A thrilling historical fiction novel inspired by the author's true family history in Romania.
It's the 1950s in Romania, after the fall of the Romanian monarch, a time of terror for its citizens. Stalin's communist regime is now in power and has implemented the Securitate, a police agency used as an instrument of manipulation and control over the country and its economics, education, and even its very culture. But one group of young university students will not be silenced.
Based on real events and the author's family history, The House of Spark shares the story of courage, resilience, and pride of Romanian people who were determined not to give up on their country.
A thrilling historical fiction novel inspired by the author's true family history in Romania.
It's the 1950s in Romania, after the fall of the Romanian monarch, a time of terror for its citizens. Stalin's communist regime is now in power and has implemented the Securitate, a police agency used as an instrument of manipulation and control over the country and its economics, education, and even its very culture. But one group of young university students will not be silenced.
Based on real events and the author's family history, The House of Spark shares the story of courage, resilience, and pride of Romanian people who were determined not to give up on their country.
Author’s Note
Romania is a unique country situated in the southeastern part of Central Europe. Her capital, Bucharest, was known as an exceedingly beautiful city—often called the “Little Paris of the East” because of the similarity of its architecture to the big Paris in France.
The House of Spark, a thrilling political novel, takes place historically in Romania in the late 1950s. At that time, the Soviet Union occupied Romania. The Communist regime seized power in the country after the forced abdication of the last king of Romania, Michael I. Following the Russian model, the new administration invented the Securitate—an instrument of control and manipulation of the population. During this period, Soviet-style economics, education, and culture influenced every country's sector. However, the Romanian people often raised their voices and fought against the dictatorship.
Though a work of fiction, this book is inspired by real people and events from my family history.
In 1989, after forty-two years, one of the blackest chapters in Romanian history—the Communist regime—was finally closed. Most everyone who survived this period knows what it means to live in fear, be lied to and betrayed, be deprived of material necessities and fundamental rights, and pretend by compulsion that all was joyful and bright. After decades of misery and fear, thousands of Romanian families, like ours, were brave and resilient enough to carry on.
Romanian students fought against the Soviet Communist occupation and regime–against those who tried to control people’s thoughts and beliefs. Their bravery is a lesson to us all: “Family need not be defined merely as those with whom we share blood but as those for whom we would give our blood” (Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby).
Chapter One
Bucharest, 1958.
Everyone had wanted to join the celebration on that sunny day in Bucharest. Even though many things had gone wrong and there were quite a few political discords, it was set aside. Optimistically people thought the beautiful weather was a sign of hope for the future. For miles, you could hear happy cheers and people celebrating joyfully amid a sea of flags. Someone in the crowd shouted: The President is here.”
Vlad Nicolaescu, the Communist leader of Romania, smiled and waved at onlookers from inside the car. Police and the Securitate roamed the streets, making sure nothing happened. Suddenly, the energy in the crowd shifted. A woman dressed in black had dashed through the police line and in front of the president’s car.
A few of the Securitate guards accompanying the motorcade intervened right away and wrestled the woman to the ground while others ensured the president was safe. With a mix of shock and curiosity, people watched the drama unfold. People who saw her closely thought she looked possessed. It took them a minute to hear what she was saying since her speech was unclear and broken. The woman struggled against the iron grip of the guards, repeating, “Mr. President, sir! Mr. President! Please let me talk with you. Please, sir!”
“Shut up, or we’ll shoot you!” a guard yelled at the woman.
She ignored him and continued her plea. The handcuffs started to cut into her skin. She was aware of the pain but kept yelling, trying to get the president’s attention, turning her tears into a shout. “Mr. President, help me, please!” Her voice got louder as she struggled against the Securitate. She knew she only had seconds for him to hear her plea and maybe, just maybe, decide to help her.
