TE20 Migrant Mosaics

Fleeing Father (excerpt)

Carmen-Francesca Banciu Translated from German By Elena Mancini and Catharine J. Nicely

I

My father is a little old man with glass beads in his eye sockets. Since I last saw him—and that’s a while ago, about seven years— since then his eyes have become bluer and glassier, his mouth bigger. And shinier the silver in his hair. The color of his skin is healthier. My father believes in the future. My father lives in Romania and believes in the future of socialism. This invigorates him. Gives him the strength to carry my heavy suitcases, which I brought from the West, packed full for him. My father doesn’t believe in the West. The West with its lavish prosperity is a fiction to him. A fiction that no one will admit to when they come back. So that no one will laugh at them for leaving. That’s why my father carries the suitcases with lots of strength and refuses to take a taxi. I have to fall into line. Because I’ve just arrived and have no Romanian money yet. It’s still too early to change. I have to fall into line. After a twenty-four hour train ride, I trail behind my father like a drunken hound. I’m the child again. The good one. The one who will soon rebel.

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