So we left him and we go upstream, we go, and we go, and we go. We kept on looking through the forest, but we couldn’t see anything through the darkness. “Well, dear Lord,” I tell my cousins, “How far do we keep on going?! We might get lost! I’ll go down to the stream, and see if we can’t cross it somehow, maybe it gets shallower.” And what do I do? I hold onto some young trees that grew there. I lower myself into the stream. But the stream was deep. I walk across some two meters, same deep water. I walk into the middle of the stream. I tell them, “Come on! Come on! Get into the water too.” And we all three go deeper into the water. I say, “Help me somehow!” I was whispering, so the border guards wouldn’t hear us, for they’d shoot us on the spot! I reach the edge of the stream, but the bank was high and abrupt, and I couldn’t climb it up alone. My cousins hold me up and they prop me and so I climb out of the water, I get on the bank, on the grass, I lie down on my belly. Then I say, “Now, you next.” I give Aron my hand, to help him get out of the water too. Now, only Mircea, the small one, was left. “Stretch yourself towards him, to help him out too.” So we crossed the stream... Then we went downstream running. Run, run, run, so we see the gas lamp that the shepherd had showed us. When we see it, we go down, down until we reach the mill fence, as he had told us, You’ll arrive in Romania. We walk, we reach the road, as he had explained to us. We go to the right, and then? There’s the checkpoint, there’s our border guards. Pour me some water. Thank you. We arrive. He had told us the truth. [Drinks water.] Why are you looking at me like that, dear lady? E.V: I’m not sure if we should stop. You’re looking rather tired. Mr. B.: I’m alright. A soldier, a border guard comes. When he saw us, “Hey, you! Halt! Stop! Don’t move!” Man, we got frightened. We don’t move from the spot. “Where have you come from?” “We crossed the border.” “Through where?” “See, through he-here.” “Alright. You tell my commander that I found you.” He takes us to the border checkpoint. There was a large hall. There was a stove made out of an oil barrel, a large one, 200 liters, and benches on the sides, and about five, six beds in there. When we enter the hall, we see an officer, and a sergeant. “Good evening.” “Good evening.” We were joyful. Covered in mud, all over our clothing. My Sunday best clothing that I had brought from home, all covered in mud. We get inside. “Take a seat. Undress.” We undress, trousers, and all, all, all, please forgive me, only the shirt stayed on. Then, well, the border guards took them and cleaned them, put them on chairs to dry. They gave us something to eat. Cans, whatever we wanted. And we made our statement as to how we crossed into Romania, how it was, all, all, all. Alright, and this all came to pass. When day comes, the lieutenant says, “Look here. You’re now going to Turda.” There, in Turda, was a refugee office. All refugees were going there. From there we were transported where we wanted to go, around the country. “I’ll send a guard to take you to the road.” We go with the border guard through the forest. There were such tall fir trees. And he takes us to a dirt road. That road led to a national road, paved, on which cars drove. The guy tells us, “Look, from here on stay on this road. Don’t stray either to the left or to the right, just keep following it. From this one you’ll reach a road where cars will pick you up.” We say good-bye. It got dark. In the huge forest, you couldn’t see the sun, only the line of the road. To the right, to the left, just darkness. “What should we do, man?” We start running. We keep on running. Run. Run. Run. And we get out of there... Such deep darkness. We arrive at the designated road. But after how long? One hour, even two of traveling and walking. Go to the left, and that road will take you to Turda, the guard had said. We were so happy that we got out of the forest. Running, running, we’re still running. We were still surrounded by the forest, and then finally we reached the road on which cars were traveling. Then suddenly! we heard a noise! “What are we hearing?” We stop, stop and we listen. We heard a truck, a car, growling like a bear. We stay still. We look behind us. Hoopla! We see the glow of a distant car light, the car light as it gets closer grows, fans out, the light surrounds the car, you know how car lights shine as they drive by on the roads. “What should we do?” “Let’s stand here! We hold hands!” I was in the middle, this one here, and the other one on the other side. And I say, “We don’t move from the middle of the road,” I say, “we don’t move! We stay here in the middle of the road. He won’t dare run us over!” I said. But the car was still far away, still had some distance to travel. We stand there, holding hands and the car comes. When the driver notices us, he starts to honk. Honk! Honk! Honk! kept on honking, blowing the horn... We don’t budge. He comes to about three, four-meter distance from us. He breaks, puts his head out of the window, “Why are you stopping traffic? Get off the road!” “Sir!” [Sugary.] “Don’t be upset at us. Look, we are refugees. We ran from Hungary and we don’t know where to go. Please be so kind and take us in your car,” I told him. “We’ll pay you.” But we didn’t have a penny. “Be so kind as to take us to Turda, don’t leave us here!” The car was filled with lumberjacks. “Alright,” the driver says, “Get in!” and we climb in the car. The driver says to the lumberjacks, “Look here, these boys just ran away from Hungary. Make some space for them.” The carriage was absolutely full. Well, the driver didn’t ask us about money. But I told him, “Mister driver, please don’t be upset, but we