Forever my Gibraltar

fragments from my book "Disposable people" - a work in progress, but also in its final stages

My Father - forever my Gibraltar

The Father and the Man he was

 My love and gratitude for my father is not a Father’s Day tribute.

IT IS my eternal love for a father that deserves to be remembered and celebrated every moment of each day and every day of each year.

This hub is a compilation of fragments from my book in progress “Disposable people” dedicated to my father Lucian Petrescu.

A short note about my father’s background and highlights of his life.

Born in Romania in 1916, one of the 9 children of a peasant family, he studied law, was a prisoner of war and spent two years in Crimea in a soviet camp. Protesting the soviet invasion of Hungary in 1956, he was arrested and eventually convicted by the communist regime, after being detained without a trial for eleven months. During the 11 month investigation my mother was asked by the communist party to divorce him so she could spare the children the trouble of being associated with a “disturbing element”.

Father was released from prison early by an amnesty offered to political detainees by Ceausescu in 1965 when he became president of Romania.

 

*** from the author’s note to “Disposable people”

“Dear Father,

You asked me to tell our story and I could not promise you that; it was too much of a task and I was afraid I could not “paint the painting”.

I was way too young then and unable to sort out the overwhelming emotions that were rushing through my heart; I was also afraid that my mind did not have yet the needed detachment to put things into perspective.

Now I can, and I will.

My book “Disposable People” is dedicated to you, dear father and it is a tribute of love you well disserve. It may break your heart more than once since it has two different parts and one unexpected conclusion.

The first part is about our family’s life in Romania and it is called “The Deep Hell of communism” " by reliving the events of those painful times your heart will brake once again and I would have preferred to spare you the pain if I could.

The second part is about “The Illusory Paradise of the American democracy” and it will break your heart once more because you so desperately wanted to believe that there was indeed a better world somewhere.

The conclusion father is that “called by different names, all political regimes are the same”.

 

*** a fragment from the chapter “A marked family” *** - my father’s way of giving us an education

“My father was spending a lot of time with my brother and I. He was a great story teller and he was taking us in an imaginary journey around the world. Father had a visible predilection towards unusual sounding names and exotic places. Madagascar, Gibraltar, Kilimanjaro became our playground. He was telling us about ancient cultures and Olympic Gods. The indigenous of America, the aborigines of Australia and the Egyptian slaves became our friends. From 80 miles under the sea all the way to the peaks of the Himalayans we traveled the world without ever leaving our two bedroom apartment in Bucharest, Romania.”

 

*** a fragment from the chapter “A marked family” *** - my father’s return from prison.

“I was home alone the day my father came back from prison. It was late afternoon and my birthday was less than a week away; I was trying on a new pair of shoes when I heard the doorbell. I was not expecting anyone. When I opened the door I almost did not recognize the man sitting in front of me.

Here was my father, wearing the same winter clothes he had on the night the security police men picked him up from the corner of a dark street where he was to meet with others who had some of his own concerns and shred the same beliefs.

Sitting in front of the door and hesitating to make a move, my father had the look of an old and sad man; his body was so skinny that the coat looked way too big and was totally inappropriate for the sunny afternoon of a spring day. With the only few teeth he had left, he would not smile.

The light of his eyes was irremediably turned off.

The old man in front of me resembled papa, but he was just a shadow of what my beloved father used to be. After just a few years papa was half the man he once was; physically, mentally and emotionally as well.

His charismatic voice was now broken. His spirit was broken. I could see it on his tired face and I could feel it with all my pores.

We stayed in complete silence for a long time. We had so much to say, but no strength to say it. My father was the one to talk first.

“Thank you, Petra. You will never know how proud I was of you that day in the courtroom. For all these years of detention I was sorry for not keeping quiet and for not protecting you. I had no other regrets the whole time, but what I did to you gave me nightmares. I had no right to expose my children and subject them to persecution. How are you doing, Petra? How is school?”

“We are doing well, papa. School is good, but you know how it goes… unfortunately, most of the time we are not being judged by our grades or by what we do.

The other day, for instance, Dorel got his application for entering the University of International Public Affairs, denied. His grades are very good, but his family’s background is not. They did not even allow him to go to the examination room. The b******s turned him back at the door. I don’t know what to say, father, but as you can imagine we are all upset.

