The Voices of Silence Page 9

  Early on the morning of 21 December, coming back in the darkness with the usual unappetizing loaf, I saw two bulky, muffled figures ahead of me. Nothing could disguise Alys’s loping walk; I ran to catch up. They swung round, startled by the sound of my feet, then visibly relaxed.

  “Don’t DO that!” said Mrs Grosu, quite crossly.

  “It’s OK, Flora – we’re a bit …” Alys started to explain, looking at me apologetically.

  Alys didn’t finish. We walked on in silence for a while, until we reached the outside of our estate. Then Mrs Grosu stopped and looked up and down, really anxious. “Is the policeman still outside your place, Flora?” she asked.

  “Most of the time,” I replied. “But he wasn’t there when I left. I think they’re losing interest.”

  “Still, we shouldn’t be seen together …”

  “Oh, Mama!” Alys protested.

  “You know why!” said her mother, “Come on, Alys!”

  She strode ahead. Although I would have liked Alys’s mother to be more friendly, I knew she was strained. We all were.

  But before she ran to follow, Alys grabbed my arm, and put her mouth close to my ear. “Something’s going to happen,” she hissed. “They say I have to stay in the flat, for safety – but I’m not going to. Meet me …”

  “Alys! Come on!”

  I could barely hear what she said as she sped away. Yet in that moment I knew I would follow Alys wherever she led, and whatever happened.

  My mother was up when I got back to the flat. We had some tea, and bread with Hungarian apricot jam. She announced that she felt so well she was going to clean the flat from top to bottom, and asked if I would help. I hesitated, trying to think of an excuse.

  “I’m going out with Alys,” I mumbled. “She … I … er … She said there’s a peasants’ market. We thought we’d see what we can find. Maybe some eggs!”

  “All right, dear,” she said. I felt guilty at the lie. An hour later Alys and I were on the bus, heading for the city centre. She had been very edgy, sending me ahead to the bus stop, whilst she hid around a corner. “Just make sure my parents aren’t there. Something might have delayed them.”

  “What do you mean? Where’ve they gone?” I asked, when I got back. She just shook her head, looking over her shoulder. “Wait and see,” she said.

  As we clung to the straps on the crowded bus, I could stand it no longer. “Where are we getting off?” I asked.

  “Near Palace Square,” she said, in a normal voice, “There’s a big rally today.”

  I gaped at her. Palace Square was where the Party Headquarters was, with the balcony from which Ceauşescu spoke at special rallies. Usually these crowds were specially packed with supporters who would cheer him, and the rest were workers and students and even schoolchildren who had no choice but to be there.

  “My parents have gone on ahead,” Alys said, with a queer little smile.

  The people on the bus seemed even more silent than usual. I looked about, knowing we could be heard, then back at Alys.

  “WHAT?” I hissed.

  “Yes – we’re going to cheer Comrade President,” she said.

  TEN

  There were hundreds of people streaming into Palace Square. Strangely, it was not as cold as usual, and so you could see people’s faces without the usual mufflers up to the eyes. There was an odd atmosphere of tension. Perhaps it was because I was so astonished by this expedition, and frustrated by the way Alys just raised a finger to her lips and said, “Shhhh,” when (once off the bus) I begged her to explain.

  “Just keep your eyes open for my parents,” she said tersely. “They’ll kill me if they see me here.”

  It would have been impossible to find anyone in such a crowd. Thousands and thousands of people, many carrying banners and photographs of the President, crammed the square. There were buildings all round, making a kind of box, so that as the pressure of people grew I thought I’d be squashed. There were no other children around us today. Usually they’d be ranged at the front, where they would sing their carefully learnt songs praising “mother and father” Nicolae and Elena, right in front of the Party Headquarters.

  That was some way ahead of us, on the other side of the square. “I can’t see a thing,” I shouted at Alys, still wondering why on earth we were here.

  “This way,” she called, pulling me by my hand, and forcing her way through the people.