“Mr. President, sir, please…”
The Securitate tried to clear the street for the president’s car. The commotion was dying down as people nearby who’d seen what happened were standing there in disbelief. A few women were crying, and others stood with dumbfounded expressions. Their flags lowered, and they no longer thought about the celebration. The Securitate started to drag the woman away roughly. The woman continued her litany as she was being pulled away. “Just one moment, sir, please listen to me for a moment. Sir…”
The car was about to pull away when the president listened to the woman’s sobbing pleas. Something she said made him stare at her and change his mind.
Unsure why this woman’s request affected him so much, he bellowed;
“Stop the car now!”
***
Bucharest, 1957 (one year earlier).
A line of people waited eagerly at the corner of Bulevardul Gheorghe Gheorghiu Dej for bus 136 to pull up. Just as Jenica stepped off the curb and into the crowded bus, he heard someone calling his name.
“Wait! I need to talk with you.”
Jenica spun around, recognizing the voice of his friend Mircea. He shook his head, frustrated. “I’ve waited thirty minutes for that bus, and I don’t know when the next one is coming. What’s going on?”
Mircea smiled and reached into his pocket; he pulled out a white envelope and handed it to Jenica. “This is worth the wait,” he said mysteriously.
Jenica was thoroughly confused. “Is this a bribe? What are you trying to get me to do?”
Mircea burst into laughter loudly, making the other bus riders stare. Jenica swallowed his embarrassment, accepted the envelope, and lifted open the flap.
“You snake!” he said and looked up, his eyes opening wide. “Where did you get these? How?”
Mircea looked smug. “Wasn’t me. Doina is to blame but have a good time.”
There was barely a moment to speak before the last person in line walked onto the bus. The driver looked forward and sighed, allowing a few more moments to pass before he closed the door. Jenica jumped onto the bus and watched Mircea wave goodbye from the sidewalk.
What a surprise, he thought as he peered into the envelope to make sure the tickets were genuine. As the bus drove down the street, he started thinking about how much his girlfriend, Virginia, would love these tickets. Jenica couldn’t wait to tell her the surprise he had gotten for her. Unable to hide the flood of emotion in his face, he remembered Mircea’s last words.
“Jenica, not a word to Virginia, OK? I’m sorry to add stipulations like this, but the tickets have to look like they were your idea. Doina’s orders.”
It seemed unlikely that Virginia would believe such a thing. Jenica had never been able to fool or surprise her, but if a pair of concert tickets lay in the balance, he agreed that it was at least worth trying.
Near the Faculty of Law, the bus stopped. Jenica stepped toward the exit and out onto the street. As it was already late on a Friday, he decided to call Virginia from a phone booth rather than visit her apartment in person.
“Hello. Is this Miss Gemanar?”
“Yes,” a woman answered. Then she took a severe tone. “Very funny, Jenica. Now, what are you up to?”
“I was just wondering if you were busy this weekend.”
“Maybe. Did you have something in mind?”
“I thought maybe we could go to a concert together at the Athenaeum?”
“Are you serious? I’d love to!”
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at around ten thirty. We could meet in front of the statue of Mihai Eminescu.”
“Our beloved poet?”
“That’s the one. I’ll see you then. And please, Virginia, try not to be late. If I’m a few minutes behind, just pass the time talking to the godfather.”
“You want me to talk to a statue?”
“Not just any statue. He’s the godfather of Romanian poetry.”
Virginia braced herself for another sprawling lecture on Eminescu—or Nicolae Iorga, a historian and one of the poet’s greatest admirers. But instead, she preemptively interrupted: “Of course, I almost forgot. I’ll see you soon, Jenica.”
***
The sun had risen high by the time she woke up the next morning. A few rays of the sun cut through the bedroom window of her small apartment. She closed her eyes and let them warm her face.
Oh, look at this beautiful day, Virginia thought, looking outside the window. I think I may walk to the Athenaeum. If I cross Piata Palatului, I should be there right on time, she reasoned.
Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Well, I better start walking if I don’t want to be late. Virginia grabbed her coat and purse and headed out.
