in purchasing this game?” he asks.
“I am.” Uncle Max takes his glasses out of his shirt pocket and wipes them with his handkerchief.
I am so worried that Uncle Max will get into trouble with his big mouth that I don't even care about the game anymore. He'll definitely catch hell from Aunt Puica for buying it, especially since his money now pays everyone's bills. She's always reminding me, “You must allow Max his rest, Eva. He doesn't have the energy to play with you like he used to. We can't afford for him to get sick.”
“Let's go!” I whisper and pull him away. But Uncle Max is walking confidently out the door with the race-car game in a shopping bag.
Back home, I'm relieved that Uncle Max doesn't allow me to play with my new game. “This must be put away until Natan wins on Those in the Know Are in the Dough,” Uncle Max tells me as he slides the brown box tied with red string onto a high shelf in his armoire. “We'll have a big celebration and unveil the game then. Don't tell anyone that I bought it. It will be a great surprise,” he reassures me with a loud kiss on my cheek. “Natan better win, because I spent three months' rent on your game.”
 
 
THE COUNTDOWN BEGINS. Every day after school I run into the dining room to check on Uncle Natan's progress, but he just says a curt hello and ignores me. He is intent on reading up to the last minute about Charlie Chaplin. His notes have filled an entire notebook.
On the day of the contest Uncle Natan is decked out in a gray suit, white shirt, and navy silk tie. His hair is slicked back with brilliantine, and his thick glasses are grease-free. The corner of a folded white handkerchief peeks out of his jacket pocket. His black shoes have been polished to a mirror shine. On his way out, Grandma Iulia spits three times into the palm of her right hand and pats him on his head—“to ward off the evil Communist eyes,” she says, giving him a hug. An hour later, Grandpa Yosef brings his Grundig radio from their bedroom into the dining room, where we are all gathered to listen to Those in the Know Are in the Dough.
The music swells and fades as the show's announcer comes on. “Good evening, comrades.” His voice sounds as if he's holding his nose. “Tonight we are proud to bring you two contestants ready to prove once again that those in the know are in the dough! Comrade Roxana Grigore has chosen geography as her category, and her topic will be the Great Rivers of Europe. Please welcome Comrade Grigore.” The music swells again as everyone at our dining room table waits intently for the announcer to introduce Uncle Natan. “Our second contestant is Comrade Natan Natanson, who has chosen film as his category and the great comedian Charles Chaplin as his topic.” Everyone at our table bursts into nervous laughter and starts to applaud. Grandpa is still clapping long after the music has stopped.
“Shhh, they're starting,” Aunt Puica says, and we all fall silent. The rules of the game are spelled out by the announcer, and he
begins by asking, “Comrade Grigore, are you ready to play Those in the Know Are in the Dough?” The audience roars, “Yes!!!”
I am too anxious for Uncle Natan's turn to listen to Comrade Grigore's answers about the great rivers of Europe. Besides, who cares about a bunch of rivers we're never going to see? Tata once told me that, before the Communists came to power, you could travel throughout Europe, and anywhere else in the world. All you needed was a passport and money. But now the Communist Party issues passports only to officials on diplomatic business abroad and once in a while to performers or artists who are on tour. That's how my cousin Mimi got to see the Great Wall of China.
Comrade Grigore blows the eighth question, so she doesn't get a chance to double her winnings.
“Congratulations, Comrade Grigore! What are you going to do now that you are seven thousand lei richer?”
“I'm going to take my husband and little boy on a beach vacation to Constan
a and perhaps on a day cruise on the Danube.”
“What a great idea. Let's all give a hand to Comrade Grigore, a true lover of rivers!”
Grandma Iulia darts to the kitchen door and sticks her head in. “Come on, Sabina, Natan's on now.” Sabina emerges from the kitchen and tucks the folds of her turban behind her ears so she can hear better. Grandpa Yosef pulls out a chair and motions for her to join us. Mama and Tata are holding hands under the table in a tight fist. Aunt Puica and Uncle Max both have forgotten the cigarettes hanging between their lips. The smoke is rising toward the ceiling, and the ashes are accumulating. Grandpa is hunched by the radio, his ear right up against the speaker. And Grandma sits in her chair, her hands clasped in her lap.
For the first eight questions, Uncle Natan gets every answer right. Everyone around the table breaks into nervous laughter and applauds after each of his answers.
“Comrade Natan Natanson,” the announcer's nasal twang resumes over the airwaves. “We now pose the most difficult question of all. Do you want to try your luck with question number nine for a chance to double your winnings? Take your time … You've got exactly thirty seconds to make up your mind. Comrades, let's see what's it going to be … Double … or nothing?” The theme from the game show is playing.
“Don't be a fool, Natan, go for it!” Uncle Max shouts at the radio.
Aunt Puica starts to giggle. Sabina's mouth is gaping open, her turban slightly askew. Tata whispers in Mama's ear loud enough for me to hear, “He's not going to take it.” Grandpa's ear is still glued to the radio, while Grandma shakes her head and mutters, “A bird in the hand is a bird in the hand.”
Nine thousand lei or eighteen thousand lei—that's a lot of money for the grownups to buy food and pay bills for a few months. Who cares? I can see myself already dancing in my new blue velvet dress at our big family celebration. All of my younger cousins will be green with envy.
“Your time is up, Comrade Natanson. Which is it going to be? Will you take the money or take your chance?”
“I'll take the money,” Uncle Natan answers flatly.
“Good boy,” Grandma Iulia says, nodding her head.
“You idiot!” Uncle Max shouts and leaves the room.
“Max, come back here!” Aunt Puica yells after him in a panic.
“They're about to ask him the ninth question, to see if he would have gotten it right.”
“Who cares?” Uncle Max hollers back.
“Of course he would have gotten it right,” my father says with a disgusted smile.
“Who asked you?” Aunt Puica quips.
Mama turns to Tata. “Ignore her rotten mouth.”
The announcer's voice continues. “Comrade Natanson, just to satisfy our curious listeners and our studio audience, who have all been rooting for you, please answer the ninth question, which comes to you in two parts. What is Charlie Chaplin's wife's maiden name, and who was her famous father?”
Uncle Natan answers without hesitation. “Charlie Chaplin's wife's name is Oona O'Neill, and her father was the American playwright Eugene O'Neill.”
“You are so right, Comrade Natanson. Unfortunately, we cannot count your answer since you declined our double or nothing offer. Congratulations! You still get to go home with nine thousand more lei in your pocket. I almost forgot to ask, what are you going to do with the money?”
“I'm going to share it with my family. My niece has asked for a blue velvet dress and a toy, which she will surely get now.”
“You are a generous man, Comrade Natanson. Good luck, and don't forget … Those in the know are in the dough!”
 
