One of the events we were holding for the Sugar and Spice and Everything Smart campaign was a fashion show, spotlighting up and coming Irish designers. This event was garnering far more media attention than the science fair that was sponsored by major international corporations; it was a coup for Jimmy, who had come up with the idea.
“What can I say – we’re far more interested in fashion and celebrities than we are science!” We were backstage at the show, and Jimmy’s cheeks were covered in lipstick kisses from the designers and models. “When you’re right, you’re right,” I sighed. The Science Fair had been my idea, as I thought that would be a great way to highlight the achievements of female students in science and technology. I had Tenneh mention the Science Fair on the morning show, which was just a brief reference in the daily “what’s on in Dublin” segment. I was slightly disheartened to see she was actually here with us backstage at Fashion show with a camera crew, which was getting a lot more coverage than the Science Fair. Behind the catwalk, I overheard a designer say she wished she had known Tenneh would be there, because she would have had her model a wedding gown. Tenneh screeched with mock horror, firmly declaring she was not yet in the market for a wedding dress. She caught my eye and gave me a knowing look. I blushed and turned away. Andy’s brother Tony was my date for the Fashion Show’s after party. I let Tenneh set us up on a dinner date previously, and things had gone well. Tony di Angelo was a nice guy – tall dark and handsome, he managed the other Mediterranean café his family owned. He wasn’t above teasing me about Andy in a good-natured way. “I should be grateful he’s married, otherwise my brother would have snatched yet another beautiful girl away from me!” he joked when we met. I acknowledged the compliment, but I knew he was just flattering me. Tenneh told me his history – he had married his childhood sweetheart, only to lose her to breast cancer. That blow had left him uninterested in dating for a while, something we had in common. It was nice to be paired with someone who had been “off the market” for a while. I was afraid of being awkward when finally on a date, but Tony was just as nervous as I was. It was a nice first date, all in all. Backstage at the show, Jimmy threw his arm around me for a photo. “We are terribly superficial as a society, so this campaign is just right,” he whispered to me. “Let’s focus on the education of girls, and in future the Science Fair will be the main event, not a fashion show!” I gave Jimmy a grateful squeeze, only to have to pass him off to a bevy of models for another photo opportunity. Tenneh got into one of the shots with them, smiling brightly. I was so proud of her; she was gaining international attention, having been interviewed for an American primetime news show about her story. I wondered if we would lose her to the brighter lights of America or the UK, but she seemed to be content to stay in Ireland. “My family is here,” she told me when I asked her this question. She took my hand. “My friends are here!” Cara had done as Kate bid her – she met with Tenneh and Hannah, who had a long talk with her. I don’t know the details of that talk, and I don’t need to. I trust the Lord for my sister’s healing. When she ready to tell me about it, she will. My mobile was abuzz with texts from Kate and Niamh, wishing me luck on the show and making me promise to tell them details after the after party. Not because they were interested in the event, but because they wanted to know how things were going with Tony. Tommy had thoughtfully sent me a bouquet of flowers that afternoon. He told me that Athletes Against Exploitation had had a positive effect on his difficult colleague. After hearing sports heroes come out against the sex industry, he never again suggested taking clients to lap-dancing clubs. Kate said that miracle alone should convince me our campaign was a success. Sheila made a speech at the after party, launching into a long string of statistics about women not being properly represented in the business world, in science and technology in particular. It was an important message, but the after party for a fashion show was not the place for it. Eileen McGrath Roth cut her off after a bit, officially starting the party by popping the cork off a champagne bottle. She sidled up to me at our staff table after the toast. “In future, you make the speeches,” Eileen told me. “You’re the one with the altruistic credibility.” I felt so honoured when she said that. It was nice to know that people thought of me as a symbol of philanthropy and goodwill at work. Back at our table, I told Jimmy and Theresa what Eileen had said, and they nodded. “Everyone knows you’re the one with the good heart,” Theresa said. “And you know how to keep your speeches short!” Jimmy threw in with a cheeky smile. Theresa swatted him, and he held up his hands, his face serious. “OK, for real. We wouldn’t have a pro-bono department if it wasn’t for you!” I was so touched by this that I felt tears well up in my eyes. Tony kissed my cheek, and I giggled like a schoolgirl, the tears I had a moment ago suddenly gone. Tenneh, of course, chose just that instant to come up to our table, and let out a small whoop. I gave her a look, and noticed she had brought someone with her, a beautiful slip of a girl in a flashy evening gown. She looked like a model, but I hadn’t seen her on the catwalk. I got up and went over to her and Tenneh. “Lisa, this is Fabiana,” Tenneh introduced. The girl shyly reached out to shake my hand. “She’s studying fashion design, and two of her dresses were shown tonight!” “You’re a designer? I thought you were a model!” I said to her, shaking her slim hand. Fabiana laughed, looking very