Romanian Origins and Dreams (Volume 2)

The ceaseless whistling of the wind echoed through the corridors of Ana's existence, as she wandered through the labyrinthine paths of her youth. In her twenties, she was a student at the prestigious medical school in Romania's capital, and among her professors was Lucian, a distinguished physician and one of Ceaușescu's esteemed doctors. He was also a man of secrets, bound by the chains of matrimony and fatherhood. It was in this tangled web of forbidden desires and clandestine encounters that Ana's story unfolds.

Agrafiena, Ana's older sister, became the orchestrator of their clandestine connection. With her pen as her weapon, she composed delicate verses that conveyed Ana's longing and admiration, presenting them as a gift from the heart. Through these poetic words, a bridge was constructed, and Ana and Lucian began their clandestine rendezvous.

Their rendezvous took place in rented rooms scattered throughout the city of Bucharest. Lucian, being a man of means, knew where to find temporary sanctuaries away from prying eyes. These rooms, like fleeting moments of respite, held their secrets, cocooning their forbidden love within their walls.

In the depths of winter, as icy tendrils gripped the stairs leading to Ana's seventh-floor abode in the eastern Romanian city of Iași where she was doing her residency, fate took an unexpected turn. Ana, after consuming a meal of fish cakes, succumbed to a violent illness, her body wracked with incessant vomiting. Her fragile state left her vulnerable, her spirit seeking solace amidst the turbulence of her predicament.

It was then that a woman, burdened with the weight of motherhood and seven children, crossed Ana's path. This woman, with a kind heart and nurturing spirit, offered her assistance. She brewed healing concoctions and prepared soothing soups, offering warmth and sustenance to Ana's weakened body. Amidst the trials and tribulations of her own life, she imparted timeless wisdom, revealing that her children raised one another, with the older ones lending a helping hand to the younger ones.

News of Ana's pregnancy reached Lucian, shattering their clandestine sanctuary and bringing forth the daunting reality of their forbidden love. In the depths of desperation, Lucian whispered a suggestion—a dangerous path to explore. In a country where abortion was strictly forbidden under the iron grip of Communist rule, he mentioned the possibility of an illegal abortion, fueled by the elusive promise of quinine.

. . .

Ana's memories swirled like the narcotic orb of the setting sun outside the train window, its light fading into the grey monotony of the Romanian landscape. The gentle clinking of the spoon against her mother's carefully packed container of beef stew brought her back to the present moment, but her mind continued to wander through the corridors of her past. The train rattled on toward Belgrade, toward Agrafiena, toward the future, but the past held her tightly in its grip.

Her thoughts drifted back to the moment when Lucian first whispered the suggestion that had sent a chill through her--quinine, a name that carried with it the illicit promise of escape but also the dark shadow of death. The fear had knotted inside her, not just for the child growing within her but for herself. The Romanian state's grip on its people was suffocating, and Lucian, with his ties to the communist regime, seemed to hold both her salvation and her doom in his hands.

Ana had refused his suggestion for her to have an illegal abortion.

Even now, the memory of that conversation unsettled her, the low hum of Lucian's voice urging her toward the unthinkable. But she could never go through with it. She had clutched her belly, her body recoiling from the mere thought of that dangerous path. And her parents--her mother, Sena, and her father--were firm in their support. They wanted her to keep the child. Her father's voice had been steady and unwavering when they discussed it. "A child is a gift, Ana. No matter the circumstances."

But it was Agrafiena who had voiced a different concern. "Ana," she had said, her voice cautious, almost afraid to disturb the fragile silence between them, "there was a time when you didn't want to live at all. Don't you remember? You were so depressed. You wanted to end it. I had to write those letters for you, to give you some hope." But Ana had stared at her older sister, bewildered by the claim. She didn't remember any such thing, no darkness that deep. She'd dismissed it as nonsense, claiming that Agrafiena, who had been in Belgrade at the time, must have confused things, perhaps mixing her own troubles with Ana's.

The train's rhythmic clattering was a constant, a backdrop to the uneasy thoughts that Ana couldn't shake. "Maybe you're the one who was depressed, Agrafiena," she'd said, her voice laced with a half-joke, yet tinged with genuine concern. "You were the one dealing with that Serbian boyfriend, and you even stole a burial cord for some love spell. I think you're remembering my mental state wrong."

Agrafiena's expression had been unmoved, her face solemn as if guarding a truth that Ana couldn't--perhaps wouldn't--accept. "I know what I remember," her sister had whispered, her voice so soft, so certain. That certainty, that weight of Agrafiena's memories, lingered in Ana's mind now as the train pressed onward to Belgrade. Was it possible her sister had been right? Could she have forgotten, buried something darker in the recesses of her mind? But it was easier to push those thoughts aside, easier to focus on the tangible--the container of stew in her lap, the ache in her leg where she'd been injured, the steady hum of the train as it hurtled toward an unknown confrontation.

The injury was still vivid in her memory. Bucharest, with her mother at the metro. A single misstep had sent her crashing against the edge of a platform. Pain shot through her, a sharp, biting pain that left her breathless. Her vision blurred as she swayed, the world closing in on her. But then her mother's arms had been there, strong and steady, holding her upright. "Breathe," her mother had urged, her voice calm but insistent. "You're okay, Ana. Just breathe."

A bruise--that's all it had been. A painful one, yes, but nothing serious. Yet in that moment, it had felt like the world was ending, like she could let go and disappear. Just as she had felt when Lucian proposed his desperate plan. The memories of him were tangled in both gratitude and fear. Lucian, the doctor with connections that stretched farther than she'd ever known, had been her ticket out of Romania. He had arranged everything, using his status under Ceaușescu's regime to ensure her passage out, to save her from whatever fate might have awaited if she had stayed. But that lingering doubt gnawed at her even now--what if she had stayed? Would he have done something worse? Would he have taken that final step to protect his reputation, even if it meant her death?

The thought clung to her like a cold shadow as she gazed out of the window. The narcotic glow of twilight had been replaced by the deepening grey of night, and the chill that crept into the compartment seemed to match the unease in her mind. She pulled her coat tighter, but it did little to ward off the unsettling sense of anticipation.

Belgrade was drawing closer, the city where her sister now lived, where she'd be meeting Agrafiena's Serbian husband and son. But even as the train slowed, Ana couldn't shake the uncertainty. What would Agrafiena say? Would she bring up those old memories again, those accusations wrapped in sisterly concern? Or would they sit together in silence, pretending the past hadn't happened, burying the truth even deeper?

The train jolted as it pulled into the station, and Ana closed the container of stew in her lap. Her thoughts felt heavy, like the weight of the memories she'd tried to leave behind. But it was time now. She stood, steadying herself as she gathered her things, her legs stronger than they had been in Bucharest. Now, they would carry her forward--to whatever awaited her, to the sister who might know a truth Ana had long tried to forget.