It was a fine afternoon in late spring and warm sunlight brightened the streets of B—, nestled deep in the hills of northern Romania. Women clattered by on four-inch heels, minds on their purchases, never pausing to glance at the elegant buildings around them. Vasilisa sipped her juice and admired the stately 19th century bank across the plaza. One had to travel to truly appreciate the beauty around one, she thought. Familiarity bred...blindness. A tug at her sleeve broke the reverie. Vasilisa looked around to find a scruffy girl perhaps seven years old gazing mutely at her, hand outstretched. She was dirty and too thin, one of the unfortunately common beggar-brats that littered Romanian streets. With a sigh, Vasilisa reached for the half a sandwich she hadn’t yet started eating and pressed it into the girl’s hand. The one good thing about the kids was that they were a little more willing to accept food instead of money. It wasn’t that she wasn’t charitable, Vasilisa told herself, it was just that it galled her to think of her money going to feed some deadbeat parent’s drug habit. The girl had retreated to the stone steps of a nearby building and was tearing into the sandwich like a hungry dog, with the same wary look in her eye. Vasilisa sighed again and motioned for the waiter. She added a second sandwich to her bill, and asked that it be wrapped up. It had been so good, she tried to explain, that she simply had to enjoy another for dinner. Whether or not the waiter understood her rather limited Romanian she wasn’t sure, but the sandwich arrived in due course, along with the cheque. The early afternoon’s relaxed, sociable shoppers were giving way to a more harried crowd, bustling anxiously along, hoping to finish their errands before the shops closed. Vasilisa rose and smoothed her skirt down over her knees, brushing a stray crumb off her jacket. She left a generous tip, more than she usually would, because, well, she was feeling very charitable today.
Vasilisa strolled out into the plaza, smiling a little at the way the sun, just beginning to dip below the rooftops, outlined their orange-red tiles with a fiery glow. Looking around, she quickly found the girl, tugging at the sleeve of some backpacker in jeans and a t-shirt that said “View Towers.” The backpacker was shaking his head, empty palms outstretched, and the girl, after standing for a moment in mute supplication, turned and ran in another direction. Vasilisa hurried after her. “Hey,” she called as the girl, walking now, turned down a narrow cobbled alley, “girl!” The girl stopped and turned around. Vasilisa, still walking towards her, beckoned the girl closer. When they met, she knelt down and looked into the girl’s soulful eyes. In passing, she evaluated the probability that this gesture was putting a run in the knee of her stockings and mentally traced a path to the nearest restroom where she could remove them if necessary. In the meantime, the girl was staring at her. “Here,” she said, offering the wrapped sandwich, “this is for you.” The girl took it, tilting her head down to look up at Vasilisa through thick brown bangs. Vasilisa gently took the girl’s unoccupied hand and pressed a few Romanian leu into it. “This is for your family,” she said. The girl gave her a blank stare, so Vasilisa repeated the word for “family,” throwing in “mama and papa” as well, for good measure. The girl clutched the sandwich and the crumpled bills to her bony chest and continued to stare. “For heaven’s sake,” Vasilisa exclaimed, lapsing into her native Russian, “don’t tell me you’re an orphan!” She searched the girl’s eyes as she tried unsuccessfully to dredge up a word in Romanian that would convey the concept. In the end, she settled for “no mother and father?” The girl paused a moment, her expression serious, then nodded slowly. Vasilisa pulled a few more leu from her wallet and slipped them into the pocket of the girl’s too-large pants. She reached out to touch the girl’s grubby face, tilting her chin up. “Don’t spend it in one place,” she admonished. “Farewell.” Vasilisa stood and walked out of the alley without looking back. As she rounded the corner, riding high on her own benevolence, she pulled out her cellphone and dialed her financial advisor to make an appointment for the day she got home—perhaps her major charity this year should be one supporting disadvantaged children. She would have to do a little research tonight to find a reliable organization, but she felt good already.