surprised. “Really? Everyone keeps saying that to me tonight.” She blushed, looking down at the floor modestly. “In my country, Brazil, no one would ever consider someone as dark as me a model!” I gaped at her. She was very exotic looking with her dark skin and slanting pale green eyes. But when she mentioned she was Brazilian, I thought of all the famous models I’d heard of from that country. They were mostly fair-haired and blue-eyed, and they were all white. I shook my head in disbelief. “She wanted to talk to you about your campaign against sex-trafficking,” Tenneh explained. Fabiana nodded vigorously. “It’s a huge topic in Brazil,” she told me earnestly. “Especially with the World Cup coming, there are a lot of campaigns against prostitution, very much like your Athletes Against Exploitation. Unfortunately, there aren’t ones with sports stars in Brazil…I think ones like that would really get the message to young men in our macho society!” I thought of some of the research Kate and I had done on the topic. I had heard of the Blue Heart Campaign, which was all across Latin America, and seen some of the posters. They showed heart-breaking images of women crying, most often with a bruised face or black eye. But I hadn’t seen any featuring a sports star, like our Athletes Against Exploitation campaign. “Do you have any posters or literature?” Fabiana asked me. “I would like to send those to people I know at home.” I took her email address and promised I would send her some of the proofs from the campaign and press conferences. I felt my heart beat wildly, in a way it didn’t when I was working on Sugar and Spice and Everything Smart. I believed the education of young women was important, but it didn’t excite me the way fighting against modern-day slavery did. Fabiana hugged me and kissed me on both cheeks, the Brazilian way. She and Tenneh went back to the party, and I drifted back to our table. Tony, who didn’t really know me that well, could tell I was thinking about something. “What is it?” he asked gently. “I really miss Athletes Against Exploitation,” I answered dolefully.
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After a week, the doctors pronounced Mircea’s kidneys out of danger. They waited until that all clear before the dental surgery. As Dr Weber, the lead doctor on Mircea’s case explained, they thought they would give him a break between medical interventions.
“It would be no picnic for you if you had to go in for surgery on your kidneys with your mouth wired up,” he told Mircea in his perfect if slang-filled English. “No problem, bro,” Mircea fired back, not wanting to be outdone when it came to English. Dr Weber smiled, but looked faintly puzzled. He’s probably relieved that I won’t be able to speak for a while! They brought Mircea to a dental clinic to get his mouth wired up. The orthodontist, a bald elderly man named Professor Steinholz, made a big show of clicking his tongue over Mircea’s dental x-rays. He spoke English irritatingly well, too, and talked down to Mircea as if he were a child. “Good heavens, young man! What have you done to your teeth? I have never seen so many fillings in one mouth! Were you eating sugar by the bowlful?” Mircea opened his mouth to reply, but Professor Steinholz tapped it shut with one finger. “I’ll have to remove those before we can do the wiring – if we leave them in, we might as well not have bothered! I’ll put you under a general anaesthetic – when you wake up, you’ll be unable to talk or eat solid foods, but the pain will stop!” Mircea groaned at the thought of the treatment, and Professor Steinholz waggled a stern finger at him. “We’ll have none of that. If you had taken care of your teeth, none of this would be necessary! Your case is not like the one I treated recently, where this poor girl had her mandible smashed to pieces by some psychopath! She had a right to moan!” Briefly, Mircea wondered if the Professor was allowed to talk about his other patients when he realised who that other patient was. He closed his eyes and stifled another groan. He heard Professor Steinholz grunt in satisfaction. “I’ll have to clear my calendar for this afternoon – this will take a few hours!” Mircea felt a change in the air current, and when he opened his eyes, he found a red-haired dental assistant had rolled up a chair beside him. She smiled as she put a mask on over her mouth, and began swabbing Mircea’s arm. She deftly stuck a needle in his vein, and Mircea saw some blood rise up in the line attached to the needle before he blacked out. He awoke hours later, his face completely numb. He had been moved to a cot in another room. As if by magic, the dental assistant who had given him the anaesthesia appeared, knowing he was awake. She greeted him in German, and bent over to pour some water from a cup into his mouth. Not fully in control of his lips, some of the liquid spilled out of his mouth, which the assistant quickly wiped up. The assistant patted his mouth, which he didn’t feel at all, and went out of the room. She reappeared with Professor Steinholz. “Good afternoon, young man, or should I say evening?” The orthodontist glanced at the window at the side of the room, where Mircea could see the sun had gone down. “We had quite a time fixing you up today.” He gestured to his assistant, who handed him a mirror. He held this over Mircea’s head, and reached down with gloved hands to pull Mircea’s lips open. “Have a look – you’ll be wired up for the next four weeks.” In the mirror, Mircea saw a network of wires covering his teeth. He shuddered at the sight, noting his gums were red and raw. Professor Steinholz clicked his tongue again. “Yes, it’s very elaborate. The anaesthetic will wear off in an hour or two, so we’ve prescribed you some painkillers. I had to extract some teeth, which