TURBING DESTINIES

IOAN SABIN POP






TURBING DESTINIES



Cluj Napoca, 2008
FOREWORD



This book is dedicated to my parents, IOAN and MARIA, exemplary people, without whom this earth would have been very poor, and our soul wouldn’t have known so profoundly the sacred mysteries of the divine.

This book wants to be an honest and objective testimony. If, for the mind and the soul of the reader, it will become an incentive for meditation, then all the efforts of the author were of great worth and his steps were of avail.

Going back in time is intended to be a lucid approach, sometimes a polemic one, of some instants of life, kept in immortal frames, but, also, an escape from this present of ours in order to rediscover the one belonging to our parents and grandparents, who, even overwhelmed by countless troubles, they were illuminated by strong holds of love and by the happiness of many days of true romance.

Bertolt Brecht said in one of his writings - “He who does not know the truth is only a fool. He who knows the truth and calls it a lie is a criminal.” This would be an additional reason, even if it is a vainglorious one, for not allowing oblivion to wrap up completely our past, good or bad.

Any resemblance to actual places, facts or real people is not at all coincidental.

On the contrary…


The author

1st PART

ENEMY OF ROMANIAN MOTHERLAND AND ROMANIAN PEOPLE

“Fate is the excuse of the weak and the work of the mighty” – N. Titulescu


It drizzles and everything is gray. I woke up early, but I am still in bed. My thoughts go back to the bunk beds in my political convict cell where we were not allowed to sit for the whole day without suffering the repressive consequences very well known to us. But let us start from the beginning…
I was born the autumn of 1922, in a village from Mures county, part of the commune of Hurghiu, being the eight, but not the last among the children in the Pop family. They gave me the name of Ioan, after my father, name that seems to be predestined to the children in Romanian peasant families from Transylvania.
I finished the primary school in the village, but repeated the fourth class in Hurghiu, like my father said – “to get used with the strangers”. Prompted by my parents, I attended the Normative School in Blaj that I finished with A-. Simultaneous I studied literature at the Theoretical High school where I got my diploma.
My intention to study at the Academy of Theology and Philosophy from Blaj was shattered by the call to join the army, in Ploiesti. That is where I found out that the regiment I attended, no 32 Dorobanti, covered itself in glory fighting at Marasesti against the Germans. In that battle, the Romanian soldiers were taken by surprise by the German attack while they were bathing in the river and, not having enough time to put on the equipment, they fought dressed only with their shirts. That was the reason why, at every parade, in order to honor the memory of those who died in that battle, the soldiers of this regiment were dressed in white shirts and they were running holding their weapons in their hands.
From the regiment I was sent to the School for Officers No 1 from Ploiesti where, because I was a refugee from the Nordic Transylvania, I got a one year postponing from the army in order to continue my studies.
Returned to the Academy in Blaj, I studied until the fall of 1943, when I was sent to the School for Officers No 66 from Ineu, Arad. That is where I was when the events from 23rd of August 1944 happened. I went to war against the Germans and the Hungarians who attacked us. In the same time, by royal decree, I got the rank of sub-lieutenant, and sent to Battalion No 8 beside whom I fought until the war came to an end.
Convinced that I fulfilled my sacred duty for my country, I returned to my native village where I became a teacher. After a few months I was sent to the Normative School in Nasaud where I stayed until the year of 1947. I remember with some satisfaction the effect my military uniform, I was still wearing, had in that community. As I was confirmed later, I was the first Romanian officer to reach there after the war.
The fall of 1947 I went back to Blaj, to the Academy, starting my third year of studies. A significant matter related to the years I spent in Blaj is connected to the celebration of the day of 3rd/15th of May when the communist regime brought to town very many workers from Medias and Copsa Mica. They were manifesting for the party, while the pupils and the students from the town were manifesting for country and the king. There were many street fights between the two groups. And because the students were the ones leading the manifestations, the workers attacked the Academy of Theology. Because I was the only student-officer who went through war, I was entrusted with defending the Academy. And that is what I did immediately. Together with a group of soldiers who were quartered in a branch of the building, the students succeeded to repel all the attacks of the workers – fact that brought joy to the peoples of the city, who were assisting for the very first time to street fights with political nuances. I want to underline here that among my colleges at that time there were George Gutiu, who later became a Catholic Bishop of Cluj-Gherla area.
In 1948, Metropolitan Ioan Suciu, an outstanding person with high morals and a lover of his country, asserted me as deacon, and on the 25th of March – the day of general elections in Romania – he anointed me as priest in the Metropolitan Chapel. George Gutiu, earlier mentioned, served as cantor at that time.
And that is how a very important stage of my life came to fulfillment – unto the great joy of myself and of my parents, peasants with pure hearts and strong faith in God.
I was wondering what life has reserved for me ahead, but I was young and enthusiastic, I was optimistic and I was agog to profess my priesthood.
The same year of 1948 I married Maria-Aurelia Chioreanu, an young and beautiful teacher from Hurghiu, I have had met a few years ago, and who gladly accepted to become my wife.
After the wedding I was established as priest in Cacuciu, a locality belonging to the parish of Reghin. From the very beginning I got in conflict with the mare of the village because at Easter I refused to give communion to a woman with whom he was living in adultery. That is why they tried to drive me away from the village and only the strong intercession of the mare’s older brother stopped this from happening.
Towards the end of that year it started the persecution against the Greek-Catholic Church. We didn’t know at that time that we will have a strong decisive confrontation with the communist oppressive regime, that many of the priests of this church will not be able to profess freely and will end their Calvary in a anonymous grave, away from those they loved, but close to God. Indeed, we couldn’t know all these at that time, but even if we did, our decision to stand firm would have been the same.
Most of the political convicts of the totalitarian regime from Romania of those years, peasants and intellectuals of most diverse professions, preferred the liberty of conscience to physical liberty.
My conflict with Romanian Security (Securitate, nt) debuted on the 15th of August, the day of Holy Mary, when I read in church at the Holy Liturgy a prayer in which the Pope from Rome was reminded – a reason sufficiently “strong” for the people of Securitate from the city of Reghin to appear in the evening and to warn me in their “elegant” way that I am on the Black List and that I must calm down, or I will suffer the consequences. I got away with it, but the same day, Vasile, my little brother, a high school student, was arrested.
The arrest of Vasile, as well as of other “undesirables” subscribed perfectly to the communist-security action of finding guilty of those “not with us” and who could become the potential “enemies of the people”. The tactic undertaken was this – an agent from the securitate recommended himself as being member of a local organization of PNT (National Peasant Party, nt) conducted by Iuliu Maniu. He got in touch with a peasant from our village who was building his house and promised him money if he will join the party. The peasant, Dumitru Nutiu, accepted without suspecting the trap. More than that, he helped with details when the securitate agent asked him to recommend other people to be enrolled. Among those people were the high school student Emil Nutiu, one of the peasant’s nephews, Vasile Pop, colleague with Emil, and Ioan Morar, forester and friend of the two students.
The agent, full of zeal, enrolled all of them, without contacting any of them, and being convinced he discovered some of the dangerous enemies of the people in such a short time. As a result of this “patriotic measure”, the four found themselves arrested and locked up in the securitate basements from Reghin.
Someone I knew from Cacuciu was working at that institution, so I took advantage of that and asked about my brother. Without very many details, but clear enough, I was told: “Go home and don’t ask about him anymore. Who is arrested and cannot be proved guilty doesn’t come out of here sooner than one year. And if one is guilty, that one is taken to Court”. And that is how it turned out – after one year, without any trial, the four returned home humiliated and scared, now “benefiting” from a new social status.
As about me, after my brother’s arresting, as a result of great pressures I suffered, I had to leave the parish, together with my wife. In only a few hours, all I managed to earn in the parish’s house was destroyed by the “comrades” looking for incriminatory evidence.
By “special order”, my wife and I were moved to the village of Poarta as teachers, and then, moved again to Sacalul de Padure. Once there, I was communicated I have no right to profess my job as a teacher because I refused to give up my catholic religion and become an orthodox. I preferred to stay devoted to the religion were I was born and to which I vowed, rather then embracing a situation that could have been, hypothetically, “warmer”, more comfortable.
After they made me unemployed, without any kind of retribution, they moved my wife to a school in Cerghizel Grui, a very small village five kilometers away from Ungheni, the county of Tg. Mures. We accepted to move, even if we knew it was all an obvious repressive intention coming from the authorities. And we already had two small children. But we also had hope that we will go through everything together.
Once in Cerchizel, we rented a room with the floor made of clay, with a stove, one bed, one table and one couch. In the day time I was taking care of the children, while my wife was working at school. It was very difficult in the beginning, but we didn’t despera. We had God, we had the children and we had the love that bound us.
With the salary Rely got, we could hardly buy the milk for the children. There were many days there was nothing to eat. One of our neighbors, impressed by our situation, used to help us from time to time with food.
We continued to endure, in spite of our weakened bodies. We had no idea how long the hunger and political persecution will last, but we were decided to resist until the end, in spite of everything and everybody. But life proved that human solidarity is not just empty words – one villager, who used to work in the States, relative of our land lord, visited us and, shocked by our condition, helped us with great generosity.
The “American” was respected in the village. So, other villagers started to bring us bread, and milk, and vegetables, even cooked meals.
Just before Christmas, this wonderful man called me to his house and gave me seven thousand lei to buy a pig for my family. The money was the equivalent of three salaries of my wife. I could hardly thank him, being so overwhelmed by his gesture. But he went even further and provided a carriage and sent another five people with me to help me buy the pig. So we went to the market in Tg. Mures where, once arrived, I discovered money was not enough. The people that came with me realized what was happening, so they asked me to give them the money and went on, and shortly they returned with a pig that coasted twelve thousand lei, and they gave it to me saying: “Father Ioan, we payed the difference and we ask yo to receive our gift so that you could celebrate Christmas with you family”.
What was very special about that gesture, besides the obvious, was that all our benefactors were orthodox, but they had no problem helping the family of a catholic priest. As a reply to my many thanks they said “Father, God would punish us if we let a believer who is persecuted by communists to be hungry while we have everything we need”. These people and their families are in my prayers even today.