don’t really have money to give you, because the man who took us across the border took it all. We didn’t even have enough to give him as much as he asked.” “That’s alright, no trouble,” says the driver. We thought we could tell him, for now we figured he wouldn’t throw us out of the car, just because we didn’t have money. [E.V.laughs.] Then we hear a voice, from the middle of the car. “You there! Give me your cap!” My cap?! “Give me your cap.” Look at this, this guy is taking my cap away! “What’s the trouble, man?” He comes close to me, “Give me your cap!” So I give it. You’d give him even the clothing on your back, so he wouldn’t throw you out, so he wouldn’t harm you, you know. He tells the other men, “Brothers, everyone, put in this cap as much as you can! Help these children out!” Everybody put as much as they had, poor men, and he gave me back my cap filled with money. “Here’s your cap. I don’t know how much is in there,” he said. A man with a kind heart. And he says, “Put it in your pockets. You’ll need money on your journey.” Alright, then we go on, we arrive in Turda, we get off. The driver says, “You wait here!” to us. So we wait. I thought, This guy wants the money the lumberjacks gave us! you know, for one always thinks of the worst. * The workers scattered to their homes. We stayed behind with the driver. We were waiting. He was watching. And he saw a policeman and he called over to him. Now we weren’t afraid of the policeman, because we were refugees, you know, and we knew he wouldn’t harm us. . So the driver calls the policeman. “Look,” he says, “these boys, I brought them here, because they crossed the border at Someşu Rece River. Take them to the refugee office and introduce them there.” He also was a kindhearted man. And the policeman helped us. Arriving there it was like nowhere else: heat, food, everything was taken care of, brother! Well, we had to tell them our story, of course. They took down our statement, as to why we ran away, why we didn’t stay in our village under the Hungarian occupation, you know, and they filled in all kinds of forms. Well, we told them everything we knew, the way it was. You couldn’t lie. So we ate well, everything squared away. We weren’t dirty anymore, for we cleaned ourselves at the border checkpoint. They gave us beds and we slept. In the morning, we were many people there, about 20, and they asked each of us, “Where do you want to go?” “Where do you want to go?” We said we wanted to go to Bucharest. Some said they’d go to Braşov, others that they’d go to such and such towns. Turda was just the office where all refugees came to, but from there they went on their way. Alright, all this came to pass. They gave us some pocket money. So we go to town shop for a few things. We weren’t hungry, since they fed us. And walking on the street in Turda, we suddenly see, dear brother, an officer, a lieutenant, “Hey, children! Hey, wait a minute!” He stops us. “Where are you from?” “Well, we’re refugees from Cluj County.” He says, “Are you from Sânmihaiu Almaşului?” I say, “Yes, from there,” to the lieutenant. Do you know who he was? He was the son of Puţu, the lawyer, who lived in Măgheruţa, where the Crişens live now, that’s where he lived. And he had only one child, this lawyer, who went to officer school. He didn’t know us in person, for we were children. “Do you know me?” he says. I tell him, “I know you somehow, but I don’t know from where.” “I’m the son of Puţu, the son of Ionaş, son of Puţu.” “Oooo,” I say, “you used to live on that little lane.” “That’s so,” he says. “But tell me, have you seen my father lately?” “Yes, even now in the autumn, he came to pick potatoes on his land. Your father dug out his potatoes.” “Well,” he says, “tell him when you go home that you met me.” “Alright!” “But come with me,” he says. He takes us to a restaurant, he orders soup for each of us and a juice. He orders the main course. We ate, what? Meat, what else, meat and potatoes. He ate too. Then he tells us, “Look, even if you don’t go back, but you send them a letter, tell him that we met.” “Sure. Sure. Sure.” “Tell him that I’m well.” “Alright, Mister Lieutenant.” We made our farewells and all this came to pass. Then comes the day when we go to the refugee office, and we get on the train. Destination: Bucharest.
Well, here you have it: If you’d like to throw a bit of money my way to keep my endeavors going, and also enable me to spread the money to my various causes, preservation of oral history being one of them, I’d be grateful.
Și
merem în sus, merem, merem. Tăt ne uitam, nu să vedea noaptea pân pădure. “Mă,”
zâc cătă ei, “unde ne tăt depărtăm? Io mă cobor în pârâu, să vedem poate putem
trece oarecumva.” Și ce fac? Mă prind de niște lemnuță de-aste ce o fost
crescută p-acolo. Și mă cobor în pârâu. Da pârâu adânc. Am făcut 2 metri și
ceva acolo în pârâu, zâc cătă ei, “Mă, no, haidați și vă scoborâți și voi.” No,
și ne scoborâm tus tri, ne scoborâm în pârâu. Zâc, “Mă, ajutațâ-mă, cumva.”
Șopteam că ne gâneam să nu ne audă grănicerii că ne și pușcă. Și, ajung acole
la dunga pârâului și mă ieu și mă ajută ei, să mă rădic on pic pă pârâu în sus.
No, mă arădic. Și după ce m-am arădicat pă pârâu în
sus, am ajuns pă răzor. Acolo, mă pun pă burta. Da io zâc, “Hai tu amu.” Și-i dau mâna
lu ălalalt, să-l ajut să s-arădice și să-l scot afară. No, amu
o rămas cel mai mic. No, întinde-te, la el, să-l ajutam și pă el. Și
am trecut pârâu...
Când am ajuns, ne luăm în jos la fugă. Dăi, dăi, dăi, să vedem lompa, care ni-o
arătat. O-am și văzut. Ajungem la gard, cum ne-o
spus el. “Ajungeți în România.” După ce am ajuns acolo,
dragă, merem, ajungem în drum, cum ne-o explicat. O luăm în
dreapta, și pă urmă? Acolo-i pichetu, acolo stau grănicerii noști.
