“Nikola!” was all the heard before he was almost knocked off his feet as numerous little bodies collided with him and he found himself entangled in a sea of short limbs, being pulled in a hundred different directions, all the while trying to make sense of the tumultuous noise assaulting his ears as several high-pitched voices fought for his attention and attempted to dominate each other.
“N-Nikola, ela t-tuk!” shouted a chubby little boy as he gripped Nikola’s right arm in a vice-like grip, successfully pulling him away from the doorway and towards the small, sparsely decorated parlor as the other children closed the door behind him and scampered along right behind him. They went past the wooden, arched staircase and entered the small yet hospitable room. Though the atmosphere was warm and inviting, the young man could not help but notice its gradually deteriorating condition. The once light green wallpaper had turned a dirty shade of olive and had begun to peel in different areas. The rays of the setting sun infiltrated the stained windows of the orphanage and shone through, bathing the room with a warm glow. The battered, antique clock on the wall above the dust-covered mantle piece caught his attention. The clock hands had stopped moving for the past week, yet the pendulum was still swinging languidly.
“Look! L-l-look at this, N-Nikola! I made a p-p…painting!” the little boy exclaimed excitedly, his big brown eyes shining with pride as he picked up a piece of paper resting on a nearby wooden table and thrust it up to Nikola’s face for him to see. A smile slowly etched itself on the young man’s face as he recognized the personage in the painting to be an exaggerated representation of himself. The painted caricature had on his habitual blue, long-sleeved, button-up shirt, dark grey trousers, and a pair of worn down dress shoes. He wore a big smile on his face and his hands, one missing a finger and the other significantly larger, were extended at his sides as if awaiting an embrace.
“D-do you l-like it?” he heard, directing his attention back to the slightly apprehensive child who was anxiously staring up at him expectantly, most likely afraid that his work was not appreciated.
“I don’t only like it, in fact, I love it!” Nikola answered genuinely, reaching down and playfully ruffling the boy’s auburn curls. “It’s great, Filip, good job! If you continue like this, you could become Bulgaria’s Picasso!”
“Y-you r-really think so?!” Filip beamed, elated.
“Of course!” Nikola answered confidently, handing him back the painting.
As Filip scurried away, a light bounce in his step, Nikola scanned the room for a familiar face he still hadn’t seen since he arrived, surprisingly enough. She was usually the first to run up to him or the one to open the door in the first place. Curious about her whereabouts, he decided to inquire.
“Isvinete, children, but have you seen Dana?” he asked.
A pale, red-headed girl looked up from her drawing while the others continued to run around and answered, “She’s in the back. We haven’t seen her since lunch.”
“Oh, dear!” Nikola spoke, alarmed, “Does anyone know why?”
“Nope,” came the quick reply from one of the boys.
“I know! It’s because Ivan stole her cake,” exclaimed a brunette with curly hair.
“No, I didn’t!” protested a blond-haired boy.
“Yes, you did!”
“No, I didn’t, she wasn’t going to eat it anyways!
“Liar! How do you know she wasn’t going to?”
“I just did! And you’re the liar!”
“No, you are!”
And so went on the banter before Nikola interjected to prevent it form escalating further, “Ivan, Juliet, that’s enough. Those are not very nice things to say to each other, now both of you apologize.”
The light haired boy pursed his lips and obstinately shook his head, turning away from Juliet while the bushy-haired girl stubbornly crossed her arms and refused to look his way.
Nikola sighed before speaking, “Come on, apologize, both of you. Or else I’ll tell Aleksandra you’ve been fighting again and I don’t think she’ll be very happy.”
Though a few seconds passed, that ultimatum seemed to do the trick and Ivan spoke with a disgruntled air, “I’m sorry I called you a liar, Juliet.”
The brunette turned around, uncrossing her arms and answered him, “It’s okay. I’m sorry I called you a liar too…”
“There you go,” Nikola smiled at them, “All right, children. I want to try and talk to Dana and find out what is going on with her. I will be back soon,” he announced, waving to them before exiting the room.