  The next thing I knew, we were being pressed up against a lamppost. Someone had put some boxes around it, so it made a little raised island in the sea of people. And it was already occupied: about four young men, all about eighteen years old, clung on, staring intently ahead at the Party Headquarters.

  “Hey! Let’s get up there too – you’re all taller than us!” called Alys cheekily, yanking one of the boys by the leg. He was tall and thin, with a pale freckled face, and carroty hair.

  “You should be at home, little girls,” he said, looking down without smiling.

  “Oh, let them get up,” said his friend, a cheerful-looking guy, wearing a blue peaked cap. He held out a hand. Alys grabbed it. Then the one who had first spoken jumped down in irritation, as we clambered up. Alys winked at me, and called down to him, “Thanks for making room for us!” From this vantage point I could see all round the square. Already the obedient ones at the front had started their cheers, calling “CEAUŞESCU … CEAUŞESCU!” The banners and flags waved like washing. All eyes were fixed on the long balcony where the leader would appear.

  At last he did. As you would expect, a cheer went up from the front of the crowd, but … I looked around, surprised. There was a strange, heavy silence all around where we were standing, like the moment before a storm crashes through the heavens. Ceauşescu’s amplified voice echoed in this silence, crackling and unreal. I could see his tiny figure, his wife next to him, surrounded by men in dark overcoats, and wondered what he was saying. Something about his gratitude to the Bucharest Communist Party Committee for organizing this spontaneous rally. And going on to praise something called “scientific socialism” …

  Then I heard it. A voice very near us said quietly, “Why don’t you go home, you pig?”

  It wasn’t a shout – more like the sort of murmur you make in school, when you know there’s no danger of the teacher hearing. I looked down, but all I could see were heads, all looking towards the balcony.

  A foot stamped, and then another, but it was winter, and feet get cold standing still, and so that was normal. Yet I thought I heard a murmuring too, a soft sound, almost impossible to make out, which whispered things like, “Oh, shut up … We’ve listened to you for long enough … Get down!” I knew that was impossible, so I refused to believe what my own ears were telling me.

  Then somebody hissed, right in my ear. I didn’t dare look round, but knew it must have been the nice boy in the peaked cap who had pulled me up. The thin, snake-like sound was repeated, then taken up by another voice, then another, until all around us this little wind of rebellion, of contempt, of change, blew away the words of the President.

  People started to boo; quietly at first, and then more loudly. But Ceauşescu carried on, even though soon his voice was drowned by the boos, the hisses, the shouts from the people in the square. I was staring. I heard Alys say, “It’s happening!” but still could not believe what I saw. Ceauşescu, the President whom we had all been brought up to believe was perfect, like a god, had faltered. He looked shrunken and old, utterly confused by what he saw in front of him. In panic he waved one hand in front of him, as if trying to shoo away a troublesome fly.

  But this fly wouldn’t be chased off that easily. This fly was a big, stinging creature that wanted to taste his blood.

  From the moment he faltered, confidence grew. I saw people shielding their faces, afraid they were being filmed by the secret police, and yet still yelling at the tops of their voices, “DOWN WITH CEAUŞESCU.” Near us swelled the chant, “TIM-IS-OAR-A! TIM-IS-OAR-A!” in memory of those who
had already died. And as the noise grew deafening, gradually all the faces looked up, as people who had lived for years in silence found their true voice at last.

  Somebody grabbed Ceauşescu’s photograph from a banner. The man carrying the banner tried to stop it happening, but was surrounded by jeering people. The picture was ripped up – then another – then another. I simply couldn’t believe it.

  Yet the noise in my ears was real enough. It was Alys, yelling and screaming and sometimes laughing hysterically, one arm holding on to the post, and the other one waving in the air.

  “Look!” she shouted.

  On the balcony the men behind the President were scurrying away. Only Ceauşescu and his wife were left, the old man still droning on about a pathetic pay rise he was going to give. I laughed. It was a bit late for that. It was all over. He berated “foreign imperialists”. Then his wife’s voice squawked over the loudspeakers, asking people to stay calm. Calm! When they suddenly saw an end to the oppression they had suffered for years and years and years! Who could stay calm?