At the beginning of the’50 lots of the basic aliments were portioned and they were given only on the basis of a card – sugar, oil, bread, and many others. Because only my wife was working, we only had one card, but for a family with four people that far from being enough for our daily needs. With the help of a friend, doctor Nicoara from Reghin, I got a medical certificate that gave me the right to get another card. If it somebody found out the doctor wrote and signed a certificate that was not in concordance with my real medical condition, he could’ve suffered the harshness of the politic regime. As a sign of respect, I still keep the certificate to our days.
Another few months passed when I changed many jobs that I had to leave because I was “politic”. Now we had six children. And it was very hard to live with so little food.
Between 1952 and 1955 I worked at Plafar (famous Romanian factory that even to our days produces teas from medicinal plants, nr). I got this job because of my father in law, Alexandru Chiorean, a very special man, that I remember with great respect.
Then I worked for a while at the Agricultural Bank in Reghin from where I was transferred at the Forest School in Hurghiu, the village of my in laws.
All these changes of my job were, of course, because of the authorities, but mostly because of my clandestine religious activity I was professing. I thought the Securitate didn’t know about it. But the future proved I was strongly mistaking.
Both at Plafar and Agricultural Bank I was supposed to travel. And everywhere I went, in all the villages I was sent, I also continued my activity as catholic priest, even thou the communist government interdicted the Greek-catholic religion in Romania and the priests were forced to become orthodox. Those who didn’t accept ended up in the Securitate’s cellars and from there into the special sinister jails destined for the political convicts.
My activity, illegal from the point of view of authorities, took place in locations carefully chosen where i held services for the catholic believers who were brave enough. For us these moments of communion with God were uplifting offered us the support we needed in life, in spite of all the risks. For the people of the Securitate we were only some mean conspirators who were affecting the order and the security of the state. According to their point of view, we had to pay for our “mistakes”, and that meant filling up the prisons and the graves the political system had prepared for us.
Their methods of harassing, both physical and psychological, were very diverse and cruel. For example, they would hold me for investigation while i went about my regular trips i took for my job. I used to walk a lot between different locations, because of the lack of automobiles. So sometimes, in remote places, out of the blue, the people of the Securitate came and would brutally drag me in their car and took me to Tg Mures for investigation. Many times they kept me there even for two or three days, while applying all the range of their methods and while my family didn't know anything about me. And this would go on in my spare time as well.
Every night, at the house in Hurghiu, we kept a candle burning in one of the rooms for watching the sleep of our five children, aged one to eight. The diffused and permanent light made our persecutors believe we organize dangerous meetings. And under these circumstances they were obliged to act, and so they did! They jumped over the fence and would watch discreetly from the window our “subversive activities”. In winter you could see their tracks in the snow. One day, having enough of this, i told my wife i will unleash the dog in the night time, and so i did. All next night our dog barked and run around the house as a sign of a strange presence. Next day, directly from the local council came an order demanding all the citizens to keep their dogs tied up, or they will have to pay a few thousands lei in fine, lots of money for those times. And for us that was another proof of what was going on, if any extra needed.
On another winter evening, my persecutors got the postman who came later that day, and it was already dark. Two of the Securitate people stopped him and started the inquisition right there - “if you love your life, tell us everything!”. The poor postman was released only after they assured he is innocent.
Amongst the agents recruited and payed by the Securitate to follow and report all my moves, the most evil was one of the orthodox priests of the village. I didn't know anything at that time. And when i found out i started praying for him that God will forgive him. My colleague in performing spiritual ministry was so zealous that he would produce false reports. For example, one summer, while he was on holiday at the Black Sea, he continued to send reports about all my activities like he could be in two places at once. Or he would pay some other people to follow me. Very vigilant!
Today, after many years since those events, i realize that most of the troubles i had with the Securitate happened on each day of 18th of every month. And even my arresting proves that.
The day of 18th of August 1958 was coming to an end and we were already happy it didn't bring anything bad, as i told my wife. But i was proved wrong again. Just before midnight the silence broke suddenly. Outside somebody was kicking the door with his feet, summoning us to open. It was the people from Securitate who came to arrest me. With their faces and their suits i knew too well they started a search that lasted for about three hours. All this time my wife and my children were shaking with fear, waiting for the bad dream to finish. At the end of the search they filled in the document for confiscating my fortune where they wrote everything that was still left in one piece after the search, and that was the furniture, the books, the clothes and the shoes, plus some small things without any value for the system, but essential for my family. They were very surprised to find out that i only have two shirts, they couldn't believe it. They also asked where did i hide the things, especially the weapons i intended to use for disturbing their order. They became very angry when i told them my only weapons are the ones i will never hide – the hope and the faith in God.
Before they took me to the car they put on the cuffs. Lieutenant Balint, their lieder, asked me if the cuffs bother me, if they are too narrow. And when i answered affirmatively he personally took very good care to make them even narrower, until they cut into my flesh. I think that was an cynic answer to the efforts i demanded from them while they were persecuting me.
They didn't even allow me to say good bye to my wife and kids, pushing me out of the house. “Forget all this sentimentalism, you thief! Those like you don't even deserve to live! Where is your God to help you now? Come on, call on Him!”
I got into the car with my soul full of compassion and love for those i was leaving behind, but also feeling i sacrificed them on the altar of my faith. I didn't regret anything of what i did serving the Almighty. I only regretted i couldn't take my family out of this tribute of suffering and tears, that i couldn't take all their pain on me. I prayed for them at that moment, i still pray for them and my prayers were and they still are listened to.
There in the care that took me away from my dear ones i thanked my Father in Heaven for finding me worthy of the holy grace of being a priest and for allowing me to suffer in His Name, for my sins and for the sins of the others. In my mind and in my soul i forgave my prosecutors, those up to that point and those that will follow. I forgave N P, their main informer who, two days before my arresting, asked me to help him with the car from the place where i worked in order to transport some furniture from Reghin to Hurghiu. Much later i found out he bought that furniture with the money he received from Securitate for the information he provided about me. And i helped him without asking anything in exchange. He was going to pay some years later, when he least expected.
At the end of that trip in the night i was received in the prison cell from the prison of Tg Mures. I was kept there for a few months, being continuously threatened and beaten. After some time of total isolation, i was taken into a common cell, together with a criminal of war, called Miculici, and a partisan who opposed armed force against the communist regime. They were both Hungarians and they were going to be condemned to death. Apparently the hatred of the communists didn't care for the nationality of their victims.
My Calvary have begun. The one who was investigating me, a major called Bihari, asked me, amongst other issues, what is my relation with N P, their informer from Hurghiu. I answered that we were friends and that we had the same profession of faith. Without knowing that i am aware of what is the real identity of the informer, the investigator gave me to read a note written by him. Even if it was signed with Ioan Ardeleanu, i immediately recognized the calligraphy of N P. It contained many lies, but also a great truth – the fact that i was continuing to celebrate the liturgy at my home, for my family and for neighbors who wanted to participate. Even if i refused to become orthodox, i was still performing the liturgy as a catholic priest, and that was something the regime could not tolerate.
Another investigator came from Bucharest for my case, accused me that i had collaborated with a special person sent by Vatican in order to destabilize the political situation in Romania. They also suspected this person worked for the Americans, so i was asked to admit that i received instructions, through different couriers, that i was discussing with the rich people and the nostalgic pensioners from the village. Because the accusations were not true, i did not admit to anything.
In a moment of honesty, or maybe tiredness, this investigator agreed to answer one of the questions i asked him – why was i arrested and treated as major threat for the national security, even if, in my opinion i didn't do anything to be considered so. He told me that the American Fleet No 6 from Mediterranean Sea is approaching the shore of Lebanon ready for war. And that they had to make sure that any person that could influence the people in a sense that the party didn't like should be put in prison in order to avoid possible future problems. “And you are one of those persons – that is why you were brought here!”, he said.
At the end of the investigation i noticed that the things i was accused of could easily send me to death. I was considered an agent of Vatican, a dangerous enemy of the people and the state, even an evil criminal. I was accused that by poisoning the water of a few wells from some villages i passed through i killed some people and animals. And like all these wouldn't be enough, i was considered to be part of some subversive organization who's purpose was to destroy, through violence, the communist regime.
I was judged at the military Court in Cluj and sentenced to six years of correctional prison and total confiscation of the fortune. My wife and my eldest son, aged nine, were in the room when all this masquerade took place and that gave me strength to cope with the unfair sentence.
Only after i finished my time in prison i found out that while i was interrogated, many people from the village were also brought to be investigated. Amongst them, my father in law. All of them were under a lot of pressure, but they refused to accuse me unfairly, even knowing they can become the object of the revenge of my executioners. I thanked them many times, in my thoughts or personally, especially to my good and courageous father in law. Without their courage my sentence would've been much harsher.
If the intolerance of the regime for it's political opponents was explicable, it proved it functioned also for it's own employers. At the prison of the Securitate in Tg Mures there were a sergeant called I M, a meek person, who every Sunday was humming religious songs on the corridors. Once, after he distributed the food in our cell, i asked him if the water they served us could be called soup. And he said that that was it's name over there, “but you could ride your bike around the plate for a week and you will not find any bean in it”, he continued smiling. I didn't see him after that for a few days. When he came back he told us he was punished with two days of arrest for the joke he made, being told by his colleague on that shift.
