The Power of Testimony

SAVING MY ASSASSIN
we’d pressed earlier. “Do you want the Securitate to put you
in the hospital again?”
“At least there I will be free to speak my mind.”
Uncle Antony knelt at his father’s feet and grasped his
hands. “What about me? I don’t want to be confined in the
psychiatric hospital. You know they will take me this time if
you don’t stop talking.”
Uncle Carol held his son’s gaze then lowered his head.
“I will be quiet for you, but I will not be free.” I saw many
emotions pass between them—cooperation and resistance
mixed with love and hate. Why?
Uncle Antony returned to the family room. I knelt beside
Uncle Carol. “Do you want a drink of water?” He nodded,
then another scream from next door reached our ears. He
pressed his hand against his chest.
I ran to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. Passing
the family room, I stopped in the doorway at the mention of
Anna’s name. Today was her birthday, my mother was saying.
“She had her own wing in the family mansion across town
long before her birth.” I had passed that home—a massive
white stone mansion overlooking the lake—many times in
my travels across Techirghiol. Although it was now a kind of
hotel, I could not bring my clients of ordinary people from
Dragalina Square to its doors. It was reserved for Communist
Party leaders on vacation.
From the conversation, I heard about Anna growing up
with nannies, servants, a personal tutor, and a driver. I heard
about her travels with her parents all over the world, until her
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