The Wrong Road

From early childhood, Iancu Aursulesei learned how to survive in a hard world. He came from a Roma family, and as far back as he could remember, he had lived in a neighborhood full of brawlers, thieves, and people who ran afoul of the law. His father was a compulsive poker player and died when Iancu was twelve, under suspicious circumstances, in a brawl that erupted after a scandal at a card game. Left with only their mother, Iancu and his two sisters lived a difficult life. Their mother worked for the city parks department, and that was how she raised them—on the money she brought home, in their poor little house.

In his childhood and adolescence, whenever Iancu was about to befriend boys who dabbled in crime, his mother warned him away. She pointed to examples from their streets: young men who ended up in prison, and who, once out, were watched by the police as if they could never truly return to freedom.

He listened. Not only because of her words, but because of the respect he felt for her: she had always sacrificed, always worked, always carried the family on her back. He did not want juvenile detention as a teenager, and later, prison as a young man. His father had been a man you couldn’t rely on—working only when he felt like it, bringing little money home, forever tangled in trouble—until that way of life killed him. And Iancu, seeing again and again what happened to men who drifted into theft, drugs, and violence, kept his distance, even while living in that notorious place.

As a teenager he joined a boxing club. He trained with pleasure and earned the respect of boys his age. He used violence only when he had no other choice—when he had to defend himself or step in for someone weaker. But boxing did not bring him much money. He fought in several important national matches and was even selected for bouts abroad, yet his winnings were small. So at twenty-one he left for England and found work as a bodyguard. After a few years he returned home and bought a modest one-room apartment in a part of town where homes were cheap precisely because it was rough—crowded with people who lived on the edge. He bought there because he couldn’t afford anything better.

Time passed. At twenty-seven, he was tall, with the solid build boxing had given him. He liked to comb his black hair back over his head, and wherever he went he made a good impression—clean, well put together, outwardly likeable. From his mother he had learned discipline: he kept himself clean and dressed neatly most of the time.

He found work at a club with a bar and a dance floor. He and two other men were hired to keep order. The pay wasn’t great, but it was enough to live on, and for a while he could stop thinking about leaving the country again.

It was there that he met Lucica, a twenty-four-year-old Romanian woman who came in with groups of friends. He was drawn to her immediately—not only to her looks, but to the way she carried herself, to the qualities that showed through her words. She came from a wealthy family. Her parents had expectations: they wanted her married to a young man “from their world.” She had finished high school, trained as a hairdresser, and worked at a luxury salon.

Not long after she met Iancu, she moved in with him, leaving behind the comfort of her parents’ home. She was in love. Iancu treated her well, but at times he grew verbally harsh. He didn’t like being contradicted, even in small things. He had never joined the worst men of his neighborhood in their ugly deeds, yet the air of that place had still damaged him; it had left its mark on his soul. Arguments flared between them. Still, Iancu never struck Lucica—he considered her too special for that.

After a few months together, Lucica became pregnant. During that time she tried to reconcile with her parents so she could introduce Iancu to them, but it was impossible. They did not approve. They felt betrayed by the hopes they had placed in her. They refused to acknowledge her as their daughter and warned her she would end badly beside him. Above all, they could not understand how Lucica—who had suitors from their own circle—had chosen a young man like Iancu and moved into a neighborhood where shady people swarmed.

After she became pregnant, Lucica persuaded Iancu to marry her in a civil ceremony, and with the support of Iancu’s mother, she succeeded.

Iancu’s mother, Rodica, was fifty-seven. One of Iancu’s sisters lived with her, along with the sister’s husband and children. Rodica knew how to give space, and she knew how to calm things down when they went too far. She kept the smallest room for herself, leaving the rest to her daughter’s family, and just as she had sacrificed for her children, she now sacrificed for her grandchildren.

She got along fairly well with Lucica, but she tried not to interfere in her son’s home. Experience told her the relationship was risky—two people from different worlds. Deep down, she believed it would have been better if Iancu had chosen a girl from their own neighborhood; not all the girls there were bad—some were decent, some were honest—and she had even recommended a few. But Iancu had not listened. After the marriage, Rodica grew quiet and kept her distance unless asked for advice. In her heart she believed the bond was not a good omen.

Lately, Iancu had noticed that Jean, one of his coworkers, was bringing drugs into the club and selling them to the young people on the dance floor. One night Jean pulled him aside and told him that soon he would be receiving a larger shipment. Would Iancu help him sell it? There would be good money in it. Iancu was shocked by the offer—yet he heard himself say yes. Jean assured him it was only the beginning: more shipments would follow, bigger each time, and they would earn a lot.

After his shift that night, around midnight, Iancu walked home with a heavy heart. He had given his word. He knew he had made a mistake—he had betrayed the rule he had lived by: never get involved in foolishness. And now look what he was about to do.

He told himself he’d been pushed into it. Lucica had been reproaching him: he didn’t learn a real trade, he didn’t work “like other men,” he didn’t bring home a decent salary. And with the baby on the way, they needed more. The money they had wasn’t enough.