After the trial and the sentence i was sent to the prison in Gherla, a very sad name for that time, a place reserved for political convicts. While i was on the train traveling to Gherla i remembered my wife finished school in that city. A funny coincidence made my time spent in prison in Gherla to be equal with the time Rely spent there as student. That was four and a half years.
Even if i didn't want to talk about this place and about life as a prisoner, for the sake of the truth i must do it. Memory must retain the profound meanings of this dark period in the history of Romania – communism – in order that the iniquities will not repeat, and the repressive regimes will disappear from everywhere and the dignity of the human being will be put back in its natural place. If the sacrifice of a whole generation can serve the truth, it means the privations we suffered make sense.
The life conditions of the prisoners were terrible, and they were meant to put aside for a while, or for good, those considered to be enemies of the social order and of the communist regime. For many who ended their life here, Gherla is their grave. May their name and their sacrifice never be forgotten.
We lived in insanitary crowded cells, with beds on three levels, we were not allowed to sit on in the day time. From six in the morning, to 10 in the evening we were forced to stand, being ill or old. Some, exhausted or weakened by illnesses, would collapse on the hard floor, others, brave, deceiving the guardians, would sit on the edge of a bed for a few moments.
We couldn't walk around the cell because of the number of people. For our physiological necessity we had a small barrel made of wood placed in a corner of the cell, without any privacy. To get to it we had to execute a real slalom, stepping on each other's toes. And when we made it there on time, we were really glad, even if that was an animal joy in its essence.
The room had only one window with iron bars and wooden shutters. We couldn't see anything through it. After they took away from us our families and our liberty, now they took away even the sky with the sun and its stars. There were long hours in the dark i could never get enough sleep, always being very tensed, shuddering at the sound of screaming of pain or the noise of the guardians on the corridors.
In the day time, we could hardly breathe in the cell, especially in the summer time, when we were suffocated by the heat. From time to time we were taken out for a “walk” in the prison's yard. The contact with the fresh, clean air was a shock in the beginning, but then it felt like a blessing. I was breathing deeply while i was watching the sky, and while with the eyes of my mind i was searching for my family and for God. I always found them, because neither of them ever left me.
I remember with repugnance that every time we were taken out for our walk we must go through the so called corridor of fear where we were awaited on both sides by guardians carrying clubs or crowbars that were used to hit the prisoners. Those who were sick and those who fell under the beating, were pushed down the stairs, suffering many wounds. The sadism of the beasts wearing uniforms had to be satisfied.
The food was miserable. Most of the times we were getting potatoes soup, packed with peels and dirt. It was a time we didn't have spoons, so we had to put the plate with hot soup down on the concrete and eat it leaning on our stomach, like the dogs. For each meal we had five minutes.
Medical assistance was almost nonexistent. When the tooth aches tortured me to the extreme, i asked to be taken to a doctor, but had no success. After a week of violent pain, while i was taking my walk, i decided to jump on the surrounding wall with the hope that the sentinels will shoot me. That is how i got to the doctor, a Jew, from the Saviour's people. I asked him to give me a shut for taking the pain away. He agreed with me, but he said it is not possible because i am not allowed to receive medicines or medical assistance. He still gave me some solution of methylene blue. I was haunted a long time by his sarcastic smile.
Inside the prison there was a furniture factory where the prisoners worked. While working there i was thinking it is impossible to live without trusting your neighbor. It is like locking yourself inside yourself, the most terrifying prison of all. That is why, at the end of the day, after we went down in the factory's yard where we were very closely verified, i was trying to chat with the guardians, trying to break the monotony. Some would answer indifferently, others would swear at me very rudely. From the factory we entered the prison's yard where we got our food, the 'improved' version, but as bad as the one we received in our cells. But the activity i had in the factory succeeded to take away the dark thoughts i had. Even the longing i had for the ones at home was easier to suffer.
The first Christmas at Gherla was a good occasion for the administration of the prison to offend the celebration of the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ. Ignoring the significance of the day, they made us work regular hours, and when they searched us, they made us strip off all our clothes. And that is how we received our food for Christmas – frozen cabbage soup. Nobody ate anything. We celebrated the birth of our Saviour jointly, fasting and praying.
After six months of work, i became very ill, and i was moved in the cell of the priests. I never complained, even thou i had enough of the physical collapse i couldn't avoid anymore. I was suffering more at a moral level because of the tension produced by cohabitation in a very hostile environment where human values were deeply ignored. The world of the people seemed to break down, madly destroyed by some individuals darkened by crushing angriness.
My liver disease had a fast evolution, drawing with it other illnesses. Because of the lack of any medical treatment i collapsed, both physically and psychologically. I didn't know who i was, what my name was, where i came from, i couldn't remember anything from my life. Only the goodness of the Lord and the care of my colleagues from the cell and, maybe, the natural instinct of survival helped me not to die. And only after half an year i succeeded to remember what my name is and where i was, and after a few months my memory came back.
All this time i lost lots of weight up to the stage of an strolling skeleton. That made me walk with great difficulties. The worst thought to endure thou was the fact that my family needed my support, my presence. Every time i thought of them i remembered the threat my investigators laid upon my family – “tell us everything you did, everything you know, or else we will arrest you woman as well and both of you will rot in prison”. And then i said they should arrest even my children if they consider us so dangerous for the regime. I didn't like their harsh reply: “yes, maybe we should exterminate them also, because they have the blood of a thief”.
The next years in prison meant the same routine of not human treatment from those who entitled themselves the builders of the communism, the order that declared it puts in the center of its activities the man, the most precious good! One night, in the fifth year, i dreamed my oldest son, Ioan-Sabin, was kicked out of the school because of me. He was cring and reproaching me: “daddy, why did you sacrifice us? We loved you!”. In the morning when i woke up i was so sad because my dream could've had a real correspondence that i couldn't eat for three days.
The fifth year of my detention i became ill again with hepatitis. The prison's hospital where i was taken this time had rooms identical with the cells, the difference was that beds were only on two levels and we could stay in bed all day long. The doctors who were providing their assistance were also prisoners. They were condemned because someone denounced them for the reason that at the Military Hospital from Constanta where they worked they discussed the Revolution from Hungary from 1956. After the diagnosis was established i received the treatment, one pill a day and no diet. After almost two weeks they suspended the treatment. From their point of view i was a case without any hope. I was left with my own thoughts and with my prayers. After yet another few days, surprised that i am still alive, the doctors asked me how did i succeed to resist. And i told them: “the One who found me worthy of suffering in His Name will not let me die in prison, when i am innocent, because my wife and my small children are waiting for me. And the Lord knows they need me. So His will be done!”. The doctors were impressed and they decided to put me back on medication. So, after a while i recovered. I lost 25 kilos, but i was still alive.
At the prison's hospital i met many students from Cluj, Timisoara, Iasi and Bucharest, sentenced at five years for the courage to sing on the 24th of January (the day of the great union, nt): “let us all hold hands, those with Romanian heart”. Because they had problems with their lungs, most of them, they received every morning a cup of coffee substitute, with sugar in it, and they generously offered it to me. I couldn't drink it because of my illness, but i could never forget their gesture. I thank them with gratitude!
Another remarkable person i met in hospital was Al. I. Teodoreanu. (a very known Romanian writer, nt). He was sentenced at five years for a poem the authorities considered a pamphlet addressed to the new political order in the country. Old and ill, being condemned only for the freedom of expressing himself like a man of the spirit, he would recite for us from his poems and epigrams, and he was convinced the poetry could put everybody together. “I like clear things, he said, but i love poetry. In my opinion, lyrics, even if they could limit our concrete thinking, are very useful for our spirit”. He will die in 1964, not long after he got out of the prison.
With my health still fragile i was moved from the hospital to the cell of the priests. Here it was where i found out from the people in other cells (using the heaters to communicate through the Morse alphabet) that a captain from the Securitate and a lieutenant are visiting the prisoners deciding to free some of them. Hope was born again in my mind and in my soul. Will i be able to get my freedom back?
The day came when the committee came to our cell also. We were all very excited waiting to find out what is it going to be decided about us. I was not put on the list. In despair, when the lieutenant passed by me on his way out i dared to stop him and told him i already executed five years out of the six i was sentenced, and that i have small children who are waiting for me to raise them. “I want to go to them!”. The officer looked at me and asked me what i was condemned for. I told him i was condemned for my faith and for the fact that i didn't want to become an informer of the Securitate. After a few moments of hesitation that seemed longer then all the years i spent in prison, he put me on the list. I simply cannot express the joy i was living at that moment!
On a Thursday i was taken out of the cell, they put on the iron glasses and i was brought to the office of the young officer who put me on the list. He asked me to tell him everything that happened from the beginning to the end, without forgetting anything. I asked if i can speak freely and he confirmed. We spoke for the whole day, with small breaks. I told him the story of my life and he listened carefully and patiently, taking notes from time to time. A few minutes before the end of our discussion the captain entered the room. The lieutenant informed him, amongst other details, that i was at war only on the west battle front and that i fought only against the Germans. I understood he wants to help me. I don't know how much that helped, but in my mind i thanked the lieutenant for his intention.
After three more days i was again brought to the same room. I didn't get to say hello, because the same officer told me that it was decided that i will be sent home and i will be able to take care of my family. I thought he was joking and i reacted. And when he confirmed that it was the pure truth and that he is glad to be the first to give me the news that i am free, i thought my heart will give up. I could only tell him: “if this is true, may God keep you away from any evil in the world, and i will pray for you all the rest of my life”.
I was not asked to sign any document of alliance with them, even if that was the norm in the case of most prisoners who were released. And many couldn't resist and became puppets in the hands of the Securitate, risking the freedom of their conscience after many years in prison. I always thought there is no higher humiliation then being ashamed in front of yourself.
