Elisabeta, a second-year law student at Lucian Blaga University, had been paying for her board and tuition with an evening shift in an all-night shop on Strada Balescu, and was now so used to strange customers that she was rarely without a canister of pepper spray in her purse. Nonetheless, the two that came in this evening were enough to awaken even her inured sense of amazement. They were both exceptionally beautiful young women, though one “ a dark-haired, possibly Roma girl of about twenty “ was apparently blind (to judge from the dark glasses she wore on this chilly winter night) and, sadly, confined to a wheelchair. This was a curiosity in itself: a heavy, wooden, antique device; that looked as if it belonged in a Victorian gothic novel. Appropriately, therefore, the invalid wore a long, pink gown, heavy with floral lace and satin ribbons, looking for all the world like an overgrown doll. This effect was not in the least harmed by her clear, porcelain-like skin, nor by her vacant expression, nor by the fact that she kept sucking her thumb. The other woman, who manoeuvred the ungainly hulk of a wheelchair with amazing ease and dexterity, was fair-haired, in her mid-thirties or thereabouts, and attired very bravely in a light, shift-like dress of black lace, over sheer tights that were equally an invitation to frostbite. If she was feeling the cold, however, she concealed it brilliantly, and the only evidence of any discomfort was the fact that she was persistently blinking. Eye problems were obviously rampant in this family, and Elisabeta did not doubt that the pair were related: not that they shared a great deal of resemblance, aside from their clear, almost shining skin, but there seemed almost to be¦ a rapport? An aura? A spiritual bonding? Elisabeta gave up trying to find a term for this vague intuition of her overworked brain, and attended to her duty: May I help you? she asked, having noticed that the able-bodied woman was looking around with some confusion. Have you any disposable diapers? she replied. Large ones, preferentially. Something that will fit my daughter, here. She has¦ problems. That was apparent. Poor girl, thought Elisabeta, but felt warmth and admiration for the mother. How many of that invalid girls generation, born disabled and especially to such young mothers (and probably in the declining years of Ceausescus inhumane regime, as well), had been abandoned to rot and starve away in those death-factories perversely known as the state orphanages? In spite of her disabilities, this girl had been fortunate indeed in her parentage, at any rate. Even so¦ there was something inescapably pitiable in such a lovely creature being condemned to a half-life of darkness, immobility, incontinence (evidently), and idiocy. She had taken her thumb out of her mouth now, allowing Elisabeta a much clearer view of her sweet face, not much obscured by the small, round lenses¦ which now seemed to be looking directly at her. Perhaps she was not completely blind, after all. Pretty lady¦ play with Miki? She thought for a fleeting moment that the invalid girl had spoken, but her mouth had not moved, nor had her mother reacted, so she put the disturbing impression she had received down to tiredness and an overactive imagination. The girl returned to sucking her thumb again. Please dont stare at my daughter, admonished the mother, gently, but still making Elisabeta feel painfully like some Peeping Tom or a spectator at a freak show. Im sorry. I didnt mean¦ Shes beautiful,  stammered Elisabeta, feeling wretchedly foolish, though it seemed to soften the fair lady considerably. She smiled, and stroked her daughters hair, causing her to murmur softly, with incoherent pleasure. Yes, she is. Very beautiful, arent you, Michal? Though rather a handful. Now, if we might return to the question of those diapers, my dear. As Elisabeta apologised again, and directed her odd customer to the baby care products, neither of them noticed the black saloon car silently pulling up outside.