The locals were suspicious of me. At the sound of my questions, they would wince, as if I had just touched a sore spot. Desperate to learn their secrets, I tried everything to get them to speak, but to no avail.
Until one day, I travelled to the village of Laslea. There, seated in the shade of a sprawling beech, I saw a wizened old man. His name was Zdislav and he was the hamlet’s elder. As I introduced myself and my project, his sunken eyes lit up with curiosity. He motioned me to his hut. “The trees have ears”, he whispered, as he shut the doors behind him.
