The Manhole Children, the children of Ceaușescu, and others like them.

As we read history textbooks, we naturally knew about them.

The 1989 Revolution might have been the very first event we learned about in this country's history.

But we thought of it as something from a distant past—something that happened before we were born, something that no longer existed anywhere. Even though we ourselves were orphans, we still thought that way.

　

We were introduced to a bald-headed man who gathered us together, and in a room within a manhole, we began living with our older sister.

The bald man was called "Nik," though we didn't know if that was his real name or not, but it seemed he'd been living here since before and after the revolution. He appeared much older than our sister—perhaps in his forties, or even fifties, at a guess.

"This is the most livable spot among all the manholes in Bucharest," Niku says

with a smile. Though Bucharest has many manholes, not many offer good conditions, apparently. Now that fewer people live under the manholes, we've ended up with a good one—so it seems. I'd thought there was no such thing as good or bad underground

, but since people who've lived here a long time say so, it must be true. In fact, the underground wasn't

as bad as I'd imagined. The air is stagnant and smells

odd, it's dark, and sounds from above come through clearly, making it noisy—but at least we don’t have children bullying us. There are heating pipes running throughout

, so it's wonderfully warm in winter. Even without that, the underground temperature stays stable: cool in summer and warm in winter. And best

of all, the rent is free.

According to Nique, back when the city was overcrowded, some people even lived in the sewers, so it's true that this place is certainly better by comparison.

It seemed to be some kind of inspection passage—many pipes ran through here, but it wasn't a sewer manhole.

　

Alcohol, music, dancing.

A thrill I'd never felt before.

Though there weren't any children as young as me and Lydia, there was freedom here.

My sister brought us food. I tried kebabs for the first time in my life and was deeply moved.

We also sometimes ate fresh baklava.

Sister Mikaëla said,

"I truly think of you two as my real sisters."

"When I save enough money, let's rent an apartment and live together as a family."

"You two will surely become stunningly beautiful. So eat well and grow strong!"

"Both of you can study, huh? But here, that probably won't help much."

We both laughed, something we hadn't done in a long time.

My sister would often come home from work dazed and disoriented from sniffing Aurora (solvent), but we didn't know that was bad, so overall, our lives weren't troubled.

Still, it seemed Mikaela's teeth were jagged and black—probably due to the Aurora—and Nik simply said, "You two should stop."

And so, a new life began, but it wasn't as easy as just doing nothing. My sister only brought us food at night; for breakfast and lunch, we were told, "Figure it out yourself."

We both felt abandoned, but here, everyone else was doing the same—managing on their own. Kids around our age were already going out into the city, doing whatever they could.We also needed to earn cash income.

Not just food—clothes and shoes were desired too.

Still, there was hardly anything we could do except beg.

Other kids were already involved in scams, pickpocketing, and stealing, but those things still seemed too hard for me and Lydia.

Sitting on the street, we'd plead to passersby: "Kindly give alms. I'm hungry—may God bless you!"

Since we were twin girls, we were somewhat unusual, and if we kept it up for a day, we could earn around 120 rai (approximately 3,000 yen at the time). When we handed the money to Sister Mikaela, we'd get 20 rai as pocket money in return, and that was our greatest pleasure—buying kebabs and eating them together.

There were rules on the streets.

First, territorial boundaries among beggars. Surprisingly, because we were children, we were often overlooked, and adult beggars even welcomed our presence.

They say we can get more when we're around. It's annoying how many people beg using our parents' names without permission, but that's just how things go.

When the police come, we run away.

After once nearly being kidnapped by Lydia and desperately fighting to reclaim her before escaping, we've been especially careful around police.

Since we're small, we can easily vanish into a crowd and escape pursuit. As a result, we ended up working mostly at the busiest train station.

We absolutely don't want to be caught and sent back to the orphanage.

◇◆◆◆◇

Bucharest is by far the largest city in Romania.

Even just in terms of population, it's more than five times larger than the country's second-largest city.

Of course, there were many tourists, and every day new people arrived from nearby countries and towns. So even if I begged every day, I always managed to get some money.

Not just Romanian lei—some people even gave me euros, and sometimes I received money I'd never seen before. I'd secretly slip that unfamiliar currency into my pocket, but Mikaela sister would pretend not to notice.

Mornings were spent on biscuits, lunch was usually kebab, and at night I'd often eat bread with my sister.

It was much more stimulating than life at the shelter—freedom, pocket money, a decent life.

There were days when I received charity at the church, and sometimes tourists would treat me to food.

—But those days only lasted for one year.

Again, it was June.

The season when countless bodhi trees (tei) in the town bloom all at once, filling the air with their distinctive scent.

The holiday of Pentecost (Rusari).

People danced and sang, and we enjoyed the treats and cheese being served.

Nothing like the careless party we had back when we lived at the facility. This was real celebration.