When i left i was informed i will have to go to the Securitate in Reghin and from there i will be officially released. I received the ticket and together with other prisoners i went out. My life started to make sense again. Remains i could still not understand from the past years blended with the presence of freedom, still pale, that was about to come. I was outside the odious gray walls after five years, i was almost free, but i was afraid to enjoy. On the train that was taking me to Reghin i was expecting the people of Securitate to come any moment and take me back to Gherla. So many memories came to my mind – some from the old times, loving memories, and some i would've prefer i could never remember again. I was living every moment intensely in a real world where memory and imagination were free to play with the past and the future in an acrobatic frenzy.
Late at night i arrived at Securitate in Reghin. Here, captain Vultur, who was good to me immediately after my arresting, came and took my hand, being glad to see me. He told me that all the members of my family live and that the next day he will call my wife from Hurghiu so that we go back home together. While i was listening to him i tried to realize i got my identity back, i was coming back to the concrete life with the feeling i was at the end of a very difficult journey, which started making some sense, indeed. The same captain asked me if i was hungry and offered me his portion of food. I refused him politely, but his gesture i will not forget.
Time was passing harder and harder. Rely, my wife was being late. I found out later what was happening – those from the local police office announced her she must go urgently at the Securitate at Reghin. She got scared and she refused to go, because she was expecting to be arrested. “If they want to arrest me, let them bother and come after me”. And she was praying for the children. Finally, after a very special order, the people from the police communicated her that they will accompany her to Reghin. They didn't know the reason of the call neither.
Ioan-Sabin was almost 14 and it was natural that my wife considered him as the most mature amongst his brothers. He was left to take care of the family no matter what will come.
I met my wife in the waiting room of the Securitate. I was standing near the stove because it was cold and i felt weak. When she opened the door and she saw me she stopped and couldn't say anything. Emotions overwhelmed her. Full of happiness, i walked towards her, i kissed her and i told her i was free. Her face lighten up and she relaxed. With God's will, a bad dream was coming to an end. I was now happy to be amongst the people, together with my wife. I felt like crying, but i held myself.
Before we were allowed to go back home, the same officer Balint, now a captain, who arrested me five years ago, made us listen to a lecture about how we must behave in the society. I was asked not to tell anyone about the years in prison, about the life condition there and the treatment applied to the prisoners. Most of all, i was to stop from the religious propaganda in favor of catholicism. I had to understood that my release didn't mean i had their trust, and their vigilance, serving the Party, will continue to be manifested in my private life. The most cynical advice was related to the way we must educate our children. We were asked to support the education in the communist spirit offered by Romanian school, in order to assure a future full of light, much different from the present my wife and I were living. I still don't know if that officer was convinced of what he was saying, or he was only performing his duty.
Now, when i think back, i realize the Securitate had two kind of employers – on one side were the slaves, people with no concience, capable and ready at all times to fulfill any order, and on the other side were those who had personal interests, living a double existence, one hidden from the public eye, and the other one professional, agreeing with the services they were fulfilling. These categories were both serving the most odious machine of oppression in the history of Romania. The lack of tolerance and the hatred formed in those years a cocktail which had very bad effects for the Romanian people.
I was a victim of the system because of my religious views. But inside of me, right there, on the corridors of the Securitate from Reghin i allowed myself the vainglory of being proud because of that.
We finally went home. It just snowed outside and the combination between the sun and the white of the snow bewildered me. I was walking like in a dream, hanging on my wife's arm, searching all around me, at people and things, sky and earth. I was continually amazed at how beautiful can life be sometimes. I was again confirmed the rule that when a road ends, another one begins.
We arrived home in the evening. My children and my parents in law were in the room when we entered. Oh, how wonderful it was! Doesn't matter how hard i would try, i could still not be able to transpose in words how it felt being back and seeing everybody again. I recognized my three older children, but i couldn't say the same about the two little ones. Only after about a month could call them by name without confusing them. The youngest one, not recognizing me asked my wife who i was, “so thin and ugly!”.
I couldn't sleep at all on my first night back at home. My mind and my body were two different identities, wanting to wander each on its own way. My thoughts were with things belonging now to the past, while my body, absolutely exhausted, begged for some rest. I was indeed very thin. I came back with only 49 kilos, a skeleton, able indeed to scare small kids. It took me months to get back in some kind of shape and to be able to help my wife with the work around the house.
With a dose of discomfort i started to reintegrate in society. We had very few friends left. One of them, Verenca, a very fine man, lent us a big amount of money in order to get some things that were necessary. My clothes were confiscated and sold. I went out on the streets of the village dressed in my new clothes because i had to get my new identity card. With all the care i took in regards to the way i looked, I must've been quite a sight, because the people i met couldn't mask their astonishment. I never complained, never spoke about what happened to me. The way i looked was very expressive about how Romanian prisoners were treated in the communist prisons.
After a while i started looking for a job. And i was systematically refused because i was a political convict and on my business card was written in capitals GHERLA. I finally found understanding at the engineer Dumitru Gliga, the director of the Forest School from Hurghiu. Because of him i got a job as accountant. None of us would know we will become relatives by the marriage of our children – Mariana and Ioan Sabin. All my gratitude to him (who is now gone) and his family for all he did!
After this job, which allowed us to get back on our feet financially, i had two more jobs before i retired.
Political persecution and the prison were left behind. I never forgot what didn't have to be forgotten. But i never took with me feelings of hatred or revenge. I forgot my persecutors, trying to get in their shoes and understand the reasons behind their deeds, knowing that people are the product of their deeds, but, also, of the circumstances. I thought there is always a time for regret, even for the vile, even for the executioner. But i guess i was wrong again.
From the four catholic priests in the village who were arrested, three died. And N P, the one who denounced me years ago, couldn't live with the thought that someone who knew about his low job of informer was still alive, representing a danger for him. In his opinion, the least dangerous enemies were the ones who were three meters under the ground. So, together with other slaves of the regime they created a sabotage that would've made me be arrested again. I was accused of a fraud of two hundred thousands lei in my quality as accountant. And they obliged the person who's real fault was, one of my subordinate, to declare that i was falsifying the documents in my personal favor.
They say that whom you don't let to die, will not let you live! The irony is that the woman who accepted to incriminate me was the one i helped professionally the most, out of simple human compassion.
After all the judicial inquiry was done, i was definitely out of any accusation. And when my enemies became aware of this, it was too late to change anything.
Very disappointed and hurt, the years that followed i went through many events that showed me that the slaves of the regime went far beyond the orders or themselves. I remember when people who fought on the western battle front, myself included, were announced and called to receive a medal of recognition. But the members from the local council in Hurghiu told the military commissariat i should not get the medal because i used to be a prisoner, and that meant i was an enemy of the people. And because they insisted, i was abusively excluded from the list of those who had to receive the recognition of courage and patriotism.
Another example of abuse refers to my boy, Ioan-Sabin. After he finished the faculty, he was in the army, where they sent him to a unit from Bucharest, something like a disciplinary battalion, finishing the army as a simple soldier, while his colleagues, who also finished a faculty, were enrolled at the School for Officers. My son was told that his file has a few “spots” on it because of his father. So he was urged to fulfill any order without thinking or comment. Because of the the precarious conditions at the unit, my son got ill. And because of the intervention of the “good willed comrades” from the local council in Hurghiu, my son was never sent to the School for Officers. But the fate offered my son, who left Bucharest as a simple soldier, the chance to return to the capital as a Senator of Romania, representing Cluj and the Democrat Party. For those who could see well and also understand, the truth that when life is closing doors, God opens others, was confirmed yet again.
Unfortunately, the consequences of my political conviction affected all the members of my family until the end of 1989 when God, in His never ending love for Romanian people, gave us the chance of a new beginning. Our sacrifice, of those who suffered beyond the bars, but also of the many outside the bars, was finally received and rewarded.
At the Revolution we got back the freedom of opinion and the human dignity, but the phantoms of the communist past is still haunting us. Some regret the power they had, others are disguised as politicians continuing to influence directly, for personal interest, the decisions of the state. Many of the former “comrades” became over night prosperous capitalists, displaying an offensive opulence.
Just to illustrate once more the fact that “the wolf changes his fur, but not his habits”, in December '89, N P, one of the authors of my sufferings, imposed himself as a leader of the anti-communist movement from the village, declaring he is a friend of the new wave and a friend of all those he once denounced at the Securitate.
The ideas i was fighting for all my life became a legal activity after the Revolution. I started to activate inside the Greek-Orthodox Church, as best as i could, and even today when i am 80 years old, i still feel i can be of use to the cause. It could look like a paradox, but with sacrifices and perseverance, you can achieve any ideal.
Today, the communist terror and political prisons, sinister cuffs put on faith and liberty of opinion, are somewhere far behind. The martyrs of the people are a reality. Many of them rest in unknown places. But we must not forget them, the same way we must not forget the sacrifice of a whole people, so that the history will never teach us again such a lesson.
Far from the feeling of enmity for my neighbors, i pray to the Lord to forgive my persecutors and those who are still wandering away from the only true way – the way of faith in Christ!
“Don't judge anyone, let me judge, because only I know all the hidden thoughts of man and only I can judge with righteousness”, teaches us our Holy Father.
With this incentive in my soul, and believing to forgive does not necessarily mean to forget, I finish this with an honest prayer – FORGIVE THEM, LORD, FOR THEY KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING!



