Keep Fighting

VASILE ADAMESCU KEEP FIGHTING in English by M.A.Christi PART I dedicated to my Mentors, Florica Sandu, Gheorghe Stancu and Georgeta Damian, whose devotion, love and lore gently led me to inner light; as also dedicated to all of the people – teachers or not – who, somehow or other, made the difference RURAL CHILDHOOD MEMORIES Up to the ‘60s, today’s commune Borcea – on the west bank of the Danube River, in southeastern Romania – was known as Cocargeaua. Baragan wheat field stretches there wide, closed in by Ialomița River and Danube’s Borcea Branch. A couple of hamlets go into the make of this commune, among which Buliga and Pietroiu; and the closest borough, Fetești, is a 20 minutes’ bus drive (14 km) south. As you enter the commune cottages line either side of the road: most ground floor only, porch or no porch, trimmed flower gardens and neat backyards – the homeowners’ true pride. This is where I was born, on September 5th, 1944, second child to Zamfir and Voica Adamescu, simple yet hardened farmers. Our cottage faced south to the braided river stretch, so got the sun hot dawn to dark. I then lived there with Mother, elder brother Ionică, and Stanca, Father’s mother. Dumitru and Mitu (Father’s brothers) lived across the lane bit to the right – you already passed by their houses to reach ours. Yet, to pass by Uncle Gheorghe’s house (where my cousins Ionică and Nicu live now) you would have to keep walking down the Main Road, to the heart of the village. Further on, uphill, the two-floor Market Store towered the place. Then there was the Post Office, lodging the telephone exchanges; and next… our Grammar School, primary and secondary in one, attended by all of the commune children. Our lane actually ran parallel to the Main Road, and our cottage, not far from the Town Hall, was crammed in by the households around. If I well remember, Uncle Tudor and Aunt Bica’s home was at the back of ours, and next to it was the house of Uncle Marinciu (the fisherman) and Aunt Gheorghița’s folks; while Auntie Tanța and husband Nelu (who later moved some place deeper into Baragan field) plus Father Gomboș and his folks lived right across (bit ahead) of us. Up to 1962 we lived in that old three room cottage. It had closed in verandas left and right, and an open porch, the path crossing the front garden ended to the middle of it. There was a wooden corn loft tight to the backyard fence, which Father had put up himself; and a pigsty next to the loft, which he later moved further back, near the straw ricks’ place, where he also stacked our corn and sunflower stalks to dry. The granary came next, and then a stable shared by our horses with our cow and her calf. Uncle Tudor had his own two corn lofts right across, near which Father piled our firewood. And we also had a poultry pen next to the firewood, and a manger shed, actually a barn we kept open over summer and roofed over winter, as a shelter for our cart, plough and implements. In 1962 my grandparents put down this shabby home and built up a hardy house (larger three rooms, veranda and kitchen) on the ground where the haystacks and the pigsty used to stand. Then Father earthed up the old home ground into a pumpkin and corn garden. He also dug a fountain there, and put up a summer kitchen. And when the old wood laths gave way to a wire fence, Grandma Stanca moved to Uncle Tudor’s house, and our home was all ours. Like most other farmers in Borcea, my parents lived on their crops, mostly; and so did Grandma Stanca – widowed in the WWI – whose husband I never met. So my parents (Zamfir and Voica) married in the early 40’s. Mother came from Chira family, her mother’s name being Fița. Father was not very tall, his eyes were blue, his dark hair was curly and his face round; his hands were neither large nor small, but rough and hardened with toiling. Mother was not tall either, her eyes were blue, too, and her hair was chestnut. Little do I know about her, for she passed on quite young. One frosty winter day, as Father was at war, she had to go fetch water. The river was frozen to about mid course, so, as she reached out to fill the bucket, the ice bed cracked. She had to stay put till someone dragged her out, so she caught a bad cold. Grandma nursed her on herbs for months before Father got home and took her to a doctor, too late to save. She passed away on July 28th, 1946. Round faced and dark haired, my brother, Ionică, born on January 24th, 1942, took after Father. And Grandma Stanca was the kind of elderly woman who wore her long gray hair in a tight bun under a black kerchief. She was gaunt and hunchbacked; her palms felt rough and hardened like Father’s, yet skinnier and bonier, I just could feel the veins running at the back of her palms. Her face was round yet sunken, her cheeks were wrinkled, her lips thin and her chin sharp. I know a lot about her, for she raised us, children, after Mother was gone. I take after Mother, and was born whole and hale. But shortly after she was gone this distress befell us, that I lost my sight and went deaf and mute, with meningoencephalitis. The year when Mother left us, one summer day my folks took me to Aunt Mița next door, and went to the field. Uncle Tudor was out, so she was alone and, what with the house chores, clean forgot about me... and I snuck away home. The door being locked, I sat on the porch, fell asleep, and got soaked to the bone with a cold rain, they found me all but stiff. I fell sick like Mother, yet they did not make much of it, so when finally a doctor saw me they realized that Grandma’s herbs did me no good, and the verdict fell merciless: meningitis, too late to cure. Slow but steady, my sight and hearing faded away, and not before long I was left with none. Whatever speech I may have had was also lost, for I could not hear the spoken words, so could not speak. I vaguely remember having once seen all things around, and having heard people’s voices, before losing those basic senses when I was some two years old. For a couple of years they took me to eye doctors and ear doctors, in hope I could regain some sight and hearing; sadly, no doctor could do anything for me, neither ophthalmologist Petre Vancea, in Bucharest, nor otorhynologist Hociotă, nor many more their kind. When it was clear that my sight and hearing were truly lost, Father even took me to Queen Elisabeth hospital… still in vain, and by then there was already no way for me to reach across. My folks tried all the signs they could think up of, to communicate with me, but I could understand none. Much later my brother Ionică taught me a few primary helpful signs, like how to ask for water (right hand made into a tight fist, thumb pointing to my mouth) and for food (right palm first set on my belly, then lifted to my mouth) so, when thirsty or hungry I signaled that way, and Grandma understood. But it was real hard for me, deaf and blind, to cope. My mind did not develop at that time, for I could not think. I would trash the yard, the house, and the garden, fingering all things I ran into, like furniture and tools, trees and greenery, as also people and animals… but they meant nothing to me. I could sense loud noises, like wheels clatter on the road, thunder rolling, and Father cutting wood or hammering in a nail, but so many others – like birds chirping, cows bellowing, or horses neighing – I could not make out A bit later Father remarried. My stepmother, Dumitra, came from Gâldău commune a few km down the Danube. So, in 1950, I got a step baby sister, Olguța, that I remember having spent long time with, her little hands and feet in my palms, or rocking her in my arms. Sadly, one year later Dumitra passed on, herself, I do not know how; and Olguța was adopted by a lady teacher and her husband in Călărași, who later moved to Bucharest. In 1951 Father (again) remarried: a widow, Paraschiva (called Chiva) from commune Ștefan cel Mare; she had two children whom she left behind with her mother, as Father would not have them. So in one year I got one more little sister, Ioana, whom I would rock asleep in the washing tub. My brother Costică was born in 1954, Nicu one year later, Aurica in 1957, and our youngest, Viorica, in 1959. Grandma Stanca, who took care of me and my brother Ionică, had no idea how to teach me basic things like wash and dress up, or eat properly. I would now drag my feet, now drop on all fours, like animals. Grandma did not buy me shoes, for we were poor, so mostly barefoot did I tread the yard and the lane. She did not buy me clothes, either, as she knitted my woolen blouses, trousers and stockings, Father threading my leather peaked sandals for me.

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