were completely rotten under those cheap fillings. I put in some enamel fillers as placeholders for the false teeth we will have to put in after the wiring is over. It was tempting to extract them all, but I am not a fan of prosthetics when there are natural teeth there!” Mircea thought of the dentures that poor Milla had to have put in and shuddered again. Professor Steinholz shook his head at Mircea. “Don’t be a big baby!” he scolded. “We have some work to do, but in a few weeks your jaw will be as good as new and not hurting you anymore. We’ll do some x-rays when the wires come out, and I’ll be damned if your mouth won’t look completely healthy and realigned. Although we will have to replace the fillings – you’ll have to change your diet, young man!” Young man? Not even my grandmother used to talk down to me like this! If he hadn’t felt so woozy from the medication, Mircea would have been tempted to make a rude gesture with his fingers at Professor Steinholz. The orthodontist said something to the assistant in German. She went out of the room. “I’ll check on you in a week, and see how the wiring is going,” Professor Steinholz told Mircea. Two men wearing the uniform of paramedics came in, wheeling a gurney. “Ah, your transportation is here!” Professor Steinholz took Mircea’s limp hand into a handshake, and the paramedics lifted him up on to the gurney. “See you in a week!” the orthodontist called as Mircea was wheeled away. When he got back to his hospital room, Mircea could feel the anaesthetic start to wear off. He wasn’t sure how to communicate that with his mouth wired shut, but German medical professionals seemed to be equipped with ESP. The nurse who wouldn’t take Dr Weber’s grandstanding appeared instantaneously with a shot, clucking over Mircea like a mother hen. She patted his arm after she swabbed the injection site. Michael seemed to have special access to all hospitals, as he came in after the nurse had fed Mircea his pureed dinner. “You’ll be taking all sustenance through a straw for a while,” Michael translated for the nurse. She patted Mircea’s head before she left. “I brought you these so you can communicate,” Michael explained, putting a pad of paper and a pencil on Mircea’s bedside table. Grunting approvingly, Mircea grabbed the pad and wrote спасибо – thank you in Russian. I better not bring the pad and pencil with me when I see that snotty Professor Steinholz next week! Taking a deep breath, Mircea furrowed his brow and began writing something else. He was still a bit dizzy from the anaesthetic, or maybe it was the painkiller shot; his writing looked a bit furry, and he hoped Michael could read it. He handed Michael the pad. Michael could read his drug-addled handwriting. “You want to write to Milla?” he gasped. Mircea nodded his head, even though it made the room shake. “She hates you,” Michael told him, and Mircea nodded his head again, this time seeing stars. He closed his eyes, and motioned for the pad. His head had cleared a bit when he felt the pad in his hands, and he opened his eyes. Concentrating on every letter, Mircea wrote that he wanted to tell her he was sorry. He nearly tore the page when he scratched that out. I’m sorry is too weak, Mircea thought. He wrote how he felt pain – pain not from his jaw, but from what he had done. Michael’s eyebrows raised when Mircea gave him the pad and he read this. “She probably won’t read anything you send her,” Michael argued. Groaning, Mircea reached up and took the pad back. I will keep writing her until she does! he wrote. Michael sighed. “This isn’t about what you want, you know,” Michael chided. “You can’t force forgiveness.” I will deliver each note on my hands and knees, Mircea wrote. He remembered what Professor Steinholz had unwittingly said about him, and felt tears come to his eyes. I deserve this pain. Milla does not. He was crying softly when he handed the pad to Michael. Michael pulled the chair up to the side of the bed and sat down. He looked down at what Mircea had written, touching the page where Mircea had crossed out I’m sorry. “I’ll deliver the notes,” Michael finally promised. He put the pad down on the table, and took the pencil from Mircea. “I think you should rest. I’ll be by in the morning, and we can talk about writing notes to Milla.” He put the pencil on top of the pad. He touched Mircea’s face gently. “Sleep,” he instructed, getting up from the chair and leaving the room. Michael had left the lamp on the bedside table on; although Mircea did actually feel tired, he reached for the pad and pencil. Fighting to keep his eyes open, he began to write. Dear Milla, today the dentist who has wired both of our jaws shut called me a psychopath. He didn’t know he was talking about me, but he’s right. I am a psychopath. Anyone who could do what I did to a human being is a beast, a twisted animal. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I deserve this pain. I deserve your pain The night nurse retrieved the pad and pencil from where Mircea had dropped them to the floor. She glanced over the page, wishing she could read Russian. She put them on the table and switched off the light. When Mircea awoke the next day, Michael was by his bedside. Mircea’s mouth hurt, and he moaned softly. “I’ll get the nurse,” Michael promised, and left the room. Mircea looked for the pad and pencil, and saw them on the bedside table. He didn’t remember putting them there. Michael reappeared with the nurse, who had a milkshake and a shot for Mircea. She held up them up, obviously wanting to know which Mircea wanted first. He pressed a hand to his aching jaw and pointed to the shot. She put the milkshake down and swabbed Mircea’s arm, giving him a stern look when he winced at the injection. She exchanged a look with Michael, pressing cotton to Mircea’s arm. She