The Vampire from Transilvania

The next morning I rose early. December twenty-second was the first official day of my assault on Transylvania and, of course, I had to greet it with dignity. After thoroughly tidying myself up, I peered into the tiny mirror of the powder case with a huge fish eye. Then the other. My makeup seemed to have succeeded. I didn’t put my hair in a ponytail, because I’d have to put on a hat anyway. I carefully picked up a few long brown hairs from the comb, put the trash in a small packet, and took it to the bathroom. I didn’t want auntie thought I didn’t appreciate the hospitality. I went out early for breakfast, ready to do some chores in the kitchen. ‘Are you up already? ’ Aunt Tasha’s fresh-from-sleep face showed slight surprise. ‘And I thought you wanted to rest up for the vacation and sleep in a little longer.’ ‘If I have time,’ I replied seriously, taking the plates and cutlery from my hostess’s hands. ‘So Ann was telling the truth: you have a plan to take over Romania? ’ ‘More like Transylvania. But I’d love to see other places as well.’ ‘I hope you like it. I fell in love with this little country at first sight.’ I fell in love with it in absentia, I thought, but decided to keep my thoughts to myself, otherwise I’d have to explain how that could have happened. ‘I’m sure I’ll like it.’ ‘Well, you’ve prepared yourself thoroughly.’ I stood up straight, letting my aunt see how serious I was about not only learning the culture of the country, but also its climate; I was wearing ski pants and a sweater with a pair of cotton shirts underneath. A hooded down parka and warm hiking boots were waiting by the front door. ‘Well done! ’ praised the aunt. ‘So where are you going to go today? ’ Uh, well… ‘To the castle,’ I admitted softly. Which one, I didn’t need to explain. ‘Have a great trip,’ my aunt said encouragingly, and didn’t ask anything more. After eating a hearty breakfast, I helped wash the dishes while my uncle got ready for work. He took the twins with him; they were sent to study in Brasov this year. ‘Here, I made you some sandwiches for the road,’ her aunt held out a bag. ‘You didn’t have to.’ ‘Don’t make it up. It’s no big deal,’ she waved her hand as if to dispel discomfort. ‘When should I expect you? ’ It was eight o’clock in the morning. ‘I think I’ll be back by four or five. If I’m getting late, I’ll call you.’ With those words, I snuck out into the hallway, quickly pulled on my down jacket and winter boots, and rushed off on my adventure. The road slowly led me forward, telling me the right turns and signaling when I needed to slow down. There was an unfolded map on the passenger seat; navigators didn’t inspire confidence. First of all, it was a pity to spend money on a good gadget, considering that I wouldn’t be getting a vehicle any time soon; first I’d have to finish the remaining four and a half years of uni, and then I’d have to earn money for my own car. Secondly, I’d never used a GPS before, and had no idea what to do if I ended up in a dead end, having taken a wrong turn (I’d heard enough of those stories). The final reason for abandoning modern convenience was my smartphone. Theoretically I could download the app I needed, but the old model barely maintained a charge for twenty-four hours. I should have bought a new one a long time ago, but…but I didn’t want to spend the money I’d collected for the trip without an absolute necessity, deciding that I’d buy a phone if there was anything left when I returned. I reached the castle, located thirty kilometers from Brasov, without once looking at a map. I’d been looking at the route of my future journeys so often that I probably would have sketched the highway and the main crossing points from memory. Finding a parking space, I dragged my bag out of the backseat, slung it over my shoulder, pulled on my hat, and locked the car. Looking around the massive base of the castle, going upward with small towers, I said hello to an old acquaintance, whose appearance I knew as well as the map of Transylvania: ‘Well, hello, Bran.’ I could hardly believe I was standing here. Threw a glance at the clock: quarter past ten. It’s Thursday and the box office is already open. Inhaling deeply frosty air, I walked around the gray fortress from the end. Clumsily cocking my head up in an effort to see every last pebble and window, I almost slipped. The moss and the mold covered walls with tiny loopholes and snow-covered tiled roofs looked so picturesque. Taking a discounted ticket with my student card, I joined a small line of early birds, like me, who were hushed in anticipation of seeing the home of the world’s most famous vampire. Built between the early thirteenth and late fourteenth centuries, if I paid attention to the serious discrepancies in various sources, the castle had served as a defense fortress, changing many owners. Now it belonged to the grandson of queen Mary, who had to try hard to furnish the empty rooms with antique furniture; all the furnishings were long ago taken to museums. This did nothing to diminish my pleasure in wandering through all four levels of the castle. Tiny, low-ceilinged rooms, their crooked whitewashed walls with small alcoves were adorned with weapons and trophies. Down the trampled wooden steps, along the narrow passages… The place smelled of