The thief who saved my life

 I wanted to write this story in December -- because it's when the first day of the revolution happened.  The timing saved as a way to procrastinate. I'd always say I would do it next December. When I was healthy, I had so many things to do -- all seemed more important than writing up stories. And when I fell ill, all days merged into one. But now I don't think I will see another December. 

In December 1989, I was 39 years old. I had a car, but mostly walked everywhere. I used to walk fast. I was faster than everyone I ever knew -- at work or at home. This was a source of pride. If I walked I did not have worry where I parked, or if I parked in somebody's spot. Also, gas was difficult to find, and there were restrictions on which days one was allowed to drive. Sometimes it was the even days, other times it was the odd ones. And the car did not always run, and often needed to be repaired. Not knowing exactly how to repair it every single time it broke, made one feel like less of a man, and I liked to do things at which I excelled.

 Until I retired, I did not wear civilian clothes. I was a doctor in the military -- I, eventually, became a colonel, but I was a mayor at the time.  It seemed that people respected me more as a military man. I was also young and handsome, which helped. I remember I slipped on ice and fell in front of a pharmacy once. All the pharmacists came outside to help me -- there were four of them -- all women. I was young and fit. I did not need help in getting up, but they all wanted to have a chance to talk to me or touch me, to check that I was fine.  After I retired, I lost my health and I sometimes fell on the street. The offers to help were mostly inexistent then. I'd call a neighbour and wait for a hour -- sometimes more and sometimes less -- until he'd come to help me get home.

But I digress, on December 16, 1989 I was visiting Eugen and his wife Liliana for dinner. They are cousins of my wife. Those were times when people visited each other, had time to eat together and talk. There was no social media. The TV was available only for a very limited time, and there was only one program. So, people spent time with each other and found time to visit and to help each other. That day Lili and Eugen had cooked a very good dinner. I liked to help in the kitchen, and I also liked to stay and chat afterwards. So, I left after dark. I was not afraid of crossing the city at night. I was dressed in military clothes and people always treated me with admiration and respect. 

 But that day was different. It was the day the revolution started. There were instigators everywhere, who were aggressive, and there were people who were sent to stop them who were also aggressive. Some were in civilian clothes, but some were police officers. The militia had supported Ceausescu almost to the very end and had been enforcing the regime though whatever means necessary: murder and torture were never out of the question. So, the military and the police were to be feared and killed that night if needed/possible.  All were allowed to do what they needed to do to either end or start the revolution -- depending on their orders -- they could kill and torture whoever they choose; no questions asked. It did not mattered that I was unarmed and a doctor or that I was a man who just wanted to get home that night after dinner with family and friends. The snakes on my insignia were not visible at night. It's also easier to mistreat people who are innocent and who mean you no harm, than those who have something to hide.

I understood the situation, but did not want to return to Eugen's where I knew I would have been welcomed. I was never a coward. I wanted to get home that night. My wife had warned me of the potential danger just a few days ago. She heard that the communism regime was falling apart in other countries, and thought Romania would be next. She begged me to take civilian clothes and to be careful: to avoid walking alone, and to avoid unnecessary risks. I did not listen. Communism in Romania seemed too strong to be shaken off. There were spies and agents everywhere who would steal and take whatever they wanted from whomever they wanted. It seemed so convenient for them. I thought it would never end. Also, in spite of this, the country was settled and productive in certain many ways. But my wife is a smart woman. She understands the world and has the common sense to doubt herself and those around her, and to ask questions and see a general trend when it's there.

I'd figure I could walk through the graveyard. I thought it would be safe. I was never afraid of dead people -- only of those who were alive. But as I turned toward the graveyard a man who was stealing a case of champaign screamed "pick the other end up". He looked like he had just broken a window to a nearby store to take it. I was used to obeying orders, and instinctively did as he told me. He took my military cap and put it under his other arm and said "they'll shoot you when they see you with this". They would have, too. We later found out that that particular graveyard had been used as torture ground. They found tortured bodies in crypts. I would have been a walking duck, and perhaps they would have claimed I perpetuated the torture after they murdered me. But it was not to be. A group of protesters passed us by yelling "Jos Ceusescu! Jos Ceausescu!" (Down with Ceausescu), we yelled with them even louder. Next, a group of police officers passed by yelling "Sus Ceausescu! Sus Ceausescu!" (Keep Ceausescu in power). We yelled the same and so on. Eventually, we turned the corner and entered the thief's house. By that time, he also had my coat and I was wearing his cap. The pants were dark, and nobody could tell I was in military clothes. I later walked home dressed in the man's clothes, while he kept my military garments. I stayed with him for some hours. He offered me some champaign bottles, I refused. I was happy to have my life without the champaign, and I did not want the added burden of taking something that was not mine to take. I left when the voices outside quieted down. I still don't know his name, but I've been grateful since to the man who saved my life. 

 After I returned home, I dressed in my wife's clothes when I stepped outside. Luckily she had trousers -- they were white, just a bit too tight and too short. It served me right. I was glad I did not have to wear dresses. When I lost my strength, thieves would steal money and my phone from me. They reminded me, perhaps unjustly, of the man who saved my life, and I was never too bitter of the loss. Of course, that man was not a ordinary thief. He was taking a case of champaign from a store, and chose to save my life when I walked by after I chose to help. He was not harming people.

Today I listen to the radio. I am parlysed and can't move left or right. I can only adjust the button on the radio as I listen to people who steal or destroy lives in the name of COVID-19. People don't understand that the name does not matter. It can be COVID-19, it can be Stallin or Ceausescu. The actions are what brings the impact. I've just heard that the foster care program has been derailed for a year and that the damage continues during the third wave. Children are kept in various institutions instead of being sent to families to stop the spread of COVID. This is crimial. It destroys lives. They steal from the most vulnerable and then have the callousness to say it's for the good of someone else. Old people over 65 are not allowed to go out again -- unless it's within certain hours and for a specified reason. What people over 65 neeed most is excercise. Curtailing that is criminal. Those in care homes cannot receive visits. That they live for those visits it does not matter. Neither does it matter that before those visits are almost the only times when their caretakers are treating them as humans and not as an often unwanted job. I am lucky to be with family, but even so it's hard to have no friends who visit. I have not seen my son in over a year. I may never seen him again -- in this life -- and I am not sure there is a next life. My grandson, Edward, asures me it must be so because of conservation of energy. But, overall, I wish more people would be like the thief who saved my life. I wish people would take the opportunty to save a life when they can independently of what they are doing at the time: to not be so afraid of being good, even while they are being bad.