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. I spent a long time around Grandma trying to make out what she was knitting; I remember she had even made mittens for me, to wear in those frosty winters of ours. In winter I went out, to play in the snow. I could tell when it snowed and I could make snow balls and throw them as taught by Ionică. I could also tell which it was, snow or ice, under my feet. On and on I slipped, fell and hurt, yet did not give in, though my hands were frozen, as also were my cheeks, nose, and feet. And when winter was gone, as I went into the yard I could flair the earth damp with the thaw. I loved to feel the sun warm on my face. At such time my folks dug the garden, made the earth beds and sowed the seed, or planted apple, pear and walnut saplings. I walked the place apace, avidly fingering every new detail. We had rose bushes on either side of the grassy pathway. At first, all of those prickles pricked, but by and by I taught myself to go round them, exploring, exploring… the leaves and their serrated margins, or the buds blooming balmy. There was one scent for each of the things I knew first by finger tips, only much later by names such as jasmine, tobacco, daisy, daffodil, or snapdragon. The aroma of the locust trees in bloom filled the yard, and so did the lilac scent coming from the neighbors across the lane. Before going out I checked on the weather, palms on the porch side pole to sense thundering and then turned face up to sense the rain. If the weather was bad I did not go out; and when the sun burnt hot, I took shelter under trees or sheds. If a shower caught me off guard, in the yard or in the garden, Grandma showed up in no time, to save me, as likely as not blaming my misery on the rain. I smile recalling how Grandma collected eggs in large baskets, for the hens to brood on. The chicks hatched shortly after, and I so loved to play with them. Grandma put tin plates on the baskets, yet I was gutsy and still put my hand in there, and often the hens pecked hard. When the chicks started hatching, Grandma moved each (as soon as out) into a box on the bed, so I could palm those shivery dawny balls on two frail legs, tiny beaks ready for tiny bites. And when they were bit stronger and let out, in the yard, to peck, I baited them on bread crumbs or polenta leftovers, and caught one (or even hens!) to play with for a while. I also knew about the brick pen that Grandma fixed with clay, for our fowls. To this very day I can easily map the tour of our house. There was an entrance door to each room, left and right of which narrow windows, in cloth curtains, geranium clay pots on the sills. One of the rooms which Grandma never lit the fire in, she kept packed with boxes, wattle baskets and sacks filled with food and clothes and what not’s; and in another room there were two wooden rustic beds, made with straw mattresses, dawn pillows and woolen quilts. Grandma had woven our covers and carpets on an old loom, in her youth. She was a believer, so in one room we had icons on the walls, vigil oil lamps under on a table, and a corner stove, to warm the place in the winter and also to cook on. Father’s room was more or less alike, two beds (one large, the other small) table and stools, stove and a cooking oven, a rush plaited mat on the floor. In one of the closed in verandas there was a huge cupboard wherein Grandma kept her vessels; and we also had a bread and sweet bread oven there. Playing with the household pets was one of my greatest joys. I remember about a cat I used to hold in my arms, fondling her silky fur and sensing her to purr. I knew about her queening for a couple of times, some two or three kittens at a time. I could feel the teats on her belly, wherefrom the kittens suckled hungry, as she just lay still. Then, what do you know? the kittens were big enough to start chasing mice and rats, as I was to later find out. The kittens did not always get along well, I just knew about their fighting now and then. I remember of a young cat at my Grandma’s house that I played a lot with and fed. So once, totally innocent about what I was going to do, I tried to cut off her fur. She scratched and bit me, in self defense… and one day I found her still, under the oven, where she used to hide. She would not play with me, I could not figure out why, and only years later, in school, I learnt that all creatures are mortal. I cried, in vain looking for her, Grandma just disposed of her, one way or another. I also knew about our bitch whelping for a couple of times. She was gentle, she never bit me. Her fur was rough, that I could feel, her body was longish as also was her tail, and she had teats, just like cats. I played with her and her puppies, and knew when they suckled. But I was bit hard by dogs in the neighborhood, and how that hurt! Grandma washed and dressed my wounds in cloth strips. I often took stray puppies home. My folks chased them away, not knowing how to explain forbidden, and I just moped around. As exploring our household, I climbed up our cart, in the shed. In the summer time our horses were tied to the mangers there. Their scent made me curious, so I closed in to find out what was it, that smelly. Once I got kicked, fell, cried, and Father came to rescue… so later, when I nosed that smell I kept at a distance. I did draw near, though, once when one of the horses lay sick by the shed wall... and it kicked me in the leg; I scared off and set my palm on the wall (to see if it still kicked) and as the wall vibrated in my palm, I left the shed alone. At times, though, Father himself took me to the shed or barn, so I could learn about animals, like by feeling the thick manes of the horses tied in ropes to the mangers, by their leather halters. I remember the cow ducking as I tried to feel her horns; she never kicked, though. She had a huge udder and I just knew how Grandma milked her, by pulling at those teats, so I can get my (almost) daily cup of fresh milk. Grandma poured the milk into clay mugs she kept in the cellar, so when I felt hungry and could not find her, I helped myself to the milk down there. The cow calved each year. The calf beat off the flies by flapping round the hairs tuft at the end of his long tail. I also knew he suckled so greedy that Grandma had to rope him away, by the neck. I pulled at that rope myself when she let me, to see the calf tied safe to his manger. Grandma also taught me how to groom cows by a cattle comb she kept pegged to the stable wall. The cow’s body seemed huge and covered in short hairs. When she licked me I tried to get hold of that rough large tongue, but failed, for she quickly pulled her head back. Two wooden poles and a rail nailed in-between separated mother cow and calf. One day the calf (old enough by now to have little horns) broke loose from the rail and tried to suckle. The cow would not let him, and I happened right there in-between, so I ran to Grandma badly scared and pointing to the barn. Worse, one other time I climbed up into the hay manger, and the calf’s little horn got into one of my eyes, so I ran to Grandma, who nursed my eye by a wet cloth. Yet worst of all was once when, left alone and fumbling into nooks, I lay hands on a box of matches, having no idea what those were for. So I went to the barn. The calf was there, alone as well, for the cow was away grazing, and the horses were off with Father. As playing with the matches I somehow set the hay ablaze. I sensed the calf breaking loose and running away, so I ran, too. Grandma showed up fast, and the neighbors helped her put out the fire. When Father came home I got a bit of a spanking, so I knew right away I had done something bad. They never again let me by myself, that I can recall. When exploring the courtyard and passing by the pigsty, I poked a finger in through the laths for the pig to nuzzle. I remember how Dumitra once brought a sick piglet into the house. I tried to hold it, but it struggled hard, I could sense it oink and sneak under the bed, where Father kept huge pumpkins… which it must have helped itself to. When it got well, Father took it back to the pigsty, and in a while it could rear up on its back legs, forelegs propped high against the dry corn stalks heap, feasting shameless, even when I lay my hands on it, even breaking out of the pigsty, once. I knew when it was in the yard by its scent, but when it touched me I startled anyway. So one day the piglet was big enough for Grandma to make it into all sorts of meaty goodies, and Father got two new piglets for the pigsty. Besides playing with the household pets, I also played ball with my brother Ionică and with the neighbors’ kids. I could kick ball, and throw it, too. At some point Father bought us a ball made of genuine rubber. We played with it and we also wrestled; Ionică taught me no games other than those. I also had my idle hours, when I tried my luck with what not’s, like get some tin plate and use it as a chisel to dig out grooves into the ground that I covered in dry hay – my grub huts. Next I found some cutter and made a wooden plate into thin splinters, which, stone in hand, I hammered into the ground for a fence around my property. I was later to find out that in the Middle Ages farmers lived in grub huts, and had it as rough later, under land lords. Only after WWI did they get land for putting up houses, or so history says. I can also recall the locust trees at the back of our yard, blooming in late spring. I once tried to climb up one, for flowers, and could not make it, so Grandma broke a thin twig, for me to explore the flowerets – at some later time Father put down that tree for firewood. But a couple of years later I did manage to climb up the second locust tree. I actually got up the fence near it, first… then stepped straight into the tree crown, picked flowers and leaves pell-mell, and let them drop. I scratched my arms and legs on my way down and made my loot into a twig hut, a poor triumph, that I can remember. Summers could be scalding. They took me to the river to bathe, which Ionică was not allowed to, all by himself. I was let trot about in shallow waters, splashing and getting splashed, but where the river ran deep Father held me up. We carried water from the river by cart, for as long as we did not have our own well. We had a huge barrel and a bucket to fill it with, and a funnel which I held tight in both hands for Father to pour the water. The horses drank their fill, taking the cart bit into the river. Now and then we also dug up clay, for Grandma and my step mother to smear the house walls and the porch floor with. When I had nothing special to do, still needing to fill my time, I would squat and feel the greenery. When (much later) I learnt in class about plants, I remembered having once had my hands on nettles, musk and creeping thistles. I could pull out fresh grass and take it to the pigs and the cows. I also fished for scraps to feed the bitch, or went down the lane to meet the neighbors’ children, even befriending one who much later I learnt was called Mitică Spirea. The road felt sandy and there was lots of gravel on it, which I loved to crop up into large heaps. When out of our yard I groped about, checking for mire with a long stick. I would get hopelessly muddy head to toe before Grandma taught me how to work the stick; still she had to scrub me clean anyway when back home. Crossing the road meant perils I had no idea about, so one day, as visiting our neighbors’, a speedy cart knocked me down, hurting my leg. I got a big scare and started checking for carts by sensing for wheel clatter or horse trot, a palm set on the fence and, to make double sure, ear to the ground for sensing vibrations. Grandma Stanca raised me and my brother Ionică, and, at some point, we lived at her place, for Father had little room and many children. She would carry me along in the village, not to let me unattended. On Sundays we went to church, where the priest treated me to kollyva and sweet bread. I remember the joy I felt when Grandma Stanca taught me how to cross myself: my right hand in one of hers, she would press my thumb, index and middle finger tips together, then lead to my forehead, my stomach and both shoulders; only much later I also understood. On workdays we weeded the vineyard. As Grandma was at it, I explored the large leaves sticking out of the vines hung with grapes tasting sour at that time, but sweet later, when ripe and she fetched them home, for a treat. Grandma also took me to the field. As she was digging I thoroughly palmed the corn leaves, arrow-like but wider to the stalk side, the coblets budding sweet between stalk and leaf. At nightfall Grandma picked me out of the field on our way home, but some beautiful nights we slept there, in the rush covered cart. When we went to the field Father took the horses out of the barn, and hitched them to the cart. If I happened around, I jumped up in, and there was no way he could get me down, I so cried he had to take me along, seated close to him on the cart front seat – a plain board, actually. I just knew when, reins in hand, he whizzed his whip, to get the horses started. The cart jiggled on its iron lined wooden wheels, the rear ones bit bigger. The horses shook their long and thick rough hair tails… and shortly there we were, I knew it by the sweet scent of the greenery. Father stopped the cart, unhitched the horses to let them graze, and took out the implements. He did his farming, I did my picking: fodder, cotton, hemp, corn, sunflowers, pumpkins… all that I could lay my hands on, ripe or not. And then we drove the loaded cart home. Father piled the sunflowers and taught me how to seed them. When the sunflowers were all shaken out of seeds, Father stored them with the grains. I would also shuck the corn free of husks and silks, as taught, and then Father would store it in the corn loft. In the winter time we often got basketfuls of corn ears to shell, which Father carried in sacks, on his shoulders, to the cart, to get it milled. Grandma Chiva taught me how to seed the cotton, by turning one of the two cranks of our hand spinner, the seeds sifting into a box there under, the cotton crammed into such other. I kept close to my brother Ionică as he wove corn husks into baskets, near the corn stalks teepee piles; to the best of his abilities did he teach me, too, but I had a hard time getting to weave all type baskets and mats, yet feeling happy to do anything rather than waste myself idle. Later I found out how proud Grandma felt for my beautiful artifacts on display for neighbors and kinsmen. Speaking of kinsmen, I remember Grandma often taking me quite young, to people who much later I was to learn were Gheorghe, Father’s brother, and Bicu, Dumitru and Micu, Mother’s brothers; to Auntie Zamfira, Mother’s sister; and to Aunt Manda. They hugged me and kissed, yet, sadly, I could not communicate. The grownups talked, I played with my cousins, who brought balls or cakes and fruits into my reach. And then they returned our visits, always bringing presents. Sandu, Father’s cousin, and his wife Aunt Paula would come, from Constanța; and then there were our folks in Bucharest, Petrică, Father’s cousin, Aurel and George, Gandma Chiva’s brothers, and her sister, Veta. As I was about to exit childhood, my brother Ionică was starting on his school life. I remember exploring his crammed full school backpack. I spent long time by his side as he was writing his homework on the dining table. I explored everything, him writing, his open copybook, or shut, or books, pen and ink pot, pencils, crayons… He gave me paper and pencil to write, but I could not. Grandma also tried to help me, but all I could manage was lines, circles and dots. So she made the village teacher come to teach me. He, too, tried, in vein, but also spoke about a school for the blind, that he thought I should attend. Not knowing anything else about it, he promised to try getting more information. It was in 1955. Shortly after, Aunt Paula (in Constanța) came and said she had the address of the school for the blind in Cluj, from a blind person she had met on the beach. Father and Grandma decided right away that I should go. Everybody else – neighbors, friends, kinsmen – thought I would never learn how to write, saying I was probably going to do no more than just linger around the house for as long as I lived. But fate was on my side, and not before long, I could prove them wrong. I may have done lots more in my childhood, but I do not recall everything. I lived in a world known to me alone, in darkness and silence. Fortunately, I had a sound mind, and could take a bit of a spanking as an indication, helping me tell right from wrong. Grandma trusted that one day her endeavor will pay off. On the long term run, her trust in me was what mattered most.

PRE-SCHOOL TIME

I was turning 11 around the Indian summer of 1955, as the sun was rising for me, at long last. The most beautiful part of my life was to start, for I was getting out of confinement, to the light of knowledge. I ignored that I was to leave my village for going to school. Grandma and Father packed my luggage and dressed me up. I did not know how to say good-bye to my folks; I just got on the cart with Father and Grandma for the trip of my life, and a totally different life that was to be. I was seated near Father, same as when we went to the field, but… where were, then, the implements? or else, if we were going to fetch water from the river (which I was probably thinking we were doing) where was the barrel? The cart moved, dragged on by our never tiring horses which Father and I used to ride. The cart swung side to side down those crooked roads paved in chipped stone, as we left dusty Borcea behind. In one hour or so we reached Fetești railway station. It was a lovely day, and I could feel the sun warm on my face. Father took me in his arms to put me down and we reached the platform, a novel thing I avidly found out about. Then Father vanished, to get our tickets I was to later understand. While waiting I found a few pebbles on the pavement and put them into my coat pocket, but Father made me throw them away. Those new smells I could sniff around meant steam engines on coal. Now and then trains rushed past, which I could sense by their vibration. Our train swept past us before it stopped, in such frightful fierce draught that Grandma grabbed me tight and hugged and kissed, tears rolling down her cheeks. The train was crammed hard, again a first for me. In Bucharest we boarded a compartment carriage train. We sat on wooden benches and I knew every time the train stopped. It was nearly night time, Father chatted with the people there, and not before long I stretched my legs and fell asleep. In the morning we were in Cluj, my future second home town and also school, which I then also ignored. We walked, and then we got on a bus (one more novelty) and, again, walked and walked. Father would ask about the school for the blind, a paper strip with the school address in hand, but people did not know where it was, so we landed in front of the school for the deaf… where they would not have me, for being also blind, so we crossed over and there we were. We passed through an open gate and for the first time I could sense the instructor there (Roman Dănilă, I later found) was blind and had a cane which I explored at ease. He put his hand on my head and asked me my name. Father told him and we stepped inside the school. We passed by many people, teachers and students. Some patted me on my head and cheeks, and then a lady helped me bathe and gave me clean clothes to wear. Later Father told me that the people there were none too happy to see me there, saying a deaf-mute would be out of place there, so he worried they may not accept me. A bunch of children took us to the school secretary (Cornelia Moraru, I later found out) and she led us to the school Principal, Mr. Ioan Popa. He examined me and decided to let us stay overnight, so in the morning the school board would decide my fate. But Father told some children in the school courtyard that he had to go downtown and left me in their care. They took me to dinner, then to the dorm… and Father showed up no more, no leave taken for fear they might send me home. So in the morning the school board held their reunion, in vain waiting for Father. Many teachers voted against my being taken aboard, for being a blind deaf and mute would have been better off in the school for the deaf, they thought. But Mr. Roman Dănilă, seconded by others, voted for keeping me: I stood a chance, they said, evoking famous American Helen Keller, the deaf-mute blind girl recouped sometime around the end of the 1800’s. So I was accepted. When the school Principal Ioan Popa asked the local university’s Impaired Department to send over an expert, Professor Valeriu Mare came to examine me, and he ruled for me to be placed in the kindergarten, to work with teacher Andaluzia Leahu-Călușeru until they found an expert in my special needs. A wholly new world opened up to me, with no more barns, haystacks, rivers and locust trees. I just stood in awe, quiet, on my wooden little bench, a little table in front of me. By and by, I got to feel bit more at home, playing with those children, all much younger than myself. I could tell the boys from the girls by patting their heads, for the girls’ hair was bobbed short, for hygiene, while the boys were clean shaven, like me. Teacher Leahu took special care of me, advising her colleagues, and the children, to treat me kindly. A few days later Professor Mare was back in school, to indicate to teacher Leahu how to recoup me, so in a little while we started serious work. We sat at the same table, and she pressed my hands on her face, as uttering sounds. At first, I could make nothing of it; but after long hours of trying over and over, I could sound my first letters: a, p, s, and f. She set my cheeks, lips, teeth and tongue in position, palm on my chest and neck, for correct and loud sound emission. Next, I got to know the 21 rows by 28 columns metal grid Braille slate. I learnt how to set the paper sheet and got my first wooden stylus, to punch dots for letters. I could write no letter, though, punching away at random, yet I understood Braille’s writing and reading system, the basic cell, dots numbered 1 to 6, set in 2 columns of 3 positions. As I was practicing, teacher Leahu took notes in a diary, sadly lost. I actually remember very little about my life in kindergarten. In a short while, I felt at home with the people around, partaking in the children’s activity. I later got to learn the names of our tutors: Jeni Cenușă (who left two years later), Savoiu, Tanța, and Croitoru. All the school staff took turns shaping me: when I got into fights with the boys I would get some light physical correction, to make out right from wrong… so I sobbed and girls came quick to sooth my grief. There were many children in my group. Teacher Leahu could not dedicate much of her time to me, the reason why a special teacher entered scene just for me: Florica Sandu. When we met she took my hand in hers and took me visit the school museum, where I discovered so many things… like the 10 row 10 ball abacus which I thought was a toy before she taught me how to explore it, those balls or else animals many familiar to me since back home time, in Borcea. And then they started teaching me speech. Teacher Sandu was highly experienced in educating the deaf, as she had worked with the school for the deaf in Sibiu, plus instructed many deaf students in rich families. She started be from scratch, for I had clean forgotten whatever taught before – took me long to utter my first a, and longer to learn all sorts of other useful abilities. Untiringly my teacher explained how to do, and explained, and explained. First she pressed my hand onto her face, next onto my own, and then set my teeth and tongue in position... as many times over as it took before I could utter those sounds. I stood up in the middle of a class and started exploring the place for toys, so she taught me how to tell work and play apart, making me sit back at my desk. I did not know that man has to learn, nor did I feel the urge, at that time. Teacher Sandu would first set my teeth and tongue in position, next associating each letter to a specific word. So one day, in the school museum, as teaching me letter f, she lit a match and handed it over for me to understand f as the first letter in fire. I scared off and dropped the match on the dry rug, then fumbled for it on all fours. I so got to know the concept fire, sill ignoring the word for it. I remembered how I had totally unawares set fire to our barn, back in Borcea, and it dawned on me that each notion had a name, so thereon anxiously waited for the names of all things around. When I had mastered a few letters, my very first words came next: apă, papa, pa!1 I gave the sink tap a switch, touched water and uttered its name; and when I felt hungry I murmured papa, papa; and when I met someone I held out my hand and said pa! repeating sounds and words for three thousand times before they came out right, also able to remember them! Imagine the patience my teacher must have had – she could not have been that devoted if she had been married. Alas, time was not our friend. Teacher Sandu’s regular group was the second grade blind children, and could only teach me pro bono in the afternoon. Some days she took me to her classroom, on the third floor. While she was busy with her regular students, I did some task (seated at one front desk) actually learning three systems all at once: when able to sound one more letter, I had to write it in Braille, in Klein (enhanced dotty letters) and in regular letters.

1 … water; grub; ta-ta! I remember how once, as getting out of my kindergarten room and going to the classroom of teacher Sandu (who was waiting for me to show up), someone stopped me believing that I was running away. I tried to duck, but got held tight and slapped! I so could not make myself understood, yet. Worse, at another time, nosy about how our gas stove worked I started messing with the switches. I managed to open the stove door, could feel the warmth and started feeling the tap pipe, triggering a blast big enough to scar my head. Some tutor heard me scream and rushed me to the school infirmary, where nurse Anuța wrapped my head round and gave me pain pills. When the weather was fine they took us into the school courtyard. We horsed about, hopped or walked or just sat under the walnut trees there, on the green grass going dry. I could tell the walnuts falling –once one hit me in the head, even, I picked it up and some tutor taught me how to hit it open with a stone, then how to pick the kernels. Such strong aroma, under those walnut trees, from the leaves which I could tell apart by counting up to seven, three on either side of the stem and the big one peaking. So went by my first school term, and Christmas was drawing near. While my kindergarten colleagues were rehearsing for the festival, I was silently doing my thing: setting the desks full of geometry wooden shapes and cut-outs, the girls’ dollies, our cars (crane, truck, and tipping lorry) and animal and bird casts. Then holidays came, with Father Frost (local name for Santa) bringing sweets and toys. Many children went home, while orphans, or social cases like me, stayed on. Teacher Sandu did not show up in school over the holidays, being, likely, with her relatives in Năsăud or Brașov. I remember the bliss of our playing in heavy snow. Some tutor fixed skates onto my boots, trying to teach me how to glide; I trotted about, then could push ahead a bit, then tumbled over and lost courage. Second term started on January, 10th. Teacher Sandu came and I knew her at once by her scent, a mix of perfume and tobacco. She took me into the courtyard so I can explore the snowman the children had put up: a pot for a hat, coals for eyes and mouth, a carrot for a nose, a broom stuck therein for snow sweeping. Then the children gave me a long sleigh ride, all the way to the walnut trees. We never owned a sleigh back home, but our neighbors did, plus Father had a horse drawn huge one, to get the wheat and corn milled into the flour that Grandma baked our bread out of, and cooked our polenta. As soon as I could find my way about the courtyard teacher Sandu took me uphill and let me glide all the way down to the walnut trees, but stopped when I bumped into one and took a big shake. Oftentimes instructor Dănilă (who taught us brush making) came by, to take me to his shop. I understood how the children made brushes, and later I also could. I explored every nook of that place. All brush types filled the glass-front cabinets, and I could also understand the make of the tools the children used, remembering more or less similar ones back home. Instructor Dănilă taught me how to make my first brush. He seated me on a chair in front of a bench where they fixed caps onto the brushes already made by the children, and gave me such a brush and a cap (with lots of holes drilled into it) which I was to fix together, also explaining how that cap was to be removed. It took me lots of trying over and over, but the brushes I managed to make came out ever better. What I found most difficult was holding those short wires in my hand, minding they do not get wasted all over the place. As I was in the shop, once, someone came in and shook my hand. I ignored at that time that he was Laurențiu Vasile Crișan, a social worker in the Association for the Blind in Cluj, who knew about me from instructor Dănilă (president of the association) and from other teachers. We got to make friends. He would walk me in the courtyard, or take me downtown, and I would go visit the association headquarters on the school ground floor. Once he took me to the shop run by instructor Florea Dărăban, where the children made rush baskets, a precious art (I was to learn later) which many of our graduates practice for a living. Height is one of my indices for telling people apart, so I would say instructor Dărăban was sort of short, still quite endearing. Our 1996 March was warm, snow giving in to grass; anew Mother Nature came alive with fresh spring smells in the air, the sun gently warming the earth, we frisking about like lambs… and then some of us got otitis. My left under ear ached terribly; I kept abed and took pills, unable to do to my writing. The nurse touched my hurting spot to make me understand my condition, and called for teacher Sandu, who motherly came and sat on the side of my bed for the classes’ time, then shook my hand and left. Otitis was shortly gone, and I enjoyed spring anew. I yearned to know everybody around, so tried hard to tell them apart by their peculiarities. I first fingered frantic my kindergarten mates, next my tutors. I recognized Mrs. Andaluzia by a ring she wore on her right hand: when we met she would tap her right index against mine, for recognition. I could also tell young Miss Ana, our caretaker, and one more elderly lady, by the rings they wore, though still ignoring how to ask about their names. They taught me speech, reading and writing, plus lots of self management skills, like how to tidy up my bed in the morning, folding neat my pajamas… or tie my shoe laces practicing on a square wooden frame, two pieces of cloth caught taut to the sides: I was to fix the lace’s down-end into the frame’s upper hole, and vice versa, then tie tight the loose ends into a double-loop knot. I also learnt table waiting. When they brought the soup pot in the school canteen, Mrs. Andaluzia helped me steer clear the ladle as I filled the plates, which I also took, one by one, to each child. Much soup was spilt before I mastered table waiting, but those people had all the patience it took, so I found the second course easier to control. Time flew by soft, and there was summer vacation. Mrs. Timinschi, mother of my school mates Nicolae and Marian, was to take me to Borcea. Ana, the caretaker, packed my luggage, then saw me to the bus station and kissed me good bye on both cheeks. The Timinschis lived in commune Ștefan cel Mare, close to ours. We boarded a train and in a matter of hours reached their place, where I slept overnight. In the morning, Chiva, Mother’s sister, came to take me home. Grandma was thrilled to see me. Over the holidays, for lack of practicing the sounds and speaking the words I knew, I clean forgot all I had learnt in school, so the whole clan (Father, Grandma, brother Ionică…) thought I learnt nothing in school. Ionică passed his grade 7 secondary school exams (could tell how relieved he felt) and I picked up things where left before Cluj: walked with Grandma to our farm fields, played with the hen chicks and with the neighbors’ children… and made twisted corn husks into baskets. On September, 5th, I turned 12. No presents or anything, just another day, after having woven a basket all week and packed it for my people in Cluj. Father took me back to school, and everybody sadly saw I had forgotten all they taught. Father told Teacher Sandu about my childhood back home, and she showed him how they had taught me sounds and words the year before. I could utter no goodbye, and again Father left no hug or any leave talking, probably thinking it made no difference to me, given my condition. For a few days they kept me in kindergarten. Later I learnt that professors Valeriu Mare, and Alexandru Roșca, Chairman in the Psychopedagogics Department, had formally requested a special grade and an expert teacher all for me. The answer took the school by surprise. They had no spare room for the purpose, nor could anyone take over teacher Sandu’s 3rd grade group. But Chief Inspector for Special Needs Education, Alexandru Ciornenschi, fought for me and came to terms with our Principal that I continue in Teacher’s Sandu regular group, before other arrangements could be made. So I said goodbye to kindergarten and the ladies there, who later often called on me, to see me progress. We were nine students in that 3rd grade, that I can remember: Vasile Pop, Dionisie Stern (we called Roja), Constantin Curelaru, Teodor Manța, Florea Mureș, Petru Ciocan, Săndel and Samoilă Szekely, the colleagues I shared the dorm with, and kept close to in the school canteen. No girls, then. Our girls only came in 1958, some, when our school was remade into a high school status; and in 1966, others, with the newly added amblyopia section I remember the opening day, teacher Sandu entering class and my colleagues standing up to greet her – I stood still till she came over and held out her hand to me, making me to stand up, too… and next we took out our school stuff and waited for instructions. I shared the front desk with Vasile Pop. In the morning classes all I could do was write, so my speech drills would not perturb the children; but afternoons teacher Sandu taught me speech in the museum room, or any other available. I was doing better and better with the writing systems – Braille at first, next Klein (a system invented by William Klein, Principal of the Vienna Institute for the Blind), and Latin letters, which I would inscribe inside of my regular slate’s narrow cells, a writing system called Hebold. The more clearly I understood that I needed to study, the more I loved school, and the shorter I cut on dragging my feet in-between shops, association room and printing shop. Still I had a hard time with my speech classes, with scant and slow good news, which prompted teacher Sandu to invent a communication system based on the interlocutors’ hands touching one another’s faces. For a, speaker set one of his hands on listener’s chest, then moved one of listener’s hands so he could feel the air path vibrate, all the way lungs up to neck. For b, speaker set both of his hands in a position whereat his thumb- index-middle finger groups could pinch (pressing a bit) listener’s cheeks at once. For e, speaker’s index was set in-between listener’s chin and lower lip. For h, speaker’s hand lightly brushed (left to right) listener’s lips. For k, speaker’s thumb and index (vertical, apart) got on listener’s cheek. For l (silence sign) speaker’s index (vertical) got onto listener’s lips. For m, speaker pressed listener’s lips together. For o, listener’s lips rounded up wide, in order to sound that letter. For t, listener’s tongue tapped his upper and lower teeth, when touched by one of the speaker’s fingers. For u, listener’s lips pursed up tight (pipe like) when speaker pulled them. I could read this complex method (plus specific instructions for speech enactment) much later, when teacher Sandu set it all in writing, for the teachers of the future to teach speech to the mute. My progress proved how adequate this face alphabet was, and here is a feedback quote.