left the room without a word. Michael sighed, sitting in the chair and handing Mircea the milkshake. “The night nurse found your pad. She and Frau Heigl there wanted to know what you were writing.” Mircea looked at Michael in alarm, and he shook his head. “I did not tell them what you actually wrote. I just told them that you were apologising to the girl you hurt.” Mircea choked on the milkshake, and Michael was there to wipe his mouth. “I didn’t tell them any details. Mircea, if you’re going to own up to what you did, you have to expect a negative reaction from some people. I think the nurses are impressed that you want to apologise, so don’t worry about them spitting into your puree. But Professor Steinholz refuses to deal with you anymore.” Again, Mircea choked on the milkshake. He touched Michael’s hand as he wiped his mouth. But what about my treatment? He can’t just leave me with a wired-up jaw! Michael smiled, guessing what was upsetting Mircea. “Don’t worry – he’s left you in the capable hands of his assistant, Dr Freytag. I was there this morning with Milla. She’s getting the wires off this week. After Professor Steinholz was done checking her progress, he told me that he’s never had to wire two jaws in such quick succession, so I had to tell him that your cases are not unrelated.” Michael left the napkin with Mircea, and sat back down in the bedside chair. “He called you a whole bunch of names, monster and criminal being the kindest ones of the list. If he were a judge, you’d be in a dungeon, but he’s an orthodontist, which I reminded him of when he said he never wanted to see you again. He’ll want to fumigate the examination room after every time you’re there, but he agreed that your treatment would have to be completed, even though he wants to weld your mouth shut for what you did to Milla.” It was Mircea’s turn to sigh. Thinking it over, he had to see that Michael was right – he would have to expect that sort of reaction when people found out what he’d done. He slurped his milkshake, the coldness of it making his teeth ache. Putting the milkshake down, Mircea turned the page on the pad and wrote Michael a question. Michael read what Mircea wrote, and shook his head. “No, I won’t help you write an apology to Milla,” he told Mircea firmly. “The apology has to come from you. I will deliver the note, and I will read what you write, but you will have to work for this, Mircea.” He handed the pad back with a small smile. “God forgives you, but I highly doubt Milla will.” It hurt a bit, but Mircea smiled. For the first time in his life, Mircea was willing to work for something. At Bible study that week, Tommy and Kate noticed right away that I wasn’t saying much. They pulled me aside when it was over, asking if there was anything I wanted them to pray about.
The truth was, I didn’t know what I was feeling. Ever since the fashion show, I was feeling empty. It was a great success, and the Sugar and Spice campaign was garnering a lot of publicity, especially with Jimmy tweeting every two minutes about it. But ever since I spoke with Fabiana, it all seemed so meaningless. “I feel useless,” I confessed to Kate and Tommy. This did not go over well. They both looked incredulous and outraged. “Useless?” Kate sputtered. “Your job is going well, there’s a new man in your life…how can you feel useless?” “Athletes Against Exploitation did such good, and now you’re raising the profile of young girls in education. I wouldn’t see that as useless!” Tommy said. “You’ve hit the nail on the head right there,” I told him. “Athletes Against Exploitation did such good. I don’t feel we’ve accomplished anything with Sugar and Spice and Everything Smart except launch some fashion designers.” “Isn’t that good?” Kate asked. “I would prefer it if we promoting a scientist who came up with a cure for some disease…” Tommy sighed. “Lisa you need to step back and look at things. You did a lot of good things these past few months, but you need to have patience. Good things will happen with your work. Show some gratitude – I’ve never seen so many positive changes in one person’s life in such a relatively short period of time. You have a new role at work, you have some great new friends and don’t forget your jaw pains went away! Lisa, I am grateful for the change your campaign has made in my colleague’s attitude towards women…maybe you need to give us all time to change our ideas about women.” It had been so long since I felt any twinges in my jaw that I completely forgot about the pain of TMJ. I put a hand to my cheek, thinking about what Tommy had said. “I just don’t feel like I’m doing something relevant, like I was with Athletes Against Exploitation.” Kate sighed. “Lisa, you are. Our science department got a grant off the Department of Education to renovate our laboratory. I don’t think that would have happened without the Sugar and Spice Campaign raising awareness on the gender gap in science.” Kate hadn’t told me that when we were talking during the week. I opened my mouth in surprise, and noticed that it didn’t hurt like it used to. Was it only a few months ago that I was in the dentist’s chair, contemplating bite plates? “I guess you’re right,” I said to my friends. Seeing the looks on their faces, I laughed. “I mean, I know you’re right. Good things have happened. Kate’s school getting funding is amazing, and we’re not even done with the campaign yet. I’m being impatient…no, wait, I’m being blind. Thanks, guys!” I threw my arms around them, but a tiny part of me still felt empty. I kept thinking how Fabiana was spreading the word back in Brazil, hoping to get young men there to see that using women as sex objects was wrong. Every time I talked with Fabiana, I felt energised and motivated. Even when the first people she showed our posters to weren’t