Hurghiu – Cluj, October, 2002
2nd PART

SHORT JOURNEY AMONGT MEMORIES

“The buffets of fortune always find one unprepared” Michael Thomas



It is said that when you oscillate too often between the past and the future – between memories and the troubles of tomorrow – you forget to live the present, which is soon gone and turns against you. But could we live without memories, without the simple, elementary pride of sharing with others our life time experiences? Could we, by playing modest, affirm that our short existence on this earth must be let consumed in anonymity just because it bares no significance compared to eternity?
If we can go through life holding our heads up high, and still be serene at it's end, if we can keep our soul unadulterated by the capital sins in this world, that means we lived indeed and that we gave the divinity in us a chance to be expressed. I strongly believe that life – this sweet-and-sour and non repeatable burden – is worth living even then when everything seems to work against you, even then when fears, or tormenting questions, or illnesses come to your path.
For those who fight with violence and injustice, with hate and thirst for power, someone's life story can be sometimes an extra incentive or even a moral support. This is the fact that stimulates me to tell, in a few short words, the story of my life, with it's dark moments, but also with the instances of light and joy.
So, this is how it goes...
I was born in Suseni, a village belonging to the county of Ciuc, on the day of 16th of March 1927. My parents gave me the name of Maria-Aurelia, and i was the only child of the Chioreanu family. My mother, Maria, stayed at home, and my father, Alexandru, a forester. They both loved me a lot and supported me in my whole life. They thought me to trust God and that i can make everything through work and honesty. I own most of the good moments in my existence to them.
At the time i was born, our village was a Hungarian one, the only Romanians being us and the family of the chef of the Gendarme. That is how i learned the Hungarian language and even their accent. At home we spoke Romanian, and my parents soon started to correct me repeatedly because I was using lots and lots of Hungarian words. After a while i spoke correctly both languages. And that will be of great help later, in my profession.
When i was six, my father was transferred at Ghimes-Faget, another place in the county of Ciuc. This is where I finished the primary school in Romanian language. From this period I remember a few moments that weren't very enjoyable. The first one was the obligation to learn multiplications by heart, like a poem, as our director, Mr. Ciurdea, used to say. But there were also some funny moments related to this – there was one of my colleagues who couldn't or didn't want to learn learn “the poem”. So, they called his father at school in order to help with the “straightening” of my colleague. And there was the father, coming into the professor's room and addressing to his child: “My child, your teacher tells me you don't want to learn multiplications. You either start studying well, or you will become a flayer. Are you listening? I don't even know what is so difficult about it. Listen to me, this is how it goes – 8x8=88, 5x5=55, 4x8=48, 7x6=76... and so on. Did you get it? This is how you learn multiplications by heart, like a poem, as your teachers say. If i, and old man, can do it, also can you. Don't ever put me to shame, or else you will become a flayer”. And this is how our poor colleague got his nickname – Nelu the Flayer.
After the primary school and after a difficult contest, I started attending the “Oltea Doamna” High school from Iasi, also benefiting from a scholarship. It was a great deal that I, a small peasant from a small village will get education like a real miss from a boarding school. So we shared the precious news immediately with all our relatives and everybody we knew.
I heard so many good things about my high school and about what a great honor was to be a student there, and also about the city of Iasi, so i was very excited to get there as soon as possible. I was ten the fall of 1937 when i got there. I had lots of thoughts on my mind, and my soul was full of hope. The future was full of light. What else more was to desire?
I felt fate was spoiling me at the high school. Moldavians adopted me immediately. I was very open and honest, very communicative. I was a happy person. Every evening at the dormitories my teachers would ask me to sing Hungarian songs and to recite in Hungarian language, unto everybody's great fun. I accepted with pleasure to perform my talents in front of any audience. I inherited my passion for singing from my mother who had a beautiful voice. Today, where she is, i believe she has a well deserved place in the choir of heavenly angels.
Our teachers were very highly qualified. Most of them liked me and helped me adapt better and faster to the environment at the high school. From them i learned that a teacher must be like a responsible artist, molding not only the mind, but also one's soul. Their insight stays with me even today.
I also discovered the beauty and the romanticism of the city of Iasi with it's parks and churches and large squares. My favorite was the Union's Square where, in the middle, was the statue of Cuza, the symbol of the great Union of the Romanian Principalities. I admired the story and charisma of this man i learned many things in school.
When i was in my third year of studies in high school, my father visited me in Iasi. And after I told him lots of stories about my life as a student, my father took me down town with the sleigh. It was snowing beautifully and we had a lot to admire. At a certain time my father asked the cabby to drive around the Union Square for three times and he stand in the moving sleigh with one hand on his heart saluting the statue and the memory of Cuza. Some of the people were smiling ironically, others were probably wondering who is this man who salutes a statue so personally. Above all else, that was a wonderful moment for me, and my father was a modern hero for me. My dearest hero!
After they gave Transylvania away to Hungarians in 1940, i had to leave from the high school and the city I learned to love. My parents returned home to Hurghiu, the village my mother came from and which was now situated on the Hungarian part.
It felt very odd being in my parents house. There were so many things i left behind – my classmates, my teachers, so many places and beautiful memories – they were all far away, in Romania. That was a first shock I experienced. That was when i realized life can be unfair sometimes. My youth and especially my parents helped me overcome the deep sadness that overcame me.
Next year i went to the Hungarian school in Reghin, because the only Romanian schools, those from Gherla and Beius, were too far. Later, after my repeated requests, my parents took me to the Normative School for girls in Gherla that I finished in 1947 with the degree as a teacher.
After the war, Transylvania was given back to Romania. Only that it was now a different country. We were under the influence of the Soviet Union, and the country was lead by communists. I didn't know very well who they were and what they want, but was about to find out sooner that i wish. I was a teacher, i was young and i was already in love. Life seemed good enough, even beautiful sometimes.
The man i fell in love with, Ion, just finished the Theological Faculty from Blaj. He was a beautiful young man, with dreamy eyes, who won my heart through his gentle way of being. He was brunet and tall and he loved me – good enough arguments to accept to betroth him. After one year we got married and i followed him to Cacuciul de Mures, the village where he got the job as catholic priest and teacher.
The year we married, 1948, was decisive for the existence of the Greek Catholic Church in Romania. The persecution started after the 1st of December of that year when the church united with Rome was officially abolished. The communist regime started a strict campaign of constraining the Greek-Catholic believers to adhere to Romanian Orthodox Church. The Securitate spread fear amongst the priests and the believers. From one threat to being arrested was only one small step. No method was spared in order to reach the objective – total and immediate abolition of catholicism in Romania.
My husband refused systematically to give up under the pressures and that was the reason he was removed from his parish, functioning as a teacher for a while. I always supported his refuse to become an orthodox priest, even knowing we assume great risks. And therefore, in order to avoid being arrested, we slept at our neighbors or people we knew, hoping that with time “the patriotic impetus” of the Securitate will temper. We were afraid in the day time as well, but we knew that they would usually operate arrests in the night time, both for saving appearances and hiding the true face of the terrorist regime, and for inducing an even greater fear in the souls of the people.
I was pregnant and we were waiting our first baby in a very tensed atmosphere. I was doing my best and beyond that to joke and even laugh sometimes in order not to affect the normal development of our child. When our “nocturnal visitors” would come, all the dogs in the village announced them very noisily. Those nights i was wondering if in his life our child will always associate dogs with feelings of fear and uncertainty.
There might be that those dogs played for us the same role the geese played for Rome when it was attacked by barbarians – many times he escaped from being arrested.
Soon we were transferred for “disciplinary reasons” to the village of Poarta, a small place dominated by poverty and mud. There is where i first saw children and young people walking on stilts – an extension one would wear on their feet, made of wood. When it was raining, the streets of the village (street is a very pretentious term for something that was never paved, basically a strip of dirt that separated the houses; still very popular in lots of villages in Romania, tn) became real swamps that nobody could cross without those stilts. But that was not the worst thing that happened to us. We tried to rent a place and we were constantly refused. The news about the Catholic priest followed by the Securitate traveled there ahead of us and scared the people so much that nobody was willing to offer us a place to live. Finally, the principal of the school let us use the teachers' room, of about 3 square feet.
There we gathered a bed, a small table with two chairs and a shelf. We had no stove, so for cooking we used a gas lamp, outside, in the hallway. Every morning we rapidly cooked fried eggs or omelets from eggs of wild ducks we bought from the children in the village for one leu a piece. That was a way those children made some money to buy sweets, money that their parents couldn't give them. For lunch and dinner the menu was, with very few exceptions, the same. That year we ate, each of us, hundreds of eggs, very consistent and very tasty. I remember a funny story related to this – Petrisor, one of my pupils, couldn't read very fluently, so his marks were not very high. It so happened Petrisor was one of our eggs “caterer”. One day, in front of the whole class, he suggested this to me: “my father said i should promise you ten fresh eggs with no payment, but you must give me good marks at the reading class, because he wants to boast in front of my aunt that he has a smart child”. Of course i laughed, but i gave him the mark he needed.
At the end of the school year we were transferred again, this time to Sacalul de Padure, where our situation improved a bit. I had many more classes i was teaching, and that meant more money, even if our family had an extra member now – Puiu, our first child, was already one year old. In that village we became friends with the family of the orthodox priest Todea. His wife was my colleague. In spite of all the risks, they befriended us and we cultivated this friendship many year after. But we couldn't enjoy their presence for too long because i was very soon transferred to another small village, Cerghizel-Grui. And in the same time my husband was permanently removed from the teaching system for political reasons.
Cerghizel was a touchstone for us. We had four people in our family now – I had given birth to our second child, a girl, Angela-Maria – and we were living on the edge, having only one salary. Money we had was enough for offering our children a relatively decent life. We, the adults, endured a lot and I have no idea how we would’ve survived if we wouldn’t have received some help. Our neighbour, Aurica, gave us from time to time some bean soup or some cabbage with meat. We ate unto our satisfaction forgetting all our ambitions or pride. That was when we understood the simple truth that when you are poor you cannot afford the luxury to refuse, out of pride, any material help.
The people of the village depended mostly on the caprices of the weather, being exclusively farmers. That is why they used very wisely everything the land gave them (for example, they made fire with downy beard of corn or with straws). When we received a gift of two carriages packed with branches with leaves, as a gesture of friendship from someone we knew, that was a great event in the village. The woman we were paying rent to, aunt Marie, was a poor person, but every time she was cooking bread, she was sharing it with us. It was a very good bread, made in an oven heated with straws of hemp. I still cannot understand how it was possible to cook that amazing bread using only those straws for heating the oven.
It was no medical assistance in the village. When our children were ill, uncle Zaharie would harness the horses and would transport us to the closest train station where we took the train to Tg Mures. It was the same carriage we used when, forced by hostile circumstances, we had to move our small fortune: a pot, two pans, two buckets and our children’s clothes.
In 1951, after a long period of sacrifices and poverty, but having a beautiful and united family, we arrived in Jabenita, a village situated only a few kilometers away from Hurghiu, where my parents lived. That is when Puiu went to stay with my parents for a while.
It was a new stage of our life. It was to be the best one from all we had until then. The home we moved in was very close to school and it was clean and full of light and didn’t cost us anything. The owners of the house were close relatives – my husband’s sister, Carolina, and her husband, Iacob, two beautiful people who helped us immensely. We even hired someone to take care of our children (I had my third one by now, Cristin Alexandru) – a Hungarian young girl, very thin, but very hardworking, named Ilonca.
Our third child was very fragile and weak, and that is why the doctor recommended him a diet based on milk, eggs, honey and vitamin D. the mixture had a great taste and Ilonca developed the habit of taking the vitamins herself, ignoring the child. And we noticed she would put on weight while the little one was thinner and thinner. When we discovered the “secret” we encouraged her to continue the treatment herself, but to, please, apply it to our child also. Miss Vitamin D, as we called her, conformed immediately. Our children loved her and when she got married and had to leave, we missed her a lot.
At school we were a good harmonized mixture, three teachers and the principal. We all worked extra-time in order to teach the illiterates and to prepare the youth for different cultural events. I remember another funny story who’s object was one of my pupils, smart but lazy and naughty. Angry at him because he was not paying attention and for disturbing his colleagues I shouted at him: “listen to me, Pipirig! I told you so many times to behave and I see you do not get it! What is it in your head?”. And understanding I asked him what he ate he replied “cabbage with polenta!”. So I started laughing and I confirmed: “indeed, Pipirig, you have polenta in your head!”.
Yet another story, but which could end tragically, featured our eldest son, Puiu, when he was 3 years old and a few months. It was close to Easter and Iacob, our brother in law, took Puiu to show him how they sacrifice the lamb. The child, very impressed with the ritual, came back in the house, found a knife on the table and without thinking twice he put the knife at his younger sister’s neck who was two years old and couldn’t fight back. When the girl started screaming with pain, we all rushed inside and took the knife out of his hands yelling at him “what do you think you are doing, Puiu?!”. He looked at us innocently and said “Iacob ‘cuts’ the lamb. Me want pour blood”.
We stayed at Jabenita for three years. In September 1953 I asked to be transferred to Hurghiu where I remained until I became a pensioner. I was finnaly home! I felt the kind of joy only those who, like us, traveled as nomads for a while, and now they return home.
Over the next years we had two more girls – Cristina Bernadeta and Maria Ionela. After that we considered we respected enough the biblical incentive “live and multiply!”. So we concentrated on our children education and providing for the daily needs.
