It was the
morning of my last day in Yugoslavia --April 18, 1969.
Over my usual breakfast (hot water with sugar!), I
pondered on the tactical moves that were needed with
respect to a gracious exit from here. After cleaning my
apartment as much as I could, around noon time I went to
see my Yugoslavian friend informing him that after all,
my wish got materialized as I was leaving tonight for
Graz to see over the weekend my distant relative. He was
surprised hearing all this as he said: "How are you
going? We just went yesterday to the Embassy and they
told you that you cannot go!" To this, I answered simply
that he should not worry about this as I was able to
arrange all that was needed with the Embassy. Ignoring my
friend's facial expression of not believing my story, I
went too see my other friend to bring him the news. He
was flabbergasted by the news insisting that my other
friend and I come that evening for supper. Thanking him
very much for the offer, I asked him if he could arrange
for me to see the Director of the Observatory in the
afternoon. He responded that he would let me know
shortly.
Around 3 o'clock in
the afternoon I was able to see the Director. Thanking
him for the hospitality that I had received, I continued
by saying that I would be going for three (3) days to see
a distant relative in Graz. Rather amused by my statement
he said:
"How
interesting! Some six months ago a Russian
astronomer was here who said exactly the same
thing, word by word. And you know what? --he never
returned!"
"My
goodness!," I responded, "How such a thing was
possible? It is incredible that people could do
such a thing!"
With a subtle
smile, the Director shook my hand wishing me a good trip.
Leaving his office, I was determined to ignore all facial
expressions of disbelief in my story. I was like a horse
wearing blinders seeing only the road ahead that needed
to be traveled.
We had an early supper
around 5 PM. My friends were teasing me about my supposed
3-day trip, one asking me if I was taking all my luggage
in view that I would be gone for only three days. Playing
my game of not understanding the question, I was
unshakable from my script! The host friend gave me as a
present a beautiful swiss army knife and a nice pair of
cufflinks. We all went in my host friend's car to the
Station. After a brief goodbye and an embrace my friends
left. It was about 7 o'clock in the evening. A few
minutes later my train pulled into the station. I looked
and looked at this train as if being mesmerized by its
presence.
After receiving
some help in finding my compartment, I entered into it
being the first passenger there. The compartment was
composed of two parallel wooden benches. My seat was in
the coner near the door of the compartment and faced the
direction of motion of the train. Soon after my arrival
the compartment became filled. All were Yugoslavian
Gypsies. They wore many jewelry and rings with heavy
perfumes and greasy hair. I tried to be friendly with
them and engaged them in small talk in Russian. I learned
that they went almost every week to Austria to buy small
radio-transistors and sold them back home in Yugoslavia.
Asking them if they knew when the train would reach the
border with Austria, they let me know that that time
would be 7:30 next morning. I asked if they were positive
about the time, and they seemed very sure. During the
evening hours I also had a chance to inquire from other
people, including the ticket conductor, about the
expected time that the train would arrive at the border.
All the answers pointed to 7:30 AM. That was the time
thus that I had to face my destiny.
Before I left
Romania, I asked my father (a physician) what nerve
calming tablets I could take with me on my trip to calm
me down in a tense situation. He recommended a Romanian
tablet called Carbaxin. I was told that this
Carbaxin when taken will reach the peak of its
performance in 30 minutes.
It was 7 o'clock in
the morning of Saturday April 19, 1969 and I was
preparing myself for the most important and dramatic hour
of my entire life. The emotions began to engulf me slowly
but surely. I took two tablets of that Romanian Carbaxin
and I was hoping that they would calm me down. In about
20 minutes I felt considerably better and much more
relaxed. I was sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for
my destiny!
It
was 7:35 AM and the train stopped moving. Looking out the
window, I saw that we were at the border. It was a plain
strip of land, not very wide, and I could see on our side
the Yugoslavian Flag and on the other side the Austrian
Flag. A few minutes later I heard a voice coming towards
me louder and louder: Passport Check ... Passport Check!