Christmas is also a big event, but Santa doesn’t bring us gifts, nor do we receive sweets on Saint Nicholas Day. Most importantly, December is just too cold to want to go outside much.

But Pentecost is warm, and we even get sweets at church.

It was a season I used to hate, but now I might actually grow to like it.

— When we’ve saved enough money, let’s quit living in manholes and rent an apartment somewhere!

That's what she said.

The things we'd talked about like a dream—eventually, they never came true.

"If it's the two of us, we can make it! It'll be fine! You're special!"

Smiling brightly, my older sister walked away on her own, leaving the manhole behind.

Whistling a tune, carrying only a small amount of luggage.

Leaving us behind, not just Bucharest, but even Romania itself.

She said she was going to live with a Bulgarian man she'd met here, and that she couldn't take us with her.

We were betrayed again.

—That was the second betrayal.

◇◆◆◆◇

Mikaela sister had been our guardian.

With her gone, my sister Lydia and I suddenly felt exposed.

We weren't evicted from our room, but boys started coming around more often, looking for trouble.

If you're drunk on alcohol, or even more so on aurorack (solvent), your mental barriers gradually weaken, making you willing to do anything. Even a girl as young as eleven could be targeted, and it didn't matter much. After all, they were only around fourteen or sixteen themselves—barely different from us. I'd been repeatedly and insistently taught by Sister Mikaela about the overwhelming nature of such desires, and both Lydia and I had become quite accustomed to life here within just a year, so we had an especially strong sense of danger. Though we remained powerless and poor, twin girls inevitably attracted attention, and living on the streets meant facing danger countless times. Unexpectedly, it was Nik who ended up helping us.

Nik was the boss of this place, and though there were rumors about him being a bad guy, he was strangely kind to children. Yet he rarely favored any particular person, and seemed generally distrustful of others.

Nik's room was at the very back of the underground lair, the only one with a door that could be locked.

Lydia and I were allowed to use that space, which made us feel a bit safer.

At least as long as Nik was watching over us, things seemed okay.

"Sister Mikaela, why did you disappear? Does Nik know?"

"She found a man. But maybe it's better this way for you two."

"What do you mean? Sister promised she'd live with us in the apartment!"

"It might be true, but that guy was planning to take your jobs once you turned twelve. You're fair-skinned and rare twin girls, so he figured customers would flock to you. You were brought here with that intention from the very beginning."

Mikaela-sister tried to hide it, but there was no way to conceal how she made her living—we already knew.

Maybe we'll even end up helping with that ourselves someday.

That's why hearing Niko's story left me with mixed feelings.

If it's what my sister wants, I'd accept it.

"Why is Niko helping us?"

You were brought here by Mikaela... you ran away on your own, didn't you? You never expected to end up living in a place like this. I may be rough around the edges, but I don't go out of my way to make people miserable. I'll take in anyone with nowhere else to go. At first, I told Mikaela to send you back to where you came from.

"That's right. But this place is so much better than that other one."

"People who come from the facility are usually like that. But listen, you could actually live a much better life if you really tried. I'm not saying you have to go back to the facility now, but if you want to go back, you can. It's your choice."

"I'm not going back."

He was being roundabout about it, but Nik seemed to want to kick us out from the manhole.

Still, he never told us to leave—perhaps that was his kindness. Though feared by the other boys, Niku was kind to children, especially us.

But then… no, precisely because of that, we couldn’t keep relying on him.

The urgency of realizing we had to grow strong enough that he’d truly need us—otherwise, he could easily hand us over to the facility if he chose.

The world is ruthless: if we remain weak, something bad will surely happen again.

Growing up. Gaining strength.

That was what we needed.

　

Though still young in age, here, the early ones begin selling their bodies as young as twelve.

If we keep earning at this rate, there will inevitably come a time when we’ll have no choice but to do the same.

Since both Lydia and I are still children, Nik also treats us like children. But we’re about to become adults. Our bodies were growing regardless, and we could feel the end of our childhood approaching.

Earning money was necessary.

My roommate, who used Aurora (solvent), had wild eyes. Living together in a narrow space with no door. Sometimes someone would suddenly scream, or residents would start shouting at each other.

Even in such a place, those who could earn money were respected.

Lydia and I were good at begging, but we didn’t make much.

Selling our bodies could earn us five or even ten times as much. But there were risks—disease, or being killed in a locked room. Most importantly, if I did it, Lydia would have to too.

I didn’t want to make my little sister do it.

　

Bucharest is a city full of tourists.

Of course, there were plenty of jobs targeting us.

Pickpocketing, theft, currency scams, panhandling.

We did it all.

We understood, at least, the difference between right and wrong, but we had to survive.

Being twin girls proved advantageous—our earnings were unmatched compared to other children.

We handed almost all the money we made over to Niku, but by clearly showing loyalty, we secured our safety.

In any case, if we had kept the money ourselves, it would only have been stolen or taken from us by someone else soon enough. So it was better to give it to the boss. Food and safety—those were the two most important things for surviving here.