I even received a distinction for my five children. One day I received a letter from the local council inviting me to come to the local cultural hall on a certain day, at a certain hour. On that day I arrived there dressed up and I found myself being surrounded by many women dressed in traditional suits and a few rroma women. And the mayor stood up and thanked us all for “honoring our duty for the Romanian people and for consolidating it by increasing the natality”. I was proud to be receiving the distinction, but then the mayor addressed directly to me, embarrassing me – “look, even the ‘ladies’ know how to make children”. I was the only “lady” there who dared to be “productive” so the mayor found it suitable to underline my “performance’. I must say we were friends with the mayor’s family and that is why I, the catholic priest’s wife, could enjoy the distinction and the nice words addressed to me. We all received a medal and congratulations, but the state never thought to increase our budget by adding some money to the distinction. Or never wanted to do so. We, the heroines of the moment, “remunerated” the nation very well, but the nation did not even try to remunerate us.
At the same time, because of the repeated refuse of my husband to become and orthodox, I was “friendly” advised to transfer myself to the local kindergarten, in order to avoid being removed from the system. I was forced to conform, leaving behind a rich experience and many beautiful memories.
Until 1958 we continued our existence on the edge. And the truth that the good comes seldom and passes quickly was to be confirmed in our case also. For many years my husband was hunt after by the Securitate and its informers with extreme perseverance, and finally he was arrested on the night of the 18th of august. That is when a sinister group of people from securitate invaded our sleep and our lives the most barbarian way, proving very clearly that the communist power had no scruples or tolerance. After a very attentive search and after threatening with death, Ion was arrested. He was beaten and mocked right in front of our terrified eyes. He was cuffed and rushed to the car they came with. We couldn’t ever hug him. I was wondering why did they arrest him and what was it going to happen now. I had no idea and that was terrifying me. I was left alone with the kids and I encouraged myself thinking I was young and I was strong (I was only 31!) and I had my parents with me, and sufficient reasons to continue living and waiting for the return of the one who was giving a beautiful sense to my existence.
Even if I was religious and extremely tolerant, that night I gave into the sin of hatred for the people of the Securitate. I could understand the fact that the communist regime couldn’t accept the liberty of opinion and our option for catholic religion, I even understood that such a repressive regime needs tools to fit its thinking, but I could never understand or accept the satisfaction, the brutality and the arrogance of the people of the Securitate. I think their fault is double – once, because they enrolled under a totalitarian regime which considered God an insult, and secondly because they used their prerogative to satisfy their darkest instincts. I could never forget them…
I didn’t see my husband and I didn’t know anything about him until I was announced by his advocate that I must come to the Court in Tg Mures, where he was to be sentenced.
In that room, packed with people, I received a hard-to-swallow lesson about the implication of political power in the justice system and about the cynical repression of the elementary right of defending yourself. All of those being judged were considered enemies of the people, some because of their faith, and some for their courageous deeds. None of them implored the mercy of their judges, believing continuously with dignity that their sacrifice is only the beginning of the awakening of the national conscience, so heavily tested by the red plague that as drowning the country. What a great and obvious difference was between these wonderful people, dressed in striped clothes and the servants commanded to repress them. For whom could understand what was going on in that room, it was a fight between the present communism and the exponents of a free Romania.
I finally heard the sentence, as if it was coming through the mist of a dream – “Pop Ioan, political convict, is condemned to six years of correctional prison and the total confiscation of his fortune…”. I started crying, like other mothers and wives and children. I couldn’t forget his eyes when he was taken out of the room. They were the eyes of a hunted deer. He looked at me trying to convey, beyond the sadness of the moment, lots of gratitude and love, but, also, the request to resist because he will return.
Overwhelmed with sadness and indignation, we went back home. Puiu, who behaved very mature for his nine years of age, told me: “don’t cry mama, I know daddy is there alone, but you have us and the grandparents. We will help you!”. His balanced reaction done me well, but I understood that his childhood came, suddenly and unmercifully, to an end.
Wandering about the streets without any sense of direction, I finally made it to the bus station where I got on a bus to Hurghiu. There were no more petals on the roses of joy. Fate took my husband away from me. In my soul, even the memories were crying. But I was forced to keep going, for the sake of my family and for the sake of the hope that the one who was taken away from me will come back one blessed day.
Once home, I shared the sad news with my parents and the rest of the children. Angela, the second of my kids, started crying. She was a very tender and sensitive child, and her father loved her a lot. She could simply not accept the lack of the one she cared a lot for and she told me: “mama, if daddy cannot come home for so many years, let’s not leave him alone, let us move in with him!”. She was very young, only eight, but her heart was crying out desperately her pure love. I think she felt the shock the most intensely amongst my children, because the others were still very small and they couldn’t grasp what was going on. It was a very sad evening. We all prayed to God. Only He could help us now.
Two weeks after the sentence, noticing that the winter is around the corner, I put a pair of boots and some warmer clothes in a bag and I went to see the chief of the Magistracy from Tg Mures, who was a relative of mine. So, he received me with politeness, but he told me firmly: “don’t bother dear, you will not know anything about him until he will finish his sentence. Go home and see about your children!”. And it was like that – for five years I did not know neither where he is, or if he is alive at all.
After a few months, I was forced to divorce in order to keep my job. That was the way of proving I delimitate myself from the political and religious views of my husband. For the sake of my children I stepped over the vows I took when I married in front of the priest, asking God to understand me and to forgive me. Far away from those he loved, my husband understood the situation and agreed with the gesture, accepting the divorce and allowing me this way to provide for our children.
Along with the rest of the family, we started the battle for surviving. I knew I had a great responsibility, but I felt like one who was thrown in the water and who was trying to reach the shore, without knowing how to swim. But I had no choice, I had to succeed no matter the cost. So we prepared for war. We were comforted by the thought that we were in good health and that the Securitate will leave us alone now that the “enemy” was behind the bars. We were sailing on turbid waters, but we were sailing with the wind of hope on our sails and with God in our souls.
After a bit more then a year from Ion’s arresting I had to go through yet another drama hearing one news brought to me by a stranger that came to our door on a beautiful summer day: “I am the messenger of a very sad news, he said. Please, be strong!”. And after a small break when he seemed to observe the effect his words had on me, he continued seeming very honest and compassionate: “I was in prison with your husband. He suffered a great deal for half an year, being beaten and being exposed to the miserable life in prison, without any medical treatment. And he died in my arms asking me to pass on to you that he loved you a lot and that he asks you for forgiveness for all the trouble he induced on you. Please, wait for the official confirmation of death and do not tell anyone about my visit, or I will have to suffer the consequences”. With tears in my eyes, I assured him of my discretion and then he left.
Neither my mind or my soul couldn’t accept such a tragic end. My intuition was telling me that this is nothing else but another mean challenge coming from those who wanted the total extermination of our family. My presumption was confirmed after another year when another evil messenger came to my door with a similar story. I simply kicked him out the door after his first words. The authors of this method, of an evil cynicism, couldn’t succeed with me. So, for the next three years, I was spared from the presence of this kind of instances. But they used different other methods, more refined, in order to intimidate me.
One of my main duties at that time was providing the daily bread for my children. We could only buy bread on the basis of a card, because it was rationalized. As an employee I could only have one card, but that wouldn’t provide enough for our numerous family. But some of the beautiful people around us offered their card generously, saving us from the famine – Vasile Cota, the mayor of the school, the teachers Muresan and Muntiu. We now had four cards that helped us buy one loaf of bread every day. But in order to get it, one had to travel ten kilometers to Reghin. Most of the times, Puiu, the oldest amongst my children took a woolen pouch and traveled the distance carrying back the bread, being it summer or winter. In the same time, he proved himself as a very good student finishing every year with the best distinction. And like him, the others provided me with lots of joy and satisfaction, behaving and helping every way possible.
The closest to us and those who always helped us were my parents and my brother in law, fr Filip Pop. My parents were wonderful grandparents to grandchildren, loving them and carrying for them wisely. My brother in law helped us financially. Fr Filip was a catholic priest and, clandestinely, he was confirmed by the Papal Church of Rome as the last Romanian canon. After many years in the communist prisons, he was now working as a chemist in the laboratory of the hospital in Tarnaveni, and he was sharing with us his little money. Because of him we had wood for winter and the children could enjoy warm shoes and clothes.
I avoided to go anywhere outside the village because the lieutenant Balint, the one who arrested my husband, was following me everywhere like a shadow. When I got on the bus or on the train, he got on the bus or the train also. The pressure and the terror, their very specific weapons, were functioning irreproachably. So, for the fear of not being arrested, I preferred to stay in the village.
At Christmas, we would gather with the whole family around the tree and, while crying, we sang carols about the snow. Or, thinking of the one missing, we sang to Santa Claus, praying that he would bring daddy back to us in his big bag. Because we missed him a lot. In our home, the traditional gifts were always brought by Santa Claus, not by the other one, the Jack Frost, known as a communist usurper, otherwise a nice guy.
In the village, with all the restrictions imposed by the communist doctrine on culture and religion, the winter holidays had a special charm – the Son of God was born for all of us under the starry sky, in every home, rich or poor. Children filled the silent night with the sound of carols and tinkling of bells. Gypsies, great musicians, fulfilled the atmosphere of celebration with their violins and accordions. They were unique moments when the snow sifted thousands of dreams upon the souls of those gathered around the Christmas tree.
My three eldest children went caroling until the morning, together with other children from the village. They would come home tired but filled with inner happiness showing on their faces. And they would fall asleep dreaming beautiful dreams, guarded by angels.
Christmas – this great joy at the end of every year – could never be stolen by the communist regime, because it was our spiritual fortune, and their rules and weapons they were using to protect themselves didn’t function here.
As our children grew up, I realized we needed another bed. The one we had couldn’t hold the six of us anymore. So I ordered a bed for two, for me and my husband, after he would come back from prison. We lived in two rooms, and one of them we kept furnished and clean, but, according to the country side tradition, we didn’t live there. The other one, was the place where children were studying, I was cooking and we all slept in there. This way I was always keeping an eye on the children, trying my best to supply for their missing father.
Even if they didn’t grow up in luxurious villas, with separate rooms furnished elegantly, our children succeeded to be amongst the best students in the school, helping each other when needed. Later on their lives were fulfilled, both in families and professionally. I am very proud of all of them. Even today, our extended family is still very united, cultivating a sense of human dignity, with strong holds between parents and children, based on love and respect. All these, plus faith, perseverance and a cult for work were based in those difficult years that we look upon nostalgically, but never with regret.
Going back to those years I remember some funny stories. The hero of one of them is Cristinel, or Tinel as we called him, the third one in our family. After a serious accident he fractured both his arms and his legs and had to undertake an operation in Tg Mures. After one year from the operation we had to go back to check how it went. I must say that Tinel was seven years old and never have been in a city. So as we were going to the doctor he was very curious about the blocks of flats, especially the tv antennas up on the top of them. After I explained him what they were, I encouraged him to pay attention to his steps. But it didn’t help him! While he was admiring the city, he bumped into a pillar getting himself a bump in the head as big as an apple. Arrived at the doctor, he started joking telling Tinel that he knows that usually the Adam’s apple stays in the throat, not on the forehead. After a while the bump disappeared, but his curiosity, never!
Another story featured Puiu this time, and his inventiveness. He once wanted to find out who stole the two big, beautiful apples my mother received from a neighbour. So he dressed up as a priest and called all his brothers and sisters to confession. And that is how he found out that Cristina, who was then four, took the apples and hid them in some boots under the bed. And so the apples were recovered and shared amongst all of them.
When they were at home and didn’t have to study, the children were doing different things. They never had toys, so they imagined all kind of games and built various toys from all kind of materials. Puiu use to build planes and boats out of wood and metal, using them to discover the places he knew from his readings. Indeed, he used to read a lot and quite early he proved talent towards poetry. I thought he would become either a writer or boat captain. He became neither of them – he studied to be a chemist engineer.
Tinel would sit at a table he transformed into an improvised car and all day long he would “drive’. From time to time he would stop to invite his two little sisters for a ride. Even if it was great, his car had a defect – was honking a lot and extremely loud!
Angela would take her doll in a pram around the table, proving to be a very careful mother. Unfortunately she never got to be a mom. She passed when she was 23, in the month of May, the same month she was born. She was a wonderful child.
The other two little sisters, Cristina and Mia, had colored books and took most of their time.
I raised my children by myself for five long years – and they seemed like five long centuries – going through poverty and many difficulties, but being glad I can watch them grow. Those years thought us to stay united, helping us realize life can be beautiful if you earn it every day through work and love and faith. At the end of those years we became a whole family again.
After a presidential decree, my husband was released. I could not recognize him – weak and thin, with his clothes smelling like mold, with a hat with holes on his head, he rather looked like a beggar, forgotten by people and chance. But we didn’t forget him and we loved him beyond his physical appearances. He had to learn to readapt, physically and emotionally and socially. And that took some time.
The years that followed were somehow better, even thou they didn’t lake difficulties. We built the future of our children together and I had to notice with satisfaction that what we were building together was still standing. At the foundation of edifice was love. About some people you can say they love egocentrically. For us, love meant family and faith. For my husband, his faith was life itself, a way of giving himself totally and unconditionally. This kind of people refuse to live with half measure, with temporary solutions or compromises, when they follow their ideal. They cannot stay comfortable or indifferent. For them, faith in God is the most precious gift of their life and soul, and, in the same time, a victory against death and time. Even thou they are visited by tormenting questions, by adversities or disease, the authentic people live in order to love and love in order to exist.
Faith, love, life… nothing could surpass them! Nothing is more beautiful then them! This is why, at the end of this short journey amongst memories I allow myself to offer an advice to those who will take their time to read and understand this – death is nothing but an alarm signal: showing that life must not be wasted!