antiquity. Parting from the group, I nestled against a small glazed window on the stairs. The forested Carpathians were white with snow, hiding secrets on their paths and edges that I longed to learn soon. Finishing the guided tour, I was in no hurry to leave the castle grounds. After wandering along the centuries-old walls some more, I set out to explore the surrounding area. The freshened up thickets looked more like a park than a wild woodlands. There wasn’t a soul around, only the old trees creaking quietly, swaying in the faint gusts of wind coming from the peaks of mountains. In the back of the grounds, I found a small stage; this was where all sorts of events were held during the warm season, from concerts to theatrical performances. I decided that I wasn’t likely to disturb anyone, so I took a stand with my lunch in the middle of the makeshift stage. The view of the castle was marvelous from here. From a short distance, Bran looked like a cozy nobleman’s dwelling (actually, it belonged to them). Lost among the mountains, it was no longer a fortress, where the sentries did their duty, guarding the borders from the enemy. Nor was it a residence fit for the privileged. Bran was now a symbol that connected our dull, gray world to a mystery accessible to the few. Of course, I didn’t expect to find vampires here. What would they do among the desert mountains in a small and cold castle besieged by hordes of tourists? Even those tourists would be disappointed to learn that Vlad Tepes never lived here. History has not preserved any accurate mention of such a possibility, leaving the occasional line that he might have spent the night under the castle roof, or perhaps languished in the casemates, condemned for his crimes. There has still been much controversy over this. Romanians should thank Bram Stoker, so successfully did he describe the citadel of evil of Count Dracula that it was incredibly similar to Bran and lost in the same latitudes as the refuge of the fictional villain. It is said that it was this castle that inspired the writer when creating his masterpiece. I rose to my feet, tucked an empty container into my backpack, and shook off the crumbs. The fact that Bran was as closely related to vampires as my car was to rally racing did nothing to cool my resolve to visit this place. I’d come here solely to pay tribute to a character from one of my favorite novels, and to practise my driving skills on the smooth roads of the highway. Now I was really going to the place where, according to historical records, Vlad theThird Tepes dwelt (at least occasionally). The ruins of Poenari fortress were located farther to the southeast. I followed the highway, gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands and not letting a speedometer hand exceed the eighty kilometer mark. What beauty twisted along the gray stretch of road! Only people who happened to be in these places by pure chance or out of curiosity that accompanied travelers of all stripes, could appreciate the quiet restrained grandeur of the snow-covered Carpathians. I was to marvel even more at the top of the famous rubble. After a thousand and six hundred steps, I gasped at the steep climb and the breathtaking view of the Ardjes River Gorge. The air was hazy like steamed glass, obscuring the outline of the surrounding mountains. The harsh wind ruffled the hair peeking out from under my hat and made me squint. Here I was alone. Happy and frozen, I fluttered butterfly-like around the ruins of the fortress. Tourists weren’t very keen on this place compared to other attractions in Romania, not to mention that it was winter and it was getting close to Catholic Christmas, a big holiday that stirred up excitement in the shopping centers rather than cold remote unwelcoming peaks. The locals, like many tourists, were busily preparing to welcome the holiday, leaving Poenar at my complete disposal. I felt special, as if I was the only one allowed to walk through the domain of the great and terrible Count who made the surrounding lands tremble. Despite the bloodied hands and the many atrocities preserved in the annals of history, I didn’t believe Vlad the Third was really a vampire. Would he have committed atrocities in the open? Why? He was probably just a sadistic nobleman who had gone mad with permissiveness. Why would a vampire just want to torture people when he could feed on them in peace and pleasure? No, staking people made no sense from a vampiric point of view. With more than enough to see the incredible panorama and capture a few dozen selfie, I, frozen, with stiff fingers, walked downstairs to the car, continuing to ponder the lost souls who were not destined to learn the secrets of a mysterious and frightening tribe. Many would ask me what I was doing here if, aside from scenic views and pathetic stone fragments, the former fortress had nothing else to boast of. Not that vampires were really lurking somewhere here. Surely, not. I guess my forays could be compared to visiting places of power. I believe that there are places on earth that are full of the right energy, and to visit them is to gain strength for your cause. For example, there are such points on the map where people who want to get rich, to have children, to know the truth go. And if you gather people with the same burning desire