Dorel will apply for the “Petrol and Gas” Institute. It is not exactly his dream to be an engineer, but… this is the way it goes! Let’s see what happens next. I will finish high school next year. After graduation I will apply for The Languages and Literature University studies. The entry exam is one of the hardest, because of the thousands of candidates competing for less than 200 available positions, but I am not that worried. I know I am well prepared and I also know that at least those types of studies do not involve political loyalties, as opposed to the ones Dorel had chosen. Whatever happens, happens but I will certainly try.”

“I have no doubt you will make it. I am so sorry to hear about Dorel. It is my fault entirely that he got denied and turned back at the door!” the pain in my father’s voice was overwhelming. He could hardly articulate the words and it seemed as his dry throat was actually hurting him.

“Don’t worry about it, papa! It’s not your fault; it is the fault of a crooked system as we well know: “la raison du plus fort” dear father, “la raison du plus fort”…”

 

*** fragment from the chapter “Life in Romania” " my father talking about his years in a communist prison

“One day, when I least expected, papa told me that the horrifying incident of the evening he had left the house. For him, that violent fight brought back memories from the detention years, and especially from the brutal interrogation process, when he was beaten for hours repeatedly.

He was supposed to confess crimes he never committed, but most importantly, he was to name names. He never did. He lost his teeth and part of his brain at the hands of the investigators, they broke his bones and, in the end, they broke his spirit as well. Whatever was left of him was just a shadow of the man he once was.

“The only reason I survived these beatings, the only reason I still wanted to live, was to see you again, Petra. I kept hope alive and, for the first time in my life, I prayed. I wanted to live so I could tell you how proud you made me that day in the courtroom. If you are the only good thing I’ve ever done in this life, than that is enough, and life is still worth living. All we really have is our dignity he said convinced that this was being the ultimate truth.

“Don’t ever lose your dignity, Petra. Your name means “stone” and you are stronger than ordinary stones. For me you are a diamond and I will always love you, my little, precious girl. I told you long ago and I will say it again; you are the great-great-great granddaughter of Roman Emperors so I expect you to live up to your spiritual heritage” his voice has lost that charismatic tone it once had, but I could still feel the determination and the warmth of his every word.”

 

*** fragment from the chapter “Life in Romania” " telling my father about my decision to immigrate

“The day I told my father I was leaving Romania never to come back, I broke the last piece of his fragile heart. He never recovered from it.

With the little voice he had left my father turned his head so I could not see the tears in his eyes:

“The best and the brightest are leaving…this country will become a desert for the hyenas to run wild. I just hope I will not live long enough to see that day. I really have little reason to be alive now that even you will be leaving me… I never cared much for God and now I care even less than ever; He has no mercy… this God of yours that was supposed to be fair and love His children…

“Don’t talk like that, papa, you know it is not true. And I am not leaving you either. I will always be your girl just like you will always be my Gibraltar…I love you daddy more than you will ever know.”

“I know you do and it is breaking my heard to think that I have nothing of value to give you before you leave; no gold watch and no precious stones…I have nothing, nothing at all. You have always been my only treasure and now that I am losing you I am as poor as poor can ever be”.

“How can you say such things, papa? And how can you even think of giving me stuff? You gave me the most important things I ever had and I will forever treasure them; you gave me the grassland of Zanzibar and the clear waters of Madagascar, you gave me the majestic Everest and the Olympus Gods to give me strength and look after me. What you gave me I will carry in my soul for the rest of my life and nobody will ever take it away. It is mine and it will always be mine alone papa, because you, and only you gave it to me, my beloved father”.

 

*** fragment from the chapter “Changing gears” " my promise to my father after the collapse of communism

“Back in Bucharest I went to visit my father. He was as happy as happy can be, not only to see me and my son, but also to have seen the communism collapse. He has lived long enough to witness the most daring dream he ever had.

“I am taking you to Paris, papa; we have been waiting long enough for this day. It has always been your dream to go to the City of Lights, to see the Sorbonne and the tomb of Napoleon. Now that the lights are finally on, we will go, just as we planned a long time ago.”

“Maybe some other time, Petra; now, that as you said, the lights are on, I want you to write that book about our family. You almost promised me…I hope you will…”

“I probably will, papa, but I need some more time. Too much has happened and I am still trying to sort things out…I will though, I don’t know when, but I will…” This time was more than just ‘almost’ a promise. I knew how much that meant to him and I also knew I need to do it for my son and myself.”

 

*** fragment from the chapter “More twist and turns” " fast forward " to my father’s death and the promise I kept. “Zanzibar my only love” a book dedicated to my father was published in 2003.