The first communication system of a blind deaf-mute child is an adapted sign language. The child firstly needs to be made understand sign as a concept, so he can tell sign and object apart, or object read and its symbol sign. The child will be helped to manage such discrimination by small steps, from the concrete and known to the abstract and unknown. The student will learn how to voice sounds as follows: the teacher, further called speaker, voices each sound upon the hand of the pupil, further called listener. Speaker will next make listener feel each of the speaker’s phonatory organs stance, i.e. teeth, tongue and, lips; also, chest and neck, for vibration intensity; and nostrils, for presence of resonance. Next, listener will use his free hand to arrange his phonatory organs into the respective stances indicated, until able, all on his own, to voice the task-sound, a sound he cannot hear, begot by instructions that he cannot see. Then listener will print the sound voiced, in tactile characters, systems Braille, Latin letter and Klein. Such systems will enable the pupil to read by feeling embossed texts, the letters of the seeing included, i.e. communicate like everybody else. After correct sound emission, voicing of the sound (as a skill) will be reinforced and developed into an acquired reflex, by specific drills targeting pronunciation of isolated sounds, and of syllables, words and statements containing such sound. Such drills will be developed for each and every sound, for the student to be able to practice correct sound voicing, and thus be able to make himself understood. When the student has learnt how to voice a few sounds, he will be taught to voice 2 to 3 letter words. If such drills are not practiced long enough, pronunciation will be unintelligible. When a number of sounds are mastered, 2 to 3 letter words will be uttered. Each word will be doubled by a sign: pa!2 sign, showing tenderness and respect, will be by raising the arm and moving the hand up-down; apa!3 expressive sign will be by lifting cupped up hand to mouth, as if for drinking.

I distinctly remember how I could not utter l and r right. For l, I stuck out my tongue till it touched my upper teeth and lip, instead of palate; whereas for r, I vibrated my lips, instead of tongue. Teacher Sandu had a hard time correcting that, by pressing my index onto the right spot inside my mouth where the tongue should

2 ta-ta! 3 water tap at. At long last I could sound those letters right, to the joy of all who cared for me, teacher Sandu first. I would also read out loud, for similar correction. Teacher Sandu also made me aware of sound emission intensity due to specific words, by pressing my hand against my chest, when I learnt a number of simple words, such as ac, ca, baba, foc4 and not before long I could also master short statements like bea apă, pac pac, focul cald, and calul bea5. In the next months my notebooks got thicker and thicker. I could write 3 word sentences, even 4. My logical thinking was developing, as I understood arithmetic ever better, first 1 to 10, then beyond, to 100, even. And I started associating words with actions on a daily basis, as teacher Sandu brought in a zillion plaster casts from the museum, explaining each. I found out all about trains from the wooden one there, two carriages plus steam locomotive; and similarly about wind mills, cars, land animals, fish and birds. Slow and steady a new world was opening to me, where people meant lots more than just hand-shakes, the tiniest of objects had a name, and feelings were eagerly peeping in. And yet I still could not communicate with the people around, teacher Sandu being my only interlocutor… so she tried to teach me the Block alphabet: capital letters printed onto open palm. At first I could make no sense of that scribbling, but when she guided my index to print such letters onto her palm I started to see the light. My tactile- kinesthetic perception developed by such permanent over-exploring roundabout, so I got to tell apart those Block letters printed onto my palm. Normally, letters printed onto palm must come in rows, yet they made sense to me, even written pell-mell. There was a palm-onto-palm stop-sign when a word was printed, proven needless after practicing for a while.

4… needle, similar, old woman, water, fire. 5 … drink water; tock-tock; hot fire; horse drinks. I could also understand Braille, at first written onto my index, middle and ring fingers’ phalanges: 1 and 4 onto index, 2 and 5 onto middle finger, 3 and 6 onto ring finger. Later I could read Braille even if printed onto my palm. Today I normally communicate with people in Latin letters printed onto my palm; some of the blind print in Braille onto my palm, others do not. When my interlocutor prints his message, I utter my answer. Now I am able to get the message even before fully printed, and use abbreviations like dvs, nb, and șc.6 In my leisure time, after classes or when taking a break, I played with my mates, walked down the corridors or, weather permitting, in the courtyard. I did not know many words, yet, but teacher Sandu taught the school people how to communicate with me, some getting to know how, others asking those for help. We had our share of unruly students, who could, for instance, walk down the hall in threes, so I naturally bumped into them. I was short and weakly, helpless like, and they snapped back. When hit, my defense was to beat the air with my arms, then run to my classroom, in search for a hiding place. At times the bully, who may have had a little sight left, could follow me and hit on, so I screamed till someone heard me and hurried over. My next door neighbors were in grade 4, all of them my pals and ready to come for rescue; for many nights did I go to that room chat and play with, to this day remembering a few names: Staicu, Ceucă, Vutcovici, and Rump. My teacher would promptly punish the bullies, asking them to leave me alone. They hit me in the courtyard, even, and I could not catch them. Teacher Sandu always fondled me motherly when I pined and sobbed. Actually all of the school staff cared for me. I knew them apart by how tall or frail or plump they were, by how wide or narrow their hands, by their short or

6 Your Honor, good night, school long fingers, with a ring on or not; by their hair, long or short, silky or dry, curly or not; by their perfume, whether of soap, lipstick, tobacco, benzene, or alcohol. Teachers Popa and Turcu whom I knew right away when we met, were in the school board; I also called on Mrs. Neli, the secretary, such a nice lady. Mr. Rusu was the store keeper, stout and hardy; and Mr. Știrbu was our administrator. Then there were the night guardians: Simion Pop, later a truck driver; and Vasile Sălejan, Vasile Bența, and Iuliu Picoș, earlier in tailoring. The cleaning ladies next: Veronica Ilieș, Marioara Deleanu, Ana Terec, Lucreția and Ana Veredi. I can also remember our laundresses: Ana Marincaș, and door keeper Ion Maja’s wife, Lina; plus short and kindly Mrs. Cozan and Maria Deneș, our seamstress, and a young door keeper who married caretaker Maria Rețe. I also remember our cooks’ names: Ecaterina (married to teacher Teodor Bendea), Ana Suciu and Floarea. Quite a number of those people had only been around in my primary school, so did not presume to print letters onto my palm. Others tried for small case letters, making no sense when printed pell-mell, instead of in orderly rows. In 1958 teacher Sandu’s last students graduated primary school.

IN PRIMARY SCHOOL

1958-1959 was my first school year in famous special grade for the speechless deaf-blind, cut to size for me alone; and my place was to be the school’s radio shop, a 4 to 5 sq m closed in place (near the huge canteen hall) wherefrom teacher Sandu monitored the school’s loud speakers. The window there looked out into the street, so I knew about the weather: when the sun licked my face warm, I guessed the weather was fine; when no sun, it must have been bad. We had two double-door cupboards against one of the walls, a table and a couple of chairs, a sink I washed my hands at before meals… and a small pig iron stove, later replaced by one made in terracotta. Teacher Sandu brought five flowerpots, to beautify the place no doubt, and set the teaching materials orderly inside the cupboards, wherein I also set my personal stuff neat, as taught in kindergarten. She planned my work schedule right at the onset, and soon we went strictly by it. I sat my back to the door, while she stood in front of me, her back to the cupboards. A wooden balls abacus I was fond of (one of the first objects I could understand in the school museum) stood tall in- between the door and the radio station. On October, 11th, 1958, teacher Sandu turned 55, as I was 14. I lagged far behind the children my age – they had access to information, I had none. What with my scant language, neither could I learn things by myself, nor could people tell me what was going on in the world, for lack of the words needed for the purpose. It was a hard time for me, yet fruitful, as my knowledge kept growing fast. I had no instructor, so teacher Sandu also came in the afternoon, to help me do my homework… occasionally having to search the school premises for me, I just knew that she scolded me for rambling around. When alone, I normally locked the door, so no one barged in on me. There was this rope tied one end to the back of my chair, the other to a nail outside the room, so when Teacher was about to get in I could feel my chair twitch, and got up to open the door. If I forgot to reattach the rope to the chair, she pulled the rope out full length, so she had to pound the door till I felt those vibrations and let her in. When that happened for the first time, she set a hand on my ear, shocked, thinking at first that I must have heard that loud noise, and then realizing how intensely I sensed vibration, an ability proven invaluable to the end of my days. Besides my recouping classes with teacher Sandu, I also spent time in the gymnasium, as also in the school shops. Our textbooks and readers were made in the school’s printing shop, actually run by the people in the Association for the Blind. In 1956 instructor Dănilă introduced me to the printers, whom I explored all over, learning the traits that I was to tell them apart by, in the future. The first lady I knew there was Veturia Popa, who worked the printing machine. She patted me on my hand, head and back, then made me explore the Braille printing machine’s six keys which we punched our letters by, and the zinc printing plate, I could feel those raised dots, yet had no idea how it all worked. In the second shop room there was one more printing machine, operated by Gheorghe Enăchescu, whom I was to know by a raised spot on his right hand. Rusalim Martinescu, who worked the printing press then, and later the corrector, could vaguely see. He had first set eyes on me in the brush shop, and spoke to me unaware that I could not hear. He was slim and over 1.8 m tall, so he had to bend some for me to touch his bony face which I knew him by, as also by his right hand middle finger nail, once caught in some machine. Nicolae Anghelescu, working the paper and the newspaper cutter, was also the bookbinder; and Flori Patachi, hired but shortly before, was our sales girl. I eagerly learnt every move due to operate the old machines, and I clear remember the two new ones brought way from Germany, in 1959: one printer operated by Ion Furtună, and an electronic press. I saw those two machines again in the printing shop for the blind, in Bucharest In 1960. One day I realized that Veturia Popa, a kindly lady who cared for, stopped coming to school. She had taught me how to sew books, by folding the sheets on their left edges, then punching the holes, then threading some sort of a bodkin and finally binding the fascicles; she made me feel all of the moves she made, which I was to repeat; to her joy, a fast learner was I, which she promptly praised. I saw her every day, till one day she showed no more. Teacher Sandu and instructor Martinescu made me lie on the table, arms crossed on my chest, trying to explain that Veturia had passed away. I only understood much later, when they made me touch a corpse. Two or three years later when I could communicate in Braille, Gheorghe Enăchescu wrote onto my right hand three fingers that Veturia had been hit by a car as she crossed some street. I deeply grieved – so much more she could have surely taught me! Young Constantin Popescu took over the printing machine, but in a while left for a regular high school, to later attend the Philology Faculty, finally graduating as a teacher of French, so Ion Furtună came in his stead, in 1959. I went to the printing shop every day to sew my sheets into copybooks, which the workers helped me through with. I communicated with Flori, who was a lecturer, dictating from regular books to the blind workers who printed those texts in Braille. Flori learnt how to write to me in Braille, as also did Crișan – I wondered how they could manage such a difficult system. They thought I could understand dots better than Latin letter, yet I could actually read both just as well. So I went on sewing books; understanding each move that the workers made, I learnt how to count the pages before sewing, and how to work the paper and zinc plate cutter. My next instructors, Furtună and Marinescu, taught me how to multiply the books: I would mount the zinc gauges, then keep one hand nimble on the crank lever, driving the machine with my other hand, and sensing its to-and- fro moves, till the printed sheets came out. Instructor Furtună also taught me how to mend worn out books and replace their covers. He and Flori helped me a lot with all sorts of personal problems and questions. Flori would dictate to her colleagues the textbooks lessons, which she later gave me, printed, to study. At some point later they printed special materials for me that Professor Mare translated from Russian: newspapers, magazines, and religion books. In that printing shop I also met Ion Predescu, a cheerful nice worker, who could see. He taught me my way inside the locksmith’s shop, and how to use the tools, his job being to make good the broken printing machines. Insight helped a great deal, so I could understand how he dismantled broken parts, to mount the spares instead. He came to school by a motorcycle that he parked down the hall – he would often take me for rides, in the courtyard or in the street, so I could explore the machine all over. I held him tight, and the air whizzed as we rode full speed. When Predescu left, Gheorghe Crișan came in his stead. He learnt Braille fast, mended all that was broken and also could print, copying all by himself, no lecturer needed. I felt like, with so much practice, I would make a fine printer, and could not wait to see the school days over, go get a job. Many people came to visit that time, even from abroad. Professors Roth, Roșca and Mare, in Club University, brought their students to see how I was doing; they watched for hours how I spoke, wrote and read. Groups of teachers also came from far off places like Bucharest, Buzău, Arad and Timișoara, as also did come Alexandru Ciornenschi, Ministry of Education Chief-Inspector of Special Education, to whom teacher Sandu thoroughly explained my story. All of those visiting experts were excited to find out about my progress under teacher Sandu’s direction, amazed that I could be humanized, given my start condition, on one who lived in his own, shut in, world. Famous psychologists and typhlopedagogues showed interest in my case. Teacher Sandu taught me bits of Russian, German, French and Hungarian, like poems, greetings, phrases expressing gratitude… to address those groups of foreigners. The first I can remember came to Cluj in 1957, from Beijing, China, experts in their school for the blind; and the second come on their traces from China, too, were people in their Association for the Blind. I remember their Deputy- President – whose name I later found out to be Hang Nai – so tall that he had to bend for me to reach his head, and he patted me on mine. One more group come visit was lead by famed Professor A.I.Mescereakov. I wrote and read to him in Russian, even recited a poem, which left him speechless, so to say. He had long before heard of me, he kept returning, and urged me to write to a deaf-blind girl, Iulia Vinogradova. I sent her a box of chocolates and a number of artifacts that I made out of plasticine. She gratefully wrote back and so we kept writing to one another till 1974, when Professor Mescereacov passed away. After that time I wrote to Natasha Korneeva, Iuri Lerner and Sasha Suvorov, colleagues of Julia in Zagorsk, a little town close to Moscow. Endless rows of experts came from France, England, Germany, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Slovakia, Yugoslavia, Maroque, Lebanon… bewildered at my achievements, considering the scant materials we worked with, most of which ingeniously devised by teacher Sandu. For a number of years I was educated experimentally by professors in Pedagogics Research Institute in Cluj. Such concerned human interest greatly boosted my development. Before long I had learned 5,000 words, I know it for a fact as teacher Sandu actually counted them upon special request from Professors Mare and Roth. By then I could write letters in Klein system or Hebold, teacher Sandu showing me my mistakes so I can rewrite, and rewrite, never discouraged. I also wrote about how I spent my day, what I planned for vacation, how I pictured my future… I still sometimes leaf through those thick notebooks abiding through the years. I smile at my poor old self, yet feeling proud for having learnt so much in only three or four school years. Here are a few excerpts from that type homework.

I can swim a life belt on, in the sea with big waves. I want to go to airport and get on a passengers plane and fly above Cluj. I can skate and sleigh and snowball fight. I am a big boy. My hair is dressed nice and good. A hair dresser has the hair cut by a hair cutting machine and makes good. I sit on the chair. I pay the hair cutter two lei. Give me my hair cutting invoice. I have three dishes for lunch. I and Crișan are friends. I play with toys. I have got a toy tram and a toy bus and a toy train and a plane and a truck and a little rubber frog and a trumpet. I have got 24 books. I learn very much to write and to read and I speak nicely. I get letter from my dear granny Stanca. I send letter to my dear granny Stanca. Rădulescu speaks to pilot friend of Rădulescu, who has a three person army plane. Pilot and Vasilică and Crișan we climb up onto plane and fly high and see under plane many floor houses and school for the blind close to the soldiers’ barracks and teacher Sandu’s house and churches and parks and drugstores and hospitals and electricity poles and streets. Military plane lands on Someșeni airport. I can make a ship out of plasticine. I and Crișan go by train to Bucharest. I and Crișan go to big 5 floor toy shop and buy a small 110 lei trolleybus. A small trolleybus for Vasilică. I know how to make small helixes for small planes. I know how to make a wooden plane. I set the helixes to plane on the two wings. I have a Klein typewriter and an abacus and a writing grid and a maths machine. I have two keys, the classroom key and the cupboard key. I have three balls, one big, one small and one even smaller. I am a person. I am Romanian. I am in Cluj. I am a pupil in the school for the blind. In summer the pupils do not learn. I can see a plane flying above. The pilot can see me down here. I touch new planes in the planes factory. In autumn I am here for one year. I am strong and do gymnastics with teacher Bogoș in the gymnasium. There is an airport in Someșeni and one in Bucharest, and there are military airports, too. Spring is 91 days long and in 12 weeks comes summer. Summer is 91 days long and in 12 weeks comes autumn. Autumn is 91 days long and in 12 weeks comes winter. Winter is 91 days long and in 12 weeks comes spring. I play with Petru Bot in the courtyard in beautiful warm sun, it is spring. In summer Petru Bot goes home to Timișoara to meet his mother and his sister and his father. There are four large railway stations in Bucharest, and many train railroads. Trains ride on rails and puff like f, f, f, and ride fast and make big wind and cannot tumble and cannot fall. There are wide streets In Bucharest. There are bridges in Cluj, big and small. There is a shoe factory in Cluj, a cigarettes factory, and matches and clothes factories. There are large factories and large swimming pools in Bucharest. There are two large swimming pools in Cluj, and several small. There is a tall tower, with five big heavy bells, in Cluj. I can make clothes brushes, and shoe shining brushes, and brushes for nails, for mud and for horses and for washing. Crișan speaks with Jan Cailidi and comes up to small classroom to meet student Vasile Adamescu. Cailidi sees Vasilică and explores Prut River, Siret River, Olt River, and Mureș River, on the map. Crișan and Cailidi write a lot, in pencil and in ink pen, on paper notebooks. Teacher Sandu teaches pupils in a large classroom. I am alone, learn and write on a Pincht machine and make a big thick book. We cannot explore a large bomb. We fear bombs can blow up. Workers are brave and make large bombs in the mountains. Large bombs blow up. Small bombs fall and blow up and cannot make deep holes. Large bombs can make deep holes. Workers are careful. The bomb can blow up. The workers set large bombs under bomber planes. Flying soldiers get on bomber planes. And go up in the air and throw bombs down over houses and bombs blow up and make big noise and damage and burn houses and make deep holes. Flying soldiers get on chase planes and dive down. A chase plane can fly in circles and shoot many people in villages and town streets. A chase plane shoots a canon and flies by a jet engine. The flying soldiers in chase planes live and see soldiers flying in bomber planes die. Soldiers bring the dead soldiers in bomber planes to the graveyard and put them into large graves with crosses. Soldiers go by with guns and shoot bad people called enemies. Soldiers are no friends of enemies. Soldiers fear bombs and run into ditches. Soldiers go to war into soldier barracks. Officers know how to lead the soldiers. Officers are paid high salaries. Soldiers are not paid much money. Students are not paid money. Mother Goat and Kiddies Three. Once upon a time there lived a goat that had three kids. The elder kid and the middle kid were naughty. The young kid was a good kid. One day the goat left for the forest to fetch food. She told them to not open the door to the wolf. She taught the kids a poem. Kiddies, dear kiddies three, come open the door for me, Mum is bringing salt to you, fresh green grass and sweet milk, too. The wolf was behind the door and overheard the goat teach the kids the poem. The wolf learnt the poem, too. When the goat left for the forest, the wolf came up and told the poem and the young kid said trotyl, trotyl, trotyl. Yesterday I went with teacher Sandu to a library and bought books and notebooks, and to the market and bought fruits and apples and nougat. I went with teacher Sandu to the mechanics shop. I explored a lathe machine. The lathe machine makes screws. Ionică my brother goes by train to Tulcea. My brother works in a factory and gets a salary or money. My brother goes to commune Cocârgeaua to dear Granny Stanca and talks. My brother stays with dear Granny for vacation. There is a locomotive factory in Bucharest. Workers make new locomotives out of heavy iron. The train has an old locomotive. The fireman makes a big coal fire in the locomotive. The fast train has three first class carriages and eight second class carriages and one long couchette sleeper carriage and one diner carriage. The locomotive is the mechanic’s cabinet. I explored a locomotive, which has got balls and pistons and a tank and big wheels. I can make a small locomotive out of wood, together with Traian Ciortea. I have one granny and a brother and a father. I have no mother. Student Adamescu’s mother is dead in graveyard in Cocârgeaua. I was small. I am big. Vasilică is alive. Spring holidays. They set electric wires to electric poles for trolleybuses in Cluj. In summer workers bring new big trolleybuses to railway station. Crane hauls many new heavy chain trolleybuses. Long freight train brings trolleybuses to Cluj. In autumn my hair grows on nape and temples. I am fourteen. I am a good docile boy. Teacher Sandu gives Vasilică two lei for a haircut. Wolf is very bad for stealing sheep and lambs and running fast into the woods under the trees. Enemy wolf eats sheep and lambs. Sly fox comes out of its den and goes to chicken coops and steals hens and runs to eat them up in the forest under trees. Bear sleeps nicely in its den till spring. Hard-working squirrel stored hazelnuts, walnuts and pine nuts and rests quiet in tree hole. Scary rabbit runs and runs from place to place, fearing the hunter. Hunter shoots big bears which then drop dead. Hunter cannot shoot rabbits which run fast into wood. Rabbits eat carrots, cabbages and vegetables. Wolf, fox and bear meat is no good, only rabbit and venison are good. Wild animals live a hard life in forest in winter. Domestic animals live in villages. The horse, the cow, the buffalo, the cat, the sheep the goat and the pig live in courtyards in villages and communes. In hot countries hunters who can see shoot or hunt tigers and lions. Many wild birds fly in forests: crows, sparrows, woodpeckers, bluebirds, pigeons, and nightingales. Wild cats look for food. Flowers and grass, too, grow in spring. Villagers plant onions in gardens. They plough by a plough or by a tractor and sow wheat and corn grains. Vasilică is big boy and stopped playing with toys. Teacher Sandu stopped buying Vasilică toys. In summer teacher Sandu gives Vasilică 100 lei and we go to valise shops to buy valises. I and teacher Sandu go to toy shop to buy big life belt. I and Iustin Sârbu made a small truck and a small tin tow trailer to tow small truck. People digging out coal are miners. Trucks bring coals and stone and limestone and bricks and wood. Father Bear eats blackberries and wild raspberries and acorns and loves bees. Father Bear hears buzz of bees. Father Bear goes to hive to eat honey and sticks its muzzle into hive. Bees scare hard and stick their needles into bear’s muzzle, which swells up big. Hunters shoot bear and take away its fur and dry it up and sell well and give the bear meat to dogs. March, 31st, 1959. I and teacher Sandu have been down town today, to the animals’ museum and saw many birds and animals and fishes. I explored a big fish, a wild goat, a buck, a boar, a bear, a pelican, a fox, a hawk, a sturgeon, a frog, a deer, a badger and other animals and birds. On April 2nd, 1959, I and teacher Sandu have been down town, to see an exhibition, and I explored satellite 1, satellite 2 and satellite 3, and satellite pictures. There was a dog called Laika in the satellite. I explored factories, electric coils, roads, a small carriage, a big ladder, rivers, electricity poles, motors which make electricity, and other things. I made a small satellite out of plasticine, in the small classroom.

Those very first school years, when I learnt the basics of normal good and bad facts of human life, I already made plans for the future, daydreaming about my life as a grown up… and here is how I pictured it.

I am 21 years old. I marry a girl. I put a ring round her finger. I am a grown up worker and come to the printing shop of the school for the blind. I bind books and get paid 600 lei salary. I go downtown to buy many new clothes, shoes, a new satchel, and a pocket thin chain watch. I go home and eat and drink water and sleep in Adamescu house up to 3 p.m. I explore books on the new table in my room. After many days my wife makes a small baby, has a big belly and goes to hospital. I stay at home alone. I can lock the door by the key. I can walk alone, cane in hand, down Budai Antal Street, and reach the school for the blind. I quietly enter the printing shop and put on old overalls. I bind many books. I carefully read the page numbers. I wash my hands in water and soap. I go home nice and quiet, down the street. On Sundays I do not go to school. I read a lot, at home. I put on fine new clothes and walk slowly on the sidewalk, where there are no cars. I am a grown up worker. I am a husband. In a few days Adamescu’s wife comes home not sick but with child. I am the father of a small child. Adamescu’s wife buys a pram.

