Callen's History
It's the end of November and the weather had gotten cold already. It's bound to happen here in New England. The fireplace roared, the hot chocolate warmed on the stove and I'd be ready to pour when my husband got back from his run.
As G came through the door a gust of cold wind came in with him. He took off his fleece vest and sweatshirt and hung them on the coatrack. He would use them again tomorrow. I patted the seat next to me and he came to me on the couch. G put his arms around me. "What's on your mind Mrs. Callen?"
I enjoyed the moment and rose to get the chocolate pot that matched our tea pot, the pot I had bought when our love was new. I loved when he called me Mrs. Callen. We'd only been married a month. He'd been out of the country trying to keep his enemies from our door. When he finished that, he had come home to find me. I was seven months pregnant when he found me. He had me sent away from him before we knew I was pregnant, to keep me safe. He never knew about the baby until he found me. We also had his enemies try to take me and our unborn daughter from here; that didn't turn out to well for them. Now that our daughter had arrived I wanted to know more about the potential for trouble that might show up at our door.
After sitting back down I looked up into his blue green eyes. God I love him. "Well Mr. Callen, I'd like to know about the Comescus and your family. When did the blood feud start and why?"
G got a faraway look in his eyes before looking back at me. "I'm not exactly sure where to start. I only found out about this a couple of months before I met you. Why do you want to know?"
I looked into his eyes. I needed him to feel that I wanted to know everything there is to know about him. "It's about you, G Callen, my husband. You know about me, where I came from, who my parents were and anything you ask about me I'll tell you." He took my hand and held it close to his heart. I could see what I said meant a lot to him.
Callen looked into the fire. I poured our hot chocolate and sat back to wait. He reached for his mug and curled up with me and a quilt. "It was 1942 and my grandfather, George Callen, served with the OSS, the precursor to the CIA during World War Two. He was tasked with parachuting into Romania to help ferret out war criminals. There he met the Comescu family." He stopped and hesitated: the hatred he felt for them seemed palpable. When G started speaking again it was in a low voice. "They held high offices in the country. They were a prestigious family." I could feel his emotions building. "While in Romania my grandfather met and married a Roma girl. I don't know her name. I have never been able to find it in any records of the time. After he left and took his family to the United States, the Comescu family fell from grace. The patriarch of the family was executed as were several other uncles. The Comescu blamed my grandfather and swore blood feud. It seemed at the time, that the OSS had something to do with their fall, but I'm not so sure. I don't know how much of that is true. Hetty told me this. It is, whether it is true or not, how the Comescu see it. When a Romani swears 'blood feud' it means to the last person in the offending family. The feud could have ended with me: now it will be a future Callen." He turned to look at me. "What more do you need to know?"
I could see the strain of this story in his eyes. It was painful for him but I wanted and needed to hear everything he had to share. It meant the difference between life and death for us. "I want to know everything about you."
He looked at me, smiled and continued on with the story. "The Comescu family is a worldwide crime syndicate trafficking in humans, arms, drugs, and participates in money laundering: heaven only knows what else." He took a few sips from his hot chocolate before continuing. He was trying to compose himself and the story in his mind. "In the late sixties my mother, Clara Callen, worked for the CIA. She went to Romania to work and after a year she disappeared. We assumed that she met my father, married and had us. I've never found the records of my parent's marriage but my sister Amy and I were both born in Romania, supposedly. I have the birth certificate for my sister: mine was missing. There was no father listed. Later, almost six years later, she realized that the Comescu knew who she was and they were coming after her; my mother was desperate to get us out of Romania. My mother asked Hetty, who had befriended her and also worked for the CIA, to come and help us to safety. Hetty was told to stand down by the CIA for some reason. The Comescu found my mother and us on the beach and while a member of the Comescus distracted me with a toy soldier, another Comescu killed my mother. I sat playing not five feet from her body. I'm not sure where Amy had gone or how Amy and I got to the United States. Someone brought us here but no one knows who and someone separated us to keep us safe. I still don't know who."
I wanted desperately to hold him. He looked worn and so sad. I'm sorry that I brought it up but I needed to know who the Comescus were and why they came after me. There was the need to be more vigilant on my part to protect my family, just like he does every day. In the distance I heard the tiny cry of the apple of my husband's eye, his daughter. The sadness and tiredness dissipated: he ran up the stairs to her crib.
Today, I know that's the love and protection that he gives us every day and his family loves him for it.
Sara Callen
November, 2011