interested, saying that their own campaigns were enough, I encouraged her to keep trying. Sure enough, she found a soccer coach who was more than happy to get involved. He contacted a former player who became a politician, who wants to create a Portuguese language version of our posters. I spent more time this week hunting down the photographers and copywriters who did our posters to get their consent to share their layout and format than I did writing press releases for the science fair. If Sheila knew (and was still my boss), she would kill me. After I let my friends go and Tommy headed for the door, Kate pulled me aside. “I can’t believe you’re feeling totally empty…how are things going with Tony?” I had to blush – it certainly was exciting to finally have a boyfriend again. Kate noticed my red cheeks and we both giggled like schoolgirls. Thank you, Lord, I prayed as I hugged Kate goodbye. Thank you for all you have done. As Michael had predicted, Milla did not want to read Mircea’s note. In a way, he was relieved – although it took him the best part of an afternoon to write, Mircea felt it wasn’t strong enough. He was happy to have another go at it, although his enthusiasm puzzled Michael. He watched Mircea write the second draft, shaking his head.
“I don’t think she’ll read this one either,” Michael told him gently. He hadn’t told Mircea that her reaction was not just to decline the paper, but to tear the note to shreds. Mircea wrote furiously, suddenly getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. He took the page with him. Michael’s curiosity was piqued when he didn’t hear the toilet flush, or water pour into the sink. Mircea eventually came out white-faced, pressing toilet tissue in one hand and holding the folded note in the other. Michael gasped when Mircea handed him the note – there was a fresh bloody thumbprint on it. “What have you done?” he demanded, grabbing Mircea’s hand. The man had gashed his palm with a razor, and was blotting the wound with toilet paper. “I’m getting Frau Heigl!” He pushed Mircea on to the bed before running out to get the nurse. Frau Heigl grabbed some disinfecting wipes and bandages when Michael told her Mircea had cut himself. Her eyes widened at the sight of Mircea’s bloodied note in his hand. “He didn’t write the whole thing in blood, did he?” she asked in a low, amazed voice. Even though Michael had seen Mircea write the note with a pencil, he checked. He shook his head and he and Frau Heigl went into Mircea’s room. They found Mircea sitting up on the bed, pale and drinking a glass of water. Frau Heigl took the toilet paper from his bleeding hand and wiped it down with disinfectant. Mircea put the empty glass on the bedside table and handed Michael a note he had quickly written. Do you think the blood will get her to at least look at the note? Frau Heigl was doing her best to keep a straight face. “What did he say?” she asked Michael, bandaging Mircea’s wounded hand. “He wants to know if the sight of his blood will at least get her to read the note.” Michael sighed, allowing himself a small smile. “Yes,” he told Mircea in Russian. “I think the blood will get her attention!” “Personally, I think there should have been more, but don’t tell him that,” Frau Heigl told Michael dryly. “I’m not having the poor boy bleed to death on my watch!” “I never thought you would have been such a fan of drama,” Michael said to the nurse. She smoothed the hair off Mircea’s forehead. “Sometimes, you need to make a bold gesture to show remorse,” she said. “No more blood!” she admonished Mircea in German. Michael translated, and Mircea nodded obediently at Frau Heigl. He turned to look expectantly at Michael and Frau Heigl was looking at him too. “Well, go on,” she urged the missionary. “Deliver the note!” Flabbergasted, Michael wordlessly went to do as he was told. The sight of the bloody thumbprint indeed stopped Milla from tearing up the note. She pursed her lips, and hesitantly opened the note. She read it twice, turning over the page to look at the thumbprint again. Michael noticed that there were a few drops of blood on the note itself, which hadn’t noticed before. I’ll have to tell Frau Heigl about that, he thought, watching Milla’s face. She sat down at the table in the cloister’s kitchen, thinking. “You don’t have to forgive him now,” Michael said gently. “But he is very sorry. And in a lot of pain, and not just from his mouth.” Tears were slipping out of Milla’s eyes, and Michael dug in his pocket for a tissue. But Milla wiped her eyes with her hands, getting up and leaving the kitchen. Holding the tissue up aimlessly, Michael noticed she had taken the note with her. Mircea was sucking down his lunch when Michael got back to the hospital. He and Frau Heigl looked at Michael anxiously. “She read the note,” he told Mircea in Russian. Excited, Mircea put the milkshake down and reached for the pad and pencil, furiously writing a new note. “She read the note,” Michael told Frau Heigl in German. “And you’ll be happy to know there was more blood on it, which I think did the trick.” Frau Heigl nodded, watching her patient writing away. “I don’t want to know the exact details of what he did to that girl,” she said slowly to Michael. “But the way he wants to be forgiven puts hope in my old heart.” “If she forgives him, it will give me some hope for humanity,” Michael replied. Michael delivered notes steadily over the following days. He brought flowers on the day the wires came out of Milla’s mouth, saying they were from Mircea, who would have sent them if he had any money. Milla put the flowers to one side, rubbing her newly repaired jaw. She asked Michael to take her to a fast-food restaurant for her first taste of solid food. At the noisy restaurant, Milla ate slowly, either out of sensitivity