Those years I also sent letters to Grandma Stanca about that time, and when on holidays, to my teachers and many other people I knew. I wrote those letters in raised Latin system and the address in regular letters, inside the Braille slate grid. Here are a few of such letters.

September, 7th, 1960 Dear Aunt Paula, I am all right, back in Cluj from the seaside together with the students in our group. I spent my summer holidays at granny’s place. On August, 3rd, I went to Bucharest with Flori and ate a good cake in a bakery. We went to see the shops in the north railway station. Teacher Sandu came back to school on September, 1st. How is Uncle Sandu? and Aunt Paula? and cousins Nelu, Gigel and Elvira? Yours truly, Vasilică

September, 17th, 1960 Dear Grandma, I am well and in good health. I got your letter. On September, 15th, school began. I was with teacher Sandu to the school festival and told a poem well. On September, 16th, I went on a trip by bus with students and teachers and instructors. We climbed up a tall hill, with teacher Rusnac. I found wild pears. I do not eat wild pears, they are too sour. They only sweeten in 2 or 3 weeks more. I will learn Russian with teacher Sandu, to speak Russian when I go by jet plane to Moscow. The Ministry gives much money for the plane. Yours truly, Vasilică

December, 24th, 1960 Dear Granny, I am well and in good health. Father is mean and does not give bacon sausage and smoked ham to Granny to send me in a parcel to Cluj. I will get 800 lei salary and will send money to Granny, who is poor. It is the winter holidays and the pupils left school to go to their parents. When I grow up, the printing shop in Cluj moves to Bucharest and Marinescu said I will be a hard-working printer. I will be 25 and I will marry a beautiful girl, who will take good care of me. My Granny Stanca, you kindly must not be angry with me for being a worker in Bucharest, with Martinescu. A Happy New Year and Many Happy Returns of the Day! Your grandson, Vasilică

December, 30th, 1960 Dear Grandma, Today I got your parcel. I am well and in good health. I am happy that Grandma is a good woman, sending me a parcel in Cluj. Thank you for the sweet bread and locum, the plum marmalade, the cakes, the roast pork and the bacon. I want to ask Grandma, who gave the pork and the bacon to Grandma to send me? Grandma, tell me how many dwellers in Cocârgeaua? It is my name day next Sunday. I will go visit with someone. A Happy New Year and Many Happy Returns of the Day! Your grandson, Vasilică

January, 1st, 1961 Dear Ionică, Today, January 1st, is St.Basil’s Day, my name day and of many people in the country, and is called onomastic. I wish you a Happy New Year and Many Happy Returns of the Day! Instructor Dănilă told me I must shave my beard and my moustaches by a shaver, and that Ionică must send me 50 lei to buy it. I am 17 and my beard and moustaches are 2 or 3 millimeters. Mrs. Sandu is a teacher and is not allowed to give me much money and neither are the other teachers. My brother Ionică, kindly send me 50 lei in Cluj. I will go down town with your 25 lei to buy a shaver, the brush is 13 lei, 4 blades 5 lei and the shaving soap 1.50 lei. Ionică must not forget to send money. Ionică will not be lazy and stingy, but diligent and kind. My brother, kindly do not be angry with me. I will go with teacher Sandu by fast train to Moscow. The Ministry does not give money for plane. I will meet Iulia the blind and deaf girl. I am Romanian, not Russian. When I am 25 I will marry a Romanian girl who can hear and see. Your brother, Vasilică

January 16th, 1961 Dear Grandma, I got the letter from you. I am well and in good health. Cluj has 165,000 inhabitants. Bucharest has 1,450,000 inhabitants. It is a bigger town than Cluj and the capital of our country. Cocârgeaua has 7,000 inhabitants and 2,000 houses, Grandma answered. In March I will go on a trip to Bucharest, with students and teachers, by a travel car bigger than a bus. We will visit the writers’ and poets’ graveyard. I will make a map of Cluj and a map of our country, on a zinc plate which I will bring to Grandma for all of the villagers to see. I do not know how to make a map of Bucharest in zinc plate, for I have not seen that map. How are you? Your grandson, Vasilică

June, 14th, 1961 Dear Teacher Sandu, I am well and in good health. I got home all right, by train. The train took us to Bucharest North Station, wherefrom we went by tram to South Station. Then Martinel and his mother and I boarded a stopping train in East Station, to commune Ștefan-cel-Mare, where we got at night, at about 11 p.m. The train stopped in 19 small village stations. We walked a long way along the train railroad, carrying my heavy suitcase, Timinschi’s mother helping me. I got very tired and shook all over. A train passed by. There was a valley along the railroad, and clouds, and it rained. We stood still on the path edge till the train was through passing. I could feel the strong wind of the locomotive coal smoke. The three of us reached Timinschi’s house last night. I was tired and rested well in that house till morning. We then boarded a local train for 3 more stops, to granny’s, who was happy to see me and kissed me on both cheeks. Your student, Vasilică

June, 18th, 1961 Dear Instructor Dărăban, I am well and in good health. I got home all right, by train, to my grandmother, in commune Cocârgeaua. We have red osiers growing along the Danube River’s branch called Borcea. Farm baskets better be made of withies, as also gift baskets and desk baskets. The people in Cocârgeaua are no good with basketwork. They weave ugly baskets to carry straws in, and litter. I am good with basketwork. On August, 10th, 1961, I go to Borcea River to cut withies by my case knife. I count them and bring them home and clean them free of leaves. I will weave a wicker demijohn for Granny’s glass demijohn and a basket, for Granny and my father and the villagers to see. Then I will trim the demijohn withies by my case knife and take good care that they do not snap and all is well. Instructor Dărăban must write back a letter. Yours truly, Vasilică Adamescu

June, 23rd, 1961, Dear Teacher Sandu, I am well and in good health. On June, 13, I gave Granny my train pass and told her to send it back to our school. Last night Granny got the letter from teacher Sandu. The postman came to me and gave me the letter. Granny was out in the village and she came home and I gave her the letter from teacher Sandu. I did not get the letter in Braille from teacher Sandu. On June, 14th, I wrote six letters, one for teacher Sandu, one for Principal Oșeanu and for each of the printers and teacher Dănilă. I bathed in Borcea River to get clean, it was not so cold, it was warm and sunny. I will bathe again. It is forbidden to go far into deep waters. Bad boys go and drown in the deep waters and die. I bathe by the river bank in water deep less than 1. 2 m. I wrote to Mr. Dărăban, too, that I will weave a nice basket and a wicker-demijohn for Granny’s demijohn, for Granny and all of the villagers to see. Now the osier willows are in bloom. Only later, in August, will I weave the basket and the demijohn. I read much of the magazine at home. The villagers called on to see how I read and speak. Yours truly, Vasilică

July, 2nd, 1961 Dear Martinescu, I did not get letter from Martinescu. Adamescu is well and in good health. Adamescu asks the printers: why did they not write to Adamescu? Postman in Cocargeaua is kindly, brings many letters to Adamescu from the people in Cluj. Adamescu says to Martinescu to tell Flori and Lady teacher Sandu to write to Adamescu that Adamescu is kind, obedient and diligent. Martinescu is very kind and merry and loves Adamescu and writes not to work much at home and rest, to grow 190 centimeters tall in 2 or 3 years, not taller than trees or mountains. I stay at home up to September and come by train to Cluj. Martinescu’s friend, Adamescu.

July, 14, 1961 Dear Flori, Yesterday I got letter from Flori. I was glad that Flori wrote me a letter. I know that Popescu finished middle school and knew well for exams. In autumn Popescu will be a university student and will go to faculty to learn French. I want to come home on September, 2, to Cluj, and want to greet Popescu. Popescu is my friend and Flori is my friend. I know that Popescu no more plays chess with Aurel. I am well and in good health. Beautiful girl in Cocargeaua knows how to write onto my palm, learnt well in school. Grandma did not go to school in young age and does not know how to write in my palm, and neither knows Father. Your friend, Vasilică

July, 16, 1961 Dear Teacher Sandu, I got letter from teacher Sandu; I rejoiced very much that she wrote a letter to me. I know that older students’ festival was beautiful, that students were good who learnt well. Teacher Sandu knows that Ionica came home from Medgidia, today. I know that Ionica did not grow taller than me. He worked much and does no more grow. I was diligent, read well magazine number 12 per 1960, I finished writing and made a big book of essays about at home, and have no more brown paper to write more, I only have little white paper, for letters. I wrote many letters to all the people in Cluj. I also wrote to Mr. School Principal Marcu and to my friend Toma, in Bucharest printing house. On July, 12, in the morning, I went with Grandma by car to Fetești. I also was in offices and spoke with the clerks in Fetești about me, and said two poems by Lady teacher Sandu, March 8, and My Country. In Fetești I have wooden fences and paved sidewalks. In Fetești many cars and one or two horse carts run. In Fetești I also have shops. I also visited the perfume shop in Fetești. Grandma bought me a fine big soap, to wash my face, to be clean and diligent and take care not to get dirty. In Fetești I walked in the open and rested well on the bench covered by oil cloth not to get dirty, till the truck came. We went home to Cocargeaua by truck. In Fetești the weather was warm and the sun hot. We got home and in the afternoon I bathed in Borcea River, to cool off. At home I rest well, in my summer holidays till September, to be well rested and in good health. In August I went with Grandma on the field to explore the wheat thresher. Father is mean to Grandma and does not help me in the field. Only Grandma is kind and shows me things, in the field, so that I get to know, too. At home the weather is fine and warm, I bathe in Borcea River, which is 10 meters deep, so I keep close to the shore. I ask teacher Sandu when I come again to school with Timinschi in Ștefan cel Mare, by train; teacher Sandu must kindly answer to me. I am in grade 6, I must finish school in 2 or 3 years, before I am 20 years old, I have finished primary school and must learn a trade for 3 years, in a vocational school, to become a diligent printer before I am 23 years old. I got letters from the printers Martinescu and Flori, and from teacher Dănilă. Ionica stays at home for seven holidays days, and leaves again for Medgidia. I know that the fast train Fetești to Cluj is costly. Grandma is well and in good health, and so am I. Yours truly, Vasilică

July, 24, 1961 Lady Teacher Sandu, Yesterday I got your parcel with paper and with a letter from Lady teacher Sandu, thank you for the paper you sent. On Saturday I got letter from teacher Dănilă. I read the address on the envelope written in Klein system, and it was wrong: Adamescu Vasile, of Zamfir’s. Teacher Dănilă did not write well. He must write Student Adamescu Vasile, not of Zamfir’s. Teacher Dănilă went to the seaside, in village 2 Mai, where we also were long time ago. Lady teacher Sandu must write to Grandma to not forget save money for the fast train, to take care not waste money buying things, but save 150 lei for train. On September, 13, at 5 o’clock in the afternoon, I go with Grandma to Fetești railway station, by car, waiting for Timinschi in commune Ștefan cel Mare. Grandma sees me to carriage and kisses me. I also want to write a letter in pencil, to Brașov, to teacher Sandu, for niece Miorița, and sister Onița, for the people there to see what I do at home. I made a basket for Grandma. The village people saw the beautiful basket I made. Your student, Vasilică Adamescu

September, 19, 1961 Dear Cousin Nelu, I arrived well in Cluj, at 20 minutes past 4 in the afternoon, by the fast train from Constanța. I slept well in carriage second class no. 6 and ate good food from Aunt Paula. The fast train stopped in 28 railway stations and ran along Eastern Carpathians and under 5 dark tunnels. We travelled for 16 hours and 30 minutes. Up to Cluj we covered 825 km distance, very long. Now I am in school and learn well for 9 months then I write to Nelu and ask him: does he want me to go, in summer, to rest at the seaside, in Constanța? Does he want me to stay over summer at Aunt Paula’s, up to next autumn? In summer Nelu must answer. In summer Nelu must wait for me in Constanța. What does Nelu do in Bucharest? Yours truly, Vasilică

November, 9, 1961 Dear Grandma, I am well and in good health. Now I am glad that teacher Sandu stays on with me to the end of school year, for the other teachers, do not know how to speak with me. Only teacher Sandu knows how to speak with me, so I learn to understand well. Grandma will be glad that teacher Sandu stays with me. A Soviet Professor came from Moscow to Romania on October, 30, in Bucharest, Alexander Meșcereakov, director of Defectology Institute in Moscow where our blind-deaf colleagues Iulia Vinogradova and Serioja learn. On November, 1st, Professor Meșcereakov arrived here by plane from Bucharest. He visited the school for the blind and gladly met me and saw how nice I can speak. I spoke in Russian. I wrote a letter to Vinogradova, to Moscow, and made beautiful works in plasticine, for the Soviet Professor to take to her. The Soviet Professor also went to the blind little children’s kindergarten. I also met him and went to the school park, to take pictures. Then, outside, in the street, I saw Professor Meșcereakov to the bus station and told him that I will go to Moscow. At 15 minutes to 1 at night, the Soviet Professor left Cluj by a fast train to Bucharest, on November, 5. What is my uncle in Bucharest’s name? How old is he? What are his children’s names? How old are my cousins? How many children has he? Has he a wife? What street does he live in? Which number? I ask Grandma. I wait the answers and Uncle’s address, from you. Yours truly, Vasilică

November, 10, 1961 Mr. School Principal Marcu, I am well and in good health. Now I am in Cluj and learn well in school. In June, 1962, I finish school and pass exams. Then, next autumn I will leave Cluj by plane, and go to Bucharest and will get there in two hours. Then from airport Băneasa in Bucharest will go to school for the blind, in Vatra Luminoasă, to Mr. School Principal Marcu waiting for me. There I will learn skills in vocational school for the blind and in the printing shop, working with electric machines, so I become the most diligent printer in Bucharest. I will bind eighty books in 8 hours on the electric machine. Mr. School Principal Marcu will be glad that I will be the most diligent worker in Bucharest. This year I will learn German, Russian and French with teacher Sandu, so that I can speak when I go to Germany, to the Soviet Union, and to France. Mr. School Principal Marcu will kindly write to me. Yours truly, Vasilică

Over the years, after much reading and thousands of words learnt, I could speak up my mind much better. Here is a letter sent to teacher Sandu.

December, 28, 1971 Dear Lady Teacher Sand, Kindly know that at present I am in Siliștea Nouă, where I came back after the Committee for the Protection of the Underage in Slobozia approved for me to stay, as an assisted person. December 19 to 20 I travelled well by train to Bucharest, where I went with teacher Stancu to the Ministry of Education. I there met Mr. Inspector Caraiman. We talked about a few of my worries. From the Ministry I went to Vatra Luminoasă, where I visited the Association for the Blind. Mr. Leu, President of Bucharest Subsidiary, approved a 150 lei per term grant, that I thanked him for. From Bucharest, I went to Slobozia, capital of Ialomița County, where I took the dossier the Committee gave me, so my stay in the same assisted- children’s house is approved. After a three hours’ sitting, the Committee President, Mr. Vasile Mitrea, signed the approval paper to our request. Also, he decided to give me a 400 lei money help, which I thanked him for. We came back to Siliștea Nouă, and teacher Stancu handed the director the Committee’s decision. Mr. Stancu went back to Cluj, leaving me in the care of a bunch of nice children. I was happy that I made it, to spend in Siliștea my holidays fruitfully, up to graduation. How are you? How is your life? I will write more after New Year’s Eve, and will tell you how I spent my holidays. So for the New Year to come, I wish you many happy years, good health, prosperity and a long life! Your student, Vasilică

Teacher Sandu took care to always address my valid senses. She tried to develop my tactile-kinesthetic sense drawing on smell and taste, as well as on the perception of vibration. She brought me many foods to taste and many plants to smell. Intuition helped me know the grains based on what I already knew back home, impatiently waiting for their names. In a while I could make out flowers from grains, fruits from vegetables, soon also knowing those by shape, size, taste or smell, or by their leaves, I was told a little something about each. I also learnt about seas and oceans, rivers and lakes, mountains and hills, about the people’s social life, about towns and countries, and many more such like. The neighborhood was there for me to explore: the school walnut trees garden, the little park in front of the school, the large park in town, the botanical gardens, the woods called Făget and Hoia, the field in-between Someșeni and Apahida, where I guessed right how the farmers and the land workers toiled, or the sheep grazed; and I could tell apart lots of land animals, fish and birds. We had moulds and live animals, even. They kept a horse in our school garage, to carry foods or furniture about. There was a pigsty and pigs, could easily guess by the smell I knew from Borcea. When the sows farrowed, teacher Sandu caught piglets to showed me, and teach how to make out males from females. When a pig was over 100 kg and sacrificed, teacher Sandu took me to the canteen, to show me the organs: heart, stomach, spleen, kidneys, lungs, guts, plus the head, legs and tail. I crunched fried rind, and other type canteen meaty stuff which they also explained to me how to cook. We also had a school garden lined by wooden fences, where I learnt about all sorts of vegetables. The wooden barn and the shed were connected and burnt down to ashes (later remade it in brick) in 1966, if I well remember, when Teodor Frișan was the school principal. And the dirt bowling lane in the courtyard was remade in concrete, I knocked over many pins throwing that ball, for the blind loved bowling and also held bowling competitions. Teacher Sandu wrote poems which she helped me learn by heart, always correcting me. She taught me how to utter in extra-loud voice in festivals, and took pride in my success. I was in school festivals and in tours in town, in the House of Culture and the County School Inspectorate, or in nearby little towns like Gherla, Dej, and Turda. My colleagues played musical instruments, or sang; then teacher Sandu introduced me telling people that I could do all unheard of things and I showed how I made brushes or fruits in plasticine, or boasted my reading and writing. I had a cardboard box that was actually a plate fixed with metal rows, on which I printed letters, in alphabet order, or so as to make words and sentences. In the spring of 1959, as I was in Turda, when I got off the stage, somebody approached me, hand held out, and as soon as I put my fingers on his face I knew him to be my brother Ionica. We hugged and Teacher explained to him how to write his name in my palm. He was amazed at my acting, a performance like he never thought I could manage. The only person (among my relatives) who trusted my potential was Grandma Stanca, who daily prayed God to give me the light of the mind, but vainly did tell the villagers that one day I would be able to write. I invited Ionică to Cluj, to visit me, and he came days later. in 1956 he was a student in a vocational school, where he learnt how to work in a cement factory. I adored work, a fact proven by the effort and grace I put into making baskets and brushes. I made my first brush shortly after I came to Cluj, when teacher Gorea was still a grade 6 student in that shop; many others brushes followed, always better made. Before I learnt how to find my way all by myself through the school, instructor Dănilă, the first blind person I met there, saw me to the shop, as I held tight to his right arm. He could not bend his right knee, having been in a crash when 12, so he limped. That shop had a unique smell, a mix of wood and couch grass. Teacher Sandu made me explore first the faces of all of the students around, then likewise the way they worked. I sat silent at a spare desk, waiting to get drilled brush frames. I had a thread shuttle, to pass through the holes. I cut the brush hairs to size and made them into equal little bundles, which I bent, then passed through those holes. Instructor Dănilă watched over, indicating where I was wrong. Many times I made those bundles of hairs too thin or thick, or passed them wrongly through, so I had to carefully correct my mistakes as instructed. My first brushes were messy with the bundles cut to differing sizes; yet after much work (but soon enough) I stopped making mistakes. Mr. Dănilă patted my shoulder, thus signaling that my brush resulted almost perfect, which pleased him so. Much later he wrote to me about my work in the shop. And quoting.

About mid October, 1955, that is one month after you came to our school, I took you to our brush shop. You were still in kindergarten and feeling unhappy with such placement, still you helped those little children put on their clothes, or shoes, a thing you must have already done back home. I showed you our shop furniture and tools, the brushes made by the students, the materials the brushes were made of, and how the students worked. You so liked that shop activity that I decided to help you work there, too, and in two long hard days you managed to make you first scrub brush. At first I put your artifacts in the cupboard, apart from the other students’, so you could see the heap grow and be happy about it; but later your brushes heaped together with all others, so you knew that yours were just as good. You worked in our brush shop for four years and you also learnt how to bind books in the print shop. When I taught the first grade children I asked you to work in plasticine, and I also took you to the basket shop. You never liked it there as much as in the brush shop, but what you loved best was work with books.

Mr. Dănilă also wrote to me about happenings outside of the shop.

Teacher Sandu could not make you utter r, and Crișan also wanted you to learn that. So once, a key-bus in your hand, you turned the key and let the bus go. The toy vibrated and you sounded your r in fine imitation. I wrote the letter onto your palm, and made you repeat it, and so you managed to memorize it. And here is how you learnt the meaning of near: I set a chair near the wall and wrote to you , knowing that you were familiar with chair and wall. So I set the chair near the table and wrote to you . Then I told you to place the chair near the cupboard and you did exactly as told.

As said, I first met Crișan when he was hired by the Association for the Blind. He entered the shop and I felt the air move through the open door, yet the pavement being cast in concrete, so I could not sense his steps. I also remember that Crișan did not smell in any way that I could recognize him by, so did not know when he got near me. My friend passed me his memories of that meeting, as a gift.

As but recently accepted in the Association, I told Mr. Dănilă that I had read – in a book by Eugen Lovinescu – interesting things about American deaf- blind Helen Keller, deeply feeling to know about a human being enduring such handicap. He replied that they had a deaf-blind child in school, named Vasile Adamescu, who came on Thursdays to the work shop he coordinated; and invited me to see him the next day. I felt moved by both emotion and curiosity, guessing about how he would look and react, and felt ashamed at myself for thinking that he would be poorly equipped, physically, as compared to a creature that at least can hear and see. I entered the shop at the time indicated and watched teacher Gorea’s students, communicative and cheerful, features no doubt prompted by that exceptional handsome and nice man, and kind tutor, always smiling, who had lost his sight in the war. Those children, never seen before, were all Vasilică’s age. Mr. Dănilă did not tell me which of the children he was, and let me find out on my own. I easily spotted the silent child, who, busy making his brush, did neither talk, nor react in any way to words, only shaking his head as he worked. I walked up to him and patted him on his face; he smiled and immediately felt my hand, to see who I was. He could utter no word, then, but his joy at meeting just one more person was written all over his face.

I made heaps of mud brushes, shoe brushes, nail brushes, clothes, and many such others. The nail brushes were more difficult to make, as the holes through which I led the thread were smaller than the holes of the shoe brushes. And my, the patience that instructor had, teaching me how to handle the helping wire for insertion of those hairs, or knot the wire ends, or combs the material, or nail the brush tops and finally cut the threads to size. There were two rooms down the hall, on the right: the baskets shop and the association headquarters. Later, in the ’70’s, the school principal Coriolan Stoica did a remodeling which resulted into two classrooms plus a lab, but in my time the basket weaving shop was a place reigned over by instructor Dărăban, whom I knew by the buttons on his work robe. The shop smelled pungent, like reeds in water. I worked seated on a chair, a basket bottom on my knees: a wooden plate with a big spike in the middle, the first thing for me to learn. So instructor Dărăban taught me how to pick eight rod like reeds and keep them apart, in a ring, then weave thin thread like wattles upon this skeleton structure. Next I fixed sixteen long wattles to the basket bottom, bending them upwards, weaving the thin reeds in a tight spiral, which I only did with great difficulty, being still rather frail. I only started making beautiful artifacts in 1960-1961, as I became sturdier and could communicate. I made all size baskets, and soon enough I could even don glass demijohns in woven wattles or plastic threads, handles attached and all. Brushes were definitely more easily done. As for the headquarters of the Association of the Blind, on the school ground floor, well… I first entered that room as still in kindergarten, led by Crișan. They actually held their meetings in the school secretariat, I later learnt. The furniture there was salvaged from the sheds in the courtyard. I remember the desk had some sort of straps dangling loose underneath, pegged in only one end, some foot rest no doubt. I ran to the brush shop and, making a tight fist and hitting instructor Dănilă’s right hand, I explained that I needed a hammer and nails. He understood and gave me what it took for me to fix that desk. When they got new cupboards, Crișan saved me a spot, for toys, a plasticine bag and my writing kit. In my leisure time I went there and worked out some thing or other, or just communicated with known or unknown people. When I was demuted I tried to tell them about my family in Borcea, but I could like say Father is a large horse instead of Father has a large horse. I took to Crișan, for I needed a true friend to be there for me when needed, and told him so. I knew an adult friend could protect me better than a child my age. Crișan took care of me, urging the school students to help me, rather than hurt – I just knew that many called me Dopey. In the association headquarters I met Ion V. Pop, who was to become a history teacher, Radulescu and Ilie Furtuna. I also met Viorel Crăciun, Mihai Irimia, Ion Varlan, Achim Drăghiță whom friends called Puiu, Dumitru Muraraș, Maria Lazar, Simion Sturz, Maria Rusu… blind people who came to play chess, to read or just get together. I could not utter i and called Viorel Crăciun (a student in the Music Faculty, a flute player) Veorel; so one day he squeezed one of my ear, and when the pain made me shout the most correct eee sound he printed it onto my palm. My friend Crișan wrote on the topic of my sound issuing.

Some sounds came easy to him, and others did not. I remember he could not utter his r’s clearly, sounding a kind of br instead – he called me Brișan, teacher Sandu had a hard time correcting that. Well, one day he waited for me at the school gate, and when we met he put my hand to his neck and started sounding a long rolled r, very pleased with himself.

Everyone in the association helped me correct what they thought was wrong with the way I acted, like often going to the printing shop other such places, instead of going to my classroom, in my early time there. And all urged me to love school, about which Crișan would reminisce as further quoted.

I signaled to Vasile to go to his classroom after breaks. One day I followed on his steps, to see if he did… and I saw him turn right, to the printing shop, instead of left, as due, so I stopped him and signaled him, again, to go to his classroom. As he still would not, I lifted him in my arms and took him there myself. He sat at his desk, tense, arms akimbo, head turned to his left, teacher Sandu and I being to his right. she said. I signaled to him to take out his stuff, which he did, and I started printing onto his palm BAD BOY, but at first letter he knew what I was going to write, made a tight fist and said (still ignoring pronouns) ADAMESCU IS GOOD. At another time, as I was heading for home accompanied by Mr. Dănilă, I found Vasilică playing at the school gate, as he should have been in his classroom. Mr. Dănilă touched him with his cane, signaling him to go upstairs. But Vasilică would not, so I decided to react, to this day I still wonder at how tough my reaction was! not an authoritarian attitude, but my firm wish that he understood his place, a student expected to do as told by his elders. So I slapped him on his cheek and saw him to his classroom. I made for the gate, but went back to see what he was doing. He was in his classroom, back to the door, face in hands, tears running down his cheeks. It was the first time I saw him cry, I am sure his soul aching more than his cheek. I could tell how huge was his need to have somebody to care for him, so I went up to him, patted him on his head and soothed his pain.