in one place, then, perhaps, you can really succeed in your own search. That is exactly what I’ve been doing, starting with a visit to Bran and Poenari. Before taking on the task, I had to get in the right frame of mindset so that things would definitely work out. I believed and wanted the energy of belief of others, as I had no doubts about the existence of vampires. Jumping into the car parked lonely on the slope, I hurriedly started the engine and turned on the heater. The instructor would have scolded me for that — I should have let the car warm up first, but I was too cold and wanted to get my hands warm as quickly as possible. By three o’clock the warm morning sun was gone. The sky was overcast with gray clouds; the weather could seriously turn bad. Deciding that I’d had enough for the first day, I turned my four wheels back to the house. It took a long time to go down by a winding path. Then I got onto the Transfagarasan highway and relaxed a bit; the road went straight, with sparse cars stretching in a thin line. A sign with the name of another village appeared in the distance, making me slow down. I picked up the map. Like I thought, the name before me was marked exactly midway between the stretch of highway where I was now and Bran Castle, my transfer point to Brasov and then to Taliu. Taking a quick glance at the sky, I got a bit worried. The weather was breaking up right at my eyes, and I was doomed to be caught in a snowfall. The weather forecasters were promising precipitation, so I knew about it beforehand, but that didn’t take away the wish to get home sooner. Frozen with slight excitement, I calculated the chances of getting to Taliu quicker than I planned. If I cut a huge detour from the gorge to Brasov, I could save at least an hour. The roads in Romania, as far as I’d learned, were good, so there was nothing to stop me from driving straight through… except caution. I didn’t like tramping around. Besides, the precious time was melting away with every minute along with the glimpses of good weather. ‘Come on, Alex. What could possibly happen to you? ’ I encouraged myself. Checking the map again, I turned the ignition and, making sure there was no interference, turned onto the country road. Five minutes later, I felt more confident. The road was smooth and well-maintained, the border wide enough for me to stop if I needed to. The car, despite its appearance, behaved calmly, no funny noises. Light snow dusted the car hood, and just in case, I turned on the windshield wipers and glanced in the rearview mirror; there was no one else on the lot but me, so I didn’t slow down. About ten minutes later I came across a new signpost. It didn’t have the name of the village I’d kept as a reference point, but it did have a couple of other inscriptions. After thinking for a bit, I stopped and picked up the map again. That’s right; the towns listed on the sign were in other areas of Romania. It’s not uncommon on the road, just in case a driver happens to be passing through. Everyone tends to focus on major points, not tiny villages, to get from A to B. I drove on, increasing my speed for a bit. There was still no one on the mountain road, and the snowfall was getting heavier in the meantime. Thinking hard, I forced myself to exhale, reassuring myself that there was no cause for serious worry. Still, after thinking hard, I dropped my speed by ten kilometers. Mountainous terrain and snow are additional sources of danger on the road. Why take risks for nothing? ‘You’re such an alarmist, Alex,’ I teased myself. In fact, I was determined and persistent. Not only my parents and friends spoke about it, but also my actions. For some, not quite understandable reason, I believed I could handle any difficulties, and so far life had agreed with me. My policy was simple: prepare for all eventualities, always think straight, and don’t panic. ‘Panic is a recipe for bad decisions,’ my father often said, and I shared his opinion. Many times I noticed how my classmates, and then groupmates fail, unable to cope with nerves. I remember Jessi did not prepare a topic, but we had a friendly class and we pushed her to the board promising to help. The literature teacher, Mr Ackleroy, was a dinosaur and his hearing and eyesight often failed him. That’s what we were counting on. We whispered to Jessi what to say, and she recounted what she heard, until the teacher got up from his chair and went to the window, being only a meter closer to the girl. She immediately chickened out and admitted that she hadn’t prepared. What a shame. Things had been going pretty well up until then. Or Nina from my department. A typical nerd, who memorized her student’s books from cover to cover while on vacation, failed most of the session, because when faced with teachers one-on-one, can’t squeeze out a couple of coherent sentences. Of course, then she passed everything, but the very fact that someone suffers from a banal inability to keep their head on the shoulders at a crucial moment, always amazed me. What’s the point of getting nervous and panicking if it only reduces the chances of success? After all, they are digging a hole for themselves. If you think about it rationally, it turns out that the result is always worse because of nervousness, so why not to relax and try to get the most out of the