for her new jaw or to savour the food, Michael couldn’t tell. He sipped at his coffee, making idle chit-chat. Milla had always been sombre, but there seemed to be a million ideas flickering silently behind her wide blue eyes as she chewed. “When do his wires come off?” she asked suddenly. It was the first time she had asked anything about Mircea since Michael had been bringing her notes. “A few weeks.” Michael toyed with the stirrer in his coffee. “He will need a lot of work, though. New fillings and some false teeth.” Milla, who now had dentures, looked up with interest. “Some false teeth,” Michael clarified. Milla sighed, pushing her half-eaten hamburger away. “So he’s not like me, then,” she concluded. Michael put a hand over hers. “No. In some ways, he’s worse. They will have to cobble things together in his mouth, not just start fresh with new things.” Milla looked at her uneaten food. “Will it hurt worse than mine?” Michael gave her hand a squeeze. “Probably.” Milla nodded at this with some satisfaction. “Do you want an ice cream?” Michael asked, wanting to change the subject. Milla shook her head. “I think I’ll stay away from ice cream and milkshakes for a while.” “Her wires came out today,” Michael reported back at the hospital. Mircea smiled at this, then scribbled a question on his ever-present pad. What happens to her now? Michael sighed. Mircea always asked the direct questions. The charity’s priority with Milla had always been to get her jaw fixed. Now that was done, it seemed their job was over, and Milla could expect to go home. As Michael stayed silent, Mircea wrote on the pad: You’re not going to just send her back to Vinnytsia?! Even though the thought of Milla’s future was weighing on his mind, Michael shrugged at Mircea. “Yes, why not send her back. It is her home!” It’s a dump, Mircea wrote with a smirk. She wants out of there – why else do you think she came to work for me? Inside, Mircea was seething. Milla knew what she was getting into when she came to the “laundry”, knowing full well where she would end up. Then the big-mouthed Church stepped in and filled her head with empty promises and stupid ideas of dignity and self-worth they ultimately couldn’t deliver on. They could tend to her wounds, but they couldn’t get her out of that miserable place. “She could become a nun,” Michael suggested. He himself would be starting seminary soon. Milla is NOT a nun Mircea wrote so violently on the pad he nearly split the page. Michael rubbed the back of his neck, the obvious conclusion not being said, but Mircea heard it loud and clear anyway. What else can she do? Mircea’s blood boiled with the understanding of the weakness he had earlier preyed upon. With her Ukrainian passport and lack of skills, Milla didn’t have much choice. She might even have an education, but with no money and no real employment opportunities, what could the poor girl do? She could try a life of criminal activity, but for a pretty girl in Eastern Europe, this always meant one thing. I guess she could try the legal variant, and become a mail-order bride. Mircea reflected how his fortune ultimately rested on the poor Romanian stepfather his mother had conned. Without this EU passport, Mircea’s future would look a lot less bright. He may not have an education or any real assets, but at least he didn’t have to worry about being deported out of Germany at the drop of a hat. He suddenly sat bolt upright, realising Milla did not have to apply to a marriage bureau. He wrote his idea down and showed Michael. “You’ll marry her?” Michael choked in incredulity. “Do you really think Milla will marry the man who broke her jaw with a baseball bat?!” I will not lay a finger on her, Mircea promised. He remembered how he had coerced her into a sex act and winced. I will not touch her! “Then that’s not a real marriage!” Michael protested. The Virgin Mary and Joseph, Mircea countered on the pad. Michael simmered, and Mircea fought back a smile of triumph. Ask her, he wrote. Michael shook his head virulently. “No! I won’t be a part of this sham! It’s illegal!” Like smuggling someone out of Ukraine? Mircea scrawled. Michael nearly growled in frustration. “Marriage is a holy sacrament! I will not have you make a mockery of it!” So we won’t marry in the church. Mircea was beginning to enjoy himself, even though he respected Michael and all he had done for him. “Oh, so now you want to lie to the German state?” Michael raged. Mircea rolled his eyes. I don’t think Germany will care if a Romanian is not taking his marital pleasures from his Ukrainian bride! Michael didn’t say anything in response, and Mircea knew he had him. Realising what he had written about partaking in an unconsummated marriage could potentially be held against him, Mircea tore the page out of the pad and began ripping it into smaller, unreadable bits. In spite of himself, Michael laughed a little. Mircea began writing on a blank page. Will you ask her if she’ll marry me? Seeing Michael hesitate, Mircea took pencil to paper again. If you don’t, I’ll get Frau Heigl or one of the nurses to. Mircea would not be stopped – the only person who could shut this plan down was Milla herself. “All right,” Michael sighed, surrendering. “But you write her a nice proposal.” He saw the look in Mircea’s eyes, and shook his head. “No, I can’t help you there. What do I know of marriage? I’m going to be a priest, after all!” Smiling, Michael pressed his hands to his face, rubbing his tired head. What on earth had he gotten himself into with this crazy Moldovan? When Mircea set foot in Ireland for the first time, it was as an annulled man.