  The boy in the peaked cap jumped down, his face alight. So did his friends. “Let’s go!” someone was yelling. “Let’s take over the streets!”

  They began to move away, then the one in the cap stopped, stepped back and looked up at us. “Go home now, girls,” he said. “You’ve seen it. We’ve all seen it! But it’ll get nasty now. So go home.” Then he ran off.

  I looked at Alys. Reading my mind, she shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said stubbornly. “I want to see what happens. Anyway, Flora, my mother and father are somewhere in this crowd, and where they are … that’s home to me!” She thought for a moment, then added, “Who knows – your father might be somewhere here as well.”

  The crowd heaved around us. I looked desperately around at the faces, wondering if she was right. Then I turned back and looked her full in the face. “Did you know?” I asked.

  “I knew something would happen,” she replied, “because it was planned. That’s why Mama was so tense, and why they ordered me to stay at home. But it could have gone wrong. People could have lost their nerve.”

  Most of the people stayed where they were. Soon helicopters whirred overhead like big, angry birds. People shook their fists, and uttered piercing whistles in protest. And a new cry went up, “No violence! No violence!”

  At last Alys dug me in the ribs and we jumped down. I followed her, and I knew I had to do as she said, whatever happened.

  There was a great surge of people out of the square, and we were carried along, unable to help ourselves. It was like being transported through time – from one moment of history into the next – being part of it without being able to do anything about it. People around us were responding in different ways. Some were shouting slogans against Ceauşescu and the Communist Party. Some were crying tears of joy. Some were silent and afraid, heads down, just running with the crowd like animals in a herd. When a group of soldiers appeared ahead of us, the crowd parting around them in fear, people cried out, “Don’t fire on us! Don’t use your weapons against us! We are the same people as you! You’re young – don’t kill young people for the sake of the old tyrant!” And so on.

  Those soldiers didn’t shoot. Their faces – very young all of them – were white, like masks. It must have been like a nightmare for them. As if you were a shepherd and suddenly all your sheep refused to obey, turning round instead to argue with you. You wouldn’t believe it.

  The soldiers didn’t believe it.

  In truth – I still didn’t believe it.

  It’s amazing that when really dramatic things are happening your mind moves on a higher plane, and all your normal complaints are forgotten. Alys and I stayed on the streets for hours; yet at no time did we feel hungry, or cold, or tired. We watched men overturning cars, and painting anti-Ceauşescu slogans on walls, and burning photographs of the President and his wife. We saw people dragging the Romanian flag along, and hacking the Communist hammer and sickle symbol from the middle, then proudly waving the new flag, with its jagged gaping hole. Watchers cheered and clapped, and some bent to kiss this new symbol of freedom. Strangers clasped each other, weeping and calling each other “brother” and “sister”. Old men and women ran along with the agility of people half their ages. Young men rampaged along, calling, “Don’t go home! Stay on the streets! Make the revolution happen!”

  At last it began to grow dark, and the clatter of the helicopters became more ominous. We were in Boulevard Balescu; the pressure of the crowd was immense. There must have been tens of thousands of people; if you closed your eyes you could hear the continuous low roaring, like waves on a shore. Ahead, I could see a line of militia men, wearing riot helmets and green overalls, weapons at the ready.

  I think that was the first time I felt fear, and wanted to go home to my mother. But how could I? It was impossible to move in this crowd. So I held tightly to Alys’s hand, and tried to take deep breaths.

  It was then that we heard the first shots. The effect on the crowd was terrible; people started to panic and try to run in different directions. But there was nowhere to run. “Don’t be afraid! Stand your ground!” somebody yelled.

  There were more shots. Then the screaming began, and I felt a terrible pressure in my chest. Back, back, back we were pushed. And suddenly, I realized why. Tanks had entered the Boulevard, and were moving forward slowly, trying to get the crowd to disperse. But there were too many people; it was impossible to escape, even if you wanted to.