situation? The road, meanwhile, led to a fork in the road. There was a sign in the middle, which had already managed to get decently covered up. I had no choice but to stop the car and go clear it up; the wet snow stuck to the glossy surface. After waving my sleeve a couple of times, I made sure that the road to Brasov was going left, and I was about to go back to the car when I turned around and noticed a man. A tall man dressed in black, in a long coat draped over his shoulders was walking leisurely along the side of the road. Snow was drifting down his back, settling on the top of his head. Even from here I could see that his dark hair was soaked through and now hung in a wispy mess all the way down to his chin. With his hands deep in his pockets, he hunched over, lurching awkwardly from side to side and moving toward the left turn of the road. There must have been a village located there. Taking another look at him, I made sure he didn’t have any bags or other belongings. I was even a little taken aback, not realizing where he was coming from? He was coming from the direction I had passed just a few minutes ago. Had I driven by so fast that I hadn’t noticed? The man had already reached the fork in the road and paused, once again falling heavily from foot to foot. Looked at me spitefully, reminding me of uncle Grigor. I froze in place, startled for some reason. My throat went dry as a nervous shiver ran through my body. He was looking at me as if I had broken some law and it was in his power to punish me for it. ‘What nonsense,’ I snapped at myself when he stopped staring and glanced at the car, pressed his lips into a thin line, and turned away to walk on. I think I’ve been standing under the sign too long. Darting off the spot, I hurried to the car. The engine hummed warmly and the car swerved back onto the road. What was I so scared of? Just some local. And came out of the woods, I guess, that is why I didn’t see him. Scolding myself for being impressionable, I turned onto Brasov. Of course he came out of the forest; the locals have been walking freely in the neighborhood for centuries, wherever they live… Maybe something happened to him? He fell, twisted his leg, and now he’s trying to get home. He could have been attacked by an animal, or he could have slipped on a frozen bed of the woods. I wonder how far it is to walk to the village? I didn’t notice any other inscriptions on the sign. It must be a really tiny village, since they were too lazy to even mark it. What if it’s a few kilometers away and he has God knows how long to go? The snowfall outside was intensifying, leaving two uneven windows on the glass, swept out by the windshield wipers. The arrow on the speedometer dropped. If he’s hit hard, it might fall and not make it to the shelter. Freeze in the middle of the road… That must be why he looked at the car. He must have wanted to ask for a ride, but seeing my knees shaking, he didn’t. I slowed down. ‘Okay, Alex. What do we have? The man is clearly hurt and trying to get somewhere. The snowfall is intensifying and could possibly turn into a blizzard. If he falls or something, he can freeze to death. There’s no one on the road and it’s unknown if or when his fellow villagers will come out looking for him. He didn’t throw himself at me or hurt me in any way. He was even too shy to ask for help, seeing that I was shaking like a leaf. And there’s no reason to see every passerby as a maniac. Deciding to turn back and help the poor guy, I pulled out my phone, going to text my auntie that I’d be a little late and she shouldn’t worry about me. There was no connection, as luck would have it. It was silly to be surprised, though; the area was mountainous, after all. Turning around, I reached the sign, turned onto another road, and immediately saw the Romanian. He had barely moved a hundred meters away from the sign. He was walking on the left side of the road. I decided to pull into the oncoming traffic lane; there were no cars to stop next to him anyway. ‘Hello,’ I said loudly in English when let the window of the door. The man stopped and stared at me. He must be about thirty, but looked older because he was exhausted and could barely stand on his feet. This was what my father had looked like when the accident happened and he’d been working long hours at the factory for almost a whole week. Pale, with lips blue from cold, and dark eyes (if I didn’t know eyes were supposed to be dark brown, I would have thought they were black), he seemed to be struggling to keep his eyelids open. ‘Let me give you a ride.’ The Romanian glared at me for a full minute, making me feel insecure. By the way, I’m trying to help, I thought almost resentfully. Maybe he just doesn’t speak English? Finally, he seemed to bestirred and staggered forward. Okay, ignoramus, you want to freeze in the snow, that’s your business, I had already managed to say goodbye when the Romanian walked around the hood of the car, heading for the passenger door. I jumped in surprise and gripped the steering wheel tighter. The stranger climbed into the car. It didn’t escape my gaze as he literally dragged his right leg into the passenger seat. The injury must have been really serious. The car rolled forward. ‘Is it far to your village? ’ I asked, casting an oblique glance at the Romanian. He leaned back on the headrest and stared ahead. His eyelids seemed to droop even lower, leaving two narrow slits. ‘No.’ Excellent, I thought. Very meaningful dialog. ‘My name is Alex. I’m from the US. And you are? Local? ’ My passenger was in no hurry to say anything. I was already thinking that he had decided to play the silent game when I finally got an answer: ‘Yes, I am. Vlad.’ Vlad. How original! The thought of running into the namesake of a famous vampire might have seemed funny, if it wasn’t so common in Romania. ‘It’s beautiful here,’ I decided to praise Romania, hoping to keep the conversation going and break the ice a little, when I realized we were driving in God knows where with nothing but a patch of snow-covered road through the windshield. ‘Left here,’ he said with a shake of his head, and I started to slow down to make the turn. The road began to climb uphill and I shifted gears. The engine rumbled with effort, but the car obediently crept along. I was cautious about squeezing more than a turtle speed out of the poor Accent; the snowfall had intensified. I tried not to think about how I would drive back. Taking a brief glance at the passenger seat, I was slightly surprised; Vlad had his eyes covered and seemed to be dozing. I hope we don’t pass the right place, I thought, glancing for a second at the prominent straight nose and large lips. Not puffy or juicy, like some girls' have; dry and lifeless, as if carved from stone. And the Romanian himself looked more like a stone sculpture than a living person. ‘Watch the road,’ his mouth dropped open to bring me to my senses. Slightly startled, I jerked the steering wheel to the side and we shook perceptibly. The Romanian exhaled heavily, and I immediately stared ahead, cursing myself for being careless, which could have turned into an accident. We drove for another ten minutes. I wanted to ask how much farther we had to go, but it didn’t feel right to show my impatience at getting rid of a passenger I’d offered to help, so I bit my tongue in frustration. ‘To the right,’ he said in a short, hoarse voice without opening his eyes. If Vlad hadn’t told me there was a turn, I wouldn’t have noticed. The blizzard was picking up, and maybe that’s why I thought the road we’d turned onto looked more like a wide path. We shook harder, the tips of branches scraping against the car body. I didn’t have time for pleasantries. ‘How far is it to the village? ’ ‘Almost there,’ he replied, as if he was struggling to get every word out. Hardly that answer reassured me, but two minutes later, the headlights illuminated the barrier. I stopped. There’s a wall up ahead. Vlad seemed to come into motion, immediately opening the car door and climbing out. He didn’t manage it right away, but finally he straightened up and, slamming the door, waddled toward the archway. ‘You’re welcome,’ I muttered to myself; the Romanian’s ingratitude was simply outrageous. My passenger suddenly jerked and tilted, grabbing the hood of the car.’ ‘Careful,’ I whispered though he wouldn’t hear me, and what good would my words do. Vlad picked himself up, taking a good half a minute to do so, and walked on. I watched as he reached the wall, stooping heavily and dragging his foot behind him. ‘It’s time to go home, Alex.’ I reminded myself, preparing to twist the wheel. Suddenly the man slipped and collapsed, disappearing from sight. I flew out of the car and found him sprawled out on his stomach. ‘Vlad! Vlad! ’ I shook him by the shoulder, but he didn’t show any signs of life. ‘Just great! ’ I mumbled under my breath, frantically wondering what to do. Walking back to the car, I found the flashlight I’d stashed under the seat myself. Then I threw my hood over my head and ran forward through the wide archway in the wall. Apparently Vlad lived outside the village. Maybe it was his ranch, or estate, or land; I don’t know what the Romanians called the land they owned, but it didn’t matter. I should have sought out his family and let them know he was in trouble. At last the straight beam of the lantern came upon a building of some kind. Wide white stone, dark windows with bars. When I reached the door, I pounded on it as hard as I could. ‘Help! ’ I shouted. ‘Somebody! ’ I spent some more time doing this futile activity until I finally realized that no one was home. Pushing the door open for some reason, I was surprised to find it unlocked. Breaking into the hallway, I shrieked again: ‘Help! Hey, anybody’s here? ’ There was a deafening silence in the house. The flashlight beam darted meaninglessly from object to object. There was no one home — no one to help me, and the Romanian was getting colder with every second. Without much hope, I still pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket; no connection. ‘Damn it! ’ I raced through the house like a hurricane, looking for some sort of cover or blanket. I couldn’t find anything similar, but I did find a decent-sized doormat in one of the rooms. Pulling it off the floor and lighting my way, I raced outside. Dropping the doormat next to Vlad, I began rolling the heavy body onto its side. This Romanian seemed simply unwieldy! I had no idea how I was going to get him home, but I couldn’t think of anything else. Even if the car squeezed through the archway, I had big doubts that I would be able to get him