Pune-mi on pic de apă și mie.
Și ajunjem, bine o grăit. [Bea apă.]
De ce vă uitați la mine, domnișoară? E.V.: Pai, nu știu, dacă n-ați obosit. Nu știu. T.B.: Și
vine un grănicer. Când ne-o văzut, “Bă!” ne-o somat, “Stai!” Mă, ne-am spăriet.
Stăm în loc. “Pi, de unde ați vinit?” “Am trecut granița”. “Pă unde?”
“Ia, p-p-aci.” “No, bine, să spuneți că io v-am găsât.” E.V.: Cum adică? T.B.: Că el ne-o
prins și ne-o dus acolo la pichet. Bine.
Ne ie el și ne duce la pichet. Acolo, o sală mare. Era o sobă
din butoi, de-asta mare, de două sute de litere, și bănci, pă de lături, și era
vo cinci, șasă paturi. Cân ne băgăm acolo, era on ofițer, și-on plutonier.
“Bună sara.” “Sara bună.” Amu, noi veseli. Plini de
noroi, cum ne-am tăvălit acolo. Hainele ce le-am avut cele mai faine, ce le-am
avut acasă, tăte pline de noroi. Ne băgăm acolo. “Ocupați loc. Dezbrăcați-vă,” ăia. Ne
dezbrăcăm, pantalonii, tăt, tăt, tăt, să mă iertați. Numa-n cămeșe am rămas.
Și-api, no, grănicerii ceia, ni li-o luat și ni li-o curățat, ni li-o aranjat.
Ni li-o pus lângă scaun să să usuce. Și ne-o dat de mâncare conserve.
Și, am declarat la ii, cum am trecut, cum o fost, tăt, tăt, tăt.
Bine, trece asta, vine zua. Când îi zua, zâce locotenentul ăla, “Mă, voi mereți
acuma în Turda.” Acolo era birou refugiaților, în Turda. Tăți refugiații acolo
mereau. Și de-acolo erai repartizat în țară, unde ai vrut să meri. Și, “Uite,”
zâce, “io trimit un grănicer cu voi să vă ducă până la un drum. Să vă țâneți de
el.” Și merem cu grăniceru, și ne duce pân pădure. Era niște brazi nalți. Și ne
duce până la un drum. Drumu ăla mergea până la un drum național, de-aista unde
umblă mașini. Zâce ăla cătă noi, “Uită până aicea v-am adus. N-o luați nici în
stânga nici în dreapta, mereți tăt pă drumu aista. De p-aista ajunjeți pă un
drum, unde să vă culeagă mașini.” Ne luăm, că vine sara. S-o
întunecat. În pădure mare, de nu vedei sorele, numa linia ceia unde era drumu
ăla. În dreapta, în stânga, numa întuneric. “Măi, ce să facem
măi?” Ne luăm la fugă. Tăt fujind, dăi, dăi, dăi. On întuneric. Și ajunjem la
drumu respectiv. Da după cât? După două oră de călătorie, de marș. Și ajunjem
în drumu ăla. No, ni-o părut bine c-am ieșit din pădure. Și vinim, tăt fujind,
fujind, tăt fujem. Am ajuns la drumu ăla ce umblă mașini. Da când deodată! Numa am auzât zgomot. “Mă, ce s-aude, mă?” Stăm, stăm
și-ascultăm. Am
auzât on camion, murăind. Stăm în loc. Ne uităm în spatele nost.
“Hopa!” Am văzut și niște zare de mașină, știi, lumina de mașină, cum trece la
drumuri. “Măi, ce acuma?” “Mă, ne prindem de mână,” io eram
în mijloc, aista dincoace, aista dincolo. Și io zâc, “No merem dinaintea
mașinii,” io zâc, “no merem, stăm acole, că nu ne-a călca el,” am zâs. Și stăm
și așteptăm. Da mașina o mai avut încă de vinit. Și ne țânem de mână unu cu
celălalt și vine mașina. Când ne-o obsărvat șoferiu, o început a claxona. Dăi,
dăi, dăi, tăt claxona. Noi nu ne-am mișcat din drum, de-acole, nu ne-am dus. Și
o vinit la distanță de tri, patru metri de noi. O oprit mașina. Și șoferiu o
scos capu pă ușa lui. “Mă, di ce opriţi circulația? Mereți din fața mașinii!”
el. [Mieros] “Domnule, nu te supăra,
uită, suntem refugiați. Am fugit din Ungaria și nu știm unde să merem. Fă bine
și ie-ne în mașină,” am zâs cătă el, “că-ți plătim!” N-am mai avut nici on leu.
“Fă bine și ne du până-n Turda, nu ne lăsa!” Și ce zâci că în mașină?
Muncitori, care lucra la pădure, era plin de muncitori. Și ăla n-o mai zâs
nimica, șoferiu. “No,” zâce, “hai suiți sus!” Și ne suim. Zâce șoferiu, “No,” zâce cătă muncitori ei, “măi, ia uită, baieții aștia i-acuma o fujit din
Ungaria. Strâmtorațâ-vă.” O fost, aglomerată mașina. Și ne urcăm în mașină. No,
șoferiu nu ne-o întrebat de bani. Da io am zâs cătă el, “Domnu șofer, nu te
supăra,” io zâc, “amu ne duci, da n-avem bani să-ți dăm, că ni-o luat banii ăla
ce ne-o trecut granița, tăți banii ni-o luat, că numa așe o vrut să ne treacă.”