MY DREAM COMES TRUE. We have a huge family get-together, for which Grandma Iulia cooks for an entire week. I don't know how much the money helps with the household bills, but it surely puts everyone in a better mood. Sabina sweeps every corner of the house, gets up on a ladder to dust away the cobwebs, and applies a thick coat of wax to all the furniture. Grandpa Yosef goes to the market several
times that week and brings back every goody he can get his hands on: a hard Hungarian salami from Sibiu, beef bones for vegetable soup, new potatoes and tiny green peas for Grandma's Viennese potato salad, feta cheese and black Kalamata olives for Aunt Puica's “Oriental” salad, and chopped meat from which Mama makes mititei—herb-spiced Romanian hamburgers in the shape of little sausages—and Greek-style grape leaves stuffed with rice. Aunt Puica is in charge of the hors d'oeuvres, the salad, and the drinks. My mother also bakes a chocolate cake using a stash of chocolate bars that had been saved for just such an occasion, and Grandma bakes her famous cozonac.
The entire house smells like a birthday party. I take in the aromas wafting from the kitchen and dance from room to room in anticipation of our guests' arrival. All of Grandma's siblings are expected along with their families. Grandpa's sisters will also come with their own spouses and children. Uncle Laz
r, Grandpa's older brother, is invited as well, which is a huge concession on Grandma Iulia's part since she has never forgiven him for his hand in our being detained behind the iron curtain to live like cattle in this godforsaken, Communist, cockroach-infested country where we are all bound to rot—unless, God willing, God will intervene.

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