A Kind of Seventh Part

“…she was shivering half naked in rags, her poor little feet all red in her wooden shoes. He, Jean Valjean, had taken her away from those rags to clothe her in these mourning clothes. The mother must have been pleased in her grave to see her daughter wear mourning for her, and particularly to see that she was dressed, and that she was warm.” Hugo, Les Miserables

* * *

April

James and I stand outside the hotel in Oradea, enjoying the darkness, the lightness of the alcohol in our blood, sharing a cigarette. A man appears behind us, and we both startle. He smiles, and offers us his hand, as in friendship, and speaks a fast kind of English. He asks us if we’d like some girls.

I answer him, in Romanian, telling him that I just got married, but, thanks, for the offer.

He responds, in English, telling me that being married is no problem, and he laughs, as though this is an old joke among old friends. He whistles and a car pulls to the curb. I look through the back window, and two young girls, who cannot be older than 14, apply lipstick, tugging at dresses held by straps, and no sense of curvature, two little girls looking back at me through this back window, tiny eyes in purple shadow, in black liner, baby teeth smiles, not from laughing, but from applying lipstick. They share the lipstick between them, and the one pulls a dress strap up for the other, and they look back through the window.

I tell him no, thanks, again, in Romanian.

He dismisses me, in English and goes to the car to open it for the girls, and I’m starting to get afraid.

“No, seriously. No.” I finally say, in English.

He starts to cuss, in Romanian, but by now I’m back in the hotel lobby, though I do turn around and look back out through the window, hard to see because of the reflection, that’s reflecting my face, so that I’m looking through my own reflection at a car driving to find another hotel.