Knowing the
exact day of departure of the train from Bucharest
(April 12, 8:00 PM) and that of the arrival
next day in Belgrade (April 13, 12 Noon), and
being pressed by time, on Wednesday April 9, I sent
a telegram to my two (2) Yugoslavian friends
from the Belgrade Observatory informing them of my
imminent arrival and asking them to wait for me at
the Belgrade Railroad Station. (I gave no reason or
any other explanation as to why I was coming to
Belgrade, as my telegram message was very short, the
only thing stated was for them to wait for me at the
station.) In the meantime, at the Observatory, no
one knew what was happening as I was working every
day in a normal fashion. There was perhaps only one
hint that something was amiss and that was when I
returned all the books and magazines borrowed from
the Observatory's Library. It was indeed unusual for
a researcher to return all reading material back to
the Library, but fortunately for me the librarian
did not make anything out of it.
On another front, a major unresolved
problem that was still facing me was that aside
from the maximum 200 Yugoslavian dinars that I was
allowed to possess (which was officially exchanged
at the Romanian Bank), I had no other convertible
currency as Romanian currency was worthless
outside the country. My mother, while still in the
hospital, advised me to go and buy the most
expensive Romanian country art type presents (in
Romanian, we called them objects of "Artizanat")
such as hand made Romanian tablecloths, leather
boxes with stunningly beautiful engravings, etc.,
as well as some bottles of the Romanian most
famous liquor, similar to Vodka but made of prunes
and called "Tuica." The plan was to leave Romania
with only one suitcase (so as not to attract
attention), and fill it up with as many presents
as possible.
My last day in
Romania, Saturday April 12, 1969, on the surface
appeared to be an ordinary day. I went to work as
usual at the Observatory since in Romania, at that
time we had six (6) working days with only
Sunday off. Around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, I
swallowed a small piece of chalk which almost
immediately triggered a violent vomiting. This,
was staged to take place in view of my immediate
boss, Dr. Dinescu. Upon seeing the "scene",
he rushed immediately to assist me with a glass of
water. I told him that my stomach ulcer had flared
up again and probably this time, I may have to
stay home for some two weeks. He said that this
was not a problem, and he went immediately to
inform the Director of the Observatory, Prof. Dr.
Dramba (who, as you may recall from the story, was
the person that gave me that precious endorsement
in my visa application for Yugoslavia).
[My plan now was
brutally simple: I would have two (2) weeks
at my disposal to attempt reaching the Free World.
If those efforts failed within the prescribed
time, I would return to Romania and go back to
work as everybody from the Observatory knew that I
had been sick and staying home.] Before leaving the
premises, I left all my keys from the Observatory
in the top drawer of my desk. As I was leaving the
Observatory, I turned around for another look as
my emotions were running very high: on one hand, I
had hoped that this was the last time that I would
pass through here; on the other hand I was
genuinely sorry that this was the only way that
was available to me to reach The United States. As
I left the premises of the Observatory, I
recognized that, if successful with my escape, all
of my ties with the past would be cut off. In this
context, I found it quite amusing that the name of
the street of the Observatory was The Silver Knife
(in Romanian, Cutitul de Argint) and for
the last time, I smiled at this street's name as
if it was telling me something!
From the
Observatory I went straight back to see my dear
mother for the last time who was still in the
hospital. We stayed together for about 30 minutes.
At that time my mother was informed of my last
arrangements --that my father and perhaps my
sister would go with me to the Railroad Station
for the final goodbye. For the rest, we did not
talk too much. My mother was very, very quiet.
Apparently, there was nothing more to be said: I
had to follow my destiny as I saw it. I believe
that in the end we both cried without saying a
word.
It was now about
4 o'clock in the afternoon only hours away from my
departure. I went straight home where I saw my
sister. We did not talk as I went directly into my
room. My sister, who is five years younger, knew
nothing about my imminent departure or anything
else related to my plans. For her this was another
ordinary Saturday. Soon, my sister was letting me
know that she was going out, the usual dating
stuff. I looked at her all dressed up and asked
her to sit down. She said: "It better be quick, as
I don't want to be late." After I explained to her
what was about to transpire, she, stunned by the
news, said in despair: "What about me?,
What's going to happen to me? No matter
whether you succeed or not with your plan my life
is going to be ruined. The Police are going to be
all over us. Did you think about that?" I promised
her that if I reached America, I would do
everything that I could to bring her to the
States. "Is this a promise?" --she asked.
"Yes, it is" --I responded. [My sister eventually
was able to leave Romania to Israel on the
following year in 1970 during President Nixon's
visit to Romania --but that is another story!
Then, as promised, I helped my sister leave Israel
for Bologna, Italy. There, she met her future
husband an Israeli-born medical student.
Subsequently, they moved to the United States
residing in California where, with her husband
(a psychiatrist), have now four (4)
children.]
Shortly
afterwards my father arrived to accompany me to
the Railroad Station. I told my sister that if she
wanted to come with us she must make sure that no
melodramatic scenes of any sort were to take place
as we would be watched at the Station by dozens of
plain-clothes policemen of the infamous
"Securitate" (in rough English translation "The
Security Police"). All appearances, I told her,
must reflect that I am going for only a two week
trip. After she had agreed to this, we all three
went to the Station. I had on a nice dark gray
suit with a white shirt and a silk tie. Once in
the Station, I embraced my father and my sister
briefly and went into the train. After a brief
waiving at my window of the train, my father and
sister left the Station as agreed. I locked the
door of my sleeping compartment that contained two
parallel beds one above the other, a small table
which could be converted into a sink, and a small
closet. Everything was extremely clean and quite
nice.
As scheduled, at
8 o'clock in the evening the train left the
station and everything went smoothly. About an
hour later, I heard a soft knock on my door.
Opening the door, I saw the train conductor,
checking for the tickets. Extremely apologetic,
asking me several times whether it was all right
to check my tickets now, he entered most timidly
into my compartment after I had assured him that
this was no bother at all for me. [The train
conductor indeed had every reason to be timid and
extra courteous as he would not know who I was. To
understand the importance of this, in Romania, at
that time, anybody who got to travel to Yugoslavia
would have been a person of extreme importance due
to the difficulties in obtaining such a visa.
Secondly, in my case, not only did I have a
first-class ticket but because I had reserved the
entire compartment, I had paid twice the
first-class ticket for the two existing beds. The
train conductor therefore could not dare taking a
chance in doing anything that may have upset me
fearing that through my contacts he could have
lost his job. Thus, he extended to me every
imaginable courtesy.] After checking summarily my tickets,
the train conductor left my compartment most
gently wishing me a good night and apologizing
again for his disturbance. I was relieved to see
that everything went so well. It was about time to
go to sleep and bring to an end one of the longest
and most memorable days of my entire life.