“No,” zâce, “nu-i nici on bai,” șoferiu. Că amu am gănit noi să-i spunem, ca
tăt nu ne țâpa din motor, ee, că n-avem bani. [E.V. râde.]
Numa am auzât o voce, de la mijlocu motorului, știi, “Măi, tu ăla!” cătă mine.
“Dă șapca ta încoace!” Căciula, “Dă căciula încoce.” Mă, ni măi, că aista-mi ie
șapca. “Da ce supărare, mă?” “Dă căciula!” Și io dau, și hainele de pă mine îi
dădei, ca să nu te țâpe jos, să nu-ți facă rău, știi. Și numa, zâce cătă ăia,
“Mă fraților, fiecare puneți în căciula asta cât aveți, să-i ajutăm pă copii
iștia.” O pus în căciula fiecare, bani, care cât o avut săracii, și-mi dă
căciula, el, cu bani. “Bă, ia căciula, nu știu cât s-o strâns.” Om cu suflet
ăla. “Ia ci ni,” zâce, “vă dau, luați banii și vi-i băgați în
buzunar, să aveți pă unde-ți mere.”
Bine, ajunjem în Turda. Ne dă jos. Acolo unde ne dăm jos, șoferiu ăla, “Voi să
stați aci!”cătă noi. Stăm acole.“Mă, ăsta ne ia banii,” m-am gândit, știi, ca
omu tăt la rău. “Mă, ăsta ne ie banii.”
*
Muncitorii s-o împrăștiet fiecare la casa lor. Și rămânem cu șoferiu. Și stăm
acole. Pă urmă, el o o urmărit. Și o văzut acolo un polițer și o chemat pă
polițeriu ăla, șoferiu, la el. Amu nu ne-o fost frică de polițer, că am fost
refugiați, știi și-am știut că nu ne face nimica. Și-o chemat pe polițer, “Mă,”
zâce, “uită, băieții ăștia i-am adus, că o trecut granița pe la Someșu Rece.
Ie-i și îi du la birou refugiaților și-i prezintă acolo.” O zâs șoferiu.
Am văzut că-i tăt om cu suflet. Și ne-o dus acolo. Cetili, când am ajuns, căldură, mâncare, pregătit.
Aranjament, frate! No, mâncare caldă, treburi. Să-i povestim, ne-o luat
declarații, că di ce ne-am dus, di ce n-am stat aicea la unguri, știi. No, am spus tăt ce am știut,
cum o fost. N-ai putut minți. No, am mâncat bine, tăt în regulă.
Murdari nu mai eram, că ne-am curățat la pichet. Ne-o dat pături și ne-am
culcat. Dimineața, o fost mulți, vo 20, ne-o întrebat pă fiecare, “Unde vreți
să mereți? Unde vreți să mereți?” Noi am zâs că vrem să merem la București.
Alții că mărg la Brașov, alții că mărg în cutare, în cutare.
No bine, o trecut asta, și vine zua. Și ne ducem în oraș, să merem amu să
numărăm banii și să ne cumpărăm câte oareceva de p-acolo, no. Da nu eram
flămânzi, că ne-o dat de mâncare. Și mărgând, numa vedem frate, că un ofițer,
locotinent, mărgând pă stradă în Turda, “Mă copii, mă, stați în loc.” Ne-o
oprit în loc.“Di unde sunteți de loc?” “Pi i-acuma ne-am refugiat din județu
Cluj.” “Bă,” zâce, “voi sunteți din Sânmihaiu Almașului?” Io zâc, “Da,
de-acolo,” cătă locotinentul ăla. Mă, cine o fost? Aista a lu Puțului, advocatu
ista, ce o stat și pă Magheruța, unde stă și Crișenii, acolo stăte el. Și ăla o
avut un sângur copil. Pă ista. Și o făcut școala de ofițer. Și ăsta o fost
acasă și nu ne-cunoscut el în persoana, că eram copii, de 17 ani. “Mă,” zâce,
“voi mă cunoașteți pă mine?” Și io zâc, “Te cunosc din câtva, da nu știu di
unde.” “Io-s ăsta a lui Puțului, a lu Ionașu a Puțului.” “Oooo,” zâc, “acolo ai
stat pă ulicioara ceia.” “Da măi,” zâce. “Măi, cu tata meu, întâlnitu-v-ați?”
“Da, chiar acuma, în toamnă, l-am întâlnit, c-o fo la cartofi aicea, pă un
pământ. Și o fo de-o săpat cartofi,” tată-so. Da tată-so, nu știe el, de noi.
“No,” zâce, “să-i spuneți când mereți la el că v-ați întâlnit cu mine,” el.
“Bine!” “Da haidăți cu mine,” el. Și ne-o dus la restaorant, ne-o comandat
câte-o ciorbă, câte-on suc. Mâncăm. Ne comandat feliu doi. Carne și cartofi,
asta o fost. Și mânca. Și el cătă noi, “Mă,” zâce, “dacă voi nu mai mereți să-i
spuneți nimica, și trimiteți carte, să-i spuneți ca v-ați întâlnit cu mine.”
“Da, da, da.” “Scrisoare, și că fac bine”. “Bine, domnu locotinent.” Și ne-am
despărțit de cătă el.