“I didn’t go to my father’s funeral; I could not bear the thought of seeing him in a coffin. I decided instead to go to Paris, the city he so loved, but never got a chance to see. The trip was meant to be my last tribute to my father’s memory and I promised myself to go to all the places he mentioned when I was just a child. I especially wanted to go to the “Dome des Invalides” were Napoleon has finally been buried after a long debate, honoring the Emperor’s last wish to be forever among his people in his most beloved city: “Je desire que mes cendres reposent sur le bords de la Siene, au milieu de ce people francais que j’ai tant aime”

I went to all the places I had promised papa to take him one day, but I could feel noting more than emptiness and guilt. I have not kept my promise and I could not find any real excuse for it. I failed him and the thought of it was sending me into a state of depression I could not control. I have never felt so alone and so lost in the darkness of my pain as I felt in the “City of Lights”. I was walking the streets and I was hoping to see my father’s face on every elderly person who was passing by.

I really never saw the “City of Lights”; every night I was home before dark in my hotel room a few blocks away from Notre Dame. For dinner I always ate the same baguette and cheese sandwich as I was watching TV without actually seeing much. Visiting the EiffelTower was out of the question since I felt so far from being in top of the world. I walked all the way to the Arc de Triomphe not once stopping to take a look at the very famous stores on Champs-Elysees and I couldn’t care less about the Louvre. I went to Sacre Coure though and I waked the streets of Montmartre, but most of the time I was just staring at the Siene. I never made it to Versailles or Barbizon either.

The day before leaving I went once again to the Cartier Latine and passed by the Sorbonne without stopping. I went straight to the magnificent Jardins de Luxembourg. The multicolor tulips were all in bloom, but the fog of my mind made everything seem gray. I did not feel like walking anymore and I just sat on the first empty bench I could find and emotionally exhausted I almost fall asleep.

As I was ready to leave, I physically felt my father sitting next to me in total silence, but with a serene look on his face. I was afraid that my breath could send him away, so I sat motionless for as long as I could, fixing the alley in front of me. Whether it was my father speaking to me or just my imagination, I could not tell, but I am almost sure I heard those words “we better go home now, Petra. Paris may be nice, but will never be ours”

The fog of my mind was still there but a sense of peace was now enveloping me and for the first time I felt that coming to Paris was not a mistake.

I also promised myself never to come back. Papa was right and Paris will never be ours.

The sense of guilt I had carried around has lifted. It may had something to do with the fact that I did keep the most important promise I ever made to my father about writing the book and telling the story of our family. I had the “Zanzibar, my only love” manuscript with me and I send it from Paris to my agent. It had taken me less than a month to write down all the memories of a not so distant past, a past that has marked me for life. The words just came to my mind with uncontrollable fury from the deepest abyss of my soul and all I did was typing. I was simply the scribe and nothing more.”

 

Author's Note

Reviews

[Philip Muls]

Simply the scribe. Very nice ending.

You write with a lot of authenticity and emotion. The reader can feel that it is hard to relive the memories and put everything on paper.

Also the relief when you finally kept your promise is tangible. Your father can be proud.

It is great to see that you are an accomplished and published writer, you deserve to be. I'd appreciate it if you could review my two short stories. I have aspirations but need a reality check.

[David Scott]

I see intellect and passion here.
It was like taking a look in the picture album on the coffee table for me. I felt like I could see the real heart of the author.
Obvious potential and gifted writing.

[Petra Vlah]

Thank you David, I appreciate your visit and the comment

[Chris]

I remember reading the whole Gulag Archepelago by Sozhenitsyn when it first came out. The lives, the details, all the little truths - each carried meaning and each one had history. So many have ghosts they live with - even readers. Sometimes a person has to allow themselves to be human... we don't always realize when we're flawed...

You do need an editor for the above. It's not overly flawed but it does need proofing.

[Petra Vlah]

Thank you Chris. I will certainly get the proofreading done professionally when the manuscript is finished.

[Frieda P]

I don't usually read stories here, but this caught my eye, such a bittersweet read, I wish I had that kind of relationship with my 'father', you have paid a great tribute to your family and honored your father with such adoration, I'm sure his heart would swell. What a life, and yet he went on to prevail, and find much success and happiness, very moving read Petra, it brought a tear to my eye.

[Petra Vlah]

Thank you so very much Frieda for reading this compilation of fragments from a book in progress that I hope one day will be my literary legacy. I also thank a lot you for your help with the video

[Frieda P]

Was my pleasure indeed, and you're welcome, anytime Petra.