It wasn’t until she had walked halfway back to her hotel that Vasilisa noticed the girl was following her. Pausing at a crosswalk, she had been glancing around, enjoying the architecture and the deepening twilight, thinking about going for a moonlight stroll a little later, and perhaps out to a club after that. The girl was hanging back a few metres from the corner, and when she saw Vasilisa turn she ducked into the doorway of a shop. Just then, the light changed, and Vasilisa proceeded across the street, only to hear the patter of someone running behind her. Arriving at the corner, she turned to find the girl directly behind her. Kneeling again so she could make direct eye contact, she said firmly, “Go home.” The girl looked at her disintegrating shoes and scuffed a toe on the pavement. “Go home,” Vasilisa repeated. Without waiting for any answer, she stood and continued walking. Two blocks later, when she looked again, the girl was still there. By now, Vasilisa had figured out what she wanted, so she beckoned the girl closer and pulled out her wallet. “You want more, is that it?” she said as she pulled still more leu out of her wallet. She didn’t like having to pay for peace of mind, but it wasn’t as though she was hurting for money. She offered the girl a sheaf of bills. “Here, now go home.” The girl just looked at her. Vasilisa started to wonder if the girl was brain damaged or something, the way she just stared. She took the girl’s hand, thinking to close it around the money. The poor thing, it wasn’t her fault. Probably malnutrition, or maybe shaken baby syndrome. She might not be able to hang on to the money for long—a more “with it” kid would probably end up with it pretty soon—but it was all Vasilisa had to offer. But instead of the passivity her face registered, the girl’s little hand closed tightly around Vasilisa’s, and animation returned to her features. She stepped closer, her eyebrows raised, nervousness showing in her eyes. Vasilisa broke away, stood, and turned, but before she took a step, the girl’s hand was in hers, the little face looking up at her, pleading. Vasilisa stood frozen for a moment. A heartbeat later, she had decided: the girl could come with her for the night. She’d give her a bath, and the next day she’d make inquiries about the local child services, maybe take the girl shopping for some clean, well-fitting clothes. The girl must have seen something in Vasilisa’s face to indicate her change of heart, because she smiled, a radiant expression that briefly eclipsed the sadness in her wide brown eyes. “Well, come on,” Vasilisa said, again slipping into Russian. They walked the last few blocks to the hotel together, slim Vasilisa, stylishly dressed, short blonde hair ruffling in the breeze, hand in hand with the grubby brunette street urchin. Almost like some kind of hilarious family, Vasilisa thought to herself. Wouldn’t her friends laugh to see her now!
Unsure how to explain the sudden arrival of a filthy kid to the doorman, Vasilisa took the girl down into the car park before stepping into the elevator. “We’ll explain tomorrow when you’re cleaned up,” she said in Romanian. The girl was silent as the elevator rose.
In her hotel room, Vasilisa turned on the hot water and started filling the bathtub. She threw a handful of her own bath salts in, thought about it for a moment, then dumped the entire complementary hotel shampoo bottle under the tap, starting a mountain of sweet-smelling bubbles. Meanwhile, she ran some warm water into the bathroom sink as well, for the girl’s clothes. She suddenly realized she didn’t know how to say “get undressed” in Romanian. But in a few minutes when the bath was full, she sent the girl in, figuring she knew what to do. Vasilisa gave her a few minutes to get undressed and in the tub before she filled the sink to tackle the girl’s clothes. The shirt alone turned the water grey almost immediately, but she persisted, and several sinksfull of water later, she had rinsed away much of the grime. Hanging the clothes over the edge of the sink until the bathtub should be free, she turned her attention back to the girl, who was playing with the empty hotel shampoo bottle as though it were a little boat, sailing it from one bubble-island to another. “Did you...ah, blin, how can I say ‘wash yourself’?” she trailed off, and pattered off to the other room to search out her phrasebook. When she came back, armed with an appropriate phrase, the girl was soaping her arms. She gave Vasilisa a look as if to say “is this what you wanted?” “Smart girl,” Vasilisa opined, and retired to the bedroom to read.
After a half hour or so, Vasilisa unpacked her spare pyjamas and brought them into the bathroom. “Is the water cold?” she asked. “Here’s a towel, and here are some clothes.” As she left the room, she heard the water start to flow as the girl pulled the plug and got out of the bath. A few minutes later, the kid padded out of the bathroom, swamped in Vasilisa’s pyjamas.
“Come here, I’ll brush your hair,” Vasilisa offered offhandedly in Russian. “Uh...to est’...come here...” Vasilisa gestured, and the girl shuffled over. Vasilisa began teasing the knots out of her fine hair, which was starting to curl as it dried. The girl stood stock-still for a long time while Vasilisa brushed her hair out, trying not to hurt the girl as she worked at the matted mess. The girl's occasional stiffening told her she wasn't entirely successful, but she never cried out or complained. By the time she had finished, the girl’s hair was mostly dry. Vasilisa set her at the sink with her toothbrush and turned back the bedclothes. It’s still a little early, she thought, so by the time the girl emerged minty-fresh from the bathroom she had the TV on and had ordered what seemed like a kid-friendly pay-per-view movie. It was dubbed in Romanian, and she couldn’t follow it very well, so she pulled out her book and continued reading. As the credits rolled, she realized that the girl, leaning on her shoulder, had dozed off, smiling sweetly in her sleep. Vasilisa tucked her gently under the covers and turned out the light.
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