The people in the association tested my reactions in every way. Instructor Dănilă wished to see how I rcognized people, so he once punched the names of the three people in there, on three slips of paper that he gave me to read. One had my name on it, so I put it in my pocket. The other two names were Dănilă and Crișan, so I went up to them and handed his own to each. So when prankster Viorel Craciun once pretended to attack Crișan, I jumped on his back, screaming and trying to get hold of his hands, and they quick let me know it was a joke. Still out for testing, Mr. Ioan Tinca, president of the association in 1959, once wrote onto my palm that Crișan was dead. I felt desperate and protested in disbelief, so Mr. Tinca produced evidence, saying he had sent Crișan to buy cigarettes across the road, and he had been hit by a car. I dashed, crying, towards my classroom, and Crișan ran after me, reassuring. Romanian Association for the Blind (RAB) only had five subsidiaries at that time, the employees going from place to place… and so did accountant Jean Cailidi happen in Cluj, who treated me to several sugar cubes as we met. He slept in the association headquarters, so there he was early in the morning and we worked out in the gym together, floor drills or on some apparatus, as also bit of jogging, in the school courtyard. He did his desk work watching me close. We spoke a lot, for he knew Grandma Stanca, so I guessed he must have been born about my place. Ten days later we were close friends, and when he left for Bucharest, Crișan took me see him to the railway station. We hugged and I waved good-bye, waiting for the train to pass so I can feel all of those vibrations. And then came visit kindly and smart Mr. Filip Naia, president of Bucharest subsidiary, who knew about me from Crișan. He wanted all the best for the blind in Romania, but he was to soon pass away in a tragic plane crash, on October, 17, 1958, on his way back from China, actually on their way to Moscow, the plane catching fire for some reason. So Mr. Constantin Dumitrescu was elected next president of the association. At times the association people had no time for me. I did my own thing, and, unable to hear myself at it, could not tell how noisy – it seems I burst into the classroom dragging my chair on the floor and bumping into things and knocking them about... even in the middle of some meeting they may have held. So once Dumitru Gorea got up annoyed, slapped me once, and took me out. Ever since when I entered the association room Crișan got in first, and signaled for silence by setting a finger on my lips, so I tiptoed to my place where I sat quiet as long as their meeting took. But soon enough, on May, 11, 1959, the Communists jailed Crișan, for being a practicing Greek-Catholic, it so hurt to lose a true friend at hand. One year later our subsidiary moved headquarters to today’s address, 2nd, Avram Iancu Square, and I had to recoup my stuff from the old cupboard, my most precious toy included, a clockwork tram, rails and all, got from teacher Sandu. When I got in Cluj, the teachers noted my faulty gait (I dragged my feet, waddling), Andaluzia Leahu and then Crișan trying hard to explain that to me. Crișan remembers knowing I was drawing close by that dragging, so he on and on set my feet onto his, walking me about the room and signaling how I was to bend my knees. My sports teachers also worked me hard, and I finally got to walk right. Actually my kindergarten instructors were the first to take me to the gymnasium, together with their midgets, to play and bounce all sorts of balls around. And months later teacher Sandu took me there to practice my first bodybuilding exercises on whatever apparatuses they had – a jump box and a horizontal bar, uneven bars and still rings, a pommel horse, medicine balls… which I was happy to explore and understand. Then twice or three times a week I had my gymnastics classes in there, run by sports teachers such as Boghos Jangosian, Ion Pivaru or Dan Ilie. Yet, weather permitting, physical education classes were taught in the courtyard, where we ran, or threw the ball as playing oina, or the 5 and 7 kg ball, which I only could when I cropped up a little more strength. Teachers also helped me improve on my balance. They made me walk the bench, oh, the many times I lost it, my foot slipping and touching the floor! I also tried to stand on the medicine ball for the purpose (but fell) and in winter they made me skate: after many falls my balance improved and I could act as expected. In snowy weather I loved to ski up to the walnut trees at the back of our courtyard. They did not have enough pairs of skis for all, so teacher Ion Pîrvan asked a colleague, Simion Cosma, to share, which he was prompt to do so I could glide like forever. But when it rained I stayed indoors, bouncing a ball and catching it as it rose in the air, or throwing it in the direction of some teacher. What with practicing on those apparatuses, my arms soon became so strong I could lift up to 20 kg dumbbells, do tractions on the horizontal bar, or spin on the still rings. I once lost hold and fell smack on my back, on the gymnastics mats, but I was all right. In the gymnasium I mostly worked with teacher Dan Ilie, who acted patient and willing to teach me all he knew, showing me how over and over. At first I explored the way he worked, then closely copied and he rightened what went wrong. I understood that by exercising a man develop his muscles, and eagerly waited for the day of the week we had our gymnastics class, plus practiced more drills in my leisure time, as advised – like run in the courtyard for fitness, or do tractions. I also swang on a board when there was who with, around. I got myself into many accidents for sheer carelessness, like when I stumbled upon a large stone back in the courtyard and fell, hurting my foot and my elbow, and being required to run with colleagues who could see. For a number of times teacher Dan Ilie took me the Athletes Clinic, to see how fit I was fit for practicing. Their physician printed in capitals onto my palm I am Doc Onoriu Cheeanu, I always knew him by his fine hands later, when I went for checkups. He listened to my heart and lungs and told me I was all right. I got also weighed and measured: 65 kg,1.63 m tall. I finally blew hard into a spirometer, for them to see that I was normal and fit for practicing sports. The weightlifters in town trained twice a week in our gymnasium, so Dan Ilie once took me to a training session, to show me how those athletes lifted the dumbbells. At first he introduced me to their coaches: Roman, Jakab and Ștefan Javorek. Mr. Roman was an elderly stately man, muscle packed on all over, that I could tell… and the other coaches (both younger and Hungarian) felt equally well developed, which amazed me – never had I known before any man so muscular, so I started picturing myself as tall and muscular, a true miniature Hercules. A pungent smell of mint ointments and sweat filled the hall. I guessed out how the athletes pushed and pulled the dumbbells about, so I told the coaches I wished I could do the same, and they agreed. Mr. Dan Ilie warned me about the risks. At first I did warm up drills, as told by Mr. Roman. Then I lifted high the 5 kg dumbbells, one in each hand, and next held them horizontally, in series of ten drills then time out, as I grew stronger the coaches pushing for the 10 kg dumbbells. For many times I could sense the dumbbells hit the hardwood floor protected in thick boards, a noise being audible even upstairs. Watched over by Javorek, I soon enough could lift dumbbells as heavy as up to 50 kg. When the athletes took five in the courtyard I chatted with Javorek, who seemed to care for me. He told me lots about weight lifting, and that he could lift up to 140 kg, while Mr. Roman could even touch at 180, some time in his youth. They had a weights- lifting apparatus, which Javorek made me explore. After much practice I managed to touch at 80 kg myself, and the coaches were happy with it. However it took me such pains that my blood pressure made Margareta Coman (the physician in charge of the school first aid room) forbade me to lift weights any more. It was in 1971 that I gave up the dumbbells, but saved my friendship with those coaches, who I kept visiting in the gymnasium up to 1974, when the school board decided to not host the athletes any more. We said goodbye, but I kept writing especially to Javorek, till he stopped writing back. Not long ago we spoke, he had gone to America, to train their weights-lifting national team, and also teach in the university, wherefrom he retired as a Professor Emeritus. I also loved was swimming. The school could not pay for all of our pool fees, yet our sports teachers’ insisted, so a few of us got to attend the Sports Club, near Someș River, actually getting to train on a regular basis. I could sense the chlorine stench when I first entered the roofed pools’ hall. It was rather cold outside for winter was drawing near, so it nevertheless felt nice and cozy inside, and we were happy to bathe. I could only swim a little, as taught by Crișan, for back home, in Borcea, though regularly bathing in the Danube, I did not know how to swim. The two swimming pools in the Sports Complex were one 10 m long x 4 m wide and 1.25 m deep, and the other 30 m long x 8 m wide and 2.25 m deep. I first went into the smaller, where I started learning swimming. I carefully explored the way my teacher moved in the water, and then I tried to do as much, but failed – it took me many long hours to be able to swim breaststroke and Kraus styles. Mr. Dan Ilie explained to me trampoline diving and urged me to try. I did not feel much like it, but he insisted till I jumped. I found myself immersed, so I beat the water till I knew I was safe above. He proudly praised me for being brave, but I felt so frightened I never again dived when asked to, actually months later we stopped going to the pools, for lack of money to pay for it. November 26 to 28, 1966, the Association for the Blind held a gymnastics and athletics competition in Constanța. All subsidiaries were sent word, and the person in charge in Cluj, Teacher Boghos Jangosian, was supposed to train our athletes for the purpose. So he came to our school and Mr. Dan Ilie asked him to take me, too. He agreed, so I started training in the gymnasium, twice a week for one month. I learnt and practiced lots of new exercises on apparatuses, side by side with colleagues such as Dumitru Chișe and Teodor Popa, later a physiotherapist in the neurology clinic. Two days before the competition we went to Constanța by train and were lodged in a hotel in Mamaia. In the morning of November, 26, we went see the gymnasium where we were to compete, so we met many of our blind competitors. I found my way to the apparatuses, where I met Lady Octavia Ciomei Perovici, in charge with sports in the Central Council of the Association for the Blind. We had been introduced in 1965, in Cluj, and I had met her again a few months later, in Bucharest. So the competition started. When it was my turn I did my exercises on the uneven bars, on the pommel horse and still rings, then did my long jump, so I ranked first in my age group and felt so happy to get a diploma from the jury. After the competition I went downtown for a stroll, and called on my aunt Paula and uncle Sandu’s shop. I told them about my doings that year, we actually spoke a lot. Another athletics competition was held two years later, in Constanța as well, where my brother Costică accompanied me. I threw ball for oina and then the 7 kg ball, ranking first ruuner up. The hall was on Ovid Island, which we reached in a small motorboat. This island was named after Latin poet Ovidius, exiled over his last life years by Emperor Augustus to antique Tomis, Constanța’s name at that time. Teacher Valentin Tăutu made us study many of his poems in our Latin classes I explored the poet’s statue, tall amid bas-reliefs figuring fruits. I also visited the aquarium ashore, accompanied by teachers Sandu, Stancu and Crișan. Chess, a mind thing, attracts the blind; they play it quite a lot. I used to think I knew the game, as played by the students or the adults in the association, but this sport was never my dish, teacher Jangosian soon helped me realize. I understood our chessboard, with holes drilled into each square for the pieces to be stuck into by a little plug they were fitted with, so they do not get knocked about by the blind. I could set the pieces; the black having a little bump on their heads, to be told apart. I thought in too concrete terms at that time to understand chess. Much later Crișan tried me in his turn, and eventually got me playing well, so later on when I went to the association I occasionally played with a few people; yet never really in the mood for it, as it was other type sports that I preferred. In the summer of 1957 I fell ill with pneumonia. They were painting the dorms, so we were sleeping in the gymnasium. One evening teacher Sandu brought me goodies and noticed I looked too pale. She took me to the emergency room, where I stayed overnight, my condition worsening to the point that they took me to hospital in an ambulance. There were also two or three girls in my hospital ward, could tell by their hair. Teacher Sandu came daily to see me and told the people my story. In two weeks (holidays already) I was well again and teacher took me ou for walks. She took me to her home, a room in the Loșoncz’s residence at the end of the school street. We explored the neighborhood, entering shops and learning something new in each. I could tell the shops apart by their scent. I explored the fruits in the greengrocer’s and the meat in the butcher’s. By what my hand could see, I recognized a pig’s head, muzzle and feet and a skinned cow hung on two pegs. The perfume shop smelt sweet, and in the market place I learnt about the vegetables and fruits the peasants sold, as also about the live poultry there. When teacher Sandu first took me to the railway station with her regular students, we got on a passenger train, visiting a first class car – ten cabins, eight seats each. Then I knew about a 50 car freight train that set out: I held my hand out to feel the draught it produced as it ran and ran, and could tell how it was speeding. Crișan also took me to the railway station, to board a local train to Apahida. I could not understand the locomotive yet; however, a couple of days later I got a chance to explore one, and Crișan describes that as further quoted.

It was a winter day, and he was wearing a short light grey coat. The fast train Timișoara-Iași entered the railway station. I took Vasilică all the way to the locomotive, and the mechanic kindly took him up close, letting him try to make out whatever was there, to the best of his ability. Then I took the child down, asking him to explore the locomotive wheels and such down parts without greasing his hands and coat. I also tried to explain things to him by printing each component’s name onto his palm, highly doubting that he had any idea what a locomotive really is. All this while Vasilică seemed delighted and thankful for whatever there was that he could touch. Next day, in school, he showed me a locomotive he had made out of cardboard. It looked more like a plane or thereabouts, but it clearly showed that he was able to express what a locomotive looked like to him.

I remember how happy I was to recognize the coal smell inside the locomotive. I understood the shovel that the mechanic fed coals to the fire by, and I could feel the warmth. I also visited Romanian Railways’ 16 Februarie locomotives plant. I felt that infernal noise and the molted fire smell, and a stench of coals and oil burnt. The plant hall floor strongly vibrated. I understood how they assembled and dismantled the locomotives, and how the workers operated the cranes there. I explored frenzied each nook and cranny of a pristine locomotive there. I noted the large tank and the piping and the three chimneys, of which the first fumed. The mechanic’s berth had a door on either side, and behind it was the place where they kept the coals. Locomotives have seven pairs of wheels, of which three big under the tank, fitted with metal brake levers, two more under the berths, and the remaining two under the place where they keep the coals. I also explored the buffers and the big strong hooks fitted at each end, and left the plant ecstatic, able to later draw such locomotives or even make in zinc plate. I had a toy plane I was fond of, I so loved planes. Crișan kept saying he would some day fly in one to Baia Mare, I daily reassured him, like yes, you will … so one early morning he showed up in my classroom and asked teacher Sandu to let us go downtown. We went to the airport… and this is what Crișan wrote about it.

We were scheduled to fly on March, 21st,1959, by Major Șerban, a pilot of a four-seater in Cluj airport, who heard about Adamescu and his wish to fly from Rădulescu, my colleague organizer of cultural activities. I took Vasilică out of school explaining nothing, but he sensed the direction and when I asked where he thought we were going, he promptly replied SOMEȘENI AIRPORT. We got there at 11 a.m., time enough till noon for us to wander about the airport… so when a passenger aircraft landed we went see the passengers get down and climbed right up, no forbidding rulings in action. I explained nothing, just let him explore, and in a matter of seconds he cried out PLANE! I took him out upfront and lifted so he could touch the helix, then, permission granted, went round and up the stairs to see the cockpit. The child kept saying he was going to fly in summer, ignoring he was about to experience his first flight in minutes. At 12, Maj. Șerban showed up, ready for the flight and I led the boy up the stairs… and when he saw himself in the cockpit, behind the pilot, he put on his happy face, realizing he was going to fly by that plane, then and there! We rose above the town, flew over many buildings the school for the blind included, and then we turned to Apahida – all in all some 20 long minutes! I acted guide, describing every little thing visible through the windows, to the child’s great satisfaction. We then landed and I thanked Maj. Ferbam, who looked overwhelmed by the mixed emotions triggered by Vasilică.

Crișan often took me to the tobacco shop on Horia Street, the talkative and merry shop assistant there, Manases Francisc, being blind. Once Crișan said why not bring Mr. Manases a magazine in Braille? I most seriously considered the idea, jumping on the chance to go downtown on my own. So one day I dressed up, took a couple of magazines under my arm… and off I went. A blind person normally walks a white cane in hand, to signal out his condition, but I had no cane, just walked a hand on the walls. So I got up to the cathedral square, where I waited till there were no more cars rushing by, then crossed, and started walking a hand on the tall hedge there. I walked in the circle, it seems, for I landed where I had started, so I felt confused, but a gendarme saw me and put me on the road back to school. I felt so disappointed to not have been able to reach Mr. Manases! Then Crișan, who had been on my traces all along, turned my palm face up and wrote that a deaf-blind should never walk the streets alone. One Sunday Crișan took me for the vesper to Sf.Mihail Cathedral in Libertății Square, and asked the sexton to let us climb up inside the tower when he was to ring the bells, which he agreed, saying he had a deaf-dumb brother. We climbed up those 100 steps up to the spire top (and I could tell he man limped), ignoring what was to happen. So he rang the bells and I felt that noise to be so loud that I got downright frightened. Crișan showed me the five bells, one of which seemed huge. He took me up in his arms and I could explore the clapper and the way it beat the bell’s walls. And then the bell rope was in my hand and I was told how to pull at it, a unique experience. Crișan (and other teachers, too) wanted to make me understand what the church meant, so I was shown how to cross myself, which I knew from Grandma who used to take me to church at a time when I totally ignored what it meant; I only understood religion and God was after I gained the light of my mind. When entering churches I felt the smell of incense and candle smoke, thinking that it must have been our Heavenly Father’s scent. I met many priests and monks, not all bearded, but never a monk who shaved. I understood their long ample robes and the saintly cords they prayed on, the like of which I had first seen on blind monk Teofil Pârâianu in Brâncoveanu Monastery, Sâmbăta de Sus, he had came visit us in school now and again, urging us to pray and go to church to be happy. In churches I also loved to explore saints’ statues and large crucifixes. One summer vacation Crișan took me to his old cottage, in village Suatu, which I do not remember in detail, but my friend vividly reminisces. And quoting.

We got at Suatu on a Saturday night, and I immediately introduced Vasilică to my mother, my sister Maria and my brother Teofil and wife. I showed him about the house, the bed where he was to sleep in, the courtyard, the chained dog, the pigsty and the places forbidden to him. The next day, a Sunday, in August when the corn was ripe and the fruits were good to eat, I went with Mother to the Catholic church in Mociu, and my sister stayed back home to cook, wondering how she would communicate with Vasilică. As we came back, to my great astonishment Vasilică showed me a little basket made of corn green husks that he had peeled off the cobs Maria had brought in, from the garden, to grill on ambers. Teofil told me Vasilică insisted to show him how to make some sort of wooden needle needed in basket weaving. On one of those days Teofil took us to the field by cart, to pick tobacco leaves. We picked each along one row of plants, while Vasilică waited some place near a corn lot. At some point, as taking out tobacco leaves to the cart I saw Vasilică no more, so I started looking for him in a dell nearby, lined in old willow trees, but only found him farther away, hands clutched upon a sun flower disk, sensing the bee circling the still raw seeds. He was uttering my name, probably meaning to shout, yet ignoring all about sound intensity. I showed him to the fruit trees in the garden and watched him explore. He picked a plum, checked it and tossed, saying WORM, missed the path and got lost into the maze of the onions that he showed weary not to crush. He loved to play with my two nephews, Țucu and Florin, that he drove about the courtyard in a little cart, whose wheels, at times, loosened and flew out. Vasilică just picked up his screaming passengers, little caring for the cries he could not hear, fixed the little cart and the show went on. Back in Cluj, I asked Vasilică to make my house in plasticine. When the artifact was done making it looked amazingly alike, down to details I would not have believed he could understand: he saw that one room was smaller than the other by simply walking the porch area running along the house front side.

I spent long days with Crișan before he was jailed, treasuring memories which I was too ignorant to put down, yet happily saved by my friend on paper.

Once as I was typing in the association headquarters, Vasilică entered, seated himself by my side, explored what I was doing, then said YOU PUT THE COPY PAPER FACE DOWN. He was right, the second copy was blank. He was always learning some thing or other, keeping one of his palms stretched and face up, waiting to be told about the things, or the people, around. I often took him to where the four of us lived, that is Father Prunduș, Iustin and his sister, besides me, down Gh. Lazar Street. One day, on our way home and just about to turn down my street (not yet paved, at that time) Vasilică said HORSE, HORSE. No horse in sight… but soon a cart showed up, he must have sensed it by the vibrations it produced or the animal by its smell. Inside the house he could tell if the radio was on by feeling a table nearby, and he could sense those vibrations even if the table was meters away from the set. I looked for him up in his classroom once when he was in school over vacation, but the door was locked. Fearing that something might have gone wrong I also checked the dorms, then went back to his classroom and knocked louder, also shaking the door. He opened up, eyes sleepy and swollen. I entered the room and saw a few chairs lined end on end, like slept on. I asked him how he knew I knocked, and he said he could feel those vibrations through the legs of the chairs. Once as he was entering my room ignoring that I was not alone, I asked if he could tell who else was there. He promptly held out his hands to explore, but I blocked him out, so he just turned his head left and right sniffing, and immediately said MISS SANDU, he knew her by her cigarette smell. At another time, as I introduced him to Madam Perovici (in charge with the sporting events in Bucharest Association) he was allowed to explore her. An hour later, wondering if Vasilică would recognize her, she changed her coat and took off her rings and watch, draw near him and I pretended to introduce him to a different person. He touched her hands and uttered her name, smiling. We both stood amazed, and he said he could tell her by the shape of her hands and nails. Family was one of the favorite topics. Vasilică wished to marry. I said it was not mandatory, all of his elder friends were not married! To which he would reply: ADAMESCU WILL MARRY, HAVE A TWO ROOM FLAT AND TWO CHILDREN. So how about your wife is with child, again? THEN WE GET A THREE ROOM FLAT. As I got at the fifth child Vasilică proclaimed THEN I WILL NOT FERTILIZE HER ANYMORE! He wished to set up a family not to be alone for life. On May, 11, 1959, I was imprisoned, at Gherla, so we were out of touch for five years. But on May, 9, 1964, I stayed at Mother’s place, and then came to Cluj, in search for a job. I went to the school for the blind to find all about Vasilică, whom I had so missed. I found him in his classroom, the room where the school secretariat is now, and we shook hands. At first he did not know who I was, but recognizing the mark I have on my right index he cried out CRIȘAN! We hugged affectionately, our separation ending then and there.

