Invisible Murder

HE SHINY, POLISHED, black BMW was parked outside Galbeno’s small church when Sándor and Valeria emerged from mass Sunday morning. It had already drawn a crowd of Galbeno residents, who had gathered around it, but kept a respectful distance.

Two men climbed out of the car. They were both Roma, but it was immediately evident that there was a world of difference between them and the Galbeno men. It wasn’t just the expensive car or the black suits that Sándor instinctively thought of as “old-fashioned,” even though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

“Who’s that?” he asked Valeria.

“Alexisz Bolgár,” she said, her eyes trained on the older and more heavy-set of the two men.

“He isn’t from Galbeno, is he?”

“No.” Valeria’s lips grew narrower. “He comes here a couple times a month. He wants to be rom baro.”

Those two words from his childhood were not in Sándor’s active vocabulary, but now that he heard them, he remembered what they meant: the big man, the leader. He contemplated Bolgár with a certain nervous interest and was surprised when his curiosity was instantly returned.

“Mrs. Rézmüves. I hear your eldest has come home. Sándor, isn’t it?”

Bolgár spoke with a formal politeness that seemed a natural extension of his less-than-modern suit. Sándor nodded guardedly.

“How do you do?”

They shook hands, again very formally. Bolgár’s hand felt damp and fleshy, a rather unpleasant sensation. You couldn’t call him fat, but there was a fullness to him, as if there were an excess of everything—strong hands, bulky shoulders, wide jaw, big ears. Shiny black eyebrows, sideburns, and mustache, and a hairline that teetered somewhere between receding and balding.

“We should talk, Sándor,” Bolgár said. “Come visit me tomorrow.”

Sándor hesitated. He didn’t understand why Bolgár wanted to see him, but it seemed impolite to blurt out “Why should I?” Besides, it sounded more like an order than an invitation, and that troubled him.

“Mr. Bolgár.…” he began as his mind was still flipping feverishly through the catalog of suitable excuses: I won’t be here very long, I have to go back to Budapest, I promised my mother/my sister/an old friend.…

“Of course you needn’t take the bus, my friend,” Bolgár added jovially, sensing Sándor’s hesitation. “Stefan will pick you up, tomorrow at noon.”

Then he turned to one of the men in the circle in a the-discussion-is-now-over motion and started a new conversation. Sándor felt ambushed, but unable to protest. He glanced over at the BMW and was far from tempted by the prospect of a ride in its lush, cream-colored leather seats. Maybe he should go back to Budapest now, right away, so he wouldn’t even be here when Stefan came? He still had his dorm room for a couple more days. Maybe Ferenc would let him stay with him after that? He suddenly felt as if Galbeno was closing in on him and wasn’t going to let him go, pulling him down and nailing his feet to the ground so he could never escape.

Valeria stuck her hand in under his arm and managed to maneuver him out of the crowd.

“Bolgár,” she said in a tone that denoted more frustration than respect. “Uh, that man.”

“Is he really rom baro?” Sándor asked.

“I just said he wanted to be, not that he was.” Valeria waved her hand dismissively. Sándor couldn’t tell if she was waving away a troublesome insect or if the gesture were meant for Alexisz Bolgár. “He’s no big man. He’s the man with the money, and that’s not the same. But what are people supposed to do? When the house is falling apart or there’s no food? What choice do they have? Bolgár lends them money. And then suddenly he owns them.”

Sándor stopped. Valeria took another couple steps before turning around to see why he wasn’t with her anymore.

“Mama,” Sándor said cautiously. “Does he own you, too?”

Valeria’s lips were thin lines now, and her face was hard.

“He loaned Bobo the money for the roof,” she said. “And he’s the one who helped Tamás get to Denmark.”

“What does that mean?” Sándor asked. “How much do you owe him?”

But he already knew what that meant. It meant, for example, that tomorrow he would have to get into that BMW when Stefan came to pick him up.