“What could possibly be wrong with her?” he asked himself, growing increasingly worried as he took a left and walked through the corridor to the kitchen.
Dana was the reason for the initiation of his visits to the worn down and secluded orphanage seven months ago and was, out of all the children, the one he had the most sincere and particular attachment to. The memory of his first encounter with her still remained engrafted in his mind till this day.



He pulled over to the curb and came down from his bike, parking it in front of La Capannina, a small bar restaurant on the outskirts of Sofia. The sky had turned a hazy shade of purple, swallowing the few remaining clouds, his cue to complete this last delivery and head on home.
He swung his brown backpack off his shoulder his shoulders and let it slide down his arm by the leather straps and into his hand, opening the bag before reaching a hand down inside it to sort through the contents for the mail destined to Mrs. Listratov as the woman, herself, came down the front steps right at that moment.
“Ah, Nikola!” she greeted him cheerfully with her customary tight-lipped smile, “How are things going at the post office, I don’t even hear from you anymore, it has been so long since I have seen you! Or are you too busy to even visit a poor, lonely, old woman? Is that it now? And just yesterday, I...”
Nikola smiled and nodded, attempting to maintain an exterior demeanor that successfully portrayed courteous attentiveness while he could feel himself running out of patience. He could care less what tales she had to recount and he never once did feel guilty for tuning out as a wide majority of her accounts consisted of aggrandized events told from her partial point of view.
“…but they’ve arrived now and are settled down and quite content with the place.” She concluded, pulling him out of his musings.
“I see, that’s good to hear,” he managed to say as pleasantly as he could, “Oh, I actually have something for you in here,” he abruptly changed the topic, much to the relief of his abused ears, taking out the two labeled envelopes and handing them to her.
“Oh, how kind of you!” she exclaimed with exaggerated zeal. He could almost feel the bile rise up into his throat as she let her fingers linger and lightly caress his own as she took the envelopes from him. How she could be so shameless in her repulsive attempts at seduction, he did not understand. But it was at that moment that his eyes inadvertently swept the surroundings and found themselves resting on a figure a few feet away from them with its back turned, crouching at the corner of the street and partially hidden by Mrs. Listratov’s obnoxiously styled blond hair. It had straight, long, black hair and looked small enough to be a child.
“…But don’t be afraid, come and visit me anytime!” Mrs. Listratov urged him before departing, oblivious to the crouching figure in the corner.
While he simply wanted to mount his bicycle and be on his way, Nikola found a compelling curiosity take hold of him and his limbs and directing him towards the figure. As his legs carried him there, he hadn’t the slightest idea what he would say when he got there. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on perspective from which his situation was observed, his presence was sensed earlier than he expected. The figure quickly pivoted to face him, revealing a panic-stricken face that bore a pair of large, tear-filled emerald eyes. As if his senses had momentarily left him, a series of quiet sobs became audible to him and he found the ability to speak.
“What’s wrong, skŭpa? Why are you crying?” he asked softly, crouching down to be on the same level as the child, his usually stern tone fading to give way to a caring manner.
The sobbing ceased and the pair of jade orbs rose to fix him with a nearly vacant stare. For the few following seconds he found himself unable to break eye contact. He was frozen in his spot, his limbs turned to stone as he stared back, transfixed. The look in those eyes was a look he had seen in only one other person’s eyes. His mother.
Right before she died.
It was the kind of look that evoked a cascade of emotions that propelled you into a spiral helplessness from which you could not escape. It was the look given by those who aimlessly search for hope, all the while being gradually consumed by the underlying certitude that any efforts are futile. It was a look he never wanted to come across again, but there it was, in this child’s eyes.