As soon as she started walking, she realized it was still cold. I should have taken the bus. Now it’s way too late, she worried. She started walking faster and faster. I should have taken the bus.
Right at that moment, she was able to spot them.
There, I can see them both—the building and the statue, just like Jenica told me.
She stopped for a minute to catch her breath. Virginia looked with admiration at the symphony of music and poetry unveiling in front of her: the Romanian Athenaeum, the George Enescu Philharmonic Orchestra hall (named after the famous Romanian composer), and the Mihai Eminescu statue.
She checked her watch and exhaled with relief. It was ten thirty sharp, and by then, she was right in front of the green and gray bronze statue of Eminescu, looking around to see if, by any chance, Jenica was already there.
November 25—one more month till Christmas, she thought.
Feeling sore calves from her brisk walk across the neighborhood, she sat on one of the benches near the statue to rest her legs. There is still plenty of time till the concert starts, she thought. Excited and unable to keep still, she fiddled with a brooch Jenica had given her at Christmas: a tiny flower with straight, narrow petals that radiated from the center like the points of a star. Romanians call it floare de colt, an alpine flower symbolizing courage and rugged beauty. It was the first gift that Virginia received in a long time. That little flower that was once called Floarea reginei (the queen’s flower) brought her so much joy that it became part of her daily wardrobe.
Looking up from the brooch, she noticed something about the statue she had never seen before. It wasn’t apparent in the noontime light, but if you looked closely, you could see that Eminescu was sculpted undressed with just a thin loincloth around his waist.
Look at that body, she thought. Giggling and smiling, Virginia contemplated sharing her discovery with Jenica when he arrived for the concert. She again checked the time and saw that it was fifteen minutes to eleven. Jenica will be here any minute now, she thought.
She waited… and waited… and no sign of Jenica. Maybe he got stuck in traffic; it was not unusual for the buses to be late and overcrowded on a Saturday. She looked again at the time and saw it was almost eleven.
“Where is Jenica, Godfather?” She asked him with a quavering voice. What if something unexpected happened to him? she thought. Jenica was not always on time, but he was never fifteen minutes late on their dates. It was almost eleven when she rechecked the time. Virginia waited till the Athenaeum doors closed. Feeling worn out and grumpy, she slowly rose from the bench and walked to a phone booth across the street to call Jenica’s dorm.
On Saturdays, Jenica’s friend Mircea tended to roll out of bed at ten or eleven to prepare a traditional Romanian breakfast for his girlfriend, Doina, and himself. He had earned a reputation for making the perfect mamaliga—a porridge of boiled water, salt, and cornmeal, like the Italian polenta—and the essential items in a Romanian breakfast, including fried eggs, cheese, butter, and sour cream.
Virginia at first hesitated to call him. She knew that her roommate, Doina, was there, and she didn’t want to be a bother. But after she called Jenica’s dorm, she had a change of heart and dialed Mircea’s number.
“Hi, Mircea. Is Jenica there by any chance?”
“I haven’t seen him. I thought he was with you.”
“We were supposed to meet in front of the Mihai Eminescu statue to go see a concert at the Athenaeum.”
“Hmm, is that right? Well, maybe he overslept. Did you check at the dorm?”
“Yes, and they told me that they hadn’t seen him this morning.”
“That’s weird. I think you should check at the library. That’s the only place I can think of.”
“OK, I’ll go look for him there. Maybe he was studying and lost track of time.”
“Virginia,” Doina interrupted, grabbing Mircea’s phone. “Why don’t you come over for breakfast, and then we can all go together to look for him? I am sure nothing serious happened to him. You know how forgetful Jenica can be.”
“I’d rather figure out where Jenica’s ended up, and I am just a few minutes away from Piata Palatului from where I’m calling.”
“Can we meet you at the library in about twenty minutes? We’d like to help,” Mircea insisted. Virginia could hear the worry he was trying to conceal from her.
“Fine, I’ll see you at the library,” Virginia said, sighing as she hung up the phone.