He had been thinking about his new status ever since Milla had requested the dissolution of their three year union. He wasn’t a divorced man; he kept his promise to not lay a finger on his bride to both Milla and Michael. It wasn’t that hard a sacrifice, considering Milla stayed in Germany while he forged a new life for himself in Malta. In this far flung corner of the EU, Mircea went to a business school at night, working as an administrator at a small import-export company with ties to the Church by day. Mircea had qualifications and experience now, although he still found it tiresome to do everything above-board. It would go so much quicker with a bribe here and there, he often thought, although just thinking of Michael’s stern face quickly pushed these inclinations back into a hidden part of his brain. He had to keep reminding himself that he had established himself as a legitimate businessman, working in purchasing in an English-speaking country. Although his old dream of living in London was still a bit too fraught with danger, Mircea could go anywhere now. So he took the chance of a business trip to Ireland, another part of the English-speaking EU, to see what opportunities were open to him there. Ireland was truly an Emerald Isle – he saw green fields from the trains he took to meet with suppliers. It was a small country, not as tiny as Malta, but certainly not the bustling kind of place he wanted to end up in – if he still wanted to do that. With Milla ending their marriage, Mircea was thinking that the universe was telling him it was time to try something new. He had to admire Milla: she was living in Nuremberg now, speaking German and had just finished her training as a dental hygienist. She wanted to get married – really married – to a German civil servant named Kai. More accurately, as she had confessed on the phone, she had to get married. She wanted to be married to the father of her baby. Mircea had to smile to himself – German law was a bizarre thing. When he told Michael of the annulment and Milla’s upcoming wedding, Michael had said that it wasn’t as easy as they thought. If a woman gave birth to a baby within 250 days of her marriage ending, by law her ex-husband was the father of her baby. Thanks to the German legal system, Kai was going to have to adopt his own biological child! Mircea liked the irony of being someone’s legal father – I have something in common with Anton Kirilenko! Milla and Kai, now freshly married, were anxiously trying to undo the bureaucratic knots, but Mircea told them not to worry. He wouldn’t claim their firstborn, like a monstrous Rumpelstilskin, but he would be more than happy to do his share and support the little tyke. Going through a factory of religious statues in Galway, Mircea paused in front of a weeping Queen of Heaven and reflected on his life. He was at a loose end – it was time to move on, time to move towards making his own life and family somewhere. Have I done enough penance? he asked the figure of Mary silently. He had sold his apartment in Chisinau to help Milla pay for her training. With Milla married off and his only piece of real estate gone, he was now unattached and unencumbered. Is that not enough? he asked the statue. Mircea realised he didn’t want to be forgiven (which he was, Milla said) – he wanted a new start. He sighed. I’m pushing 30 and I’m still full of envy. Mircea tried chatting Irish women up, but wasn’t having much success. He was out of practice – he may have been married in name only, but he hadn’t looked for a relationship in those three years. After the life he had led, he felt he had to take a time out, and reflect on how he viewed women. Michael said he had to see them as people, not just commodities to serve his purposes. Michael also tried to encourage Mircea to become a priest as well, but a lifetime of celibacy did not appeal to him. He was willing to take a break to atone for his sins, but he wasn’t going to go overboard. I really should get a girlfriend. Mircea was no closer to knowing what to do next when his train drew into Dublin that evening. He was flying back to Malta in two days, and had hoped he would have some plan for the immediate future by then. He had looked into getting another job in Malta, but the subsidiary of the international software company he had looked into seemed to be more interested in getting him to go back to Eastern Europe. They had told him he would have more luck in the emerging market there, with his language skills. While it was a potential opportunity, Mircea didn’t really want to go back. He was pretty sure no one from the Syndicate was looking for him, but if they caught wind that he was now trying to establish himself as a reputable man, they might want to wreck his life just out of spite. Heading towards the exit of Heuston train station, a poster caught Mircea’s eye. “End Sexual Slavery” was printed on red in bold black letters. Mircea stopped in his tracks, feeling as if the poster were speaking directly to him. I’m not involved in that anymore! he wanted to protest. He saw that it was a notice advertising a talk taking place that evening. Some organisation called Modern Day Abolitionists were hosting a presentation on exploitation and people smuggling in Trinity college. It was an open event, and Mircea was surprised to see the Catholic charity Michael had worked for on the list of sponsors. “Well, Trinity College is on the list of must-see places in Dublin,” Mircea mused aloud. He didn’t relish the thought of going to such an event, having been actively involved in putting girls to work in brothels, but no one would know who he was or what he had done. Michael was always urging him to learn about the evil world he had come from, saying that someone with his inside knowledge as a procurer could help in the fight against exploitation. Mircea did feel he owed a debt; there was no harm in going along and listening tonight. He came to Trinity College about ten minutes before the