Finally a young, skinny man in uniform in his early
twenties approached our Compartment asking to see our
passports. He took in an orderly fashion the passport of
each Gypsy and placed a stamp with the date of the day:
April 19, 1969. As he was doing this, I was
pondering how close I was to the free world and now, in a
matter of seconds, that I would be told that I did not
have a valid passport to visit Austria and thus that I
would have to return back to Belgrade. As I was
entertaining these thoughts, it was my turn and I handed
him my passport.
He in a most gentle
way took my passport and looked immediately straight into
my eyes. He opened the passport looked at my picture and
then again looked straight into my eyes. I was expecting
any second now to hear something like this: "Hey you
idiot, you cannot go further as you don't have a valid
passport. Take your suitcase as you need to return back."
But none of this happened. He opened in a deliberate slow
motion the second page of my passport, which was empty,
and then again looked straight into my eyes. Then he
continued with this routine 24 times!: each time he
opened an empty page of my passport he looked straight
into my eyes. He was now at the last page of my passport:
he again looked as before straight into my eyes, closed
the passport, handed the passport back to me and as he
was looking one final time into my eyes said "Thank You"
and he left. We were still sitting at the border. About
20 more minutes passed and I heard a different voice
shouting: Passport Check ... Passport Check! I was
convinced that the young Yugoslavian border official
contacted his supervisor informing him that I had an
invalid passport for traveling to Austria, and now that
supervisor was here to get me.
As I was
entertaining those somber thoughts sitting at the edge of
my seat, here I was again, facing a new Yugoslavian
border immigration official. The new man was chubby, in
his fifties, with a stunning moustache rolled at the ends
in a spectacular way. He summarily looked at the
passports of the Gypsies before he asked for my passport.
As I handed him my passport, he looked straight into my
eyes. Then in a similar fashion as that of the young
border offical, he opened methodically each and every
page of my passport, each time looking straight into my
eyes. At the end of his passport examination, he looked
one more time straight into my eyes. Then, he handed over
my passport, said "Thank You" to me and he left. I did
not know what to make of all this much less the fact that
neither of the two border officials had placed any stamp
into my passport. The train was still sitting without
moving on the Yugoslavian side. To cross the border into
Austria, which you could see from the train window, would
probably required no more than 30 seconds. I was so close
and yet so far from the free world. As I was thinking
about all this, the train began moving but after only 10
seconds the train stopped again! My heart almost stopped
beating as well.
I was now positive
that the train stopped again so that the Yugoslavian
Police could embark the train and either arrest me or at
the very least remove me from the train. Excruciating
minutes followed while I pondered over my fate. After a
few more minutes of waiting, I heard a man's voice coming
louder and louder from the train's corridor: Customs
inspection!, Customs inspection! When the customs
official entered into our compartment he checked rather
meticulously some of the Gypsies luggage but, to my
surprise, he did not check mine. When I asked him why he
was not checking my luggage he, with a nice smile on his
face, stated they did not have time to check everyone's
luggage and that these checks were done on a random
basis. After that, to my enormous relief, he left and
went to the next compartment for checking luggage.
Finally the train
was moving and yes, we had crossed the border. We were
now in Austria!!! Shortly afterwards the train stopped,
this being the first stop on free soil. My plan was now
very simple: as soon as the Austrian immigration official
would enter the train to check for the passport I would
ask for Political Asylum. A young, tall, red-haired man
whistling a song entered our compartment saying to
everyone in a very joyous voice "Good Morning!, Good
Morning! ". He then, without any sort of examination,
took everyone's passport and rapidly stamped on an open
page of each passport the date of entry which was April
19, 1969. He then quickly left for the next compartment.
I was actually
free!, free!, free! What an indescribable feeling! I was
happy beyond anything that I had experienced in my entire
life. Everything was surreal as if I had been reborn. My
first day in freedom had just begun.