When we handed over money, Nuk was in a good mood and let us drink alcohol (twika). I quickly got drunk, my head spun, but I felt good forgetting unpleasant things.

Those days continued for another six months.

Both Lydia and I had grown enough that we started sensing dangerous glances from the men.

My hair, closer to white than blonde, and my pale blue eyes—perhaps because I was eating properly, my chest had started to develop, and I’d grown taller.

When Nuk got drunk, he’d hint around that girls could earn more in other ways.

With only our current earnings, Nuk would eventually grow unsatisfied.

Despite being the boss of a hidden den like this, he was surprisingly kind. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he valued those who pledged their loyalty. Maybe he was just particularly sensitive to betrayal.

Yet I couldn't help but feel that, if things continued this way, the only path left for me was to become his mistress—and I was certain that this was a dead end.

But I didn't know what else to do. Stealing or fraud could get me caught at any moment, and begging had its limits.

I was growing desperate.

◇◆◆◆◇

On a cold winter day, an Asian man came to interview the manhole.

The man got along well with Niku and was allowed to come and go freely. He was gathering stories from the residents and taking notes.

In fact, people like this weren't uncommon—they usually claimed to have come from places like England or Germany, but Asians were rare.

We were interviewed as well.

"That's unusual. Are you twins?"

"Yes, we are."

"What about your parents?"

"They abandoned us and disappeared. When we were very young."

"What were they like? Were they also of Russian descent, like you two?"

"Our mother had beautiful black hair. Her skin was... actually, it was quite dark. We wish we had looked more like her."

"Hmm... So, your father must be of Russian or Eastern European descent, right? No, actually, looking at your features, your facial structure is quite sharp—so maybe not."

"We don't know. But maybe we're fairer than other kids. Perhaps it's because we've lived underground in manholes all our lives."

We went along with the interview, sharing our life story as prompted.

There was nothing particularly secretive about it, and he was a kind man who told us stories from distant foreign lands and bought us sweets and bread.

"Maybe you two have albinism. Haven't you ever been told that?"

"Hmm? No. What's that?"

"It means being born with very pale skin and weak eyesight."

"Oh, now that you mention it, maybe that's possible."

Both Lydia and I have always tried to keep our skin covered as much as possible, and on sunny days we'd wear sunglasses stolen from tourists.

We're quite pale even by local standards here, and we're no less fair-skinned than Russians.

So I used to think our father might have been Russian, but he said it's rare for one side of a mixed parentage to manifest so extremely.

"Anyway, neither Lydia nor I have any parents, so it doesn't really matter."

"That's right. Nadia and I will live together as one."

"Wow, you really are identical twins. Is that on purpose?"

"That's right. It's more effective that way."

We deliberately acted as if we were the same person.

When begging for money, it drew more attention. Being twins, being girls—those were our weapons.

The man continued asking questions.

"How long have you been here?"

"What's your favorite food? Any favorite songs?"

"How do you earn money?"

"What do you do with the money you earn?"

"Any hobbies?"

"Do you ever miss your parents?"

"What do you want the most right now?"

We answered the questions casually.

But neither Nadia nor I could answer the last one.

When I was told "the most important," I really didn't understand.

I want to eat delicious food. I want to eat until I'm full.

But is that really the most important?

I want to sleep soundly on a soft, fluffy bed.

But is that really the most important?

A smartphone. Lego. A doll.

I want them, but they're not really the top priority, are they?

I couldn't figure out what I truly wanted most.

◇◆◆◆◇

The man said he was a documentary writer, someone who writes about us and turns it into a book.

Apparently, people living in manholes are quite rare, even globally.

And if you're a child, a twin girl at that, it's even more unusual.

But he didn't intrude unnecessarily, and certainly didn't bring the police.

He just wanted to "know the truth."

Yet, despite all that, he taught us a better way to earn money.

"Isn't it better to perform than to beg? Tourists come here to have fun, not to hand out money to beggars. So why not focus on entertaining them? I think you two would attract quite a crowd, especially since you're so cute."

Specifically, he suggested we clean ourselves up, wear matching cute outfits, and just sing or dance.

Since both Lydia and I enjoyed singing and dancing, we decided to give it a try.

The clothes were bought by a man at a fast-fashion store.

In short, we ended up earning ten times more than before.

It might even have surpassed what an ordinary adult earns through regular work.

The next day, and the day after that, we earned just as much.

When we sang and danced, a crowd gathered, and everyone smiled.

The tin bucket filled up with money.

Once we started earning, Niku became my bodyguard, and we became people of note even in the manholes.

We could eat and drink as much as we wanted—kebabs and tteok.

We could even afford warm sarma (stuffed cabbage rolls) and chorba (soup) at a restaurant.

We bought warm coats, woolen hats, and leather shoes.

And so, the cold but cozy winter passed, and spring came.

We were arrested.