event was due to start. Looking around the old beautiful campus, he wondered if he shouldn’t try to get a real degree in business from a famous university, and not just a diploma from a college in Malta. Remembering how much even that simple qualification had cost, Mircea forgot about any hopes of a degree. He hurried along to the venue that was advertised on the poster. The lecture hall was almost full, and to Mircea’s surprise, it wasn’t just women who were in attendance. There were men and women of all ages and nationalities there – Mircea could have sworn he heard a few snatches of Russian being spoken somewhere behind him. He sat next to some young guy who looked like a student, and was grateful that they dimmed the lights, as the event started with a video on sexual slavery. On one hand, Mircea was relieved that the people in the video were much worse off than the girls in the clubs in Ukraine, Belarus or Cyprus. The women they showed were drugged-up emaciated husks, their captors brutal fat criminals being hauled away by the police as cheering crowds looked on. Mircea wondered how the public would have reacted if any of the clubs he worked with would have been raided – would he be jeered as the police hauled him away? The statistics they quoted in the film were staggering – Mircea knew there was a lot of money to be made in trafficking people, but these figures dwarfed the gross national product of some countries. His stomach turned when they said how some girls were as young as twelve; he thought about the underage Belarussian girl in Cyprus and hated himself. When the lights came back on, he scrunched down in his seat, wishing the ground would swallow him up. A male speaker from Modern Day Abolitionists spoke about the statistics and realities of exploitation – Mircea felt like every word was stabbing an accusing finger directly at him. When the speaker named a figure of traffickers who had been sentenced across the globe in the course of the year, Mircea knew he should have been part of that number. He had thanked Michael countless times, but he always felt as if he should have done some time in prison for what he had done. Mircea was fighting tears when the next speaker stepped up to the podium. She was older than Mircea, and was visibly pregnant. Seeing her made Mircea think of Milla, but the lack of an accusatory tone when she spoke put Mircea at ease. Her name was Lisa di Angelo, and she had just been appointed the director of the Evangelical Alliance Against Exploitation. As she patted her expanding belly, she joked that the timing could have been better, but that she was in love with her job. She talked about how she came to be involved in action to stop sexual slavery – it was all due to something she read in her church’s prayer diary, the Red Light Prayer. She wasn’t a person who took up arms, or led attacks – she was a person who prayed. She prayed for the victims of traffickers. She prayed for governments to enact tougher laws against prostitution. She prayed to God for the world, and she prayed for the people who exploited others. She prayed that they would come to understand the harm they were doing, and that their hearts would be changed. She prayed for everyone’s heart to be changed, to be filled with love and to stop harming their fellow man. She said the power of prayer and of God’s love for man were the most powerful weapons of change in our world. Mircea sat up and was openly crying as Lisa de Angelo spoke. He had felt shame in his journey of redemption; he had cried when Milla told him she forgave him. He had kissed Michael’s hand and thanked him for rescuing him, and gladly donated money to the Church. But hearing for the first time that he was not just some criminal, that he was a person who need to have his heart changed moved him deeply. What Lisa di Angelo said next stuck him like a bolt of lightning. She paused in her speech and scrunched up her face, thinking. “Actually, I’m forgetting what really convinced me that the Red Light Prayer was working,” she said. “I didn’t believe the power of prayer could really stop sex trafficking, but then I had this pain in my jaw. It was like a pre-arthritis my dentist couldn’t do anything about. Everyone kept asking me about it, and I was looking into getting surgery and dental plates, but then one day, it stopped. People had been praying for me, and suddenly it was gone. I had been saying the Red Light Prayer at every stoplight, and then I heard about all these raids, all these people getting arrested, and all these women being rescued. When my jaw stopped hurting, I could see first-hand that God does do miracles. He does hear prayers. I would have put those arrests down as just a coincidence, but ending my pain was God’s way of saying hey look, I am listening. I am working.” Mircea touched his own jaw, which had been remoulded and repaired. He remembered the crushing pain that had forced him to his knees. The same pain he gave Milla, and the same pain Lisa di Angelo had had. He could feel the hand of God linking him to these women, linking Mircea to his fellow man. He wiped away his tears, and at the end of the evening, Mircea rushed to the podium. He wanted to join the Modern Day Abolitionists, and tell them he had turned his life around, but most importantly, he wanted to shake Lisa di Angelo’s hand. She was busy talking with other people who had come to the event, but she stopped and the whole room went silent as Mircea took her hand and knelt before her. With tears in his eyes, Mircea took her hand in both of his. “You prayed for me,” he told her. “You asked God to change my heart, and He did.” Lisa looked down into Mircea’s eyes, and a delighted smile lit up her face. Gently she bent down and kissed his forehead, speaking just one word. “Hallelujah!” |