Bine, ne-am despărțât, ne-am despărțât, o trecut astea. Vine vremea, ne ducem
la pichet, merem, ne suim pă tren.
Direcția București.
Anunţ: Dacă doriţi să daţi un pic de bani ca să pot să continui eforturile mele în ritmul actual, şi de asemenea, să pot să răspândesc banii diferitelor mele cauze sociale, aş fi foarte recunoscătoare. De asemenea, donaţii în natură sunt foarte apreciate. În natură însemnînd consiliere profesională, transcriere cu diacritice, redactare, contribuţii la organizare de evenimente, donaţie de spaţiu, de publicitate, de imprimare de materiale publicitare, de călătorie [Adaugă produse excedentare proprii aici]. Mulţumesc familiei mele pentru sprijinul lor constant. New York 27 mai 2013
Narrative based on an interview of Teodor Bodea
In
the Spring of 2009, during one of my field trips to Transylvania, my old
homeland, I interviewed people that came my way about their lives. One of them
was Mr. Teodor Bodea. I found him during a short stay in the village of
Sînmihaiul Almaşului, by word of mouth. He was known for his willingness to
talk about his war experiences. We had several meetings, both that year and in
the Summer of 2010, and yes, dear Mr. Bodea could talk anyone under the table. His
exquisite recounting, vivid memory of what happened and his own emotions, shook
me and stayed in my heart. I share his words because he is an inspiration to
me, and hope he will be for others. In this age of pervasive corruption,
cynicism and disloyalty, I found his integrity, dedication to hard work, and
responsibility to his family, nurturing and bolstering. Part One: Youth: Before and during World War II
Mr. Bodea: First came Transylvania’s occupation. Hitler, or I don’t know who
took it.
E.V: How
old were you then?
Mr. B.: I was 17 years old, a
mere child.
Hardship fell upon us, in those times. Our life was the life of poor people. I
was left without a father when I was 12 years old, I was the oldest. I had two
brothers behind me. Such a weight fell on me and my mother.
E.V: What happened when the Hungarians came?
Mr. B.: When the Hungarians
came, wonders happened, big hardships happened. Their army invaded up to the Crucile Domnului/Lord’s Crosses. They
marched through here and went towards Apahida, through those hills and valleys
and woods. They scorched the land, they ravaged it, they destroyed and killed people. Hungarians occupied Transylvania,
they came over here, they tortured people. In Trăsnea, poor people, a disaster,
they tied them up to the cannons, dragged them along the Dragu Valley, and
there on the Dragu Valley made their life bitter and sorrowful, tortured them,
and then shot them.
During that time what else happened?
Things that pained and hurt us, you know.
A poor student came, may God forgive him, I see him even now. The poor man was
carrying a knapsack. Inside he had his books, and sugar, a kilogram of sugar.
He was from a village nearby. The poor youth was walking by to go home, but the
Hungarian army stopped him and checked him and turned him back to the edge of
the village, on a road that went to the mill. There was a mill down there. They
took the poor student, and there by some willow trees they shot him, killed
him. They were inhuman. You couldn’t see eye to eye with them. They were
Hungarians. We were frightened by them. Then...
Well, they shot him; they left him there by the mill and threw sugar on him.
They searched his knapsack.
When we saw this, we got scared and ran away, we went home. There was a well
and a small barn in our yard, and we hid in the barn.
The Hungarians kept on coming. The army, they’d come and pass through our
village. So me and my neighbors, all were my age, only one neighbor was older,
we hid in the barn. The Hungarians were riding bicycles and they settled camp
in my garden, in the back of the garden, there was a willow fence. They had
bicycles, it was covered with bicycles, full of bicycles.
E.V: Bicycles?! They went to war on
bicycles?!
Mr. B.: Yes. Japanese too
conquered Asia on bicycles. Germans used bicycles during the war.
Then the Hungarians came closer. We got scared.
They came, they got hold of me, and took me to the well in our yard, and they
pulled out water with the bucket and gave me to drink. They made sure the well
was not poisoned.
E.V: Clever!
Mr. B.: I drank, of course. I
had to drink. Then they let us go, they didn’t need us for anything else, they
were just passing through our village. We were afraid of them, we hid away, but
they went ahead and we, like children, went to the main street to watch them
march. They kept on walking, day, night, they kept on walking, today, tomorrow,
today, tomorrow, kept on walking through.
One day, we saw a wagon full of Hungarians coming, from there—what’s the name
of the Hungarian village, Tetiş, Huedin, no, Cuzăplac, Almaş? No. No, Babdiu.
Babdiu, yes. And a wagon came with about six local Hungarians all dressed up.
They wanted to form a coalition with the Hungarian army. They heard that the
Hungarian army was coming here, and they waited for them with love, you know,
and they came here to meet them, their dear brothers, you know, like any man
would do. Oh, they came here with bottles of plum brandy and wine, oh, dear.
When they showed up, we hid when they showed up. They were coming and we heard
them shouting, Ide, ide, Magyarország!
Ide, ide Magyarország!/Hoho, hoho Hungary! Ide, ide Magyarország! Ide, ide Magyar!
Then the soldiers turned around and charged towards the wagon. When the
soldiers came closer, one of the locals yelled more, Ide, ide, Magyarország! Ide, ide Magyar!/Hoho, hoho Hungary! That’s
how he shouted. And their leader started speaking in Hungarian to the
commander. But what did the army commander do? He took out his revolver and
shot him. The Hungarian fell down.