  I heard the cracking sound of breaking glass, then more screams. Night was falling fast; you could hardly see what was going on. People were panicking, being pushed back through windows, being crushed. Bodies tore at me, dragging me this way and that.

  “Alys!” I screamed, feeling her fingers slip out of mine.

  “Stay strong! Stand your ground,” yelled a voice in my ear. I tried to turn round, only thinking about Alys.

  “Alys!” I yelled again.

  But the crowd had carried her away.

  ELEVEN

  I remember only the blackness, a sort of red-rimmed nothingness into which I was falling, an echo of roaring all around me, gradually fading, fading …

  Then nothing.

  Until, wavering, then slowly coming into focus, a shadowy face was looking down at me. I ached all over. When I heard that distant, dull roaring again I began to tremble. “It’s OK … Shhh,” said a voice.

  I blinked, trying to make out the person’s features. But it was too dark.

  “Who are you?” I whispered.

  “Radu,” he said, helping me as I struggled to sit up.

  As my eyes got used to the darkness I recognized him. A jaunty peaked cap still on his head, it was the friendly boy whose vantage point we had shared in Palace Square.

  “What happened? Where’s Alys?” I cried, remembering.

  “You were knocked down. I was just behind you and saw it all. Your friend got pushed out of my reach, then somebody by you fell over and hit you on the head with the end of a banner. It was chaos.”

  “How did we get here?” I asked, looking around. We seemed to be in the side entrance to a building off a narrow alleyway.

  “I picked you up,” he said. I could see his teeth gleam in a grin. “Didn’t know I was that strong!”

  “I’ve got to find Alys. She might be hurt.”

  “Hey, listen, kid. You haven’t got a chance in hell. People are being shot at out there! They won’t give in that easily. You’ve got to stay here – keep out of it.”

  He put a warning hand on my arm, but I shook it off angrily. “I can’t just hide! I’ve got to try to find her … Please help me!”

  “Oh, Lord,” muttered Radu, sweeping his hat off and wiping his face, before returning it to his head.

  I stood up shakily. “Look,” I said, “I’m really grateful to you. You probably saved my life. But you don’t have to come with me. I’ll look after myself.”

  He stood up too
, towering over me. “How old are you?” he asked. I told him. “Same age as my sister,” he said, “but she’s at home – where you should be.” Then he sighed. “OK – come on. But keep right behind me all the time, or you’ll be in trouble!”

  “Who from? Securitate?” I said.

  “Very funny …”

  When we reached the end of the narrow street, the Boulevard in front of us was like a scene in Hell. I saw people stagger by with blood pouring from wounds in their heads. Others still packed the streets, as if defying the soldiers to sweep them away. There was nobody in charge – how could there be – and yet it seemed that some invisible will made all these people act together, knowing what they must do. Smoke poured from a smouldering car. In the distance was the rat-tat-tat of gunfire. Yet still the crowd stayed. And always there were the voices raised in excitement and fear shouting encouragement to each other.

  “Keep steady, keep steady …”

  “Link arms, or else we’ll fall …”

  “Stay! Don’t go home!”

  “We won’t leave! We won’t leave!”

  “We’re free! And we’ll stay free! Don’t give in!”

  Radu held my arm tightly. His face was lit with a rosy light from the scene; his eyes shone. “Look at that, kiddo,” he said. “Do you know what that means?” I looked up at him, saying nothing. “It means it’s over, that’s what it means. It’s over for THEM. We’ve found our voices at last.”

  I saw a tear find its slow way through the dirt on his face. He didn’t bother to wipe it away.

  Still holding on to my arm, with a grip so strong it almost hurt, Radu started forward. It was like walking into a whirlpool, as people made sudden lurches to one side or another. But he was determined, and we plunged into the crowd. “We’ll start over there, where I pulled you out,” he shouted. “And then head in the direction she went. If we can …”