into the cab. With the handle of the flashlight in my mouth, I grabbed the edge of the doormat with both hands and, lighting my way like a horse in a plow, dragged my burden toward the house. I have no idea how long it took me, but I felt like I’d worked a shift at the supermarket. Thanks to the handball I played in high school. If I were like Danny, my school friend, I would break in half and a man would freeze to death in the snow, I consoled myself as I could. The last attack was the porch. I tried to proceed with caution, but I think the Romanian still bumped his head a couple of times. To hell with his head, I decided, it was his leg that hurt! After dragging Vlad inside the house, I dropped the edge and took a couple of deep breaths. I was dead tired, but it was impossible to procrastinate. Slamming the door shut and grabbing the flashlight, the first thing I did was try to find the light switches. I can’t believe it! There was no electricity in the twenty-first century, albeit in a small, European country! Okay, Alex, come down. Rushing into the kitchen, I began haphazardly opening drawers and doors; anything that got in the way. Bingo! In one of the drawers I found candles. It took another minute to find matches. I dashed into the corridor, shined the light on the Romanian; he still hadn’t regained consciousness. The bluish tint of his skin was unnerving. I had to find out what was wrong. Opposite the kitchen, was the living room, and that’s where I found the doormat. Grabbing the edge of it again, I dragged Vlad along. I dragged him to a patch of empty space and only now noticed that I was by the fireplace. Great! Finding the kindling on the side, I sighed a little more confidently. With a little more effort, the fire licked the logs stacked in the hearth greedily. The light grew brighter, and the first warmth washed over me. Then I lit the candles and arranged them around me. ‘Well, Vlad,’ I spurred myself on, ‘it’s your turn.’ Pulling things off the immovable body was harder than I thought. I sweated through until I finally pulled off the Romanian’s pants and revealed a nasty cut. It stretched from knee to heel, and while the ends were crusted over, the middle was oozing dark-red blood. It was only now that a dirty mark on the floor caught my eye. It stretched from the foot. Blood. How was he going to make it home! I would have resented it longer and harder, but the blood had to be stopped. How to do that I had a rough idea. Not for nothing had I watched thousands of good quality and worse movies about all sorts of vampires, zombies and other monsters. Or that movie about the shark that drove the girl to the shoal! There was a leg injury, too. Not quite as bad as the one I was trying not to look at, but… ‘You’re a tough Romanian man, Vlad. So you’ll be fine,’ I spoke to the blue half-naked corpse to keep my sense of reality as I ripped a piece of cloth from his shirt with the knife I found at the kitchen. Bandaging his leg above the knee to stop the blood, I took a moment to check if it wasn’t too tight. When the blood finally stopped oozing, I was ready to jump up and down with excitement, but I had enough sense to rush to the kitchen: I needed some alcohol, a needle and athread. I found only the latter, and that was after turning all the cupboards and drawers upside down. I couldn’t find any first aid kit either. There was nothing to do, so I had to boil water the old-fashioned way. The pot was boiling in seconds on the gas stove. Tightening the edges of the wound, I could hardly believe I was doing this! What would I be doing if it weren’t for the cinematography. I boiled the needle and thread. There was still no contact to the ourside world, and no other helpers lurking in the house, so I carefully pierced the skin and prayed that I’d be miraculously lucky and the Romanian wouldn’t die on my hands.I did what I could and hoped for the best. The work was finally done and I fell back on my heels, feeling the last of my strength draining away. ‘Well,’ I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead. My hands were stained with blood. A wave of dizziness came on suddenly. Hurrying to the kitchen, I washed my hands, carried the murky leftovers of water and returned to the Romanian. Maybe it was just my imagination, but he was as blueish as ice. While I was destroying the kitchen, I found the pantry door. There were some rags in there, including bedspreads. ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding,’ I grumbled to the heartless objects that didn’t help me at the most crucial moment. But that’s okay — at least they’ll come in handy now. I rolled Vlad into a cocoon, not even thinking about dragging him to the couch. The fire in the hearth was eagerly devouring the logs, smacking and crackling ravenously. It was to be hoped that being near the hearth would keep the Romanian warm. ‘Where’s your family, Vlad? ’ I asked without any hope, settling down on the couch and looking sleepily at the huge human body, which gave no sign of life except for a weak breath. ‘I hope you’ll survive,’ I whispered, resting my chin on my bent arm and gazing at the Romanian. Wondering what to do next, I decided that I would rest for a minute and go look for help. But tottaly exhausted, I didn’t notice as I covered my eyes and fell into a deep sleep.