Hurghiu – Cluj, May, 2003
3rd PART

EPILOGUE – ONE POINT OF VIEW

“The mission of the future will be the one to condemn this past as something vile and disgraceful because it transformed people, one by one, in victims and mean tyrant” James Joyce




In their childhood, all the people live under the fate of immortality. My childhood was beautiful, even thou it was hard. Beyond the complicated details of this world, children can peek some very simple truths: God is good, adults have answers for every question, the truth exists, their heroes are pure at heart, they are brave and they never lie, they are very good with the sword and they always come out victorious from every battle.
For me, in my childhood, and not only then, my father was such a hero. It is very rare that a child, a boy, will love his father so much that the need to copy him will become urgent. Usually every child idolize their mother, surrounding her with affection, while the father is respected for his status of leader of that community.
I tried to resemble my father, especially with regards to his perseverance he proved when it came to following a purpose, beyond the hardships imposed by life and people. In my case, the genetic inheritance played its role, because the humiliation instigated the pride, and the pride nourished the will to defeat the hardships.
It is said that god gives us everything we need, but not everything we ask from Him. He gave me, with generosity, more than I asked, but He also reserved for me some difficult trials required my physical and my emotional strength. Today, when I reached an age that allows me to look at life with contentment and when I can treat people and matters with necessary detaching, I realize that the true happiness is inside of us, in the science to dominate our selfish wishes, in the superb effort to offer others more then we receive.
In life, we wish for many things: we dream about fulfillment of some sentimental ideals, we tend to reach a certain socio-professional stage. Through all this we fool ourselves with the idea that happiness consist in the power to dominate others, in the chance to finish as winners in all life’s competitions, in our unhealthy availability to accept receiving more then we want to offer those around us.
I came to understand that the purest sense of our existence is to believe strongly that your life and work will be of someone’s use, to reject very strictly any form of subjugation of human condition, to dream until your last breath that beyond every end there is something new coming to life.
In my opinion, the truth is in the minimum condition of respecting others, but also respecting yourself. Not the ostentatious truth, like a flower carried at the buttonhole, but the simple and direct one which brings beauty to a human life – that is the truth that must be searched for and helped to be fulfilled. This is one of the reasons that made me encourage with joy and emotion my parents step to put on paper memories about the existence of our family. The purpose was from the very beginning offering others, not lessons about life, but the chance of knowing better about a dark period of our contemporary history when some people tried to mutilate the spirit and the conscience of some of their neighbors.
My role in writing this book proved to be of small importance. I only edited some memories, some full of light, some that were grey, but all of them lived in truth by my wonderful parents – ever burning candles on the altar of human sacrifices, rare examples of devotion, faith and altruism, of tolerance and love.
For the chance they offered me, I thank them with gratitude – they are the true authors, they who knew how to mold with great patience and endless care our daily existence, putting in each of the five brothers the feeling that life is a unique gift that must not be wasted.
I regret the fact that my little literary knowledge and the lack of experience in writing books couldn’t assure an even better description, with more nuances and more expressivity and more coherence, of the exemplary destinies of two people for whom life had a noble sense – giving themselves, without any reserves, suffering with dignity and fighting with great courage unto fulfillment of out existence in this world: the love for people and for God.

