"Yes, your father went to help at the Miller's farm today. They needed extra hands for the harvest," his mother replied, her voice filled with the warmth of simple, daily concerns.
Mizick nodded, understanding the rhythms of village life hadn't changed much. He was back now, in the world he had left behind, yet everything felt both familiar and strangely distant. He had changed, grown, and he carried the weight of his experiences like a new layer of skin.
"I brought gifts for everyone," Mizick said, changing the subject and eager to lighten the mood. "And I've got something special for you and dad."
His mother smiled, her eyes lighting up. "Always thoughtful, my boy. Let's get you inside and settled. You must be starving."
As they entered the house, the familiar smells of home cooking filled Mizick's senses. It was a stark contrast to the factory canteens and quick meals he'd become accustomed to in Romania. Here, the food was prepared with care, steeped in tradition and love.
After a hearty meal, Mizick unpacked his gifts. He had brought practical items: tools for his father, new fabrics for his mother, and various treats and gadgets for the younger relatives. His family gathered around, their faces alight with curiosity and delight as they unwrapped the presents. Mizick felt a surge of satisfaction, seeing their joy. It was a tangible result of his hard work and success.
Later, sitting with his father on the old wooden bench outside, watching the sunset, Mizick shared stories of his life in Romania. He talked about the bustling city, his responsibilities at the Volkswagen truck inspection workshop, and the people he'd met from different parts of the world.
His father listened, nodding occasionally, a mixture of pride and concern in his eyes. "It sounds like you're doing well for yourself, son. But don't forget where you come from. This place, these fields, they're part of you."
Mizick felt a twinge in his heart. He had indeed changed, seen and learned much. Yet, his father's words reminded him of his roots, the values instilled in him right here in this small village.
The following day, Mizick decided to visit some old friends and acquaintances around the village. As he walked the familiar paths, people greeted him with a mix of surprise and warmth. They discussed local news and exchanged stories, and Mizick realized how much he had missed this sense of community.
At the local tavern, he met some of his childhood friends. They clapped him on the back, joking and laughing as they caught up over drinks. "Mizick, the successful expatriate!" they teased, their eyes twinkling with humor and a hint of envy.
Mizick laughed along, but inside, he felt a complex mix of emotions. He was proud of his achievements, yet he couldn't shake off a feeling of being an outsider now, a visitor in his own home.
As the week passed, Mizick helped his father in the fields, reacquainting himself with the physical labor of farm life. It was exhausting but fulfilling. He felt a connection to the land and to the generations of his family who had worked it before him.
One evening, as he sat with his parents, looking through old photo albums, his mother said, "You know, Mizick, no matter where you go or what you achieve, this will always be your home. We are here, always a part of you."
Mizick felt a lump in his throat. He knew she was right. No matter where life took him, the ties to his home and family would remain unbreakable.
The day before he was due to return to Romania, Mizick took a long walk through the village, soaking in the sights and sounds. He stopped by Aunt Susan's house to say goodbye, thanking her again for her kindness.
"You come back and visit us soon, you hear?" Aunt Susan said, her voice stern but her eyes soft.
"I will, Aunt Susan. I promise."
Back at the train station, as the train pulled away, Mizick felt a pang of sadness mixed with anticipation. He was leaving home again, but this time with a renewed sense of purpose and belonging. He knew who he was and where he came from, and that knowledge gave him strength.
As the Romanian countryside sped by, Mizick thought about his future. He was determined to continue working hard, to advance in his career, but he also made a silent vow to maintain his connections to his roots, to return home more often.
He realized now more than ever that success was not just about making money or climbing the career ladder. It was about balancing his ambitions with his heritage, about remembering where he came from while embracing where he was going.
"Your father needs some help from him," Mizick heard his mother's vague answer, and suddenly became alert to the emotions he had previously ignored. No longer the naive young man he was three years ago, he knew his mother was hiding something from him. Eagerly, Mizick asked, "Did something happen at mother's house?"
Looking at her son's concerned and eager expression, his mother sighed inwardly, realizing she could no longer keep the secret. "Something happened at home recently..."
From his mother's account, Mizick learned about the Hungarian land noble Ilzhabi, who resided in their town and had plans to build a country house. He had set his sights on a particular spot for a villa, and unfortunately, the only piece of land owned by Mizick's family was right next to Ilzhabi's proposed site. This proximity made Ilzhabi feel his villa would be incomplete without acquiring their land to turn it into a garden. Although Ilzhabi was willing to buy, he offered only half the market price for their land, showcasing his stinginess.
The land was under the management of the Hungarian nobleman Ilzhabi, but Mizick's father, Borbo, could not fathom selling the last piece of their family's property at such a low price. Upon their refusal, Ilzhabi resorted to using his money to influence the government to expropriate the land for himself.
Coincidentally, Edel was about to marry Princess Sophie Marie, and the Austro-Hungarian Emperor Joseph I had decreed that Romanians should not be oppressed during this period. This directive was partly in honor of the crown prince's wedding, providing some protection to the Romanian people living in Austria-Hungary. Seeing that the government was reluctant to cause a stir during this period, Ilzhabi did not relent. He eventually raised his offer to the market price, claiming it was his final gesture of goodwill. If the family did not comply, he threatened to terminate their lease.
Upon hearing his mother's story, Mizick sensed trouble, quickly unloaded his luggage from the car, and rode his bicycle to Ilzhabi's residence.