E.V: They were suspicious.
Mr. B.: These Hungarian
soldiers were fearful. The wagon went to the commander who was riding a horse.
They were local Hungarians and they spoke Hungarian to them. And the commander
shot their leader and killed him and he dropped down. Then the army, the
soldiers cocked their guns, because they heard gunshots. The army was scared
too! Who shot?! Their commander shot and they saw the dead man in the dust.
The army went by, and the other guys turned the wagon around and ran away.
Ide, ide Magyarország, ide!/Hoho, hoho Hungary! The one that shouted, they
shot him and he was left there, because they were afraid. The rest of the army
came by and they didn’t know who shot him.
Then our villagers took the dead man, pulled him off from the middle of the
road where he was shot. It was all blood.
They dragged him to a garden. The army marched further on. They minded
their own business.
E.V: Would they be stealing food
from the villagers?
Mr. B.: They didn’t take
anything from the people, no, no, only the Russians when they came, the
Russians took. We’ll get to that story too.
So then, this all came to pass.
They wanted to bring a new mayor from Hungary, but in the end, they left our
own mayor. He could speak Hungarian and he really took care of the villagers.
We were lucky with him. He was a man that was on the poor people’s side; he
didn’t lean towards the rich, this Kendea. When they came to the village hall, “Ez az biró!/I’m the mayor!” he said. So they let him continue
being our mayor.
There was a militia, a gendarmerie station here.
Where was I?
E.V: The army came…
Mr. B.: Oh, yes, the army
went by and we stayed here, well, we lived... We had wood from the forest, you
know? In that time, we felled trees. We stole wood from the forest. Some needed
to make a chicken coop, or a pigsty. But when the Hungarians came here, what
did they do? They gathered all the lumber from the people. I had a pile of wood
here in the yard; I gathered them up like everybody else in the village. You
know how we got by in the past, that’s the way we got by, that’s the way it
went... But when the Hungarians arrived, they stole the lumber. They
confiscated mine and gathered all the lumber in one place. Well, people hid
some of it, some was left for us too, poor people, since we had Kendea, our
kind mayor.
They took the lumber to Hungary, to Budapest. We had huge forests, huge
forests. They made lumberyards here, but they’d ship it all away.
The Hungarians did much damage. A disaster. They cut out the forests, since now
they owned the forests, they weren’t ours anymore.
This was the situation.
They cut that wood into railroad ties and shipped it to Hungary.
We stayed here.
But in the end our village people went away too.
They ran to Romania.
*
E.V: Why? Why did they run to Romania? Out of
patriotism?
Mr. B.: Out of pride, out of
poverty. Yes, out of poverty. We were three brothers and my mother. We had a
gentleman, a professor, who was friends with my father during election time,
you know. He campaigned for Iuliu Maniu and my father was on Iuliu Maniu’s
side. They’d come here with propaganda. It was Maniu’s party, yes, the National
Peasant Party.
And this professor was friends with this gentleman from Bucharest, Popov, may
God forgive his soul, he was a good friend of my father. My father made a large
gate here on the road, where the pay phone is, and he waited for Maniu and his
followers to come, and they went around villages campaigning.
But this all came to pass and my poor father got sick and died of lung fever,
pneumonia, he died, in ‘35 he died. I was left with my mother and my small
brothers. I was 12 years old when he died, the oldest. When my father was
alive, we had a good life, because he was a good craftsman. He had his own
blacksmith shop.
We lived well, everything was good, but after my father died, the good life
left us. We didn’t have anything. We could barely make ends meet.
Then the Hungarians invaded Transylvania, so our village was in Hungary now.
Then mother left with the two kids. She went to Bucharest, to Romania, away
from here. There was a law then saying anyone who wanted to move south to
Romania was free to go. And mother talked to my father’s friend, that
professor. So the professor spoke with that Popov who encouraged her to go to
Romania, because Transylvania was occupied by Hungarians. And my mother let me
stay in the village. I had only a small cottage. I stayed here by myself. And
mother and her two kids went to that gentleman’s house, for he said she should
come and he’d take care of them. She went to that mister Popov in Bucharest. He
was a member of parliament, he was well-off and powerful. He placed her with
his daughter, as a maidservant. He took care of her. He hired my brother,
Gligor, to Malaxa, sent him to study at the electrician school, there at
Malaxa.
E.V: Malaxa? Isn’t that a liqueur?
Mr. B.: Oh, no, dear. That’s
Metaxa. Malaxa was a factory. A large, large factory in the ‘30s at the height
of capitalism. Then in ‘47 it was nationalized.
This gentleman, Popov, was some kind of a boss. He was with the administration,
with propaganda, [A rooster crows.]
with politics, he was at Malaxa. He had a fine thing going on. I stayed here in
the village, in ’41, yes, and what I did was, we got together with Aurel, son
of Martin, and with Victor who was a mechanic. And we all bought a threshing
machine. Aurel was a mechanic; he took care of all the machines. We got a
little threshing machine. The kind they had then with a sieve, well, rather
primitive. We started threshing during the time of the Hungarians, the first
crop under the Hungarians.
But I didn’t write down the amount of wheat according to the law. There were
some bookkeeping, papers, records. I was young, you know, nobody trained me,
instructed me. Then an inspection came from Budapest, to check how we manage
the threshing, how we gather the crops. There was an ordinance that said that
those who had more than a ton of wheat, 1,000 kilograms, were to handover the
surplus. They were left with only a small quantity, just enough to scrape by.
