|The Girl From Moldova is the story of the difficult relationship between a father and son, caused by perceived bullying through the years, by the father. The situation is worsened by the news that the father, now widowed, plans to marry a much younger woman, Nastya, from East Europe. The story is told from three different points of view , the father, the son, and Nastya. This story is about abuse, perceived and real, but above all it is about hope, and the possibility to find a new life, a life of happiness. From the depths of despair it is possible to rediscover love. As we find out more about the past of Nastya we are drawn into a life of unimaginable abuse, where dreams have been shattered, and all hope lost. That is, until a chance meeting changes everything.|
|Title: The Girl From Moldova|
|Author: K J Tesar|
|Genre: Fiction Books|
|Page(Chapter): 35 pages|
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Chapter One. Marco
When Marco heard from his wife Paola, that his father wanted to come over for a
coffee, he knew something was going on. Probably something not particularly good.
They hardly ever spoke. They hadn’t really spoken for years, not that they ever had very much even when he was a child. His father had always been hard on him, and on his mother. He had been a real bully with them. Then after his mother’s death, from a tumour, their communication had dropped off to almost zero. If they had to get in touch, for some reason or other, they would usually do it through Marco’s wife. Marco really disliked seeing him, it brought up too many painful memories.
‘What did he actually say?’
‘I told you, just that he would like to come for a coffee this afternoon, to discuss something with us. That’s all. I asked him what it was all about, but he said that he would prefer to talk about it in person.’
‘How did he seem?’
‘Marco, I don’t know! He will be here in a couple of hours. You’ll see for yourself.’
Marco was a slim man, always a bit nervous. He wasn’t a very strong looking man,
and his face always wore a worried expression. He was relatively good looking, and
always tried to dress well, and look after his appearance, but the overall impression he gave was that of a weak, anxious person. Marco wondered what his father wanted. He knew it would be something big, his father hadn’t been to his house in years, many years.
His father, Antonio, would only see his grandson, Alex, when Paola would arrange to go to his place, or to meet somewhere. At 42 years old, Marco still hadn’t managed to get over the difficult relationship he had had with his father as a child. Now he probably never would. Back then they spoke through his mother, Valeria, now through his wife,
Paola. Luckily for Marco he had found a strong woman in Paola. She was no great
beauty, but she had the inner strength that he lacked. It was Paola who managed the household, and made all the day to day decisions. Marco just wasn’t very practical, and lacked the tools to run, efficiently, the family’s affairs. While he was more than happy to let Paola organise these things, he inwardly blamed his father for his inability to take charge.
When he was a child his father had always tried to push him, actually bully him, into
doing things he didn’t want to do. For example playing aggressive sports, like rugby,
which he hated. Also he sent him off on camping trips, organised through the church. Marco would plead with his mother to not have to do these things, but sometimes even she was unable to stop his father’s constant bullying. Now, his feelings towards his father were a mixture of hatred, and fear. He preferred to not have to meet him face to face, because it reminded him of all his bad experiences as a child, growing up. He still remembered, vividly, that time when as a boy of ten years old, his father took him to do a walking trail, in the hills. Halfway into the walk, right in the middle of the bush, his father sped up his pace, walking ever faster. Marco tried to keep up, but after a few minutes found himself alone, in the middle of nowhere, with no one around. He had called out for his father, but had gotten no reply.
When he could walk no further, he fell to the ground, crying desperately. After a while, he managed to continue along the trail, but then found himself at a fork, one trail going one way, and the other, in another direction. With a great feeling of panic, he tried going up each of the trails a bit, looking for his father. Then he would return to the fork. Soon he couldn’t even remember which trail he had come along to get there. In desperation, he lay on the ground crying.
Eventually his father returned, grabbed him by the shirt collar, and fairly dragged him
back to the car. On the way home Marco was sobbing uncontrollably, as his father drove in silence. When they returned home, and his mother found out what had happened, a mighty row broke out between his parents. He ran to his room, and tried to block out the yelling voices.
Even now, after so many years, Marco still hated the countryside. He had a fear of
getting lost, with no one to help him. He didn’t even want his own son, Alex, to join the scouts. Even in the age of scoutmasters with GPS trackers, and smart phones, he still had this great fear of his son not being able to find his way home, and being lost in the wilderness. His father had been such a bully, that the fear from those days still lingered.
Paola understood his difficult relationship with his father, and, being a strong woman,
had no problems with being the intermediary between them. Luckily his mother had been a strong woman too, and she had shielded him from his father, as much as she could. It was eight years now, since she had died. He still missed her, every day. It had happened right at a time when things had finally come good in his life. He and Paola were not long married, and she had been expecting their son, Alex, when, in the space of little more than ten days, his mother had died from a brain tumour. At first she had complained of every headaches, but by the time she was correctly diagnosed, it was just too late. It was all so sudden. Luckily he had had Paola to help him through that period.
Even though at the time she had been pregnant, she had always been a rock that he could rely on. Since then, his minimal contact with his father had become virtually zero contact. Now for some reason, he wanted to come and talk to them. Marco was dreading the meeting. He just knew it would be something bad. The anxiety was building up in him. With his father, there never was anything other than bad things. It was a Saturday afternoon, and Alex was at home from school. Not knowing what his father wanted, he and Paola had decided it would be for the best if Alex wasn’t around. They had arranged for him to go and play at a friend’s house. In any case, that was nothing out of the ordinary on the weekend.
Alex would often be at his friend’s places, or they would be at his. Their house was in a new subdivision, mainly populated by young families. The house itself was a two story, detached home, with a small garden at the back, and parking, off street, in the
front. It was a very safe place for kids, and they would play freely in the local park, with one or another of their parents taking turns at watching over them.
Paola had bought some little cakes to have with the coffee. Marco didn’t even like
that. He didn’t want to encourage his father to stay any longer than was absolutely
necessary. He heard a car pull into the driveway. He left it to Paola to go and open the door, while he waited in the lounge room. He heard voices in the corridor, and in walked his father, together with a frumpy, blonde woman. She looked to be in her mid 40’s, little older than Marco and Paola.