He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to show her he was a man who could provide, and that she, as his wife, should submit to his authority. Walking through the city’s nearly empty streets, he felt as if something good inside him was about to go out. He had the impression that the sinister force that turned men into predators was now coming for him too. The turmoil in him hurt more than he could bear.

After the arrangement with Jean, everything began to go wrong.

One day, when Lucica was home, Jean showed up unexpectedly to map out the plan for the night the “merchandise” would arrive. Lucica learned everything. She erupted, threw Jean out, and turned on Iancu.

“How could you sink so low? I believed in you—and this is what you do? You get involved with people like Jean and dirty business. If you don’t change, we’re finished.”

A bitter quarrel followed. Lucica left and went to a friend’s place, shaken by what she had discovered. The separation struck Iancu like lightning. He felt he was walking toward ruin. Yet he refused to stop. He had given his word. And more than that, his pride would not let him bow to a woman and admit she was right.

On a Monday evening, off work, he sat at home, troubled. Lucica had been gone three days without a word. He had looked for her at the salon and couldn’t find her. He was also sick with dread about the next day—the day he would be expected to step into that filthy business.

He sat brooding when the doorbell rang—long and insistent. Without checking the peephole, thinking it was Lucica, he opened the door and froze. It was his mother.

“What’s with you, Mom…?”

“I came to see you.”

“All right—come in.”

The apartment was simply furnished, but arranged with care; Lucica had tried to make their modest home look pleasant. Rodica glanced at the unmade bed and sat in one of the small beige armchairs. Iancu sat on the bed facing her. Looking at his mother, he realized she had aged too quickly—from work, from hardship, from sacrifice. A wave of pity rose in him. Life had been cruel to her.

Then his mother spoke.

“Lucica called me. She told me about the foolishness you’re about to do. I’m shocked, because you always stayed away from those things—you listened to me. And now I hear you’re getting involved in something so dangerous. What’s happening to you? Or do you think you’re man enough now not to care about your wife, or my advice? Or have you started thinking you’re above the law?”

“Don’t interfere, Mom, in my life… in things that don’t concern you.”

Rodica’s eyes hardened—not with cruelty, but with grief.

“Don’t interfere—me, your mother? The one who carried you and felt you move inside me? You were my firstborn. I carried you with joy, thinking a child was being formed in me, thinking I would raise you to become, first of all, a human being.

“Yes, I failed in things. You didn’t have the start I wanted you to have. But I did everything I could so you wouldn’t lack anything. You went to school—and later you abandoned it because of sport.

“I tried to teach you that we are created in the image and likeness of God. That image is a responsibility. All your life you must work with God to preserve it and to shape it more and more after the divine pattern. I taught you that God is above all things, and that you must pray to Him—especially when you have trouble—and seek Him, so His image may shine in you.

“Look at the boys who grew up with you and chose to darken that image in their souls. Where did they end up? You know. And how much evil they’ve done to others. I always told you to live differently, to strive for what is noble. By listening, you were spared many disasters. I would have wished you found even greater joy in holy things—but that hasn’t happened fully.”

“Please stop, Mom. You don’t understand life today. Don’t you see? Some people are very rich. Others—poor and wretched like us—have no real joys, only toil and disgrace. I want something else from life. I’m aiming higher. You can’t understand what I’m saying.”

“You think I don’t understand temptation?” Rodica said. “A young man with nothing wants to rise—I understand that. But the road you’ve started down is the wrong road. You will lose your soul. And after you ruin others, you will end in prison. The big traffickers stay free. They push the naïve ones in front of them—the ones who take the risk. This game isn’t new.”

“I’ll take the risk,” Iancu said. “A man like me has no other chance. And you keep talking about God—why doesn’t He punish those who do evil?”

“The hour of judgment will come,” she said quietly. “But until then, don’t forget: He still offers grace, because He delights in mercy, not in destroying sinners. Scripture says it in Micah: ‘Who is a God like You, pardoning iniquity…? He does not retain His anger forever, because He delights in mercy.’ That verse is dear to me. It reminds me that we live in a time when His grace still reaches sinful hearts, calling them to salvation.

“That is why I, as your mother, have a holy duty to tell you: you carry the divine image in your soul. Even if it does not shine as it should, do not darken it completely—do not ruin yourself. Learn to live and to rejoice in what God has given you. It is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

Iancu lowered his head and fell silent. Shame burned in him. He felt he could not look at her. She seemed like a martyr who had always sacrificed for his good.

After a while Rodica stood, came closer, stroked his hair.

“At our company we’ve brought in grass-cutting machines. If you want, I’ll speak to the boss—he’ll hire you. You won’t get rich, but you’ll live with dignity.

“I’m leaving now. You need to think about what I’ve said. And most of all, think seriously: it’s time you leave that club. For now, come work with us, and later you’ll find something better. You must take your role as a father seriously. Don’t be like your father.

“And don’t let your wife stay away from you too long. It isn’t good. I understand she’s with a friend; I don’t know where—she wouldn’t give me the address. It would make me happy to know you’re living like a responsible man.”

She left.