The National Theatre Among was one of the places Crișan took me, too. Iustin Sabău had a shop there, the theatre electrician also getting small parts on the planks. I watched such shows silent and curious, knowing about the stage, as explored for vibrations during some rehearsal. When Crișan and I watched seated in some lodge, I could sense those much hushed vibrations by keeping a hand on the protection wooden rail. Crișan described the play on stage by writing to me in Braille, on three of my fingers. I can vaguely remember a play about a pair of lovers, a boy, Osman, a Turk, and a girl, Constanța, brought by the Turks to Constantinople, as when the play ended Crișan took me on stage so I can see the lamps, the projectors and the reflectors there. Crișan also took me to explore the organ in the Catholic Church. Seated on the bench I could sense those strong vibrations and could not make out their whereabouts, so Crișan took me up to the keyboard. In the summers of 1957 and 1958 we went to swimming pools in Cluj, firstly to Dermata (close to the shoe factory Clujana, or Policlinic no. 5 later built) then to the one in Victor Babeș Park. Mr. Bogosh Jangosian accompanied us to Dermata, and I went to the children’s pool so they could teach me how to swim. I followed instructions, but had a hard time learning breaststroke. I also went to the big pool where Mr. Jangosian swam. He asked me to push him into the water, and Crișan explained to me the springboard the people dived from. As we lay in the sun Crișan fell asleep… and curiosity pushed me to sneak to the springboard. I had memorized the way and in no time there I was… but, as climbing up, Crișan stopped me. I was still too young to see the peril and the consequences. I always loved nature science, and will never forget the large park in town, together, visited with teacher Sandu, Crișan or, in 1963, with Romulus Martin, our mathematics teacher. Teacher Sandu showed me lots of plants, seeds, cones and such like, telling me all about plants, fowls and animals, and taking me to the botanical gardens to explore for myself, touching, and smelling everything, especially the trees, all of those having their names scribbled in Latin, on little plates. Later class master Gheorghe Stancu took us there, to see the exotic plants in the hothouses (like the banana tree, and the palm tree, and a few more), where the air smelled pungent and felt humid and warm, to grant those plants a habitat close to their natural milieu. The Botanical Gardens abut on Republicii Street, close to the Oncology Institute. My old deaf friend, Bogdan Gelu Constantin, and wife Sofia (also deaf) and their two children lived at 68, Republicii Street, a beautiful mansion inherited from an aunt. Teacher Sandu took me once there; the home seemed tidy and lavishly furnished, the lawn green and the garden stud up with flowers and shrubbery. I often climbed up a tall walnut tree, to pick nuts. Gelu drove a small car and also rode a motorcycle, being a professional assistant dentist, kind enough to save three of my teeth from extraction. I also went rowing and hydro biking on the lake, an experience I treasure. I explored the chestnut trees there, and the poplars and the bushes, and the benches orderly lining either side of the over 1 km long alleys, which I often walked to the far end, close to the stadium and the city ruins, also often explored. But we went to lesser parks, too, where I could sense Mother Nature’s fared just as fine. Autumn smelled mellow and I could feel the leaves under my feet. I picked chestnuts and tried to tell apart the poplar leaves and the chestnut, as instructed: chestnut leaves felt much like walnut leaves, seven leaflets to a twig, six attached right and left, the seventh, larger, at the top… the poplar leaves yet being wider and rounded, except somewhat angular at the top. Teacher Sandu often took me along in her private visits – people she knew, or relatives, to introduce me to so I could socialize, or let them see how I progressed. She told me on and on how to behave decently, eat properly, be poised, keep clean and wax my shoes. I remember having thus visited Ioan and Paraschiva Popa, the Oșeanus, Moga Viorica, Cantor Letitia, Felicia (Teacher Sandu’s niece) and many others. For many times we crossed the street to the School for the Deaf, then a vocational school, where I was introduced to teachers and students and explored the building – the dorms, the canteen, their shops furniture and their classrooms with the benches set in a semicircle… attended classes showing them how I solved my maths tasks by a Braille device, read and wrote in the teachers’ room. I thus got to meet Letitia Cantor and Aura Negrea, currently my neighbor. One more unforgettable visit was at the Circus. They brought to Cluj all sorts of wild animals from Africa and South Asia, sadly in iron cages, so I could not safely explore them. Teacher Sandu told me about them, and I sensed the stench of the lions, tigers, jackals… of an ostrich and of other exotic birds, also kept in cages. There was a meek camel there, whose wool I felt was much like a sheep’s; and I had the rare privilege to explore an elephant’s trunk, which it kept moving. Teacher handed me slices of bread which the elephant took by its trunk from me, then made for the bag. It was too big for me to explore it whole, but I was anyway happy with what my palms could tell me. I felt such gratitude for touching such animals I learnt about, thinking I would never get to touch, except as castings. My friends and teachers helped me learn about everything that Cluj offered – statues, churches, museums... teachers like Sandu, Stancu, Damian plus Crișan did their best for me to develop my thought and knowledge. I particularly liked the History Museum, where I understood lots of objects our ancestors used – tools, clothes and other such like. And I explored the busts of Alexander the Good, Michael the Brave, Stephen the Great… which I later rendered in plasticine. And then there was the Village Museum, crammed packed with cottages, farm tools and wooden beds lain with straw mattresses, rustic kitchen tables, chairs and cupboards nailed to the walls, for crockery and cutlery… which took me right back to my infant years feelings and exploits. When we went to Bucharest for a symposium, teacher Sandu showed me the Army Museum. I found those exhibits quite special, all weapons such as swords, maces, bows and arrows, and shields... guns, pistols, canons, tanks and tank carrier trains, and aircrafts – fighters, bombers, and what not. Whenever taken, later, to machinery exhibitions, I could understand modern tools and spares, motors and mechanical equipment, locomotives, cars, rockets and satellites. Each spring and autumn we went on school trips in Hoia and Făget woods near Cluj, and one of the teachers was my personal guide. I loved beech trees, cornel trees and sycamores. For the first time I learnt which mushrooms were edible, as I explored thick old trees, moss layer on their trunks, and on their roots branching under my feet. I took a fancy to the oak tree and its distinct lobe oval leaves, smooth on one face, raised veins running on the other and cropping into a short petiole, and acorns I could render in clay. Once we stumbled upon a drum roller there, for mending roads, type two huge wheels at the back sides and one wide up front. The mechanic let me climb up to explore its inside levers, brakes and all sorts of push buttons, and then started the engine. The machine vibrated (probably sounding like thunder) and slowly moved, in burnt oil stench. On such trips I interacted with colleagues and younger or elder students in school. Those with some vision left guided me, and we also played together. I remember Bening William, a school mate I met in physical education classes, and also got into fights with, as I had more energy than I knew what to do with. As I said, I was chancy to be taken out of the town as well, thus understanding the beauty, richness, history and traditions of my wonderful country. Nothing they showed me was too much for me, an early riser asking for more dawn to night. I thus went on many country tours with teacher Sandu and colleagues. We boarded an early bus to Bucharest, stopping here and there to visit museums and other such like spots; sadly I kept no diary then, so I cannot say much about those trips. We stayed overnight at the School for the Blind (once School no. 5), in Vatra Luminoasa District, Ioan Marcu heading the school board, as I remember. On our way back we once visited Doftana Prison, where the anti- Nazi had been imprisoned, even saw the cell of ex-president Gh. Gheorghiu-Dej, jailed when the prison fell in the great quake of 1940 taking many prisoners’ lives. Those summers I went to school camps, with colleagues and teachers. The first was in early August, 1958, to a seaside village called 2 Mai. I vividly remember the excitement of the preparation, and how my school mates jumped with joy. As waiting for the train to Mangalia, I instantly knew the railway station anywhere - burnt coal stench, locomotive trepidation and tremor on the rails, strong wind on my face as a steam locomotive train was stopping or passing on. We boarded the train and the teachers seated us our compartments, my place being in-between teacher Sandu and Flori Patachi, and 18 long hours later we were in Mangalia, then driven in cars to 2 Mai. The village had no sewage system, so before meals we washed in the sea. The latrines and the dorms were close and connected by planks installed all for us to find our way. It felt fine being there and bathing in the salty sea water. Ion Blăjan, the folk bard and author of memoirs he called The Man in Black Spectacles, was there, too. We played in the water, he like pushing me under; and I silently played football with my colleagues, or ran in ad-hoc races. I loved to run on the beach, and so did teacher Elena Popovici, championing my drive. Three weeks of daily basking in the sun and frisking in the sea! The waves rolled and splashed, as I picked shells, taking care that they were whole, the chipped ones declared not eligible. Teacher Sandu also took me for daily walks along the coast. We once entered a fishmonger’s shop, smelling the strong sea scent of freshly hauled fish. At another time a fisherman took us at sea in his boat, which I could sense bouncing up and down the waves, nothing like a hydro bike on a calm lake. Then there was the good-bye night, when my colleagues sang, danced and recited poems, I remember having sensed the vibrations of the instruments my colleagues played. I also recited, and did bits of some other type demonstration. Then teacher Sandu took me to Constanța, for me to call on Uncle Sandu, Aunt Paula, and my cousins Gigel, Elvira and Nelu. They had a puppy that I sensed to be meek, and soon enough Grandma Stanca also showed up. In the morning we went to the harbor, to see Dacia, a two-deck ship, my first. The waves beat the walls, which I knew right away by the ship’s light swing. I found out the life boats on either side of the deck, and sensed the coal smell, so I started looking for their smoke and steam chimney. I found the captain’s berth instead. I entered that tight spot (on the lower deck), gripped the steering wheel, and learnt lots about the board meters and the navigating devices there. Then I climbed onto the second deck, where the berths, armchairs and benches were, and found out the chimney and understood how the smoke and the steam were discharged, and how a flag was fluttering in the wind there, then I climbed down once more, to explore the dorm berths, actually the sleeper area. I found my exploration quite exciting and thanked the captain for this chance, then left for Cluj. One more unforgettable trip was in the Danube Delta. We went by train up to Medgidia where we boarded a local train to Tulcea. We stayed overnight in a hotel, then took a 200 people ship upstream the Danube, up to Sulina, Galați and Brăila. We ate lots of fish, my favorite dish of old in Borcea. We visited Louis Braille School for the Blind, for girls, where I met cook Emilia Moldoveanu whom I knew from an orphanage camp, at Prundul Bârgăului and we talked. She was a most generous woman, who cared for me. I also visited all that could be visited in the Danube Delta, and understood lots of things new to me. On our way home we stopped in Craiova, to go to the Zoo, I can still remember a deer licking my hand as I stuck it through the enclosure fence, and getting candy for the males walking along the fence and letting me feel their horns. So our next stop was Tg. Jiu, where we visited memorial house Ecaterina Teodoroiu, a heroine in the WWI, who died on the battlefield, in 1917, I hit my head as we entered, ignoring how small those doors and how low the ceiling. We also visited the local park, to explore our great artist Constantin Brancuși’s stone ensemble, Table of Silence and its 12 chairs, Kiss Gate and Infinity Column. They told us he was born in Hobița village, in the mountains, studied in the Arts Institute in Bucharest, then left for Paris, where he set up his own sculpture shop. Boating in Herăstrău Park and on Snagov Lake reminded me of how fond of water surfaces I always was. I rowed in Herăstrău Park accompanied by tutor Damian, and we got to test a motorboat on Snagov Lake. I explored the boater’s steering wheel and levers, could sense the motor roar as we like flew by, loads of water splashing our bodies, at, I guess, some 20-40 km per hour. I was so pleased that tutor Damian decided for us to go again. July, 24 to August, 21, 1962, I travelled through the country with teacher Sandu. She took me out of the orphanage in Prundul Bârgăului, where I spent my holidays, and we went by truck to Bistrița, to meet Vasilică Ianu, her nephew, a student in Horticulture School in Bistrița. And then we called on Ema Popovici, teacher Sandu’s friend, who wished to meet me, to see me read, write and speak. Then, in an hour or so, we got to Năsăud by bus, where we called on Domnica Sandu, teacher’s sister-in-law. In a short while many relatives of teacher Sandu’s came, too, to see how I was progressing. I met her nephews Iacob Vasilichi, Domnica, Floarea, Marițica and her daughter Anuca, Mitruț, plus the twins Emil and Ionel. Some wore traditional clothes (which I eagerly explored) and opanci on their feet. I also met two teachers in Năsăud, and we talked school stuff. In the morning we went visit this little town (no buses to go by, people just walk), a village before WWI, in teacher Sandu’s time. She was born here, on October, 11, 1903 and I keep in my heart to this very day. We first stopped at the cemetery uphill, where teacher Sandu’s folks lied buried, and she herself was to lie one day. Then we went to George Coșbuc Highschool, set up in 1863, 99 years old those very days. We met Gheorghe Moraru, the school secretary, who showed us around the place. I entered grade 11’s classroom, to explore the desks of the 24 students who studied there. Then we walked round the school, to see the lush park in front of it, and the statue of great poet George Coșbuc, who had studied there, same as teacher Sandu. We visited a high school for girls next, then went to Năsăud County Museum, the exhibits (tools, weapons, kitchenware…) covering local history Stone Age through slave era, Dacians and Romans’ time, and Middle Ages to present time. Eventually we had to start packing and move on, and teacher Sandu’s relatives saw us off to the railway station, for the 8 p.m. train to Rădăuți. We travelled 1st class, and at 5 a.m. commuted in Dărmești, to get to Rădăuți in two more hours. We went straight to the local subsidiary of the Association for the Blind, to leave our luggage and have breakfast. Then we visited the cathedral and the local monastery, built by Bogdan Vodă when he founded Moldavia in 1359. We climbed up the spire, to see the big bells. Then a lady in the association saw us to the Cooperative of the Disabled, where they made brushes. Our next stop was Putna railway station, wherefrom we walked some two kilometers further, up to the monastery. Once there we were told to leave our heavy luggage in some room, then entered the monastery precincts, where I was let explore Moldavia’s Voivode, Stephen the Great’s tomb and those of his two wives, and of his two sons passed away as infants, and of his other three children – Maria, Bogdan, and Rareș, plus his brother’s, Petru. Running my fingers all over those crypts, I felt the letters carved in stone in Cyrillic script, which I therefore could not understand. An oil candle burnt vigil over the great voievode’s tomb. We slept in a cell feeling icy cold, so thick the monastery’s stone walls were. The next day I spoke to a monk whom I explored and found long bearded, wearing a heavy loose coat, a long rosary dangling from his neck. He took us to monk Daniel Sihastru’s hollow rock wherein he had lived happy and secluded; I could explore his table and his bed. We there met Mr. Arsene Rezneac, director of the School for the Deaf in Vîcovul de Sus, who invited us to visit his school. So, at noon, we went by bus to Vicovul de Sus, to visit Mr. Rezneac’s school. Around 200 deaf students studied there, and I met Teacher Ciobanu, a colleague of teacher Gorea’s, in Cluj. There were many deaf students at that time, come from all over the country. We visited the school’s vegetables garden and the bee hives there, Mr. Rezneac could not show me how bees sucked flower nectar, for they flew away. The principal’s son, Nicușor, took me to some works producing motorcycle spares where we met Mr. Scarlat, teacher Sandu’s colleague 30 years back, as Teacher Sandu was visiting two deaf-blind little girls in a village nearby. Then we said good bye and left for Suceava. In Suceava, once Moldova’s capital, Mrs. Albu and Mr. Colbert (members of the Association for the Deaf) took us to a hotel. We visited the fortress of Ștefan cel Mare, on the top of a hill. I explored those stately walls and the spots where the archers shot their arrows from. We also visited Sf.Ioan Monastery there, built by Bogdan Voivode and commissioned by Ștefăniță Voivode in 1522. We went back to the Association for the Deaf headquarters, where their members and employees had gathered, all for me, and it took me a long time to tell them my story. On July, 31st they saw us to the railway station; we left for Iassy, only commuting in Pașcani. In Iassy they lodged us in the Vocational School for the Deaf, then went up to the Association for the Blind, and later to the local hostel for the blind, to meet a number of blind workers, among whom Mr. Vasile Zaharia. The next day we visited Vasile Lupu Voivode’s Trei Ierarhi Cathedral, whose doors were later cast in bronze. I saw the royal family’s tombs there, and the tombs of famed rulers Dimitrie Cantemir and Alexandru loan Cuza. We also visited the old town Tower, the statue of Ștefan cel Mare, the Culture Palace, and the National Theatre, with poet’s Vasile Alecsandri bust at its font side; and the Summer Theatre, where I saw Alexandru Ioan Cuza’s statue, and royal residence built in 1806. Night fell, we bought fruit and vegetables in St. Spiridon Square, and we called it a day. Next day (August, 3) we visited writer Ion Creangă’s school, where he met poet Mihail Eminescu, then visited Golia Monastery (whose 30 m tall tower climbed up, 126 steps up!) and Copou Graveyard, to see Eminescu’s famous lime tree. Our next stop, Piatra Neamț. They lodged us on their school premises. The first trip we took 32 km long lake I.V. Lenin and Bicaz Hydropower station, by ship up to Poieni bridge and back. This 14 stops trip took 4 hours, and I was chancy to see a quite interesting thing: a log raft. Piatra Neamț did not take long to visit, so we left for Buzău, and on the train I saw two rabbits a traveler kept in a basket. Once there we went straight to Louis Braille School for the Blind. School Principal, Jenica Manolescu, who knew me even as a little boy, assisted by Elena Nistor (a 15 years old girl there) guided me through the 3 floor school building – 13 classrooms, 6 dorms, 4 offices, a gymnasium…and a peacock in the yard; 163 visually impaired girls studying there. We then had lunch in some restaurant. We entered Galați (our next stop) too late to find a hotel to take us in. They were all closed at that time of the night, so we slept in the railway station’s waiting room. In the morning, we went to the harbor, where we met a retired navy captain, Lungu. He told me many interesting things about ships. Then we boarded ship Trotuș (which I was told worked on coal tar) bound for Sulina. We passed by Reni, a town on the Danube River’s left bank. As other speedier ships passed by (one Turkish, Teacher said) in a few hours we were in Tulcea. We had lunch on deck and took a nap in a berth before reached Sulina, as the sun set. We put up at a family there, whose house roofed in metal plates was made of reeds lined clay. Those people smear their houses in mud, and put up reed fences. We there ate fish broth, which is their main dish, for most of those folks are fishermen and fishmongers. Back in Sulina we booked a ship to Tulcea and walked along the wharf while waiting for departure time. I explored the thick poles they tied those ships to. We went back by ship Medgidia, about 5 a.m., before even sunrise. I sat on a bench close to the handrail, sniffing the coal fumes. At 11 a.m. we were in Tulcea, then boarded a train to Constanța, where I stayed with my relatives, Uncle Sandu and Aunt Paula, and cousins Nelu, and Elvira plus her husband, Costel. In Constanța we then visited an antiquities museum, and then walked by the Black Sea coast. I felt the waves washing my feet and explored the large boulders in the water, picked shells and avidly breathed in the sea breeze. We also went to the local summer cinema and to the beautiful Greek Church. At night, back home, I spoke with my relatives. I recited a poem in Russian to Aunt Paula (born in Odessa, close to Sevastopol and the Crimean peninsula), the same I had recited to our visitors from Moscow. Cousin Nelu said that they announced over the radio about the third Soviet astronaut, Andreian Nikolaiev, who flew by Vostok 3 spaceship, in the outer space. Shortly after we had to leave, so we said goodbye. We got to Bucharest by the 6:30 p.m. train, and were lodged in the School for the Blind, then went visit the School for the Deaf, attended by the Dobrudjan children I had met in the summer camp. I met Kenan, a Turkish student there that I had befriended, and spoke to many teachers there, as also to a painter, Florea, who gave me a bottle donned in tree bark. Next we visited the Braille printing house, where I saw the machines they printed books for blind on, and met the blind workers who were just printing magazine Viață Nouă, which I could read We did not spend much time in Bucharest, where we had been sightseeing not long before – so in some three hours we got on a train bound for Brașov, where we slept over in Onița Câmpean’s house (teacher Sandu’s sister), also meeting her family, husband Jacob, a physician, and their daughter, Miorița, whose name day, St.Mary’s, was to be in the morrow. Miorița’s Russian teacher, Cazacu, called on us, to see me, and then we went see Gigel, my cousin who lived in Brașov, too. Back home, we toasted a glass of Italian wine to Miorița’s health, and went into the garden for a sort of a picnic. We spoke about watches, world peace, the universe and what not. The next day, August 16, we took a bus to Poiana Brașov. The chair lift for peak Postavaru being out of order, we had to climb on foot, for four hardy long hours. Now and then we picked raspberries, ripe just at that time, and hazelnuts, still bit green. I could feel how clean and fresh the air was up there, and the higher we climbed, the colder it got, so the peak being still far, we decided to stop at a chalet there, Cristianul Mare, and I feel happy to meet a donkey grazing there. In the morning we resumed our climbing more and more difficult with each step, around ever bigger boulders and rocks. Teacher imparted me the vista: Brașov in the valley, and farther on Bucegi and Făgăraș Mountains, I bet it looked amazing. We got at the peak (1806 m) and found the sun shining warm. I knew the juniper trees to be dwarfish, as they will high up there. We lay on the short-cropped thick green grass for a while, then started on our way down to the chalet, for lunch, then further down, to Poiana Brașov. We got caught in a rain shower, took us some three hours to reach there, following the cable car system iron pillars. The next day we boarded a train for Sibiu, where we firstly met Mr. Aurel Cornea, principal of the School for the Deaf, where teacher Sandu used to teach in WWII time, but left because of the Hortist-Nazi occupation and then visited Bruckenthal Museum. But visiting the Village Museum, the largest its kind in the country, was quite a treat for me, with its all type special stuff used of yore. We next called on the Ressinergers, a Transylvanian Saxon family who hosted teacher Sandu when she taught in Sibiu, they were amazed to see me write a letter in pencil, same as the sighted people in Latin letters. The next day we went to the Zoo, and then to Dumbrava Forest where we were attacked by a swarm of bees. August 21 found us in Alba Iulia, where we stopped at the Citadel built in early Middle Ages, oldest in Europe. I saw those 2 m thick walls (put up by 30,000 serfs) run round for 12 km, and the ditches once filled with water so no conquerors could get through. We also saw the cell where the leaders of the 1784 peasant uprising in Apuseni Mountains, Horia, Cloșca and Crișan, had been imprisoned. Then we visited their Regional Museum, Unirea Church where King Ferdinand 1st, and wife, Queen Maria, were crowned… and finally went nowhere else but back home, to Cluj. This long trip cost 2,850 Lei, which teacher Sandu endorsed, actually her 2 months’ wages in that time money worth: a 2101 tour of Romania, so many beautiful places, and so many novel things learned! Then I stayed all by myself at the school premises till my colleagues were back from holidays, and all this while teacher Sandu brought me food, and took me out for walks, daily. I saved myself from boredom by writing letters to those that I held dear, telling them about my trip. In 1962, a Hungarian magazine published a picture report (The Defectologue) on me; their reporter interviewed Professor Roth and teacher Sandu, and here is the report.

In antiquity, the militarist Spartan State threw down Taigetos Mountain the newly born whose war capacity seemed doubtful. Churches thought blindness, deafness, and paralysis sent by God. Millennia passed till instruction and education of the special needs person could grow into a science. Such science – defectology – developed in eastern socialist Europe. The first Defectology Institute in Romania was set up in 1961, in Cluj. Professor Roșca and four of his colleagues run four instruction and education defectology research areas, with children being, respectively, sight recouperably affected, blind, deaf, and retards. The pedagogue-psychologue acts in when the role of the current physician is played out by with the final diagnosis. The blind child will physically compensate (adapt to) his new life conditions, a capacity they can develop by education. The defectologue maps out such development, i.e. how to speed up the process, by making it more accessible and goal oriented. As working with blind children, the defectologue will firstly focus on developing their spatial orientation capacity, futile to a person in good health and thus summoned only unawares, ignoring that objects reflect not only light, but also noise, or that our skin can sense vibrated sound, complementarily to hearing. Such special sense captures objects-reflected sounds, like some live radar, thus guiding a blind person. In quoted institute, Walter Roth educates his blind students not only to move about not guided, but also to shoot arrows towards an electric buzzer, not only to read books, but also pictures: they can, indeed, draw by hand and by any type instrument, painting brushes included, or in raised line. I must admit that at first I did not understand how such brave deeds are also needed – why would a young enthusiast researcher set targets, apparently disconnected of any basic need, like raised pictures style for the blind? Such targets are so basic indeed, that, when explained, I felt ashamed at myself. The blind read the world by touch. But the world is not made up of palpable things only. Neither houses nor bridges are palpable, and towers are as unreachable. He who draws after palpation also learns a system of graphic signs organized into an abstraction of reality. Drawing contributes to the acquisition of more intricate abstract activities. There was a time when they believed that the blind are unable to understand space, actually living in a space type different from ours. Professor Walter Roth dismantled such fallacy, co-authoring with Șerban Lungu and Florica Sandu a research of world interest, leading to the miracle development, in both body and spirit, of Vasile Adamescu, deaf-blind child born in Dobrudja. At birth Vasile Adamescu was in perfect good health, but when two and a half years old fell ill with meningitis, consequently going totally deaf-blind before he could acquire speech, with no hearing and sight sensitivity left. For the next 8 years Vasile was a helpless speechless deaf-blind, clumsily signaling his basic needs. Then he got to Cluj, where, after 5 or 6 years of strenuous efforts made by renowned defectologists (basically angelically patient Florica Sandu), he was gradually introduced to school life, his imagination awaken. He can now ever better connect things and signs thereof. Hand to mouth once meant hunger or thirst to him, which he can now express in Braille and in letters, as raised written symbols of things. He is the child who learnt how to speak by touch. Florica Sandu found out the principles of teaching speech by touching lips and larynx. This child learnt speech, standard writing and reading, and Braille. He writes letters by hand, or in Braille, or types, sending letters on a regular basis, to family, friends and pen friends abroad. Based on touch and smell, he can easily recognize any person he knows, and can learn languages. When Vasile met visiting Russian Professor A. I. Mescereakov, he greeted him in Russian. He makes perfect brushes and baskets, and he can bind books. Not only can he draw, but also model various materials into the thing drawn. Once, in some hotel, they (so to say) showed an elevator to him, and he reconstructed it in tin plate, an impeccably proportionate model. I wonder at the great many children’s lives going tragic through (hereditary or not) impairment, society witnessing indifferent. In the spirit of social humanism science now educates such children to become active members of the community.

And then School Inspectorate decided for teacher Sandu to retire starting December 1st, 1962, which I deeply resented, but she was 58 and at that time women retired at 55. She nevertheless kept visiting me on a daily basis, checking on my writing and reading and what not. And she took me downtown ever so often, on and on preaching about what I was to do and what not. That was to be was my last primary school year.

MIDDLE SCHOOL

The new school year started with plenty of novelties. I was relocated closer to the teachers’ and the board’s respective rooms, in today’s secretariat room on the 3rd floor; actually a two room space, the former just about large enough to lodge our two three-door cupboards, a desk and a few chairs, and the latter smaller, for a table and two-three chairs. We had a stove in the entrance room, ten got one for the second room, too, and our floor was now made in hardwood. But, most importantly, I got new teachers to work with, for our principal, Mr. Ion Oșeanu, appointed teacher Stancu as my class master, and tutor Lidia Ciumageanu as my educator. I had met teacher Stancu in 1958, when he came to our school to teach Romanian; I often bumped into him down the corridors or in the courtyard. He wrote an S onto my palm and I instantly called his name. He was tall, stout like, his hands felt rough and he let his little fingers’ nails grow longer for me know him by. He was kind, nice, and always smiling. In time we got ever closer, a true father figure for me he was, teaching and guiding me through all of my next school years, even through my university time. Sadly, my diaries do not help me much to recall my middle-school years, for I could only write simple things, in poor grammar. We all went into the courtyard for the school opening, students and their parents, class master, teachers, school employees, our principal kindly addressing his welcome, my class master writing on my palm, in capitals, whatever was said on the occasion. Then I went into the classroom, and teacher Stancu indicated that I accompany tutor Ciumageanu; so we went get a few textbooks, and after lunch to the school library to pick my Braille textbooks. During afterschool time we leafed through the books together, to see what we were to learn during that school term. Then she took me to her place, where I met her son, Codruț, and their piglet. I had already met my tutor’s husband, Professor Ciumageanu, before even working with teacher Sandu, when taken to the Pedagogical Research Institute, where, together with Professor Mare, he did all sorts of experiments on me, and later both often came to school to see how I was doing. Once he told me that he had read in a magazine abroad about deaf-blind students who touched the lips of the people they communicated with, to read what they were saying. So he took my hand to his lips and I immediately could tell what he said, as teacher Sandu taught me, a method also used by famed pedagogues such as Ann Sullivan when she taught Helen Keller, or Professor Sokoleanski, as working with Olga Skorohodova. Over the following weeks, tutor Ciumageanu helped me do my homework and study for my classes, writing onto my palm synopses of books or films, or of fairy stories not available in Braille, or of newspapers articles. On November, 25, 1962, I wrote to Professor Meșcereakov, in Moscow, to let him know about the changes in my education strategies.