With its bronze outdoor statue of Carol I and its facade of limestone molding and columns, the Central University Library was an impressive building. Its stacks contained over half a million books. The silence walking inside the atrium could feel like entering a church, as it was capped by an immense dome of polished marble and chandeliers and surrounded by dozens of wood-paneled reading rooms where students sat for hours at a time.
Jenica was an insatiable reader, and it wasn’t unusual to find him there, running his finger over a page or grinning as his pen scratched against a sheet of notebook paper. But this time, he was nowhere to be found.
Having checked each study room twice, Doina and Mircea shrugged their shoulders as they crossed paths with Virginia in the main hallway. “I don’t think he’s here. We’ve looked everywhere,” Mircea said. He had even looked through the restroom and craned his neck under the stall walls to see if he recognized Jenica’s reddish-brown leather shoes.
“We were supposed to all meet for lunch today, or that’s what his intentions were yesterday. He wanted to surprise you both; he kept it a secret,” said Virginia.
“Aha, then let’s go back to my apartment and wait for him. You both go ahead. I’ll stop to get a pack of cigarettes on the way home.”
When they returned to Mircea’s building, no one was waiting at the entrance. Nor had anyone used the key Mircea kept under his doormat to let himself inside. As they walked through the door and looked in the kitchen and living room, Virginia’s sense of annoyance shifted to something closer to dread.
They waited and waited, with no sign from Jenica. Around noon, Mircea opened a bottle of red wine and arranged a small plate containing a variety of traditional Romanian products made from a pig: caltabos, sangerete, and leber.
“Virginia, you must try the caltabos. It is so good. Doina almost ate it all yesterday,” he told her.
“Do you have pork rind?”
“Of course, I do. I kept some just for you. Jenica told me how much you like it.”
He realized that he had just mentioned Jenica’s name. Virginia looked at her watch. A few hours had passed since their date at the Athenaeum and no sign from Jenica.
“I need to go. I have to find Jenica.” She got up from the table and started walking toward the door. Doina jumped up and grabbed her shoulder, trying to distract her.
“Let’s wait for him here. He will be surprised to see us all waiting for him. We can surprise him with some mititei.” Doina continued trying to persuade Virginia to stay by explaining that Mircea had learned how to make the Romanian sausage by following Jenica’s aunt’s recipe.”
Doina was able to detain Virginia, who was exhausted from walking and worrying. Virginia tried hard to believe that there was a chance Jenica might walk through the door any minute, looking just as exasperated as his friends and apologizing to all of them.
Every few minutes, they would hear the street door open and the floorboards creak beneath the stairs, but the apartment door never opened, and the doorbell never rang.
They listened to jazz music and drank more wine to soothe their nerves. Mircea tried to pat Virginia on the back and reassure her that nothing terrible had happened to Jenica, but by nightfall, he’d lost his sense of humor, too.
“Maybe we should call Jenica’s aunt Oara. She’ll want to know what’s going on. Who knows, maybe Jenica went to see them yesterday and decided to spend the night at their house,” Virginia told them.
Mircea shook his head. “Jenica never spent a night at their house since he moved to Bucharest, and at this hour, it’d be his uncle Aurel who’d answer the phone. He’ll only gripe that we bothered him on a Saturday. Or he’ll get angry and assume his nephew is in some kind of trouble. Jenica’s aunt and uncle are party members—asking them about their nephew could do more harm than good. Aurel and Jenica used to argue about politics until one day when Oara forbid them to talk about it. After all, they are supposed to report everything they see to the Securitate ( the new name for the secret police).”
“If that’s the case, then calling his family is definitely out.”
“But what if Jenica is in trouble?” Doina wondered aloud. “Maybe he got involved with a dangerous crowd? Was he involved in any subversive activities or clubs? Maybe he was just a victim of circumstances: he got robbed on his way to meet Virginia or, worse, stabbed and killed. He could have been wandering home from some place drunk and gotten into a fight?”