She was scrawny little thing, six years old at most. A large olive colored t-shirt stained at the collar hung loosely on her skinny frame. As she straightened up, he noticed that a short, shrunken limb hung loose by her side where her right arm was supposed to be. ‘Amelia of the arm’, he silently recognized. Throwing a quick glance around, he found no sign of any adults that may be looking for a missing child of theirs and his gut feeling reinforced his presumption that she was not accompanied by anyone.
“Do you want to tell me your name?” he tried again, having received no response to his previous questions.
A long silence settled between them, only disrupted by a few passing cars on the street and as much as he wanted to urge her to speak, he held his tongue and did not utter a word for he knew that would take away from whatever comfort she could be feeling at the moment. And so seconds, minutes, an eternity passed as he stayed crouching there in front of her. Just as he was considering standing up, a meek, barely audible sound kept him in his position.
“Dana…”
“Dana? That’s a nice name.” he replied, attempting to keep her engaged in the conversation, “Tell me, Dana, do you like sweets?”
She observed him cautiously before wordlessly nodding. He reached into the left pocket of his worn out trousers and his fingers felt around for the lone piece of menthol hard candy that had been there for at least two weeks and that he always failed to take out. He held it out to her and she hesitated before reaching out gingerly and taking the wrapped oval candy.
She held it in her small fist, and looked back at him, “Mama won’t come back,” she pronounced solemnly.
Her direct approach struck him, but he quickly recovered, “Do you know where she is?”
She shook her head no.
“But she used to work here. She…she told me to wait here, she forgot something at home,” the little girl continued in a blank tone, “She said she would be right back, but…she never came back.”
He froze when the realization of the situation dawned on him. He suddenly felt a wave of disgust and hatred overwhelm him before subsiding just as quickly as it had come, replaced by intense sympathy for the forsaken soul in front of him.
“How,” he started, carefully formulating his question, “How long has it been since your mama left?”
Dana began to inadvertently chew on her lower lip, her brow furrowed in concentration as she struggled to remember. After a long pause she finally spoke, “Three years.”
He could still remember the overpowering revulsion and loathing that overtook him when he finally grasped the cruelty of the act posed by the poor child’s mother. Though he came across a multitude of explanations and excuses regarding what transpired before the choice was made, he felt nothing but abhorrence towards the unknown woman. That very evening he offered to bring Dana home safely and she accepting, allowing him to discover what ‘home’ was for her: the remote orphanage in Sredets, Sophia where she lived for the past three years after having been taken in by Aleksandra Kirilova, the owner of the orphanage, a kind-hearted young woman of twenty four years old. Surprisingly, Dana bore a striking resemblance to the warm, good-natured woman from their sleek ebony hair to their high cheekbones and emerald eyes.
Aleksandra worked at a small, third-rate restaurant not far from the orphanage, wove scarves, and also did laundry for a few clients to cover her all of her expenses. Given her appearance, it was inconceivable that the frail woman could sustain so many things and manage not to collapse from the intensive strength and labor each drained from her. Any stranger would be willing to agree that she would blow away with the wind if the windows were opened on a windy night. Nikola himself would have agreed, but over the course of time, he had been swiftly corrected. The young woman’s actions spoke louder than words ever could and her tremendous strength in all areas could not go unnoticed. Gentle and loving, but with a tenacious spirit and fiery determination, she managed the orphanage, creating a safe, peaceful, and joy-filled environment for the children to live and grow in. And while she could be strict and unforgiving when it came to the rules, her virtuous nature and her overflowing love for all of the children were always observable. He had admired very few people in his lifetime and the profound sense of respect and veneration he had for her surpassed it all.
But he was not the only one to admire her for Dana followed her everywhere she could. The girl was practically Aleksandra’s shadow, which made it even stranger that he had yet to see either of them since he had arrived.
Entering the kitchen, Nikola saluted Loretta, the cook and housekeeper, “Good evening, Loretta.”
The stout elderly woman looked up from the pot she was stirring in on the stove and flashed him a warm, motherly smile, “Nikola, my boy, how are you doing?”