Dear Professor Meșcereakov, Do not feel sorry that I no longer work with teacher Sandu; she retired. At the beginning of the new school year another teacher, Mr. Stancu Gheorghe, took over teaching me, helped by a new instructor, tutor Lidia Ciumageanu, who works very well with me. Now all the teachers in the school can communicate with me. And I got a most beautiful Petrod Vareț wrist watch, made in USSR. Wednesday last, Professors Ciumageanu and Roth went to village Vicovul de Jos, to bring here an 11 years old blind-deaf girl, Ana Roșca. She cannot communicate with me, and is now in hospital, being investigated for deafness and blindness. She will be in special needs first grade classroom, close to mine, next week we will know who will teach her speech, writing, reading and such like. We also expect a 13 years old deaf-blind boy to come in Ana’s grade, from Fălticeni, so they will soon be able to communicate, I feel happy to later befriend them. How is Serioja? And how is Vinogradova? Kindly write back and I will write some more! Yours truly, Adamescu Vasile

In the first term my class master daily asked me to read textbooks, often correcting me. I was getting ever more fluent, and could read without interruptions. Noticing problems I still had uttering sounds he even asked teacher Sandu to come fix that. He also had to teach both me and the teachers in school to communicate by palm printing. Those were long learning hours, and teacher Stancu would get tired working his pen’s round end to print in capitals onto my palm, whereas, during primary school, teacher Sandu communicated with me in the face ABC she invented. It was, really, exhausting, for any teacher, to print onto my palm, as, indeed, it was for me to read… but, in time, we all got used to this method. Sadly, for some subjects we had no textbooks printed in Braille, so I had to take dictation from some of my teachers, typing on my Picht, in Braille that is, but day in day out, I learnt more and more things. I remember the Physics teacher, Ana Frișan (wife of ex-principal) dictating about ammeters, electricity and momentum, of moving bodies and such like others, tiresome classes with no printed textbook, in a curriculum the same as any regular school’s, except for minor adaptation to special needs. Then my instructor was appointed to teach deaf-blind girl Ana Roșca in our second room, and tutor Damian was appointed as my instructor, instead. Sadly, Ana also had many psychological troubles and could not be recouped. Tutor Damian also printed onto my palm by a pen’s round end, and she also dictated exciting things in encyclopedias and atlases. Her husband was an engineer in Popești mine, where he once took me along, in a van. I was explained (and perfectly well could understand) the excavators, the discharger trucks and other such like machines there. I talked to truck drivers Ion Pop and Dan Gheorghe, kindly enough to help me up to the discharger truck, where I explored the levers and the steering wheel, sensing when the load was discharged, all in all a quite fascinating mining live lesson. Tutor Damian also taught me about hygiene and how to keep my classroom and my dorm neat. I knew the basics in kindergarten and primary school already; still hid food under my pillow, or mattress, which the janitors reported, even letting know teacher Sandu, who scolded me and asked to stop doing. In my scant free time I tried my hand at making cars, planes in zinc plate. I got my materials from the school shops and from the printing shop. Mr. Martinescu provided zinc plate too ruined for printing uses, and Mr. Dănilă lent me tools, wire and such like. The car wheels I needed came from mechanical toys. I bent my zinc plate by pliers to whatever shape I wanted, and then pierced holes by a pricker to pass wires through for fasten parts tight, finally working a knife to cut out square windows for whatever vehicle I was remaking. My first toy model was a ship, an elevator followed, then a steam locomotive, and a one-helix jet plane. At some time (in 1963) I started making more intricate things. I often got cut, so I took special care turning to the insides wire ends and plate sharp edges, so the blind exploring should not get hurt. When I did not know how my vehicle looked I asked my teachers or went to toy shops, where I was allowed to read those to full satisfaction. I remember my maths teacher, Romulus Martin, describing me (in 1964) an 8-wheeler Diesel locomotive, different from the 14-wheeler steam locomotive, easy enough for me to make. But by far the best artifact of mine was the Cluj railway station model. We took frequent trips to the railway station and I explored all I was told, thus building my general view, still it took me months to get it done. I found my boards in the broken furniture pile in the courtyard, and made a 1 m long per 75 cm wide structure, which I roofed in zinc plate, hammered in nails. My underground passage (below the railway) had 6 flights of stairs, and the building had 2 main gates and 5 wire railways, in-between of which roofed 3 platforms, for where people to take shelter from rain. Thick wires above each railway indicated that the locomotives were Diesel. The building (18 m tall in real life) had two towers I did not explore, so my model-station front face figured two more pillars and cables to the outsides, and a trolleybus going a little way and back. I worked this model in the second room of my classroom, and when it was ready to show I took it to the first room, a table at the back of my desk, for anyone setting eyes on it to wonder. One more leisure time activity which that I equally loved was technical drawing. Already in primary school, helped by teacher Sandu I drew in raised line, by the stylus, a tool ended in a thick puncher which I punched by on paper sheets, various shapes figuring fruits, houses and such like. I would set my paper sheet on a rubber plate and pinned it up, based on what I meant to draw. For instance if I wanted to draw a square, I set 4 pins for the square’s corners (distances measured by a ruler) and then drew my line by a special drawer. I also had a setsquare and a pair of compasses, to draw car wheels by the help of. By and by I got to draw ever more complex things, assisted in my middle school drawing classes by teacher Lungu, while under guidance of teacher Martin (in my geometry classes) I learnt how to draw the geometric bodies, for the geometry problems we had to solve. I also managed to draw the map of Cluj, especially the downtown area (where our school was), the map of the Children’s House building in Prândul Bârgăului, 20 storey blocks of flats, towers, tram rails and trams, locomotives, planes, animals, bumblebees, butterflies, flowers, trees, the Solar System, the Earth moving around the Sun, the Milky Way Galaxy, the flight of American spaceship Apollo 17, and many such like others. Under tutor Damian’s guidance I drew the Danube Delta, with all its living creatures, an intricate work on a huge sheet of paper. Even today I take great pleasure in drawing things like multi lane highways, cranes, magnetic rail trains, and such like. Professor Roth took all of my so passionate drawings to Vienna, for an international exhibition of blind artists. And then I got to learn how to work a typewriter, which proved useful ever since, for my whole life. Since 1962 to 1971, teacher Paraschiva Popa, wife of principal Ioan Popa, taught me the secrets of the typewriter. I recognized her by her delicate hands and the diamond ring on her finger, which she wore next to her wedding ring. She was a nice and kindly woman. She cared for me a lot and often brought me useful things, or birthday presents. Teacher Popa published a typing course, which they later also issued in Braille. By thoroughly reading it I managed the typer components, and the keyboard to perfection. We explored my first typewriter, teacher Popa explaining each basic component, the carriage and the type guide, the stops, the four row keyboard with all of the letters, digits and other type symbols, the space bar, the key levers and bars, and the ink spools. I had such classes twice a week on an Olimpia (or Optima) typewriter. I learnt how to press the buttons by eight of my ten fingers, each of which a special letter, thumbs free for the space bar to, mark the blank between words. It took me years to manage the typing system and clearly knowing in my mind where each symbol was on the keyboard, and I also learnt how to clean the machine. The typewriter had no raised indices to mark instructions about letter position or such like – they were all plain flat, simply inscribed in capitals; and yet, to my great delight, I learnt how to write personal and formal letters. I also could handle the ink spools by myself. I gladly remember the day when teacher Popa gave me a semi portable Erika typewriter, that I later typed lots of letters on, and copied texts and what not. My toil suddenly got lots easier to carry through. Many people cannot believe that a blind person can actually type on a typewriter. When (1969 to1977) I was taken to the orphanage in Siliștea Nouă, Teleorman County, I met Miss Elena Nedelcu, who types for a living in the institution’s secretariat. She often let me type my letters on her typewriter. And then, when back in Cluj, I would send her typed letters, which she proudly showed around to disbelievers. In 1971 the Association for the Blind presented me a portable, quality Consul typewriter, brought to me by Ion Mateescu, honorable president of the Association for the Blind in Bucharest, accompanied by Al. Micu, the association’s General Secretary. I’m writing this book on it, as of this very day. The same year my beloved teacher Popa went abroad with her husband, so we had no more classes, but by that time I knew it all, and soon, to my delight I got a letter from her. Here it is.

Alger, June,7, 1971. Dear Vasilică, on May, 11, at 9 a.m., we took off, for Rome, in a large, Romanian plane, from Otopeni Airport, in Bucharest. Two hours later we landed on a huge airport near Rome, 12 o’clock local time, 11 o’clock Bucharest time, so we had to fix our watches accordingly. At 1:30 p.m. we took off from Rome, to Alger, across the Mediterranean, in an Algerian plane. When we got there, our watches read 3 p.m., but the airport clock said 4 p.m., so again we had to adjust our time. We had a nice flight. In the Romanian Embassy, the deputy-secretary and the local school for the deaf principal were there to greet us, and drove us to town down a highway lined by palm trees, lined upright like for parade on either side. We were lodged in a hotel in the middle of a beautiful park, in the El-Madenia district, and then relocated in a recently refurbished guests’ villa of the school, which was in downtown, close to the Governmental Palace and the harbor. Our windows opened on the sea and a good part of Alger, a huge beautiful town. The nights, the starry sky looks down on the no less starry land, harbor and ships, the sea reflecting whose lights. There was a high school for the blind some 15 km further away from the school for the deaf. I barely visited the school for the blind; I will write to you about it soon, so you kindly write to me and tell me where you will be over the holidays. Send our regards to the teachers back home. Have a lovely vacation. Your teachers, Paraschiva and loan Popa.

They agreed to teach me French over school the year 1964-1965, as I had been asking to since 1960. Sadly, our teacher would not take me in her group, so the principal asked tutor Lidia Ciumageanu to teach me French, and we had a marvelous time together learning words, grammar and what not. Yet I had a hard time learning how to utter those words correctly. At first Teacher dictated to me the lessons in the general texts book, but at some later time they found a book in Braille for me, in the school library. Over the next school year, Margareta Negulescu was appointed by the board to teach me French. At first she acted skeptical to my ability to learn, fairly stern and rather impatient, which motivated me to apply myself even harder. In a couple of months she totally changed her attitude, amazed at my potential, and soon I could write letters to French people of my condition. As for Russian… it was in the school curriculum, but not in mine, for some reason or other. Teacher Teodor Vulpe taught us geography; I loved it as well, even though I could not make much sense of what he wrote onto my palm before I told him to write in capitals. In class he would press the letters onto my palm by the end of his pen. Teacher Vulpe was a tall man, always cheerful and often cracking jokes. He brought me maps in bas-relief: one of Romania, one more of Europe and a third of the world. He even brought a globe in bas-relief rendering. I found teacher Vulpe’s classes exciting, for I learnt how to find towns, countries, mountains, rivers and such like, on maps. When classes were over I asked more questions about volcanoes, industries, or the universe. I always got high grades in geography, partly due to the extra-classes provided especially for me by tutor Damian. Teacher Sandu had taught me my first concepts in mathematics, in primary school, no easy job to see through, given how abstract everything was and the materials it took for me to understand that 5 and 6 is 11, I got boxes full of nuts, corn seeds of beans, chestnuts and sticks, to learn counting and arithmetic. When I got something wrong, teacher touched my forehead, like think harder, so I started all over; in a while I got my first abacus, and then the Braille kit to do my drills on. Then there was teacher Romulus Martin to teach me mathematics over my first secondary school years. He taught me how to think in terms of meter, liter, and minute, hour, day, week, month and year. Teacher Martin made me calculate perimeters, volumes and money worth. Starting 1965 he worked for the School Inspectorate in Cluj, till retirement, and teacher Feștila took over his classes. We had an emotional first encounter. We shook hands, then he printed onto my palm Hello, my name is Aurel Feștila. As of now, I will teach you mathematics. At first he could not understand me well, so I printed onto his palm, even complex things like digits, but soon he got used to my ways, and could teach me more and more intricate things, like fractions, two variable equations, systems, or raising numbers to power. I had a hard time understanding those, but he took great pains to make me grasp more and more meanings and find solutions to problems. I worked on my Picht typewriter, known since 1956 when teacher Sandu taught me to thus replace the blind student’s tiresome slate and stylus. During my first two secondary school years, class master Stancu also taught us history. Then, 1964 to 1965, the history classes were taught by Ion Pop, whom I knew since my first year in school, when he worked as an accountant for the Association for the Blind, and I met him like daily when I went to see my friend Crișan. I knew him by a sign he had on his little finger. He was tall and strong. What with the many history museums visited all over the country, I was fairly knowledgeable in Romania’s history, and I passionately learnt world history, too. They also taught us chemistry, biology, physics, and abbreviation. Teacher Aurelia Știrban taught us chemistry. She was shorter than the other teachers, and her hands seemed small, too. Before we had a printed texts book she would print letters onto my palm and I put it all down on paper by my Picht. At some point I could sort out all of the periodic table and the formulas implied. Teacher Maria Șchiopu taught us biology, actually anatomy, zoology and such like. I could name the human and the animal body parts, the animal breeds and families, and all type plants. Teacher Șchiopu explained to us how our planet developed some five billion years ago, and how the atmosphere – rich in water vapors – was made, the air components (oxygen, N and carbon dioxide), how the first creatures showed up and how time is expressed in geological eons. Such things fascinated me. During his tutoring classes, teacher Stancu read many interesting things to me, about hygiene and health, or about how important physical exercise is for the human body. He also read lots of newspapers articles to me, so I could know what was happening in Romania and around the world. Moreover, he acted father to me, giving good advice and writing me letters in Braille – a difficult thing for anyone not doing it on a regular basis. I saved tens of epistles received from this father in Cluj, which I can still read. Here is one.

Cluj, August, 2nd, 1966. Dear Vasilică, In July I got a letter from you. I am glad to hear that you are well and getting ready to leave for Constanța. On August, 1st I will be back to school, for two weeks. When did you go to Constanța? How did your Uncle Sandu and Aunt Paula treat you? How is your life these days? Did the people in the two associations provide a chaperone to you, as promised? Do you train in weight lifting again? Is Coach lonescu in Constanța, yet? How long have you been there already? How many sessions of dumbbells did you do? Try hard to train in swimming and chess, I know that you love to. How are Uncle Sandu and Aunt Paula? Very busy with their jobs? Are your cousins in Constanța, yet? Is Mr. Gigel still working in Eforie? Is Mr. Nelu back from Bucharest? I’m sending you 150 slate paper sheets. If you need more, kindly say so. Give your people my best regards. Be a good boy and behave yourself, as we know you would. Careful about sunbathing and even more when swimming! Keep yourself in good health, work hard trainings and make your holidays as pleasant as possible! Here is a warm hug from your teacher Gh. Stancu.

I also gladly remember of a letter from deaf-blind girl in Moscow, lulia, which teacher Stancu rewrote in Braille for me after Professor Mare translated it.

March, 27, 1970. Hello, Honorable Vasile! Here is lulia writing to you. I learn well. I study history, geography, botany, Russian language and literature and arithmetic. I like arithmetics a lot. I remember the letter you wrote to me long time ago, in May. At that time I was attending a school in Moscow. The years flew by, Vasile. Do you remember I sent you a little toy plane, rolled into a badge? Do you remember you sent me candies? Now I am in Zagorsk, attending the school for the deaf-blind there. How’s your progress in school? What’s the news? I am eagerly waiting for your letters! So long, lulia