Mizick arrived at Ilzhabi's townhouse, a three-story garden villa built fifteen years ago at a cost of 60,000 kronor. It featured 18 rooms, expansive front and back gardens, and a small fountain, making it one of the most impressive properties in the town.
As Mizick approached, he witnessed his father being shoved out of the door by Ilzhabi's thugs. Seeing his elderly father fall to the ground, Mizick yelled, "Stop!"
Ilzhabi's men paused as Mizick rushed forward. The housekeeper, recognizing him, sneered, "Look who it is! Mizick, who made a fortune in Romania. You should convince your stubborn father that Baron Ilzhabi is interested in your land and intends to trade fairly. Think it over for the good of your family."
Mizick helped his father up, who at just over forty years old already had gray hair, and with tears in his eyes, he told the housekeeper, "We will consider it well."
"Ah, you've seen the world and know when to measure up," the housekeeper said, pleased with Mizick's response, signaling the thugs to back off. He then added, "Don't say we didn't give you time to think. You have three days to review the land sale procedures. Otherwise..."
"Father, let's go home and discuss this further," Mizick said, trying to comfort his visibly shaken father.
"Mizick, this is our last piece of land. What will we do without it?" his father lamented, tears welling up as he clutched at his son's clothes.
"Can't we just exchange it for another piece of land? Tell me it's possible, Mizick," his father pleaded, breaking down in tears on his son's shoulder.
"Father, we will find a way to live well. You must believe me," Mizick comforted him as they slowly walked back to the bicycle. Mizick then helped his father onto the bicycle he had bought for his friend and rode him home.
Mizick knew he had no influence in his hometown, unlike Ilzhabi, who had been entrenched there for many years. Mizick was no longer a naive child and realized he was powerless against Ilzhabi. The humiliation became unbearable, and he began to consider moving his parents to Romania.
"Mizick, you're back. I heard you went to see Ilzhabi. How did it go?" Broerku, Mizick's friend, asked with concern as he saw them return.
After helping his father inside, Mizick replied gently, "Thank you for your concern, Broerku. How are you?"
"I'm fine, but I'm sorry I can't help with your situation," Broerku replied regretfully.
"I don't blame you. We each have our families to look after. It's good to see you," Mizick said, patting his friend on the shoulder. He then gestured towards the bicycle, "Come, see this gift I brought for you."
Broerku hesitated, "I can't accept this, Mizick, not with your current situation."
Realizing the bicycle was a top-of-the-line model worth several hundred crowns, Broerku felt it was too much given Mizick's troubles. However, Mizick insisted, lying that he had another just like it in Romania.
Eventually, Broerku accepted the bicycle under Mizick's insistence. Mizick then returned inside to find his father looking lost and forlorn. He sighed deeply, then began distributing the other gifts he had brought, receiving thanks and sympathy from everyone. The support made Mizick increasingly convinced that relocating to Romania might be the best decision.
Three days later, the butler from Ilzhabi's estate returned with his thugs. "You are Mizick. I heard you're doing well in Romania. I trust you understand why I'm here," the butler said arrogantly, expecting compliance.
Mizick handed over the signed agreement, but the butler demanded his father Borbo's signature as well. "Are you going too far?" Mizick protested.
"The baron insists on your father's signature," the butler replied smugly.
Resigned, Mizick went inside, helped his ailing father sign the document, and returned to hand it to the waiting butler and thugs.
"Now are you satisfied?" Mizick asked bitterly.
The butler didn't respond, instead signaling a thug who handed over a purse. "Here's your payment for the land. Don't say Baron Ilzhabi oppressed you."
"We're very grateful for the baron's generosity," Mizick replied sarcastically, which the butler ignored, believing that only harsh measures kept such people in line. Before leaving, he added insult to injury, "Next year, you won't have any land to rent. The baron plans to raise pigs there."
Enraged, Mizick lunged at them, but the thugs quickly subdued him. As his father tried to intervene, he too was pushed aside, falling to the ground unconscious.
"Stop, please!" Mizick's mother cried out as she knelt beside her beaten son.
"Enough," the butler finally commanded, then sneered at Mizick, "Remember, this is Hungary, not Romania. Be smarter next time." With that, he and his men left.
Mizick and his mother hurried to check on Borbo, who remained unconscious. Fearing the worst, Mizick fetched a doctor from the town.
"Your father's condition is critical; it's uncertain if he'll recover," the doctor informed them after examining Borbo.
"Can my father still be treated?" Mizick asked desperately.
"It depends on his will to survive," the doctor replied before departing.
Watching his father's frail form on the bed, Mizick's anger and helplessness surged. He realized the harsh reality for Romanians under Austro-Hungarian rule and felt for the first time that life in Transylvania, part of Romania, might not be as harsh.
While tending to his father, Mizick received visits from Broerku and other villagers, who all expressed their disdain for Ilzhabi's actions but felt powerless to help. Despite spending all his savings on medical care, Mizick's father passed away half a month later.
After conducting the funeral, Mizick, with a heavy heart, prepared to leave his hometown with his mother. As they bid farewell to Broerku and the others, Mizick vowed to himself that he would one day return to settle scores with Ilzhabi.
Determined to forge a new path, Mizick decided against returning to the Volkswagen factory. Instead, he planned to enroll in a military school in Bucharest, driven by a desire for justice for his father and himself.