Chapter 15
Rusalka Inn, Romania
An old man wearing faded jeans, and a moth-eaten, gray wool sweater covered by a stained black sheepskin vest, wandered into the Rusalka courtyard. The sudden onslaught of rain poured down his face, and two pairs of socks and boots squished from the leaks in their soles. A flood of water seeped out over their tops. He carried a knapsack on his back and appeared to be one of the homeless, common in those parts of Romania.
Always the soft touch for a stranger with a hungry stomach, Doamna Malik saw the man from her window and beckoned him to come around back to the kitchen. She offered him the leftovers from the day’s dinner. He was long and lanky with a head that seemed twice the height as its width. Sitting at a wooden table with its paint peeling and bli