Speech development was a thing they only taught me. Teacher Sandu passed teacher Stancu lots of instructions, on how he was to make me practice speech. He asked me to read texts aloud and corrected my mistakes. I studied abbreviation of Romanian in Braille with blind teacher Dumitru Frâncu, a tall robust man with big hands. He had a hard time writing to me in Braille on three of my right hand fingers, the same way Mr. Dănilă did; yet I clearly understood his messages. He taught me dots patterns for letter groups; he started each class asking me to abbreviate a text, and corrected me as the class was about to end. In all those school years I read many of the books on our library shelves, as indicated by tutor Damian. In her tutoring time, she asked me to read, and then write summaries of what I read, fiction and poetry mostly. I did not befriend many of the school students, on account of my many spare time activities. But I did make a few, especially older than me, and I still got along well with the students that Father had left me in the care of, in 1955: Dascalu, Jitea, and Apetrei. In 2003, Victor Jitea (then in Pitești) wrote a letter to me, reminiscing how one day his colleague Cornel Dascalu, a good musician and orchestra chief of entertainment band The Optimist (of the Association for the Blind) took me to his merry group. Cornel put my hand on his neck as he was singing, to feel the vibrations, and I immediately chipped in a semblance of singing. He also recalled how, one day, in the school courtyard, I sensed the vibrations of a plane flying low, promptly saying plane. And Jitea recalls the two of us together in school camps, at 2 Mai, where the students put up shows and I recited this poem: Vasilică and Crișan pulled the tail of our kitten. Poor kitty meowed like smitten, scratched Crișan (Ouch! Ouch!) and then hid under the couch. In my spare time many students invited me to their classroom for a chat, or to the courtyard for a walk. At times those with some sight left took me along downtown. Many were curious about my life, like if I could see or hear be it any so little. The blind students wrote to me in Braille, and those who saw wrote in Latin letter. I also remember befriending students younger than myself, like Carp Blidaru and his colleagues George Nicolescu, Cociorvei, Ghiță and others. I can remember George Nicolescu (and also met Geta, his wife to be) quite gifted for music, later a star singer. He played his guitar at night, mostly, alone in his classroom. He was a bit taller than me and had a scar on his forehead. He graciously supervised my homework in maths and helped me out with my translations into Latin and French. Carp Blidaru could see fairly well. He was neither tall nor short, his fingers feeling longish for his medium sized hands. He guided me as we went downtown, on trips, or just walked in the courtyard. He never said no, often checking on me as I was studying, asking if I needed him to bring me stuff, or take me out for a walk. I often called on older students, e.g. friends like Stan Staicu and Dumitru Ceuca, Fulga, Florica, Oana, Maria Ceafalău and Maria Pop, Gh. Ighișan, Ștefan Rump and Ștefan Vutcovici… and others, as many teaching mates in our own school. I also befriended Gh. Enache, Traian Oros, N. Florea, Ion Păduraru, Jeni Sfetcu, Ion Paduraru, Pavel Antal, Manța, Dumitrache, Ion Iepure, Mihai Vlaicu and a few more, some helping me with my tasks or teaching me new words. In early June, 1964, Crișan was released from his five years in jail. Mr. Dănilă brought him into my classroom, for us to meet. I only remembered Crișan after a long exploration. His hand felt rougher and hardened with work, yet there was the sign on his right hand index, so I uttered his name and hugged him, in tears. He found my railway station extraordinary, and we resumed our friendship. He took me out for walks, and for lunch with him and his wife, Domnica, who cooked goodies for me on Sundays. He no longer remembered his Braille, and was relieved to see how much better I managed my communication skills by then. My family could not have me back home for holidays, as Father had many children with his second wife, and Grandma Stanca was too old to take care of me. So I had to go to an orphanage over summer. If I remember well, at that time you had to pay for school, but the children taken into orphanages paid no fees. In 1962 they took me to Prundul Bârgăului (in the mountains, such fresh air!) in a group of our orphans, or children as deprived as me. I met the principals, teachers Blaga and Miclea, yet not knowing anyone else there I had a hard time finding my way around. By and by their orphans closer and closer to me, so I got to explore them top to toe. Most of the boys had their heads shaven, while the girls had their hair either bobbed or long (plaited or hanging loose in a pony tail) and I could also tell them apart by their earrings. We eventually got to communicated (being explained how) but some were still too shy to write onto my palm. Anyways, I told them lots about myself, and they told me about their looks. Those of us who were blind were lodged in a large multiple beds dorm, in a two-floor building. In the morning we washed up together with their orphans (noting that many did not care for hygiene) and then we went to the cafeteria. Some of those children managed to guide me through their wide grassy courtyard, lined with benches, or even further, in a vegetables garden. We climbed uphill through oak woods and fir (sniffing the strong resin), and I just could tell how beautiful Mother Nature was. We also climbed up to the apple trees orchard at the top of the hill. The children who could see shook the trees and the apples none but rained on us, that easy to pick. And then we went bathing in the waist deep river, wrestling, swimming and playing water games. I was even taught how to bait a fishing line, then fling one end of it into the water and, holding the other in my hand, sit put on a tree stump till the line shook, which it never took long to, so I was to pull it out of the water, a squirming small fish hooked to it… all in all a pleasurable activity only possible in a group. I befriended the girls who talked to me: Irina, Puși, Maria… We spend our evenings in their club, watching movies or listening to music. They danced with me, waltzes and tangos, teacher Sandu had taught me how. I had a good time there and kept going the following years’ vacations. However, starting 1964, my brother Ionică also took me home, to Borcea, he attending a vocational school in Turda (a borough near Cluj) so he only had to pick me up on his way home – I always took along my Braille writing and math kits, and textbooks, for everybody to see (in huge amazement) how they taught me in school, so an ignoramus like me can turn into a normal member of society. Father and his third wife (Chiva, expecting our baby sister Viorica) were glad that I could speak, and so also were their children, Costică, Nelu, Ioana and Aurica. And the villagers came day in day out, so Grandma readied a table and chairs on the porch, where I sat writing in both Braille and Latin letter for my audience, recited poems or just explained how I got to speak. The teacher who had failed teaching me anything before I went to Cluj could not believe his eyes when I showed him how I carved wooden plane models, working nothing but a knife. I had no zinc plates, so I sharpened both ends of a thin tree trunk, making it into a sort of a spindle, to which I nailed in the wings (two large ones to the front, two little to the back) then carved the helix and fastened it to the plane nose. A long rope tied to the plane lifted it in the air, to everybody’s amazement, as they remembered how difficult my early childhood had been. I also carried bricks, with Father, for the new house he was putting up; two summer vacations later it was ready, and the old one demolished, Grandma moving at Uncle Tudor’s. This new house was quite a sight to see, and I had a room all for myself. Ioana acted my translator, for my parents could not write anyway all day at work for the co-operative, only coming home at night. I spent much of my 1964 summer vacation at the seaside (in Constanța) at Aunt Paula and Uncle Sandu’s. Cousin Gigel took me from Borcea to their place. Their friendly doggie of old had passed away, replaced by Aunt Paula’s Sultana, a large rough-haired bitch, rather bland yet biting if upset, my cousins cautioned. I basked in the sun and swam myself numb each and every of those precious days. In early August Aunt Paula took me on a trip, by ship Costinești. We passed through a terrible storm, I could feel the ship shake and twist so, yet had no idea what was happening, so when a billow broke onto my face I got the fright of my life, fists clenched to some hand rail. So Aunt Paula took me into some berth and I only came out to climb down ashore at Eforie. I sat long hours on their cement bench in the courtyard, chatting with the children coming to meet me from close neighborhood, my cousins taking care of me when Aunt Paula and Uncle Sandu were downtown, in their furs shop. Fănică also took me out for walks, and his younger brother (funny and lovable) taught me many knew words in English, which I immediately saved in Braille, then practiced. My people in Cluj (like teacher Sandu, Crișan, lustin Sabău, Ion Furtună and wife Marioara…) happening in Constanța always called on me, which I loved so, for we went to the beach, swam, toured places, like to the aquarium and even farther, to spa Techirghiol (with Crișan to cure his sciatica), where many foreigners came, too, so I could explore lots of fancy cars, whether French, Italian or English. I spent most of my summer holidays of 1965 in Borcea, and some at the seaside in Constanța, where Aunt Paula took and my sister Ioana. I wished to borrow books in Braille from the Association for the Blind there, so my cousin Elvira’s husband (Costel) took me to meet Nicolae Stănei, president of Constanța-Tulcea subsidiary. We communicated through dactilemes, letters for the deaf which my colleague Ștefan Vutcovici taught me years before. Nicolae Stănei told me about a deaf-blind girl, Elena Bragomir (Lina for friends) who I was to meet in a matter of minutes. So we went to Drum Nou co- operative shops (that I found smelling like wood and wheatgrass) where the blind made cardboard boxes, brooms and brushes. Lina showed me how they made brushes, and promised to come to my family’s place, so we can talk more. I also met deaf-blind Florica Șerban, who had studied in Bucharest. And that very afternoon Lina already called on me, unchaperoned, as she still had a little sight left, which she later lost altogether. She entered the little courtyard at the front of the house, climbed up the five concrete steps to the terrace where I was waiting for her… and we talked, through dactilemes. I told her my family story and about my schooling, grateful for this alphabet which she said she herself had taught to Ștefan Vutcovici. She kept coming every day, for walks. We once even ventured up to the association’s headquarters in Mamaia, to borrow books. We wrote to one another for years; sadly, she lost her sight as she aged and is now being taken care of by a blind schoolmate of old, Ion Drăgoi. At some later time, in Borcea, I met Lala, future wife of my brother lonica, who by then had found a good job in Medgidia. I played with my little brothers, and with children in the village, like Dudu, Gigi, Lică, Lucreția, Costică, Olguța, Nelu and many others. I sometimes went to Borcea even over the winter vacation, chaperoned by teacher Stancu from Cluj to Fetești, where Father picked me and we got to Borcea by bus. I brought trifles and gimmicks from Cluj to my little brothers, who showed greatly pleased to get them. We talked in front of our large terracotta stove, and it was bitter cold outside, and wood smoke inside. Around Christmas Father sacrificed a 200 kg pig, tied in a rope that we kept one end of. I could feel the pig struggle and the smell of burnt straw and the warmth of the fire. So when the pig was cleaned clear of the burnt hairs and straw, and guts, they gave us burnt rind, ears or tail, to chew on. Mother Chiva stored the fresh meat in the cellar, for smoking, and they made loads of salamis and sausages, for feasting on over the winter holidays. Many children went caroling and our kinsmen called on us, as also did my friend Lili Iordan, daughter of the Post Office officer. On St. John’s day, Mother Chiva’s brothers paid their visit. Uncle Gheorghe Ilie had a record player that he taught me how to handle, and also placed the loud speaker in my hand, to feel the vibrations and the beat. I spent my summer holidays 1969 to 1977in an orphanage 32 km south of Roșiorii de Vede, in Siliștea Nouă (originally called Siliștea-Gumești) in Teleorman County, a huge chance for me to meet people in all walks of life. There is a village, Balaci, 5 km away from Siliștea Nouă, where an army airport used to be, only runways still left today, villagers’ farms around. This orphanage was set up in early 1960’s, a group of one to three floor buildings around a wide courtyard, two huge gates at its opposite ends, the army headquarters behind it, the road to Balaci at its front side. In 1966, teacher Stancu accompanied me on a trip to Siliștea Nouă, where I met principal Dumitru Nicolescu, (whom I knew by a sign on his forehead) and in 1969 I was back as his assistant. I can vividly recall that trip, in the company of teacher Popescu and teacher Stancu, by Diesel locomotive train Transilvania 32. In Bucharest we parted with Mr. Popescu, and teacher Stancu wished to show me a Diesel locomotive, but the mechanics cautioned that I do not touch it, some electric cables hanging loose. Then they kindly imparted all type information: speed 160 km per hour in theory, actually 120; 7500 horsepower, 120 ton weight, all sorts of controls. I stood so close that I could feel the locomotive vibrate. We then walked up to Libertății Square, to explore Socialism Heroes’ Monument, where our former president Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej was buried in 1965. Then we met my brother lonică in the vocational school training him for a job in the cement factory. He showed happy to see me, and we went back to the railway station, to board our train for Siliștea Nouă, while teacher Stancu went back to Cluj. I immediately recognized principal Nicolescu, and met Ion Dima, one of my colleagues in Cluj, an orphan, and our tutor Răpan, and many more boys who came to hear me tell my story. I thus befriended first the boys (Stan I. Stan, Niță, Panait Manole, Mitel Istrate, Florin, Băiețică and a few others) and one week later the girls (Elena Lazăr, Octavia Șerban, Lămâița Petic, Geta, and some more), some of them nice and well behaved, others mean and naughty. A bunch of the nice ones kindly helped me all the while I was there, taking me out for walks in the courtyard, or to the secretariat, where I met Elena Nedelcu, the school typist, or secretary Marin Zaharia, accountant Vătaf and administrator Bărbuceanu. Some nights we went to the club, where the girls danced with me, or explained to me the films playing on the TV set. As for the bad boys there… they tried to make me speak and behave improperly, and could nit, for I was thoroughly educated, by all of the school people in Cluj, plus Crișan. I remember one night when those boys fought and threw around lit matches. The fire smell frightened me, so I tried to get as far away from it as possible. They also tied to make me say ugly words to girls, but I guessed such words at the first letters and held back my hand, not to be written such things on, the reason why they did not like me much, saying I am too stern. Many times such boys hit the girls as I was walking with and I did my best to protect them. Those bullies were two hands full for the principal, who had a hard time trying to educate them. Some ran away from the orphanage, no pass, even by train to towns in the vicinity, where they were caught and brought back. Others stole sun flowers in the fields, or corn, or food in the canteen or money, and broke windows or just fought with each other. They stole my shaving blades, my perfumes, my trousers’ belts… yes, my valise did have a key, but their keys proved just as good. So the principal had to punish them. The principal told us of a 12 years old boy who ran away from the orphanage and was hit by the train, asking us to never run away. Then some August day about 100 of us, children, went to Domnești camp, in the mountains. I roamed the woods learning about new plants, and the parks learning about new flowers; I bathed in a brook and stepped on a fish which slithered free from under my sole before I could catch it. And I met many people, like Aurelia Hănescu, the village librarian, and Lili Petrescu, a confectioner in a café where she often treated me to cakes and fruit juice – we kept writing letters to one another for a long time. One night one of the boys stole pears from a villager who saw him and followed and in the morning showed up and told principal Teacă about it. They came to our dorm and found pears on me, because the boy had slipped some into my trousers pocket and under my pillow while I was sleeping. The principal knew right away I could not have found my way through the village, hence was no thief. The very next summer teacher Stancu took me to an orphanage in Bucharest, where I met Octavia, Lămâița and Daniela, who took me for walks through the school courtyard, and down town. The administrator told me he knew me from a TV documentary film. I had an 18-type needles kit, bought in Cluj, provided with an extra gimmick I myself could thread a needle by, to the utmost amazement of the girls. We all went to the orphanage in Siliștea Nouă, where teacher Stancu kindly asked the three principals there, Teacă, Polifronia and Nicolescu, to find a little dorm for me alone. The administrator saw us to my room, where I had a large bed, a table and a chair. I felt so grateful to get that place and a key to lock it by. As always, teacher Stancu left me there and went back to Cluj. I noticed that many students there were being tutored for admission exams to high school, or else vocational schools. The girls asked me if there were many people like me in Romania. I told them that I was the only one in Romania, there existing several such people in other countries, like Russian Olga Skorohodova, 56 at that time, a blind-deaf who had just written a book entitled How I Perceive the Outer World, the students seemed touched to hear about her. That summer I also met Ionica Mandache, a student in the 9th grade. She took me to visit the girls’ dorm, which I noted to be very tidy, as compared to the boys’. I also befriended other girls, like Sevastița, Marieta, Florina, Cati Dumitru and Ștefania. As we walked in the village we met the army people there, and I learnt how to read their ranks on their epaulettes. One day when we met and I was all by myself, Ion Constantin (whom I could tell by touching his epaulettes) explained to me his wrist watch. I pressed a push button, the lid sprung open, and I could feel the watch’s hands and the raised dots around, saying it was 1 p.m. He asked if there was anything anyone could do for me to be able to see again. I told him that not even Colonel Doctor Mircea Olteanu, in Bucharest could do anything about it. One day Mr. Constantin came over with wife and Steluța, his daughter, not in his uniform, curious to see if I still know him – yes, I did, it only took me a short while to call up his name. One thing he would do when we met was crack jokes – I can still remember one: what’s the difference between a buck and a nanny-goat? A buck can only be one goat, a nanny can look like a million bucks. When I wished to write letters to relatives, teachers or friends, to let them know about my holidays, I called on Lenuța (the typist). She let me to use her typewriter, and next one girl or another saw me to the post office to mail my letters. Most of the replies I got were in Braille, like from teachers, from Crișan, from high- school colleagues such as Dorel Ghemu, Nicolae Chiper or Dumitru Tablan; some letters were in standard alphabet, though, so somebody had to read it to me. In my diary I wrote in Braille, about my novel experiences, or on some specific topic. Every time I wrote in Braille, or typed on the typewriter, I was intensely watched, or so I felt, for they breathed on me when leaning over my shoulder to get a better view. Some would ask me to let them punch those dots, only then realizing how difficult this dots system is. In the summer of 1970, Lămâița accompanied me for a two weeks’ stay in Constanța, with my relatives. I knew the road Glădești to Constanța like the back of my hand, stations, timetable and all… and never stopped wondering how many of the strangers I spoke to knew me, from the TV. I also could find the way to Uncle Sandu’s, telling Lămâița we were to ride on bus no.7, right up to some oblique flight of stairs leading up to a street end whereat she should see the harbor opposite the road. So when she spotted the stairs we got off the bus, climbed up those steps, turned to the right, then went up to Petru Rareș Street, and further on up to C. A. Rosetti Street, where my folks lived. I knew the house by its iron gate, and Aunt Paula could not believe her eyes, to see us there, which made me feel so proud. Then Lămâița left for Bucharest, to see her relatives I met lots of people in Siliștea, many of whom clean forgotten. One whom I remember is Badea, who many times I travelled with, and another was Ion Năstăsescu, who took me back to Cluj, and doorman Milică was yet another. Marin was a young man employed in some institute for plants protection study in Bucharest; we shared the room with one more colleague, Istrate, and later with Apostol Bădoi. Caretaker Boțoghină made Marin’s bed, and we, the boys, talked and talked, about plants. When I could not find an easy sign to tell a person by, I tried with how tall he was, how long his hair, how big his hands…his scent, whether perfume, alcohol, tobacco… or even how the air moved as he passed by. Secretary Zaharia often took me bike riding along the runways of the old airport (which I adored) and teacher Oprea (who taught physics) took me for rides on his motorcycle. I thoroughly explored both vehicles, having no problem realizing the differences. When riding the motorcycle I held tight to one of my teacher’s muscled arms, he had worked out hard in youth. My colleagues who most often took me out for walks were Anița, Geta, Dorina (Lămâița’s friend), Fănica, Maria Radu, Didina, Ioana, Mioara, Victorița, Marta, Aritina, Anghelina, Doina Buțoi, Steluța Scarlat, Mia, Cornelia, Lenușa Lazăr, Ilinca Ungureanu, Carolina Suciu, Elisabeta Borcea, Ioana Rusu, Viorica Gheorghe, Mandache, Rodica Inacu, Sonica, Fana, Valentina, Elena, Verginica and Tudorița. I often walked to the railway station with Geta, a nice girl always ready to communicate with me, some ten years my junior. When I needed company to go for lunch, or for a walk, I went into the courtyard and blew hard into a little pipe I kept handy in my pocket; and whoever happened close rushed to me. When inside my dorm I locked up, leaving the window ajar so anyone wishing to speak to me could push it open. I could feel that draught, and held out my hand to find out who was there for me to meet. My wrist watch, marked in Braille, was a great help telling me the time for meals or meetings. I only kept tabs on the date relying on my memory – I simply knew what the date was, any day. I also befriended Stelică (just graduated from a farming high school) who had most interesting stuff to share, about agriculture, mechanization and fertilizers. One day he took me to the radio station, where I was explained all about the set, the loud speaker and the accumulator. Then we went to the movie theatre, where I met Filip, who played the films (filling in for Mr. Trănescu, gone on holidays) and taught me how to start that low purring and vibrating machine, also explaining how the tiny cogs inside spun the film up. Next they explained to me the Cosmos TV set in the room, and how to handle the power and the volume switches, so then and there working the TV became my duty – I just sat on a chair next to the girls, who wrote onto my palm what it was that they wanted to see. In Siliștea Nouă they organized summer camps, like to Piatra Neamț where I wished to go, yet the principal said no, for it took lots of climbing up and down the mountains. He ignored how much I could cope with, so I talked him into agreeing, telling him about my previous trips over mountain heights. He let me go to Piatra Neamț over August, 1st to 15th, 1971, together with 160 of the children in Siliștea. My personal guide was loan Busuioc, that summer he must have been like 17 years old. We went by train, and all our way there he wrote onto my palm all he could see through the window – corn and wheat fields, grazing cattle and sheep, and rich vineyards and orchards. In Bacau, 80 of the children left for Botoșani, while we (the other 80) went straight to Piatra Neamț, accompanied by teacher latan, caretakers Pârva and Borcea, and a few others. So there we were, after a long tiresome ride. When off the train we walked straight to the Children’s Home, in Carpați Street, and were sent to our boys’ rooms and girls’. In the morning we went downtown to the Central Square, towered by the statue of Mihail Kogălniceanu (1817-1891), a balmy flower garden around it, then, at a distance, fancy shops, restaurants and hotels. We next saw a couple of museums, Calistrat Hogaș’s memorial house, and Bistrița River shore. Then followed our swimming day, in a pool I went to in the company of Busuioc, Lupescu and a few other boys. There were actually three swimming pools there, the large one provided with a springboard, and the small for children. I would have liked to do jumps from the springboard, but the teachers did not allow. Some other day we had a rough time climbing up the steep 800 m high Mt.Pietricica. We stopped for many times on our way, to drink spring water. They told us about the wonderful vista opening at the top, where we stopped for a couple of hours, the boys playing ball, I chatting with the girls and exploring the trees. On our way back we failed to visit the beer factory (closed for repairs), but the next day, as we went to Mt. Cosla, we managed to visit the brigands’ chalet at its feet which, and then, as we climbed up again, we picked blackberries, raspberries, wild raspberries and, new to me, rose hips. In our last camp days, we took a bus to Bicaz, going round Mt. Ceahlău. We reached Lake Roșu, but could not go boating, on account of the bad weather, plus it was dangerous anyway, because of the trees at the bottom of the lake, sunken in various landslides. On our way back to Piatra Neamt we visited centuries old Bistrița Monastery, and the following day Văratic Monastery, which holds Veronica Micle’s tomb, and Mihai Eminescu’s silver woods. We also visited the monastery’s museum, plenty of exhibits of the monks of yore. We also took a tour, starting with Agapia Monastery (whose museum boasts icons set in silver and gold, paintings of Nicolae Grigorescu’s, old prayer books, and such church artifacts) and Alexandru Vlahuță’s memorial house, wherein also lived his sister Elisabeta, a nun in Agapia Monastery. That house roofed in shingles, a wooden porch upfront and a beautiful orchard at the back, was packed with old time furniture, and I also explored the stove, the clay oven, and the large glass cases exhibiting documents. We then arrived at Humulești, to visit our great story-teller Ion Creangă’s modest home, again plenty of stuff for me to see: rustic furniture, wooden benches, the oven, the clay plates, prayer books, and clothes hand-woven by the writer’s mother, Smaranda, her spinning fork and spindles. On our way back we passed by Ozana River (wherein the writer bathed as a child), Neamț Fortress, the park for bisons (brought from Hațeg) a stuffed bear at the gate… and Mihail Sadoveanu’s memorial house, where we took our shoes off before allowed to see his personal things on display, the most interesting a gun. In Piatra Neamt we then visited the archeology museum. They had many exhibits (like mammoth bones, even) most inside glass cases I had no access to, yet some (like pottery, or wooded kitchen ware) that I, too, could touch. We returned to Siliștea Nouă all the richer with so much newly acquired knowledge. I kept going back to Siliștea over the following summers. I felt sort of home there, and already had my Consul typewriter that I carried along everywhere, to type my letters on, keeping me quality company. So I met more and more of the people there: the Ganeas, secretary Ana Oprea, painters Pandelescu and Burlacu; and our tutors, Ion Nicolae, Romică Sălăjan and Bulai. I also got to know many of the institutionalized children, like Valerica Stoican, Ion Bucur, Filofteia Matei, Didina Buduru, Voica Matei, Anișoara, Lica, Niculina, Lucica and Argentina. Most of those children were, as I said, misbehaved, talking back to the employees, smoking and fighting, and they often wrote gossip onto my palm. The girls were playful and tried involving me into their games, but I was over 20 and no longer played such games. As I was to become an educator for generations of students, the long time spent there greatly helped me understand the basics of the institutionalized child’s education. I tried to explain to my younger peers in Siliștea what is convenient for them and how they are to behave… as would have an older brother. A close friend of mine in Siliștea was Stan I. Stan, who never lied to me about anything; he told me all about his family and his plans for the future. I met him on March 23rd, 1969, when he waited for me in Balaci railway station. He let me explore him, so I can easily tell him apart: short, oval face, small hands and curly hair. He told me about his lame brother prematurely passing away at 22, so I thought maybe such proximity with a disability may have drawn him that close to me, he even said he cared for me like a brother. He walked with me, talked to me, and was there at any time that I needed assistance. A great help was also Mitel, who took me to the village to visit Marin Preda’s house. He actually took me first to the house of Ilinca, the writer’s sister; where I could also meet Joița, the writer’s 84 years old mother, who let me explore her at will: she was short and slightly bent, her hands wrinkled with bulging veins. Ilinca (52) told me her brother, Marin Preda, was 50, being in Sinaia at that moment. She gave me his address in Bucharest, where he and his family lived. We set out towards the writer’s primary school (but found it closed for the holidays) then got to Marin Preda’s house, the writer’s brother Gheorghe and his wife Floarea meeting us in the courtyard; they told us lots, about Marin Preda. Shortly after, secretary Zaharia said that he knew the writer just happened to be in his house at that moment, so we hurried there, but, sadly, the writer had just left for Bucharest. Later on the writer’s sister, Ilinca, sent me word that she had spoken to him about me, and that, deeply touched, he wished to meet me. I immediately wrote a beautiful letter to Marin Preda, and in a few days his wife called our secretariat to say they felt touched by my letter, but I was to kindly understand that the writer was too busy to write back, told me secretary Zaharia. Then the writer himself called and promised he would do his best to come visit, to meet me, urging me to keep writing. I have however happy memories about writer Ion Agârbiceanu’s visit to our school, in Cluj: he was old and wore his beard long. In the summer vacation of 1971, tutor Mihai Bulai took me to Bucharest, and Mrs. Popa took us to the Ministry of Education, where we first met Alexe Popescu, Deputy Minister of Education, and then, highly excited, entered the study of Mircea Malița, the minister himself. We shook hands and he let me explore him up top to toe. We spoke about school, and I just knew he felt deeply touched. So I got a special, three-term grant per year. As we were leaving, I typed a few grateful words for him, about my life and the grant, on the secretary’s typewriter. I then spent the winter holidays, Christmas and New Year’s Eve, with my colleagues in Siliștea. It was the time for freshly made pork salamis and sausages, the pigs raised on the school premises. On New Year’s Eve I danced with all of the school people and drank wine to our own health, having a wonderful time. In 1975 Lămâița took me to visit Alexandria; on our ride there we shared our news, she had given birth to a little boy and a little girl, plus was a student in the university. In Alexandria we visited the cannery where she had worked, a place with smelling fruit and vegetables. She explained how the workers washed, peeled and then boiled the fruit; I even tasted some and found them delicious. We next visited an automation and control panel factory, packed with intriguing apparatuses ordered by various industries in the country and I also explored a quite impressive model of the factory. We then strolled about the town, remarking the many beautiful buildings there… and then came back to Siliștea. In August 1977 I spent my last one month holidays in the orphanage at Siliștea. I was a university graduate already, and a teacher employed with the Highschool for the Visually Impaired in Cluj, my life-long home, quite an accomplishment I shared to the people in Siliștea, getting warm congratulations. No longer than a year before the Principal had to retire for obesity-caused high blood pressure reasons. I left feeling my heart ache, also knowing I had passed a major exam in my life, even though so far away from home and family. In 1985 I got a letter from tutor Lili Popescu (in Siliștea), saying she had moved to the orphanage in Roșiorii de Vede; so I thus learnt that, sadly, principal Dumitru Nicolescu had passed away in 1980, with heart failure – I will always keep him in my heart, as he only gave me fatherly counseling. Over my last two middle school years my knowledge grew and grew, aggregating all sorts of information that I was to put to use later in life. Such knowledge opened my way to high school, heavily coached by my Class Master, my formal Tutor, and my teachers, of mathematics and history mostly. So I passed my three basic exams, scoring an average 8.83 on a 1 to 10 scale. My self confidence sky rocketed, as willy-nilly I had proven myself proficient, as able as anyone else to cope it all, to the pride of my teachers.

HIGHSCHOOL YEARS

My first high school year started on September 15th, 1967. After the opening ceremony we went in for classes, and I told everybody about my holidays at Siliștea Nouă. Well, the very next day I started real work. We had a new teacher for French, Constantin Popescu; for lack of practice I had sadly clean forgotten lots of stuff, but he wonderfully guided me through the realm of his classics, for which I had a textbook in Braille and a dictionary, most useful for translation homework. In the afternoon I met tutor Damian, who showed glad to see me back in school. We had no homework to do yet, so I went downtown to buy letter envelopes, at the tobacconist’s instead of her book shop, where there was a long line of people queuing for school stuff. So many cars in a town, so strong the benzene and oil smell, and so intense the vibrations: students coming back in town. Tutor Damian brought her daughter, Mihaela, for me to meet and know (by her tiny hands) then helped me distribute my stuff into my drawers. Sadly, in high school time our timetable was so heavily loaded that I had little time left for writing in my diary, so I will now try reminiscing a couple of the most remarkable episodes. As compared to middle school, I found high school much more difficult to cope with, a couple of subjects giving me quite a hard time, to master. I can remember quite a number of new teachers, like A. Spiridon, maths; and Dumitru Frâncu, political economics, philosophy and psychology; Ana Frișan, continued to teach physics; Dan Ilie, physical education; and Valentin Tăutu, Latin. I remember teacher Frișan breaking a leg and Lajos Katona (not formally qualified in physics) teaching instead, a blind person who had also lost his right arm and three of his left hand fingers. He taught me how to use a drawing device he had invented, that we could draw in raised lines by, and I showed Mr. Katona my previous year’s drawings. As expectable, another blind teacher came in his place: Ioan Tinea, who wrote onto my palm, using a few extra signs, like lifting my hand and then lowering it for yes, or move it in a zigzag for no. The first thing he taught was light, then lens, bringing pictures, on lens, to see if I could understand. He wondered how I could tell right away which were concave and which convex, so I told him I had often explored the black glasses the blind people around wore. Textbooks were scant, so some of the teachers had to dictate their lessons, onto my palm, to make up for whatever not printed, at hand. I loved our Romanian language classes, teacher Stancu speaking about our classics – I. L. Caragiale, Mihai Eminescu, Geo Bogza, Mihail Sadoveanu, Marin Preda, Octavian Goga, Lucian Blaga and many others, so my vocabulary got much enriched. In the spring of 1968 I went to Yugoslavia. We set out for the tour on March 15th. My luggage made, waiting in my little room for tutor Damian and Professors Mare and Ciumageanu, I talked with teacher Sandu, come to say good bye, also bringing some packed food for the road. As we parted, teacher Sandu did not fail to run through her advice list, which she always preached and preached and preached. At 5 p.m. my Tutor took me downstairs, to the front of the school, where Professors Mare and Ciumageanu were already waiting for us, in a Wartburg car. We took the back seats, my tutor to the right, I to the left. In a short while we were in front of the High school for the blind; then, passing by the National Theatre, we turned left, up hill Feleacul. We were heading for Timișoara, via a string of towns – Turda, Războieni, Aiud, Alba lulia, Călan, Deva, Hațeg… and Sarmisegetuza, capital of Dacia, conquered by the Romans during King Decebalus’s time. The road was smooth and the traffic high. . It was a nice and fairly sunny spring day. After Sarmisegetuza we crossed the Carpathians, still covered in snow at that time. Tutor Damian pictured to me the sights, the road winding through steep mountain walls, deep ravines on one side and oak and fir trees on the tops. We did not stop till we reached Timișoara, about midnight, lodged at the School for deaf, where they did their best to make us feel at home. We left immediately after breakfast, and reached Moravița Customs (59 km south of Timisoara) in about one hour. We got out of the car, so the customs officers could check our luggage and passports. The wind blew strong but it felt nice, and in a short while we were on our way, crossing the border Romania to Yugoslavia. On our way to Belgrade we passed through Vršac, where many Romanians live, or so I was told. Those villages look much like ours, as also do the wheat fields. At 1:30 p.m. we were in Yugoslavia’s capital, Belgrade, a large town 101 km east of the frontier. We headed for the City passing through many districts with nicely planned elegant buildings. We also crossed the Danube River. The streets there are rather narrow, so we had to park on the sidewalk. We went into shops displaying all sorts of eveything, expensive stuff or cheap. We drove along an underground passage propped on massive parallelepiped pillars and provided with escalators, all the walls covered in marble plate. About 5 p.m. we left Belgrade for Novi Sad, where we arrived some two hours later. There we visited a school for impaired people; principal Miroslavlevici, greeted us, telling a proud story about his school and his students’ success. Many of their employees came to meet us, and guide on a school tour. We entered classrooms and workshops, where I could easily explore weaving machines, lathes and drilling devices, as well as the artifacts of the students’, like raffia woven bags and carpets. We said good bye to all those wonderful memorable people. We then went up to our hotel and next morning met Kozma Firi, a physical education teacher in the school for impaired children, who guided us through Novi Sad, a town with many tall beautiful public buildings and lots of parks with pigeons flapping their wings and bathing in the pools, to the delight of the children. We visited a magnificent Catholic church (the liturgy held in Latin) next an Orthodox church (the liturgy held in Serbian) and then set out the Turkish fortress (huge stone walls, towers and water filled ditches) in their only rocky area, Novi Sad actually lying on the beach. We rode there in Mr. Kozma’s little Fiat 650, across the Danube along a lengthy bridge, then through a number of tunnels. I could sense the ozone up there, and the aromas of young grass and blooming flowers, a belvedere spot opening over a terraced slope and a students’ campus. I had a hard time understanding an abstract statue, as Tutor Damian explained how since old times the fortress had been under the Turks, come from the East in hope to conquer all Central Europe, but stopped by the European armies at Vienna. We also went see Iriški Venac Tower, some 16 km away from the fortress, and explored a monument close by; the bas-reliefs running around it portray Yugoslavian partisans and soldiers fighting the Nazis in WWII. Around noon we deeply touched said good bye to Mr. Kozma, leaving Novi Sad for Zagreb. We drove along an eight lane highway, at some 120 to 125 km per hour; I could tell the speed by stretching out my hand through the car window, against the push back of the draught, felt as powerful as in weight-lifting. I could also sense the many cars rushing past, a feeling I much liked. We pulled away twice, for Professor Mare to take a rest, and the cars rushing by felt like trepidation. In the evening of Sunday, March 17th, we reached Croatia’s capital, Zagreb: 950 km away from Cluj, 444 km from Belgrade and 379 km from Novi Sad, crossed by the Sava River, a tributary to the Danube River. I was told the story of Zagreb, a dusty borough before WWI, under the Habsburgs, then fast developing after WWII, as new inhabitants hoarded over and built like mad. We stopped at Mr. Mladen Lovrici’s house, I easily knew him when we shook hands. He ran a center for hearing restoration and we did drills as part of his research, in Cluj, twice. He took us to their school for the visually impaired (down same street and close to the Faculty of Psychopedagogy for Impaired Children), a 4 floor building – modern, all of the rooms lit as due, huge courtyard – where I was lodged over our three weeks’ stay, our professors staying in Beograd Hotel. So I was taken to the infirmary and left in the thorough care of Mrs. Mira, who took me to my three-bed room. I slept well and also ate well, the food being excellent. So the very next morning, after breakfast our professors took me to the Phonetics Institute, on 4th floor of Zagreb University, to meet teacher Lovrici. I also shook hands with teacher Skatici, whom I easily remembered from Cluj. Then they established my schedule over our stay there, as I was to improve my speech abilities by means of the special devices Suvag I and Suvag II. Mirko Vidulici, a blind man employed in the institute, could speak several foreign languages, among which German, Russian and French. So I was taken to a small soundproofed study, where I spoke into a mike, and I told the story of our trip to Zagreb. My words were picked by a tape recorder, and then they listened to that tape, some words being clearly heard and others less so. Professor Mare came to me and typed onto my palm that I was to speak in a relaxed tone; then he put his hand onto my neck and advised calmness as I was to utter a series of words, in Romanian. Tutor Damian sat near me, and at first wrote those words onto my palm, and then she wrote meaningless syllables that they recorded anew as I pronounced them. Professor Ciumageanu corrected me, and re-recorded whatever they could not understand at first go. After lunch we resumed our work: time for testing vibration perception. I got my ears stopped with earphones, and had to raise a hand whenever I sensed vibrations. The apparatus set on my head was sending vibration vibrations straight to the brains, in hope I perceive those vibrations as vibratile sensations. On Tuesday, March 19th, they took me to the institute again, a place where many children with impaired hearing learnt how to hear and speak better. Mr. Lovrici again worked vibrations on me, by a different type apparatus, giving me a smaller one to hold in my hand. He uttered the sentences and words set on a list by Professor Mare, in Romanian, in a mike connected to the apparatuses fastened to me. Those vibrations got to my brains through the nerves, and they expected me to understanding the meanings. I focused hard and only part of what he said actually made sense to me, yet Mr. Lovrici showed happy with his Suvag device. Same afternoon I met Mr. Lovrici’s son, Dalibor, an eight year old little boy in primary school, 2nd grade. We all went to Kumrovec, a village before WWII 50 km away from Zagreb, where the 1948 to 1980 president of Yugoslavia, Josip Broz Tito, was born. We entered the courtyard of the museum, i.e. Tito’s native cottage. Tito’s statue was at the front side, his name was carved into stone and I could read it. I climbed up the pedestal, to better explore the statue, of him in army uniform, actually a coat, as he was a marshal before becoming Yugoslavia’s political ruler. The 1st first room was barely furnished – bed, table and chairs – while the kitchen felt crowded (bread oven, cooking stove, lots of cooking ware) as also was the 2nd room – lots of glass cases displaying paper stuff of Tito’s like pictures and documents… or war stuff, like army clothes since Nazi occupation. A lilac tree was blooming in the front yard, and so were the trees and flowers in the back yard. We roamed the streets, passing by old houses since hilly Kumrovec was a village… as also many new, blocks of flats and shops. Back in Zagreb we stopped at an ethno restaurant, walls stud with painted plates. We had cheese pies, as an accordion and drums band played for us, could actually sense those vibrations. I recognized a wider than regular Rekorde 1000 car outside the restaurant, then we drove along a road winding up and down two hillocks. We passed by one or 2 floor cottages, where the rich spent their weekends. In Zagreb we took our leave from Mr. Lovrici and son, and retired for the night. On Wednesday, March 20, they came to take me to the local university. Professor Anatoli Chircev (teaching child psychology, a colleague of Professors Mare and Ciumageanu) was in the car, barely arrived from Bucharest after a 24 hour ride by train. I told him my story on our way up the institute stairs. We met Mr. Lovrici, and the Yugoslavian professors discussed the possibility of setting up an institute in Cluj similar to theirs, for people bereft of hearing and speech. So our professors were to learn how to handle the Suvag apparatuses, to later operate such equipment back in Cluj University, we were to actually take home a couple of such Suvag’s, the Yugoslavian professors being scheduled to commission such an institute in Brazil in a few weeks. I closed the day in the soundproofed cabinet, where teacher Chircev listened to my tape recordings. In the morning… again vibration drills for one hour. Then an expert otolaryngologist examined me, saying he thought those apparatuses could restore my senses; which was what an ear surgeon there also said, as reading my vestibulogram, after tests run on me in that clinic. I lay on a special bed while they instilled warm and cold water into my ears, to see how my vestibular system worked. I was asked (Tutor Damian translated) if I felt dizzy with the water in my ears. I was not. Then they seated me on a metal chair, spun first right then left, for them to see if my eye globes moved. They told us how they operated on people in their clinic, and I was helped explore much of the equipment there. Next I was seated a different type bed, wired to some apparatus by 3 electrodes: one onto my forehead and 2 onto my temples, getting my ears, soaked again (firstly cold, then warm, then icy cold), expected to stay still, not even moving my tongue or eyes… for 45 minutes! I knew how the result was coming out of the apparatus, printed on a long narrow paper strip. They closed the session testing my speech abilities. After lunch, back in the institute, I witnessed the training session, of people with poor hearing and speech. A woman there, already trained by Suvag, could speak a couple of hundred words in Serbian. And a girl with neither hearing nor speech was just beginning her training: at first nothing they said in the mike made sense to her, then they gave her several rubber toys – a doll, a puppy, a bear and a fish - and uttered the toys’ names into the mike, so she finally understood. On Saturday I did not I go to the institute, staying in the school for the visually impaired on 59th Kuhlanova Street, and filling all of the above in my diary? But my professors did go, to be trained as trainers, and worked with six or seven people. Over lunch Tutor Damian took me on an exploration trip inside the school building, and out about the courtyard, so I could find my way unassisted.