Please, allow me to add to what was already written this far some poems dedicated to my parents and to my grandparents, to Angela, my sister who passed too soon, and also to the place where I was born, where I spent my childhood and where I lived for a while with my parents – that beautiful place where the fairy-tales were always true, even if life was sometimes unfair to us, allowing the dragon to dominate us for a while.

And now, at the end of this honest and proud literary step, I can only hope that one will stop out of pure curiosity and read these words. If the reading will cause the reader some moments of meditation, it meant that the effort of the author wasn’t in vain.


Cluj, June, 2003 














P O E M S – D E D I C A T I O N S
Homage to my mother

In your copper-colored hair
time left its prints –
scattered white cherry flowers
like a harmonious crown,
to which we add our love for you,
mother.

Give me your hands to kiss them,
the same hands that once
were supporting my first step,
give me your hands to rest my cheeks on them,
to listen to their well-known voice.

My first step, my first word
when i was starting to understand,
and to reap wisdom,
was a simple word: mother!

And when, years from now on, i will feel
my time on this earth is done
and i am ready to go,
i will take with me in the dirt
one holy and simple name – mother...

Woman who gave me birth,
you, meek angel, descending from a frame,
give me your hands to kiss them,
and forgive our trespasses, mother...

Gurghiu, 1971
That's when i loved my father

I always loved my father, more.
But, unfortunately, i never told him that.
I thought my mom will suffer if she knew
and i would brake her heart.

Today, the memory of them, it hurts me.
I see my father, exhausted, just returned from prison,
with his thin face, and beseeching voice,
humbly asking forgiveness from his wife and kids

And then, for an instance, enlightened,
that's when i loved my father more
and i said then: “welcome back home, father!”
and he raised his eyes and he smiled.

Many years passed, and i am a father also,
i will soon be a grandfather, God's will.
But I've never forgotten neither his pure eyes
or the sense of his martyr existence.

I've always loved you, father,
and i tell you with all the despair i carry inside:
i regret that you might've never known that.
I regret i couldn't always be like you.

I've always loved you, father!


Cluj, December, 2000
Letter
unto my grandparents

“Dear child,
we are fading, more and more fading,
and we think a lot of you
these last days of ours.
We grow old and we wait for our grandson,
who comes to visit very seldom
and when he comes he stays a little.

We are fine,
old trees, wind-beaten,
and only our temples, whitened by so much understanding,
by so many unfulfilled dreams, or by thoughts,
they tell us to be ready
because the fire is extinguished in the abode
and soon will be no smoke above,
that's only human, natural...

when we will be no more
and when we'll go to lay for rest
under the cold dirt,
do not forget us, and, please, come.
We will know we are together with you.
Tell us then you loved us
and that you are fine.
And now, in the end, together,
we wish you all the best!
PS
we are still thinking of you, our dear,
that is all we can still do...


Cluj, February, 1984
Romance in the distance
unto Angela

You were in love with the moon.
You – the star full of light in the day, climbing on the horizon,
I – grain of sand, on a beach beside the sea.

You would never look down the earth,
where i was lost in the huge army of sand.

Once, you saw me for a moment
while I, unimportant, was admiring your infinite.

In the mystery of the night the superb moon arose.
I knew you will always love her infinitely.

I was left down, on the beach, holding you in my thoughts –
simple sand, wet by the sea and blown in the wind...


Cluj, May, 1973
Inseparable – dreams, petals...
unto Angela

You passed by and you saw her almost withered.
But what a ravishing perfume she still held in her petals!
You brought water in your palms
and you watered her, giving back to her the unspoken beauty.

She was reborn in white and violet, beautiful and quiet.
You could not believe it is her, the way she used to be.

Then you... you left, and days passed by, one by one.
She could only think of you. She was holding on to life,
so that she made your eyes and your life happy,
so that she spoke to you.
But you didn't come,
and then she locked herself inside herself, sighing.

The cold of winter came in the world with its first frost.
And you pulled her out, without mercy, like a weed with no value.

Treacherous, the cold was slowly devouring the white and violet love.

With the sound of grief, miserable were dying
inseparable dreams, petals. Dreams... petals...


Cluj, September, 1974
Why did you leave?
unto my grandmother, Maria Chioreanu

Oh, mother, early you went back to clay
and i still had so many things to tell you.
Why did you leave?
I still had to be meek and good to you.

Why did you leave us suddenly,
wondering on paths of smoke?
How could i thank you now,
how could i tell you i loved you?

I regret with my whole life
that i couldn't be close to you.
Why did you leave, my dear?
Now it is too late for forgiveness.

We lose now a beautiful soul,
leaving the treasure of the worldly goods.
I cry for you, my long gone heart,
because you were, and now you are no more.

When i am longing and the world's deformed
I recreate you from the veil of memories.
I sing to you the romance you so loved:
“oh, how they shed, all those red roses”.

Surrounded by the waves of sadness
I ask you if you will come back soon.
I'm lost because you cannot answer
and, crying, i caress your meek image.

Oh, dear mother, what did we do so bad
that you had to leave us and return to clay?


Cluj, August, 1986
I saw again...
unto my grandmother, M C

I saw your grave again, on Palm Sunday,
and kissing you when i kissed the cold stone
i revolted in my cry because you're not coming back,
and my time passes by without you.

Oh, dear mother, where are you now
when spring explodes with so many flowers?
Do you know that soon there will be Easter
and we are preparing for celebration?

Could you still come
with your face wrinkled by pain
and when Resurrection's bells ring
reconcile our deeds and thoughts with God?

Will you be with us like before
when our souls will emerge out
and sing together on the holy night
“Christ is risen from the death”?

Oh, mother, you can only speak
with the holy voice of the memories,
but i know you hear me and you are listening
in the name of pain and love.

And i know that, as a sign of encouragement,
you send and incentive from where you are –
“there are too many question marks
when life itself is a lonely, mysterious sign”.

I saw your grave again, on Palm Sunday,
when spring surrounds itself with sun...


Cluj, April, 1990
Yonder...

If it so happens that one evening you arrive
in the village where i was born
you will immediately find shelter
and you will hear the elders telling stories
to their grandchildren came from the city.
It is there where even now herds pass by on alleys
stirring up clouds of dust.
It is there where apple trees always have fruits
and the cherry tree's flowers are always white.
It is there where the time stood still
and bread tastes like pure wheat.
It is there where my father is still mowing
and my mother is still young and beautiful.
It is there where work means celebration and good fortune,
and there is no sluggard, only emmets.
It is there where the field has always poppy flowers,
and the fir trees grow high to the sky.
It is there where my well known friends
come on the veranda of the old house.

There is nothing turbid, nothing critical.
There everything is like it used to be.
Only the frail Puiu is missing,
he left in the world to find his meaning.


Cluj, October, 1983
I long for...

I long for my lovely village,
with its green field, full of flowers.
I long for the wood
flooded by songs of nightingales.

I long for my long gone grandparents
taking a rest in the dirt.
I long for my father and my brothers,
my mother – beautiful and holly angel.

I long for the house with veranda,
I long for the first love,
I long for the red poppies,
and for the perfume of the roses.

I long for the warm seasons,
the whispers spoke on the paths,
I long for the green of the emerald,
I miss her eyes and her mouth...

I long for the grass in the morning,
sprinkled with the pearls of the dew,
I long for the age of my youth,
with its true fairytales.

I long for all, I long for everything...


Cluj, July, 1985
Bring back my childhood, Santa Claus..
unto my grandfather, Alecsandru Chiorean

Tomorrow will be again the birthday of Jesus, the child,
and the wise men will travel to the holy place.
For His sake i ask from you, old Santa:
please, give me all i only dare to ask from you in my thoughts.

Take me back to the late winter evenings
from the village laying at the foot of the hills
and make the snow to fall over me
the magic childhood, full of ideals.

Bring back again the band of gypsies,
resurrect my grandparents and my adorned sister,
put us all together again on new years eve,
and make us all sing our favorite carol.

Let the wolfs howl again at the edge of the village
and let the lamp lighten the windows,
around the Christmas tree, pure symbol,
let the grandparents tell stories to their grandchildren.

In the middle of the night, harness the horse to the sledge
and send the whole family to celebrate:
under the steeled stars let the ball begin,
the winter celebration, with all its forgotten splendor.

And when we return back home to the native home,
with God in our souls and tiredness in our bones,
enchanted by the holy night,
make us sleep well and give us beautiful dreams.

Santa Claus, generous and good,
I, the most humble amongst my brothers,
plead with you, do not bring precious gifts,
but, if you can, please bring me my childhood back!

And, oh, dear Santa, i still have so many things to tell you...



Cluj, December, 1996 












It is said that god gives us everything we need, but not everything we ask from Him. He gave me, with generosity, more than I asked, but He also reserved for me some difficult trials required my physical and my emotional strength.
Today, when I reached an age that allows me to look at life with contentment and when I can treat people and matters with necessary detaching, I realize that the true happiness is inside of us, in the science to dominate our selfish wishes, in the superb effort to offer others more then we receive.