I was born in a small village of about two hundred people called “Chiojdeanca”, fifty miles east of the capital city in Romania. I was only twelve years old at that time. 

Life in such a place was repetitive. I was the oldest one out of my three sisters so most duties fell upon me. At dawn the chickens started singing, signaling that it was time for me to get up and feed them. I would bring their eggs for mother to make breakfast while I would dress for school.

Father was always gone by that time. He left early to work in the orchard until noon after which he would go to work in the field until nightfall. 

“Has father left already?”

“Mary, you have to wake up earlier if you want to catch him in the morning. Go wake your sisters up before food is ready”

I needn’t even ask what was for breakfast. Milk, eggs, and cheese for all days which weren’t holidays, when we would have sausages and eggs.  My sisters and I all shared one bed next to the kitchen so I was always surprised to find them sleeping after all the noise that has been made.

“Ana. Alina. Paula. Wake up. Mom has made breakfast”

They would always sprint towards the kitchen.

“Mom, why is Mary the only one going to school? I want to go too.”

“Mary is the oldest. When she will be done, it will be your turn to go”

I felt guilty at the time. I felt guilty that my sisters had to stay home and do all the work while I was at school. 

Since our village was so small, I had to walk for more than half an hour to reach the first bus station after which I would take the twenty-two-B for another hour. Those buses were always devoid of any youth except me. They had their own small community, a community that took the role of the newspaper, only more gossip, and less news. I involuntarily learned the rumors about most people in our village while pretending to pay attention to my books.

“Leana, have you heard? Rodica hasn’t been to church in two weeks. Her son has started drinking again and missing work.”

“I’ve always said, that son of hers is the devil”

“That’s not even the worst. She came to visit me a few days back. I sensed something was wrong but you will never believe this. Her good for nothing son beat her up and took her money to go drinking and gambling. She got on her knees and started crying and begging me for money to feed her five-year-old daughter.”

“My God. She has no shame.”

Whenever I  got to school I felt that I could finally breathe again. All of a sudden life wasn’t so repetitive. There were different classes that I looked forward to each day. 

“Mary. You are late. We have been waiting for you to sing the anthem.”

“I’m sorry. They haven’t changed the bus schedule yet.”

“I will have to talk to you after class. Now everyone rise as we glorify our comrade Nicolae Ceaușescu and his beloved wife Elena Ceaușescu!”

“Three colors I know in the world 

…

 Red is the fire

 … 

Golden as the proud sun

 … 

And Blue is our loyalty

To our nation, which we cherish.

To it we shall be loyal

To the death, without faltering.”

I was curious as to what my teacher wanted to talk to me about. After class, she instructed me to wait for everyone else to leave and, to my surprise, the discussion was not about me being late. The school principal and two men in uniform came in. Both of them were tall, taller than me anyways, had a shaved head, wore a cap that hid most of their eyes and each displayed their few medals and their gun proudly.

The principle started talking first. My mind and eyes were fixed on the cold piece of metal anchored at the soldiers’ hip to be fazed by his words.

“Mary! Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Yes, sir. I will not be allowed at this school anymore.”

“Good. Do you understand why?”

“Yes, sir. My parents are chiaburs. They are enemies of the state and society.”

His eyes spoke to me more than his words. He wished to apologize but he couldn’t. He wished to say it will only be temporary but he couldn’t. He wished he could still have breakfast with my father on Saturday mornings while I lecture his son, but it was too late for that.

Everything after that becomes blurry. I do not remember how or when I left school that day. I do not remember when it got so dark outside that I got lost on my way home. I do not remember how a twelve-year-old girl walked for hours through a plain without shedding a tear when the world collapsed on her. 

What I do remember is what I saw as soon as I got home. The two men in uniform, the same two men from school, aiming the same piece of metal at my father’s head. Their caps might have been hiding their faces but I knew them from before they became men in uniform. My father hired them last year to help him in the orchard. Their mother used to buy cheese from us every Tuesday. Their little sister was in the same class as me. 

“George, Lucas, please, stop!”

“Mary! Let them do their duty.” my father yelled.

“Petre Toader, you have been declared an enemy of the good socialist people of this country. You have been convicted for conspiring against our admirable leader, Nicolae Ceausescu. You have been convicted of taking advantage of your country’s brothers and sisters’ morals for your own gain. You are hereby declared a chiabur, for owning more than half an acre of land, and are sentenced to surrender all the goods and valuables that put you above any other person in the state. You have also been sentenced to work in a labor camp to repay the debt you owe to this nation. Glory to Ceausescu.”

 My mind was filled with rage and looked for opportunities to exert revenge but my body was too numb to take those opportunities. I watched in silence as my parents gave them almost everything we owned. 

“Petre. We will allow you to say goodbye to your family as compensation for what you have done for our mother.”

“Thank you.”

My father started hugging each of us one by one. He started with my mother, that held her tears back. Next were my sisters that wept persistently. I was last. I wasn’t crying. Nor was I holding my tears back. I was just angry.

“Mary. You know I love you. I know you to be more like me than your sisters. It hurts me to ask this of you but please take care of them.”

“I promise,” I whispered.

Those were my father’s last words. “Please take care of them”. He was after taken away to work in the production of steelworks in a labor camp that we didn’t even know if it existed.  After forty years, my generation captured and shot Ceausescu and his family and overthrew the communist regime in Romania. 

Between the time we overthrew the government and the time it took me to find where they took my father, I was informed that he has died a few days after the news reached him. Even though I never got to say this to him in person, I did the best I could to take care of my family and I hope you are proud.