Well, I wrote down only half of whatever they had. If they had 1,000 kilograms,
a ton of wheat, I wrote down that he had just 500, half a ton. So the
inspection came and they went to John the Adventist. And they checked on him.
They found a lot of wheat at John the Adventist. “Where did you get all this
wheat from? How much did you thresh? What did you do?” He told them everything.
He was the first one they inspected.
The inspectors from Budapest took me away.
They went to this villager, they went to the other villager, they went to yet
another villager… "Is everything in good order?" Nothing was in good
order. I didn’t write down the whole amount of wheat. I left the wheat to the
people.
But John the Adventist snitched on me. Well, he didn’t lie, since he was an
Adventist.
E.V: He was afraid he wouldn’t get
into Heaven.
Mr. B.: Yes, dear. So those
Hungarian gendarms came, fearsome with their large peacock feathers on their
hats, the Almighty Hungarian Justice archangels!
They were dangerous, dangerous, and they were greedy. So they found out I
hadn’t done the bookkeeping properly... Then they showed up at the mill, where
our thrasher was. That’s how far we got away with the thrashing machine, when
we tried to hide it. They confiscated it, and they caught me, dear brother, and
took me away.
I was shaking. Oh, those Hungarian gendarmes. I was scared, What should I do now, man? I couldn’t go
anywhere, I was under arrest. And they took me to the house where the notary
was. But I was lucky, because though the notary was Hungarian, he was a kind
man, he had a kind heart.
I was a young child of 17.
They took down my testimony. Everything, everything. I signed it. What can I
do? The Hungarians were now full of spite, hated my guts, were going to
persecute me because I was guilty according to their harsh Hungarian laws. I
was in luck with the mayor, with that Kendea, who took my side, because he used
to be friends with my father in the old days, you know. I was lucky that he
rescued me. They didn’t beat me; didn’t torture me; didn’t put me in jail. They
let me go free.
After that first arrest, I remained in the village. I was afraid. The
Hungarians knew now who I was and they were watching me.
But one day I suddenly got a summons from Budapest. I was ordered to show up in
front of the Supreme Court, or whatever they called it, the highest court in
Budapest, I should come to trial. When I got that, when I heard that I had to
show up in Budapest, I was afraid. Immediately, what did I think? I’ll run away to Romania. I won’t stay here
any longer. So I prepared myself, with two cousins. I told them, “Man, I
have to go to Romania. I received an order to go to Budapest. These guys will
arrest me, or who knows what they’ll do to me.” “Then I’ll come with you too!”
Aron, my cousin from Măgheruş, said, may God forgive him!
This cousin went to Mircea, another cousin of mine from Miluan. And together
they came quickly to my place. And, dear brother, we left one evening. We went
on the road towards Cluj.
*
So we were walking towards Cluj, to cross the border there. But where? I don’t
know. Just how I heard about it. So, we walk, and we walk, on foot, and when we
were near the Sâncrai Valley, as you turn towards Topa, through the Topa Hills,
a big car comes. It was midnight. We wave, we make signs to the driver. He
stops the car. He puts us in the back. “Where’re you going?” “To Cluj.” “Do you
have money?” “We do.” We had some coins in our pockets. Pengoes, Hungarian
money. And he took us to Cluj.
There were about four, five persons from our village going to Cluj. It’s no
need to say their names now. And when we arrive in Cluj, we get off... We gave each
a pengo, that’s all we gave that driver.
Now, we asked which way to go to Gilău. There was in Gilău a water mill that
turned wool clothing into felt. We were thinking how to get there and if
someone catches us what’s going to be our story. We planned to say that we were
going to the felt mill to pick up our clothing.
Then somebody showed us which way to go towards Gilău. We were three children
and anybody could tell that we were up to something, that we were trying to run
away.
We get out of Cluj, and as we leave it behind, we take the road to Gilău. We
walk, walk, walk.
E.V: Why did you go towards Gilău?
Mr. B.: To cross the border.
That’s where it was possible to cross. And then, a highlander comes with a
wagon pulled by two horses. We were looking scared at him. But he, may God
forgive him, for he was a kind and good hearted man, stops his wagon. “Hey,
where are you going?” he says to us. “We’re going to Gilău.” “Why are you going
there?” “Well, we go there to the felt mill, where they make clothing,” I say.
“To get some clothing from there.” Because now, dear Lord, it was the end of
November. But he says to us, “Why are you lying?” [E.V. laughs] “We aren’t lying!” “Come, on, get in the wagon!”
What if he just takes us in his wagon and dump us to the militia, the
gendarmerie station and they’ll arrest us. We didn’t know what kind of man he
was. Still we climb into the wagon. We were both frightened and cheerful. [E.V.
laughs. The rooster crows.] He
says to us, “Tell the truth! Where are you going?” Now, we had no choice but to
tell him. “Alright,” he says, “if you go there, I’ll look for a man to cross
you over.”
To hear that from him!
We go on, we arrive in Gilău, and we go to his place. He had a small homestead,
this poor man. He pushes us into a shed where he kept his sheep and he locks us
up in there.