Virginia shook her head. “None of those sound like Jenica; they’re too out of character.”
“You’re probably right,” Doina tried to agree. “Where is he then? What happened to him? I’ve only ever seen him here or in the library or maybe visiting his professors. It’s not as if he’s picked up some new hobby we don’t know about, like gambling, or fallen in with some agitators who all meet in secret.”
“What about the police?” Doina said, looking at Mircea.
“That’s even more dangerous. Even if Jenica hasn’t done anything wrong, there’s no way we can look for him without drawing suspicion, and you all know that the police are working hand in hand with the Securitate. It could do more harm than good.”
The three friends silently looked at each other, then down to the floor, as if buckling under a heavy weight. Virginia felt a cold draft enter the room.
“If I don’t hear from him tonight, first thing tomorrow, I’ll go check his dormitory and go through his belongings, papers, diaries, et cetera. Anything to find clues.”
“That’s a good idea,” Mircea agreed. “But remember, no one can know we’re looking for Jenica. Then again, we don’t even know for sure that he’s missing. If you run into any students, tell them Jenica’s mother fell suddenly ill, and he had to go to see her immediately. I’ll do the same, and I’ll see what I can find from my cousin Dinu.”
“The one who works at the Ministry of Public Safety?” Virginia asked. “Isn’t he a Party member?”
“I know. I know,” Mircea said. “I’ll have to be very careful. But we need to find out if there have been any reports of muggings, robberies, or murders in the area that might somehow indicate that Jenica was involved. So that’s the plan for now. We will quietly investigate the presumed disappearance without telling anyone. We will look for anything to find clues.”
Exhausted and full of nerves, Virginia stood up and began to put on her coat. Doina walked her to the door, rubbing her shoulders a few minutes before kissing her on the cheek.
“I’ll talk to Jenica’s roommate, Eugene; I suppose it might be useless—that boy is so absentminded. But it’s worth a shot, right?”
Before she left, Virginia added, “Wish me luck. I’ll be back here at four o’clock to hear what you’ve found.” She could hear the door lock behind her as she walked down the stairs.
Back at her apartment, Virginia tried for hours to fall asleep. Jenica’s unexpected disappearance kept her awake and wondering. What happened to him? The question so tormented her that she started thinking the worst, even the possibility that he might have been abducted and killed and that she would never see him again.
No, Jenica is not dead. I will find him. When she finally closed her eyes, it was almost three in the morning.
The House of Spark is a tale that evokes much about Romania's political climate in the 1950s, where people did not know who to trust. Neighbours may be close to you within your community but if their political loyalties were different to yours, you might be in danger. It is an atmosphere of fear and mistrust and LaFlash's book does well to create this in the opening pages of her novel.
As readers, we follow a key group of characters: Jenica, Virginia, Mircea and Doina. When Jenica fails to turn up to a performance of a concert, Virginia, his girlfriend, becomes anxious about what may have happened to him. As the days pass, it appears that he has disappeared off the face of the Earth.
A tense search begins and LaFlash's narrative follows the characters as they try to find any clues from Jenica's life that may help them to find him. This all happens in the first half of the book and it has all of the hallmarks of a thriller: clues that seem disconnected but must mean something; unidentified bodies; using contacts to gain insights from government organisations; searching rooms for secrets. It is well-paced and LaFlash conjures a real fear of discovery for the friends as we follow their search for the truth.
However, I found that the latter part of the book lost the momentum and tension that had been built so effectively at the start and it drifted a little for me, although I was still keen to find out the truth. The novel has a satisfying ending and the fact that it is based on the family history of the author herself lends it a validity that makes it worth reading.
LaFlash, in the writing of this book, provides not only a window into an oppressive regime, a time in Romania's history where days were dark and people mysteriously disappearing was not uncommon, but she also shows the power of the few people working together in defiance of governmental dictates and standing up for what is right, in the face of and despite the obvious fear for what the repercussions could be for themselves and their loved ones.