55
CINCIZECI ŞI CINCI
ad emptiness has a presence that seeps into everything. Each time I inhaled, it entered me—a spirit-crushing loneliness and the strange,S
shameful feeling that accompanied it.
I missed Bunu.
It was Sunday evening and for a rare moment, our family was together.
We ate our quiet dinner of soup with a wedge of bread that Mama had soldiered hours in the cold for. I then settled in on Bunu’s couch to wait until 10:00 p.m. for the headline recap on Voice of America. Cici joined me.
The signal wasn’t clear, so I adjusted the illegal wire that ran from the radio to the kitchen window. As I finessed the dial, a few words emerged from the static.
‹‹Protest in Maria Square››
“Where’s Maria Square?” asked Cici.
Our mother appeared. “In Timișoara, the western part of Romania.
Why?”
“Shh . . . I’m trying to tune in,” I told them.
I landed on the frequency. The radio knob pulsed beneath my fingers as the announcer’s voice warbled into our kitchen.
‹‹In Timișoara, what began as a vigil over the forced eviction of church pastor László Tőkés has escalated into an antigovernment protest. Romanian security forces opened fire, and there are reports that civilians have been killed. This story is still developing and we’ll come back with details.››
Cici jumped off the couch.
Mama turned and ran to the bedroom. She returned with our father in tow.
“A protest?” whispered Mama, gripping the doorframe. “No, no. They must stop. There will be consequences.”
I wasn’t thinking of consequences. I was thinking of Bunu. My brave bunu who refused to whisper, who was beaten to death for what he believed in.
“Bunu, are you hearing this?” I said. “It’s happening!”
“Shhh . . .” said Cici. “The announcer’s coming back on.”
‹‹The vigil began on Saturday with parish members holding candles and requesting that persecution of Pastor Tőkés be stopped. But hour by hour, residents joined together and the brave people of Timișoara united and took to the streets. The crowd grew overnight and today the swarm of protestors was so large that it blocked traffic in the square and overflowed onto the surrounding streets. As the protest continued, the crowd began to oppose not just the pastor’s persecution, but the regime itself.››
“YES!” I cried.
“Oh my god.”
“Shh . . .”
‹‹Today, as the crowds swelled, the mayor called for the protestors to disperse. But the mayor’s voice was soon overpowered by the repeated
call of the masses. Together, the citizens of Timișoara joined as one voice, continuously chanting: Li-ber-ta-te.››
The word pierced through the radio. My skin chilled and a knot formed
in my throat.
Libertate.
Liberty.
It was happening.
It was really happening!
Romanians were joining in hand and heart. And together they were
finally calling— For freedom.