Knowing the
exact day of departure of the train from Bucharest (April
12, 8:00 PM) and that of the arrival next day in
Belgrade (April 13, 12 Noon), and being pressed by
time, on Wednesday April 9, I sent a telegram to my
two (2) Yugoslavian friends from the Belgrade
Observatory informing them of my imminent arrival and
asking them to wait for me at the Belgrade Railroad
Station. (I gave no reason or any other explanation as to
why I was coming to Belgrade, as my telegram message was
very short, the only thing stated was for them to wait
for me at the station.) In the meantime, at the
Observatory, no one knew what was happening as I was
working every day in a normal fashion. There was perhaps
only one hint that something was amiss and that was when
I returned all the books and magazines borrowed from the
Observatory's Library. It was indeed unusual for a
researcher to return all reading material back to the
Library, but fortunately for me the librarian did not
make anything out of it.
On
another front, a major unresolved problem that was still
facing me was that aside from the maximum 200 Yugoslavian
dinars that I was allowed to possess (which was
officially exchanged at the Romanian Bank), I had no
other convertible currency as Romanian currency was
worthless outside the country. My mother, while still in
the hospital, advised me to go and buy the most expensive
Romanian country art type presents (in Romanian, we
called them objects of "Artizanat") such as hand made
Romanian tablecloths, leather boxes with stunningly
beautiful engravings, etc., as well as some bottles of
the Romanian most famous liquor, similar to Vodka but
made of prunes and called "Tuica." The plan was to leave
Romania with only one suitcase (so as not to attract
attention), and fill it up with as many presents as
possible.
My last day in
Romania, Saturday April 12, 1969, on the surface appeared
to be an ordinary day. I went to work as usual at the
Observatory since in Romania, at that time we had
six (6) working days with only Sunday off. Around 2
o'clock in the afternoon, I swallowed a small piece of
chalk which almost immediately triggered a violent
vomiting. This, was staged to take place in view of my
immediate boss, Dr. Dinescu. Upon seeing the "scene", he
rushed immediately to assist me with a glass of water. I
told him that my stomach ulcer had flared up again and
probably this time, I may have to stay home for some two
weeks. He said that this was not a problem, and he went
immediately to inform the Director of the Observatory,
Prof. Dr. Dramba (who, as you may recall from the story,
was the person that gave me that precious endorsement in
my visa application for Yugoslavia).
[My plan
now was brutally simple: I would have two (2) weeks
at my disposal to attempt reaching the Free World. If
those efforts failed within the prescribed time, I would
return to Romania and go back to work as everybody from
the Observatory knew that I had been sick and staying
home.] 
Before
leaving the premises, I left all my keys from the
Observatory in the top drawer of my desk. As I was
leaving the Observatory, I turned around for another look
as my emotions were running very high: on one hand, I had
hoped that this was the last time that I would pass
through here; on the other hand I was genuinely sorry
that this was the only way that was available to me to
reach The United States. As I left the premises of the
Observatory, I recognized that, if successful with my
escape, all of my ties with the past would be cut off. In
this context, I found it quite amusing that the name of
the street of the Observatory was The Silver Knife (in
Romanian, Cutitul de Argint) and for the last
time, I smiled at this street's name as if it was telling
me something!
From the
Observatory I went straight back to see my dear mother
for the last time who was still in the hospital. We
stayed together for about 30 minutes. At that time my
mother was informed of my last arrangements --that my
father and perhaps my sister would go with me to the
Railroad Station for the final goodbye. For the rest, we
did not talk too much. My mother was very, very quiet.
Apparently, there was nothing more to be said: I had to
follow my destiny as I saw it. I believe that in the end
we both cried without saying a word.
It was now about 4
o'clock in the afternoon only hours away from my
departure. I went straight home where I saw my sister. We
did not talk as I went directly into my room. My sister,
who is five years younger, knew nothing about my imminent
departure or anything else related to my plans. For her
this was another ordinary Saturday. Soon, my sister was
letting me know that she was going out, the usual dating
stuff. I looked at her all dressed up and asked her to
sit down. She said: "It better be quick, as I don't want
to be late." After I explained 
to
her what was about to transpire, she, stunned by the
news, said in despair: "What about me?, What's
going to happen to me? No matter whether you
succeed or not with your plan my life is going to be
ruined. The Police are going to be all over us. Did you
think about that?" I promised her that if I reached
America, I would do everything that I could to bring her
to the States. "Is this a promise?" --she asked.
"Yes, it is" --I responded.
[My sister
eventually was able to leave Romania to Israel on the
following year in 1970 during President Nixon's visit to
Romania --but that is another story! Then, as promised, I
helped my sister leave Israel for Bologna, Italy. There,
she met her future husband an Israeli-born medical
student. Subsequently, they moved to the United States
residing in California where, with her husband
(a psychiatrist), have now four (4)
children.]
Shortly afterwards
my father arrived to accompany me to the Railroad
Station. I told my sister that if she wanted to come with
us she must make sure that no melodramatic scenes of any
sort were to take place as we would be watched at the
Station by dozens of plain-clothes policemen of the
infamous "Securitate" (in rough English translation "The
Security Police"). All appearances, I told her, must
reflect that I am going for only a two week trip. After
she had agreed to this, we all three went to the Station.
I had on a nice dark gray suit with a white shirt and a
silk tie. Once in the Station, I embraced my father and
my sister briefly and went into the train. After a brief
waiving at my window of the train, my father and sister
left the Station as agreed. I locked the door of my
sleeping compartment that contained two parallel beds one
above the other, a small table which could be converted
into a sink, and a small closet. Everything was extremely
clean and quite nice.
As scheduled, at 8
o'clock in the evening the train left the station and
everything went smoothly. About an hour later, I heard a
soft knock on my door. Opening the door, I saw the train
conductor, checking for the tickets. Extremely
apologetic, asking me several times whether it was all
right to check my tickets now, he entered most timidly
into my compartment after I had assured him that this was
no bother at all for me. [The train
conductor indeed had every reason to be timid and extra
courteous as he would not know who I was. To understand
the importance of this, in Romania, at that time, anybody
who got to travel to Yugoslavia would have been a person
of extreme importance due to the difficulties in
obtaining such a visa. Secondly, in my case, not only did
I have a first-class ticket but because I had reserved
the entire compartment, I had paid twice the first-class
ticket for the two existing beds. The train conductor
therefore could not dare taking a chance in doing
anything that may have upset me fearing that through my
contacts he could have lost his job. Thus, he extended to
me every imaginable courtesy.]
After checking summarily my tickets, the train conductor
left my compartment most gently wishing me a good night
and apologizing again for his disturbance. I was relieved
to see that everything went so well. It was about time to
go to sleep and bring to an end one of the longest and
most memorable days of my entire life.
