Saturday night dinner at home.
There were four of us around the table, me, a Malaysian Chinese girl, my properly English landlady, her Romanian builder friend, and our Sri Lankan/Fijian/Biritsh lifeguard/karate black belt holder/science student housemate.
As usual, it was a gourmet feast. I dished out Kimchi fried rice wrapped in omelette, with sides of pickled sesame leaves and lotus root that I found in a tiny Korean shop near the British Museum. My undoubtedly well-travelled landlady came up with Jewish matzos, French blue cheese, and organic butter. The housemate produced rasmalai, barfi, laddu, shrikhand, and a variety of other Indian sweets. Our Romanian friend, overcome with embarrassment that he had not brought anything, rushed off in the middle of dinner to buy 2 bottles of South African red wine.
It really is no wonder that the meal lasted 4 hours.
With dinner washed down by a couple of glasses of wine, the usually quiet Romanian started to share with us his story piecemeal, in broken English; the story about why he had to leave Romania, the homeland that he never liked.
RB: "I have best friend... very big guy (he shows us a picture of a huge guy with popping muscles who MUST have been a body builder). But now he in Spain. Because he punched a guy, and killed him."
Me/Housemate: *stunned silence*
Landlady: "And he's your BEST friend?"
RB: "Yeah. Best friend. But it's not like that, he's very quiet, very good heart."
Landlady: "So what happened?"
RB: "So we were at club. Some guy, he come up and say to my friend 'Hey you why you so big', and my friend told the guy to walk, but still the guy didn't stop. My friend punched the guy, and BOOM, like that, dead."
Me/Housemate: *continuing in stunned silence*
Landlady: "Wow.. he must be quite strong."
RB: "Yeah very strong."
Landlady: "So were you there at that time?"
RB: "Yeah I was."
Landlady: "Oh... is that why you had to leave Romania?"
RB: "Yeah. My friend he scared of going to jail. And me, so... (he never did fully explain)."
Landlady: (turning to us) "He was trafficked over here, in the back of a lorry, you know."
Me/Housemate: *resolutely continuing in stunned silence*
Landlady: "So where did you get off from the lorry then? When did you emerge?"
RB: "Well... I don't know where. I jump. I cut the cloth and I jump from lorry"
Landlady: "And the other lady who was trafficked with you, did she jump too?"
RB: "Yeah, I let her first, because she is girl. But her feet got caught in lorry, and she hang with her hands on the ground. Then I lift her feet and push."
Landlady: "..."
RB: "And when I jump, I saw the driver looking through mirror at us, and I was scared, so I run. Very fast."
Landlady: "And the lady? Did she run too?"
RB: "I don't know, from that day, I never saw her."
Me/Housemate: *I swear we've both become mute by this point*
RB: "Well, yes, but you know, everyone has story. Everyone."
Landlady: "Yeah, but some are more story-ful than others."
I could not have said it better.
I really don't know what sort of coincidences or threads of fate have brought us four together around the dining table one quiet Saturday night - all I know is that, about the 'story-ful' people around me who continue to live each day with such energy and hope, I will never forget.