After his mother was gone, Iancu went outside to smoke and talk a little with the neighbors. Teenagers from the neighborhood respected him, and he often tried to warn them away from foolishness. But that evening he had no strength left. He felt morally weak. He answered evasively when anyone asked him something.

Jean had been calling. Iancu didn’t answer. He was too shaken to decide anything.

As he was about to go back inside to sleep, Jean appeared and pulled him aside. Jean wasn’t strong by nature, but he always knew how to cling to stronger men, flattering them like a servant.

“I spoke to the boss,” Jean said. “Some things have changed. Tonight we bring all the merchandise to your place. Starting tomorrow we’ll take it little by little and distribute it at the club.”

“To my place?” Iancu said. “Do you realize what you’re saying? That wasn’t the deal—”

“I don’t decide,” Jean said. “Ciucurică decides.”

Iancu went cold. He knew Ciucurică—a dangerous man with a crew that had drifted into drug trafficking. He understood in an instant: with people like that, you didn’t negotiate. You submitted or you paid.

“Listen,” Iancu said. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not getting involved. Leave me alone—and don’t come to my place again.”

“What?” Jean hissed. “I recommend you, and now you make me look like a fool in front of everyone? Do you know what you’re doing?”

“I don’t want anything to do with Ciucurică and his people.”

From the darkness, a tall silhouette peeled away and approached.

“What are you two talking about so long? Come on.”

It was one of Jean’s accomplices, who had been waiting in the car and was now irritated by the delay.

“Well,” Jean said, “Iancu doesn’t want to go anymore.”

“What do you think this is—a game?” the tall man said. “Your place will be a storage point, whether you want it or not.”

“I said no,” Iancu repeated.

The man stepped in front of him and suddenly struck him in the chest. It was a hard blow. Iancu staggered back, just as in the ring when an opponent catches you with your guard down. But he reacted at once—left fist to the face, then right, heavy and clean. The man reeled and slammed into a parked car. The alarm shrieked into the night, waking the neighborhood.

Iancu walked away, sickened by what he had just stepped into.

The next day at the club, he saw Jean distributing drugs, accompanied by other men from Ciucurică’s crew. Around eleven at night, Ciucurică arrived—a man Iancu had known for years. Half an hour later, word reached him: Ciucurică wanted to speak with him.

They went outside. Only the two of them.

Ciucurică was tall. Once he had been muscular, but over time he had grown heavy, massive. His life, up to forty, had unfolded in brawls, scandals, and dirty business. He had been arrested more than once. Most of what he was had been formed outside the law.

“We’ve known each other a long time, Iancu,” he said. “I noticed you always avoided me. Still, we respected each other. That’s why I was surprised when Jean told me you’d get involved with us. And then I hear you hit one of my men and withdrew your word. If it were someone else, I’d apply other rules. But with you—not yet. We go back too far.

“Anyway, you’re the one who loses. You don’t want to work for me.”

“I have other plans,” Iancu said. “It’s true I acted rashly when I gave Jean my word…”

“Fine,” Ciucurică said. “I want peace. Maybe you’ll change your mind and work with us after all. I’ve found a good outlet here—so good I’m certain I’ll need your help. But don’t ever hit my men again. Don’t cause trouble. Or we’ll speak differently. Do we understand each other?”

“I understand you,” Iancu said. “Now I have to go back to work.”

In the days that followed, the club became hell. He watched Ciucurică’s men do their business openly, and he could do nothing. He thought about reporting them, but he couldn’t take that step—something held him back. He had always hated informers. He even considered telling the club owner, but he never had the chance.

Two weeks after that conversation, the police came to the club and carried out a surprise search on Jean and his accomplices. Everything was uncovered. Iancu was arrested too, along with Jean and the rest. Ciucurică was arrested as well, and an investigation opened. The operation had been triggered by an anonymous report.

Iancu was interrogated several times. At first he denied everything. But as the investigation progressed, he was forced to speak. He agreed to cooperate after being confronted with witness statements—people who had seen him that night, striking Ciucurică’s man.

One night in custody, he had a providential dream.

He was in a spacious house with large windows. Outside, a garden of flowers. He sat at a table with his mother and Lucica. Two children were there—a boy and a girl who resembled him and Lucica. The table was full of food. They ate with joy. But what astonished him was the atmosphere itself: everything felt like celebration. Their faces were lit with an enthusiasm he had never known in real life. Even his mother looked transformed—her chronic exhaustion gone, her suffering erased. She radiated happiness.

He woke abruptly and lay awake for a long time, turning the dream over and over, as if trying to keep its joy from slipping away.

After a month in custody—after the police had pieced together statements from witnesses and all those involved—Iancu was released. It was determined that he had not participated in the gang’s trafficking operation. Ciucurică, Jean, and the others remained in detention. Criminal cases were open; a trial would follow.

On the day Iancu walked out and felt free again, he looked up at the sun. It shone on that spring morning, warming and brightening everything, giving color back to life. It seemed to him he had never before seen the sun shine so beautifully in such a clear sky. He felt, under that magnificent dome, that life itself was a gift—one he had almost thrown away.