“Very well, Loretta,” he answered with a smile, “Actually, I was wondering if you had seen Dana around. I haven’t seen her since I arrived and Juliet said she might be back here.”
“Ah, the poor darling has been out back since lunch,” Loretta motioned to the back door that led to a small terrace outside, “She doesn’t want to talk to anyone, either. Only God knows what’s wrong! You can try if you want, but if you don’t succeed, then only Aleksandra will be able to fix this one.”
“Thank you, Loretta,” he said before walking past her and pushing open the door to the outdoor terrace.
There she sat on the tiled steps leading into the small courtyard. She had her back turned to him as he closed the kitchen door and walked over to take a seat beside her on the steps. He knew prodding with questions right away would get him nowhere and so he sat silently with her, observing the thin tree a few feet away from them. Though it looked old and withered, it had an enchanting vitality to it that always intrigued him.
“Aleksandra is getting worse.”
The silence was finally broken. He kept his eyes ahead, fixed on the tree. He was tempted to act surprised and write it off as a temporary matter to reassure her, but Dana would see right through him in heartbeat. She was incredibly perceptive. He knew she was right because he had noticed it as well. Aleksandra had contracted a bad cough approximately two months ago and while she initially believed, or persuaded herself to believe that it was simply a stubborn cough signaling a cold, she could no longer deny that something was wrong. Following extensive persuasion on his part and that of Loretta’s, she consented to consulting a doctor. When she came back, though she appeared as jovial as usual, he could see right through her mask and he knew her condition was nothing short of critical.
Chronic Bronchitis.
Just a week ago he remembered seeing her hunched over in the doorway to the laundry room, heavily coughing and retching so painfully that tears streamed down her cheeks. One hand desperately clutched at her chest while the other held a crumpled handkerchief to her mouth. He wanted to offer his help, but he knew her pride would not allow it and she would decline it immediately and tell him to leave. So he stayed concealed behind the nearby wall. The cough subsided and as she straightened up, she took the handkerchief away from her mouth, revealing crimson colored patches that spotted the white cloth. He gasped, announcing his presence and she turned to face him. And eyes wet and reddened from the ruthless heaving, she looked at him with a distraught expression marring her usually peaceful features and spoke in a shaky whisper.
“Don’t…tell…”
While he never answered before hurrying over to her to support her weight in case she might collapse, a silent promise was made.
“What if she dies? Then who will take care of us?” Dana asked, the sadness evident in her quivering voice, signaling tears to come.
He sighed heavily before looking at her with a sorrowful air. Her head was down and her lip was trembling as she fiddled with a piece of string of straw in her lap. He reached out and comfortingly patted her head. ‘No, she won’t die’. ‘Everything will be fine’. He knew that while those words would reassure the other children, he knew Dana would not buy it for a second. And so he was honest with her.
“We can’t do much for her,” he started. “All we can do is help around with the chores to make sure she gets more rest. Hopefully that will help her get better. What do you think?”
She nodded and swiftly wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her orange wool sweater. The sky had darkened above and a cool wind had begun to blow, making her shiver slightly.
“Why don’t we go inside and find you something to eat? You must be hungry,” he proposed. She accepted and they went back inside.
Just as they opened the door to the kitchen, Loretta’s head whipped around towards them and her eyes widened in amused disbelief.
“How do you do it, Nikola?!” she asked in surprise, “I have been trying to get her to come inside for the past three hours and she did not even look at me. You go out there for barely half an hour and there she is!”
Nikola chuckled as Loretta playfully protested, taking Dana by the hand, “Come here, malka dama, have a bit of mekitsi,” she said, offering Dana a few pieces of the traditional pastry. He knew all hell would break loose as soon as she entered the parlor and the others would incessantly protest about her getting dessert before everyone else.
“Dana,” he said, “Why don’t you stay here and finish eating, eh? Some people might not be too happy about not getting dessert beforehand as well,” he finished with a wink to Loretta before exiting the kitchen.