You couldn’t get out of there, it was locked. The sheep were out
grazing, he kept them in that little shed only at night. Well, he kept us
hidden there. He didn’t come to see us. “What should we do?” But after awhile,
towards evening, he shows up. “Well,” he says, “do you have money?” “We have!”
“I’ll take you to a shepherd, by the edge of the village. From there the border
is very close. This man has crossed people over before. I’ll take you to this
man to take you across the border. But we have to wait a bit more.” He just
came to let us know.
Then we got out of the shed, because his sheep had to come in. We got out and
we sat there out of his way for a sliver of time. Later he comes and he takes us
over a hill to a house by the edge of the village. It’s a small house, with
only one room, the shepherd’s house. Dear Lord, this guy had only one pigsty,
with only one piglet in it, he was that poor. He had two, three kids in just
one room.
Our man goes and knocks on the window. The wife says, “Who’s that?” “Hey,” he
says, “it’s me! Where’s Pătru?” “In the village,” she says. “Look here,” he
says, “I brought him three kids.” This is what he says to her, I’ll never
forget that. We were children. I was the oldest, the other two were younger.
“So,” he says, “I brought him three children. Tell him, to get them over the
border.”
The wife says, “Why do you bring trouble and disgrace on him? The border guards
came here several times. They come by when they see our gas lamp on during
darkness, they look inside through the window,” she says. “You’ll get him in a
big pot of trouble. Jail will chew him up.”
But it was too late, we were already there.
“Woman,” he says, “say nothing.”
And what did she do? She got us in her house. There were three kids there. So
now, the woman didn’t have space to turn around, she had only one room. She got
us up in the attic of the house; she had a ladder behind the door. “Get up
there so when my man comes, and looks through the window, he won’t see you in
the house.”
We climb up to the attic. Well, in the attic, darkness... What could we do? We
stay there, frightened!
God, we stay, stay, stay. Well, it was hard to stay in there, down, flat on
your back. We were dressed in our best clothes.
Her husband comes. He was a little bit tipsy. “Man,” the wife says, “look,
so-and-so came. He brought three children to take them over the border.” “Oh,
fuck him,” this and that, he says. “Does he want to get me in prison?!” “Look
here,” she says, “I hid them in the attic,” she says. “You go and get them over
the border.”
So what could he do now? Alright. And he sat and sat. When all of a sudden, he
turns off the light bulb, I mean blew out the gas lamp, so that we could get
out of the attic without being seen through the window by the border patrol.
After we get out, he says, “You’re biting my head off! You’ll be the death of
me!” he says frightened. Really, was it like that? I don’t know. But he says,
“Look, do you have money?” “We have money!” “Well, if you want me to get you
across, you give me this sum of money. If not, get out of here and get on your
way, may God help you.”
Well, we were miserable, heavy-hearted. Phooey... tormented, miserable, what
should we do? “We have money!” I had the most money. The other ones, well, had
very little. We get out our money, but we didn’t have as much as he asked for.
I had a leather coat and a pullover made by a knitting machine. I told him,
“Sir, well,” I say, “we don’t have more. But I,” I tell him, I was the oldest,
I say, “I’ll give you this for the remainder of the cost. I’ll give you my
pullover made of lamb’s wool.” It was brand new, I got it for Christmas. I
said, “I’ll give you this, only help us, to get across the border.”
He was ready to take it.
But his wife, may God bless her, “You wouldn’t dare take their clothes off
their backs, man! Get out of my sight! You greedy rascal! Isn’t it enough that
they give you all the money they have? Can’t you see they’re poor? They gave
you all they had. If they don’t have more, what else do you want? To take off
clothing from these children?”
He didn’t say anything.
Well, after midnight, when the border guards didn’t patrol, he takes us, “Now,
follow me!” I go after him. Aron after me. Mircea, the smallest, poor kid, kept
on falling behind.
We follow him. Go. Go. Go. We arrive at a small clump of trees, and we hide in
it. He says, “Look, do you see that light? That’s the border checkpoint, that’s
Romania. May God help you.” Well, listen, my dear, he says, “That light belongs
to the check point, where the fugitives...” that is, those like us...
E.V: Immigrants.
Mr. B.: “That’s you,” he
says, “Look over there, you see that large stream.” It’s a deep stream. “Down
there,” he says, “there is a mill. That mill is enclosed on one side. Go to
your left, along the stream and the fence and you’ll get to Romania. But look,”
he says, “the stream is deep here. Go upstream and cross the water there. After
you cross the stream, you are in Romania. There are no Hungarians anymore. The
Hungarians are on this side of the stream, and on the other side the Romanians.
May God help you.”
I thank the volunteers that made this labor of love of mine happen: to Radu D. Iepure for organizing the trip and painstakingly transcribing the Romanian version, to Ioan Dumitru Andrei, the liason in the village, to Larry Levine, Eliott Crown, The Harlem Writers’ Circle and Len Vretholm for their help with all the detailed work the translating of this text entailed. The text was first performed live in English by Len Vretholm at the Ana Cristea Gallery, SoHo, New York, on April 15th, 2011. You can hear its recording archived at: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/ellaveresshow/2011/04/07/transylvanian-wwii-veteran and today, Thursday, April 25, 2013 at 3 p.m. its continuation at this link: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/ellaveresshow/2013/04/25/open-ended-april Well, here you have it: If you’d like to throw a bit of money my way to keep my endeavors going, and also enable me to spread the money to my various causes, preservation of oral history being one of them, I’d be grateful.
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