Early in the morning of Sunday, March 24, my teachers came to take me along on a 47 km ride, to visit the Lovricis in their country house. We drove on the highway for a while, and then on a rural road. I explored the courtyard and found the building to be a 2 floor cube, like. We took pictures of ourselves, with the stairs in the background. They had a lovely front yard, young fir-trees and rich lawn grass, and the house smelled as fragrant inside. I explored the glossy furniture, (tables, chairs, and a huge bed for five), and the kitchen – electric stove, cupboard, cutlery… In (son) Dalibor’s play room I explored his toys, and a rubber boat. Then they took a table and chairs out in the garden and treated us to sweet juices and soda. Professors Mare and Ciumageanu went check up the car, Tutor Damian wiped the car windows clean, and I just stayed in the lovely spring sun all this while, for an hour maybe. Then other visitors started coming in as well, like Sanda, a three year old little girl, nice and friendly. We had lunch at 2 p.m. (fries, roast chicken, pickled bell peppers, waffles, chocolate and oranges), and after lunch we went for a walk in the village, to visit the local Catholic Church. The liturgy was still on, and I explored, bewildered, a 400 year old lime tree caught in iron rings for its huge trunk not to fall apart – it took seven of us to hold hands around it, and I felt its thick long roots surfacing under my feet. A 2nd crown grew instead of the 1st, they said, to this fabulous tree planted by the leader of an uprising against the tyranny of the rich. We then walked down the paved village streets, lined with flowers beds (I confess I picked a few flowerets) and by beautiful villas, and farms. I realized that in the western world a village was just another modern place, while in ours a muddy rural place is for the deprived. The village was in a hilly area, and, as we were walking back home, I could tell a French Simca five seater rush by. Around 5 p.m. we set out on the road back to Zagreb. We only stopped at the railway station, to say good bye to the Lovricis, who were going to Belgrade by train. We also took time to visit Toplice spa resort, its sanatoriums and parks walked by sick people in crutches. The air felt fragrant, but I could also smell kitchen smoke. We reached Zagreb late at night. In the morning of March, 25, I resumed my tests in the institute, now students and university staff attending, to hear me speak helped by Suvag. Eager to meet me, Professor Tonko Lonza showed me a smart alarm wrist watch. Over the next days I went to a school for children with hearing and speech impairment, on 10, Anka Butorac Street, where, again, Mr. Lovrici ran Suvag tests on me; besides my regular drills, now I got beats and bell sounds. I tried to actually hear firstly the little bell, secondly the big bell, through the apparatus. Then Tutor Damian learnt how to work with me, uttering into the mike sentences for me to hear. They also did logopedia; I met lots of nice children there. I befriended many visually impaired children in the school I stayed at. The first I met was Nedeluke Popovici, who walked me downtown and introduced many of his colleagues to me, of whom I can still remember Lidia and Vukovic. Yet we had no common language to communicate in, so we only greeted by writing onto one another’s palm our names. On Sunday, March 31st, we left on a trip to Plitvicka Jezera Lakes: the five of us, Romanians, plus teacher Skarici with his wife and his seven year old daughter, Tatiana. We drove to Karlovac, a borough much like our Turda; the road felt bumpy and the car shook. Past Karlovac the road was smoothly paved here and there, or else covered in stone. We passed by Korana River and village, leaving behind more and more rivers and villages. After a 154 km’s drive, we stopped at a logs and timber chalet with diner on the ground floor. We went up to the terrace, wherefrom a splendid vista opened, which Tutor Damian took great pleasure picturing to me. The lakes were fed by rivulets and waterfalls diving from various heights, the cold clear running water permanently washing the rocky slabs of the mountain floors. We had a glass of juice and soda and then climbed up to see those wonders from as close as we could make it. The road upwards was narrow, steep, winding and rich in greenery. We stopped at a lake where I put my hand into the cold water; then crossed a brook on a little bridge, at a place where rose a carved wood gazebo, lined inside with benches, tall fir trees and old oak trees around. We then climbed down a flight of wooden stairs on the opposite side, passing by a waterfall (so close that I felt the water sprayed around) and next entered a few limestone caves, where I explored icicle-like stalagmites and stalactites, developed out of dripping mineral water. The water droplets dug holes which I could feel for the amazing lace patterns they were, typical all around. Then, climbing higher, we started marching in snow. I made a snow ball, hurled it hard and knew it broke into water. I could read the plates inscribed with the lakes’ data, I remember one saying Plitvicka Jezera, 6.08 ha, 10 m deep. We next climbed down to the chalet, across lots of footbridges to more and more lakes and caves, quite impressive! and I could sense the sunset by the chilling air. I kept going to the institute, where I repeated words and sentences – I remember uttering animal without the final sound, till eventually corrected. I also kept doing logopedia drills, helped by tutor Damian. My vocal cords were strained to the limit, as I tended to speak the words loudly, to make sure the tape recorder picked them, so they urged that I relax my sounds. The final test came; then the teachers assessed Suvag experiment by sorting out how many of my words came out right vs. how many wrong; and the Yugoslavian professors said they were happy with my accomplishment, advising that I kept doing drills on a daily basis. As a routine, we walked a bit downtown on our way back home from the institute. I thus got to visit the local marketplace, and a four floor supermarket. We got on some tram (I love riding in trams) so I could compare the smoothly running trams in Zagreb with the lots noisier trams in Bucharest. April 5th, the last of my stay days there, was, again, an evaluation day in the institute. We were told we could not visit the Association for the Blind, a meeting being under way. However, the social worker told us about how things were with the Croatian blind, and urged us to go visit the Typhlological Museum on the third floor of the building, where they had many interesting exhibits. The museum manager kindly welcomed us. I could explore two statues there, one of Louis Braille and the other of Tito. This museum, set up in 1953, displayed a great many objects for the blind, mostly writing devices, such as the slate and stylus, the Picht, the Klein typewriter and regular typewriters in Roman Alphabet. We also visited their library that day: hundred of books printed in Braille, but also standard printed books, about the life of blind; also lodging a photography exhibition, figuring the first school for the blind in Yugoslavia, the life of blind athletes as lifting weights, or playing chess, swimming, skating or doing gymnastics. There were pictures of the school and of the faculty graduates on the walls, all type brushes and woven reed artifacts that they had actually made, like baskets, tables and chairs…. We thanked the manager; he gave us museum flyers, plus, special for me, a wooden cube inscribed with the Braille alphabet. We next visited a round monument dedicated to the WWII heroes and went back to the institute for the file of the experiments run on me. We said good bye to all of the institute employees, and retreated for a good rest before the long road back home ahead. In the morning of April 6th we warmly thanked all those people who had made our stay so pleasant, and left Zagreb at 8:40 a.m. Slovenia was ahead for us to cross. I felt happy to get such enrichment, visiting foreign countries. In 25 minutes we were out of town, up Tușkanet hill, a place for a wonderful vista over Zagreb. The road was lined by lamp poles so far as eyes could see to the villages ahead. We crossed the bridge over Sava River. There rose a castle on the left bank, fir trees and blooming wild plum trees around. 8 km later we were speeding to some 100 km per hour on the highway to Ljubljana, Sava River now hidden by woods down in the valley behind; one winding road to the right, Trebnje borough in sight when 65 km left for us to cover… and eventually there we were, in beautiful Ljubljana, all in all a 135 km’s drive. We crossed the old town, straight to the City. Many streets there were one lane, and many of the buildings were made in concrete and glass, there still standing old smoked and dusty brick houses. We visited a five floor supermarket, riding an escalator. Then, as leaving Ljubljana, we again rode uphill. An old fort towered the place where battles had been fought in WWII. They were redoing it, so we only went up the one tower allowed, and enjoyed the beautiful vista open. Postojna Cave was a 53 km’s drive into the mountains. The road was narrow and the traffic heavy, so we got caught in a bottleneck. About 4 p.m. we reached there, to sadly find out that we were to wait for 2 more hours for the cave train to take us inside. We gave up the visit and left for our next stop, Portoroz, a town some 64 km closer to Slovenia’s border with Italy, south-west of Postojna. The road slanted down to the Adriatic Sea; more meadows came in sight, till we got some 30 m away from the sea waves! We drove down a road lined in cypress trees and reached Piran; a beautiful sight to Portoroz, a park-town – no fences, all villas floating into verdure. A platform bus rushed past us as we were finding our way to the School for the deaf, where Principal Blaje was waiting for us. They lodged me in that school, and the next day I went downtown. Portoroz runs along a meandering sea coast, nothing like ours, a straight line. The sea wavelets rolled calm, lots of boats in sight, and lots of expensive hotels. We passed by an old viaduct, dilapidated walls covered in moss; then crossed a market place, smelling marine mud. Many people walked down the beach, clearly not a bathing day – I did, too, and put my hand into the cold water. We then left for Koper, an old town in Portoroz vicinity. We visited the Town Hall Square, preserved as it had been in the Medieval Lords’ time, around 15th century to 16th. I explored a fort wall there, then the cathedral walls, inscribed in Latin carved lettering. There was also a 350 years old fountain in front of the cathedral, carved, too, the water coming from four men’s mouths. We climbed up a tower that reminded me of the Taylors’ Tower in Cluj, then walked through the parks in Koper, packed full with palm trees and bowers and flowers; we actually went roundabout that town totally spread by the beach. Over the next days I attended the courses in the school for the deaf and spoke about my own experience with deafness. I made friends with many students who could type their names in capitals onto my palm. I can still remember girls’ names like Hermina, Sofia, Zdenka, Vika, Betka, Vremea and Marda; and boys’, too, Hari and Branko. I did Suvag drills there, for them to see how I learnt speech. We saw the school classrooms provided with vibrations earphones on each student’s desk, all wired to the apparatus on the teacher’s desk. We also visited an Italian regular school, where a little deaf girl was enrolled. The school principal Sorta Ioze, wished to see me, so we all spoke about my case. We then said good bye to all the people in Portoroz, heading for Pola, some 85 km inland, no more seascapes but stark rockery lining the road. We passed through places like Lovrecina Bay, Sf. Ioan Fort and Vizinada. We only stopped once for Professor Mare to stretch his legs, but lingered, amazed at the aroma of the Mediterranean flowers in bloom. Close to Pola the sea was again to our right, and Tito’s residence island. Pola is a vast harbor with many large ships at deck. We walked downtown, passing by tens of buildings. We also visited a forum built by the Romans in antiquity; I explored it all around, accompanied by tutor Damian; it had massive mossy walls, five huge iron gates, many columns, stepping stairs serving as seats for the audience, and water canals on the ground floor. I found out where the wild animals got in through, to be fought by gladiators brought from Capua and other places in Italy; those gladiators were often wounded, or even lost their lives. I later read in (quite touching) Spartacus and Quo vadis about such fights much appreciated by the Romans at Spartacus’s time, and about the hard times the Christians had under merciless Nero, martyring them (same as Diocletian later) especially Peter ( 1st Pope in Rome), and Paul of Tars. We then were to go back to Zagreb, to recoup our luggage left in the hotel. We crossed the Dalmatian Zagora, as heading for Rijeka, a town 102 km away from Pola, and stopped at beautiful spa, Opatija, looking amazingly much like Portoroz. We walked down to the sea, savoring the balmy breeze, then shortly after reached Rijeka, the greatest Yugoslavian sea harbor. We crossed the City, passing by dwellings, parks and shops. Midnight, no time to get a room in any hotel… so we hit the road through the mountains, driving north to Zagreb. Tutor Damian could see nothing through the window. Plants must be scarce in that rocky place, what can the folks live on, cattle? I wondered. Professor Mare stopped the car twice, to take a rest. After the second stop, 40 km to Zagreb, the car would not restart. In vain did we push and the professors try to fix it. Two hours later a police car passed by and Professor Mare told them our story, in Russian. A mechanic they sent to help us came in a while, lifted our car onto their platform truck, and let us sit next to him, up front. We got to a service shop, where the mechanics declared our battery out and mounted a new one, and served us tea, wonderfully hot in that cold night, April 10th to 11th, 1968. We drove on gratefully thanking the mechanics, finally reaching the hotel (in Zagreb) where our luggage was. Teacher Chircev stayed there, as he was to board a train to get home, but we left and stayed overnight in Novi Sad, then left for Belgrade, to visit the International Federation for the Deaf. I there explored communication devices developed for the deaf, showing the people how I spoke. We were soon heading for the border, reached Romanian land by night, and only stopped in Timișoara to spend the night in the School for the deaf. In the morning we left for Cluj, and drove till, 22 km past Oradea, the car axle shaft broke; I could sense the burnt rubber stench in the air. Professor Ciumageanu stopped a load truck and kindly asked the driver to take Tutor Damian and me to Cluj, so we got home all right on Friday night and slept at my tutor’s house; while our professors stayed back, to fix the car. On Saturday, April 13th I was back in school. My colleagues could not wait to hear about my 5000 km tour and so many places visited… plentiful stories to tell! Blind teacher Tăutu taught us Romanian in my last high school years and, wrote onto my palm in Latin letter. He was the only teacher who did not sit opposite me on the other side of the desk, but took a chair and sat to my right. I could easily recognize him by his small soft hands, plus by his tobacco scent. When the school year started, teacher Tăutu, who also taught Latin, asked my class master to write onto my palm a presentation of Latin, highlighting grammar. He urged me to go and kindly ask Flori Popescu to write my Latin lessons on Picht, which she gladly did. At first I found Latin difficult, but slow and steady I got to learnt it, too. We had no dictionaries so I took dictation in Braille, which helped me do my translation tasks. Blind teacher Th. Mereuță taught world literature classes. He let me explore him when we first met: neither tall nor short, bit overweight and going bald on top of his head, his hair round the bald spot growing curly – all in all a jolly good fellow. I knew him by his gold monogram rings, one on each hand. He used to write in Braille on the middle and ring fingers, plus the index, of my right hand. Class master Stancu, did not teach us Romanian (as he taught that in Middle school) still he came for tutoring classes, or during the breaks to help me with this and that. We had a good relation, even though we spent little time together. In my leisure time I read many interesting books, sent letters to the people dear to me, or talked with the students in grade 12th I most often went to, those students passing me much information, like news about Romania and other countries. The students I got along best with were Georgel Nicolescu, Ion Podosu, Radu Ruba, Silviu Vanda, Viorel Șerban, Wiliam Bening, Gh. Dicsi, Olteanu, Nicu Feșnic, Ana Iacob, Ianoș, Sandală Crăciun, Dumitru Tablan, Neculai Chiper, Dorel Ghemu, lonel Dărăban… and many others. I read a lot in the dorm, till very late at night, so I was often late for classes. At 6: 30 a.m. the night tutor woke us up, but I fell back asleep, then my colleagues put me up to my feet in a matter of minutes and my watched told me I was late, so I made haste with the morning chores… still got late for breakfast. I got my magazines in Braille from the Association for the blind, I felt happy to read them, often in the company of poor sighted colleagues, such as Gheorghe Dicsi or Angela. If Crișan was doing chores out of the building, llie Furtună gave them to me, and I sat stuck at Crișan’s desk, reading cover to cover. On Sundays, I and Crișan walked downtown to his home, in Anatol France Street, where he lived with his wife Tuti and her mother, Monica; he also walked me back to school, because of the crossing and the risky turn to old Pata Street (where on buses 22 and 7, and trolleybus 3 ran) packed up with homes, all put down when today’s double lane street was cut to build blocks of flats. Walking all alone there was risky, even though I knew the road like the back of my hand. Crișan put to good use such walks to explain the town to me – like where exactly specific buildings were, or shops or churches or trolleybus stops. It was like passing exams, for when he asked where we were he expected me to tell, which most often than not I did; or if we had to go somewhere he tapped a few hints onto my palm and, believe it or not, I led the way spot on. Assisted by my colleague Dorel Ghemu, I wrote 3 poems and got them published in the school magazine Lumina: firstly, To Your Beauty – and quoting: From your eyes clear flows the light flooding my void hidden in sight. The nectar of your mouth, so sweet fills my cup when we meet, oh, spring of mine, of light so clean, pure heart of my morning unseen!

And the second: A Kiss A kiss from my eyes to the sky – green alley going far and near, a kiss for the joy in the sun, so shy, a kiss for the star of life, so dear.

A kiss for the blues in her sight – my fountain of peace and calm, a kiss for our lips to unite into a charming magic psalm.

A kiss for this precious curl falling on her shoulder, fair, a kiss for this charming girl, daunting me to truth or dare.

And the third: With you Gentle night falling over the park, too soon in bloom… and rising mythical silver moon. There we linger smiling under the linden tree, cajoled in the dark with light beams sparkling free.

A wonderful album is our dream tonight as we sip that balm straight from the height This is what we live, happy me and you, as loving Evening Star shows in the sky anew.

A sweet kiss of yours, of mine a shy embrace, you whispering gently, I hearing you by grace… you telling me of your love in many a choice word. No more beautiful girl is there in the whole world!

But… here comes the dawn, after a night for kings. Look, the little swallow is carrying on the wings the spellbound smile of our paradisiacal May. Yes, our love survived the night into the day.

I could not have managed such lines all by myself. I had no gift for poetry, but I wrote lots… in prose. I do not remember having ever written a poem unassisted, but I remember a stanza telling a common story, mine and others’: Who has never ever written one too many a rhyming line, when he was lost to love like smitten? Your guess is as good as mine.

The classes I particularly focused on were anatomy and psychology, as I subjects studied in the faculty I wished to attend: psychopedagogy-defectology. Teacher Maria Șchiopu taught anatomy, doing her very best for me to acquire as much as possible knowledge. I studied the human body inside and out, continuously developing and reinforcing my knowledge. Teacher Frâncu taught psychology: interesting things, same as covered by our textbook recently printed in Braille: sensations and perception, thought and language, imagination, personality and temperament, psychological cognitive processes, pathology included. Teacher Ceuca taught me massage till I graduated in 1973, quite well mastering all of the techniques taught. He was actually supplanting teacher Feștilă, who taught maths... as also massage, knowing himself to be no expert in that field and also believing I was not gifted for it either. Hence teacher Feștilă was all for me taking apprenticeship in the school printing shop, so I could be a printer some day. But my class master thought I should aim higher: university studies. I would now like to explain in some detail how my senses developed in time, based on what I still had, left valid. After losing hearing and sight (the senses which go into 90% of a person’s daily activity) the other senses, in theory less developed (like kinesthetic-tactile, smell and taste,) got much enhanced. There are senses that any biologically normal person is endowed with; I developed other type senses, like vibration sense and temperature sense, which helped me get a grip on the world; and people feed me whatever left unperceived through my senses - I always said I see and hear through people’s eyes and ears. Having no sight-no hearing drastically narrows especially the physiological perception of the world, an aspect compensated psychologically. By means of the knowledge acquired, and by language as a human tool for thought and knowledge, a man with no hearing and vision can get a true enough image of reality, in pictures much similar to those of the people who can hear and see. I will describe what I felt in specific contexts: in the children’s home, when Octavia came to take me for lunch, I knew that her wet blouse smelled rain, rather than just washed. I knew the smell of rain without stepping into a poodle first; and after rain I could always tell apart wet dust, wet earth and wet plants. In time I got to tell the plants apart by their scent, with no prior exploration: I love the fragrance of linden trees in bloom, of fir trees resin, of roses and of many other flowers; even as far back as Borcea, before I even went to school, I could tell apart burnt wood smell from car burnt oil stink; I knew laundry by the scent, and dishes and fish, I knew all those, but could not identify them, yet. Smell also helped me tell people apart, as some wore a special perfume and others smoked or drank alcohols. Smell told me that someone entered my room, or what place teachers and friends took me to visit, or (if alone) guessed right. In the botanical gardens I walked straight to the mix of earth, manure, barren leaves and sand - I knew those as I took a fistful and let it go through my fingers. I could sense the warmth and perfume of the plants inside a hothouse, and the steam, cleansing stuff, wet clothes, paints and other chemicals in a laundry shop. I went to Budapest Zoo and knew it right away by the animal smell there. My sense of taste is also quite enhanced. The tongue is not equally sensitive all over its surface, the tip being sensitive to sweet, the sides for sour, the root for bitter, the front for salty, respective tastes. People do not use much their sense of taste, so normally do not developed it, unless they train for the purpose of tasting wine or other type products. I can instantly tell a number of foods by taste, and fruits or drinks, generally preferring my meals spicy or salty; but I would find a dish salty even though a normal person would find it insipid. My overdeveloped sense of temperature, though, did me no good. In hot summers I could not sleep or rest, sweating continuously, forehead and all over. On the beach I would be easy prey for sunstrokes, feeling the sun scorching. In winters the cold felt colder to me. If a bulb in a room is lit, I can tell it not only by the switch on or off position, but also by the heat it issues. I can feel the sun in the sky, if warm; I can feel people to be warm-alive or cold-dead, as I got to learn in a funeral, though about death I knew nothing at that time. When I am in front of a building, if windy the air current tells me about its approximate height. I can tell if I am in the mountains judging by the fresh air and the low temperature thereof. Cold air pricks my face like needles, and my nostrils flare and swell, like blistered. Air temperature, corroborated with the time my wrist watch tells, helps me know night time from day time, and I naturally know that there is a fire close, at barbecues or when pigs are smoked. I can recall my class master taking me to Republica Works, in Bucharest. Barely entering the hall, I felt like struck by the heat coming from the pipes just taken out of the furnace, to be carried by automated devices to the cooling places. We were to draw nearer the furnaces area, but I could not, because of the heat, and my class master realized I sensed temperature more intensely that he did. I also used the sense of smelling in order to understand what was going on there, and I came out like hurt with those stenches inhaled all together – molten iron, burnt oils and chemicals, and smoky air… an acid taste on my tongues, eyes in tears, plus the smells of crude oil, flaxen seeds oil and colza, sulfuric, nitric, and hydrochloric acids, plus strong smell of lye. But the most helpful proved my tactile-kinesthetic sense, which also grew the most enhanced: it is with my hand that I best explore the world, people and object – hand is truly my eyes. Professor I.M.Secenov (a great researcher) authored the first thorough comparative analysis of sight and touch, in terms of complementarity and correlation. In perception, says Secenov, all the traits of an object accessible through senses are read by various physiological reactions. For the eyes, there are seven distinct reactions and also seven type basic traits, namely shape, color, size, distance, direction, position and movement. There are nine muscle responses (important for the enhancement of the tactile sense) to traits such as warmth, shape, posture, size, distance, pressure, weight and movement. Sight is said to be a remote reception, touch being a contact reception, producing a sense of nearness. Yet touch can only cover the limited scope of what fingers can strenuously span, whereas sight can span a larger scope, effortlessly. However, by touch you get comparatively more information about things: smooth or rough, soft or tough, heavy, neat… traits left unperceived by sight. A sighted person can use his touch as well, as perceiving an object, while the blind cannot use sight, but lift such object and explore it by active touch, exploring without such lifting meaning passive touch. Touch is also all about vibration sensations, while sight is definitely not. When I explore an object I totally focus on it and stop perceiving what happens around – for instance if I did my homework I would sense someone coming in with a lag, on account of focusing elsewhere; whereas if doing nothing special I would instantly know about someone entering the room - I tend to believe that this is the secret of my so fast recovery, i.e. that (having no hearing-no sight) nothing could distract me from learning. In a group of biologically normal students, a pen dropped on the floor, or a car honk in the street, catches everybody’s attention, they all losing focus. No such luck for me, I keep focused. I do not perceive only by hand, but also by foot: in the street (which is never perfectly horizontal or smooth) there is always some declivity, hole, puddle, curb… obstacles to overcome by foot exploration, which a sighted person sees. My tactile-kinesthetic sense exclusively is already a huge help as I read exhibits in museums. I will never forget Lenin’s bust, his large and long face of a clever man – prominent forehead, advanced bald spot, and goatee. My Class Master took me to the Arts Institute in Cluj to see statues (an unforgettable experience) which I can describe in detail to this very day. I remember exploring famed antique stone carver Myron's Discobolus, 5th century BC: an athlete preparing to throw the discus in his right hand, propped hard on his right foot, slightly bent forward and the knees bent alike, left arm stretched over his right knee, all muscles impressively bulging, tense, under his tough task. Then Laocoon and his sons, accomplished in terms of realism and artful beauty, figured those heroes aching to death with snake bites. I thoroughly read it, to understand those stances. Laocoon, bent back, is strangling a snake in each hand, those snakes releasing venom onto his chest, while his sons, caught in other snakes’ coils, stretch out their hands to him, in vain crying for help. In the Army Museum I saw (by my kinesthetic-tactile sense) weapons, like canons, whose metal vibrated if knocked with a stone. And in the History Museum in Bucharest I explored the perfect double of the original Trajan’s Column in Rome. I went round that bas relief, reading scores of war scenes figuring the Roman conquest of Dacia: soldiers, armors, horses, Roman ships crossing the Danube, Deceballus’s death… Apollodorus of Damascus’s Drobeta-Turnu Severin Bridge. My enhanced vibrotactile sense helps me feel trepidation and the movement of the air. In railway stations I can sense the trepidation of a train approaching, and the air current the locomotive causes as rushing past. The air also tells me about imminent rain, or about someone entering my room. The floor also tells me about someone’s steps, as drawing near or going away – teacher Stancu always entered my classroom stepping hard, for me to know someone came in. I can sense the vibrations of a door slammed shut, or of an object dropped on the floor. A short while ago we had a hailstorm. Seated at my desk (not far from the balcony) I could sense the hails break into the balcony door, and then by pressing my palm against that door I could actually feel the hits. Specific vibrations tell me when my neighbors redecorate their flats and some drilling machine is used. I can tell when the vehicle I have boarded starts or stops or goes right or left, or runs in the sun, or in the shade. Train carriages always lean slightly to one side as turning right or left; and no matter which type vehicle I am in, if I stick my hand out of the window, the air current tells me the speed we are moving at. I can also perceive thunder and lightning by the vibration produced, and tell apart coughs from laughter, and sneeze from fireworks. All such aspects work as clues for me to find my way into the world, on my own; the deaf-blind develop helpful enhanced psychological processes, such as sensations and perceptions, imagination, representations, attention, and thought. A basic ability in perceiving the world is spatial orientation, a difficult and complex phenomenon for the blind, let alone for the blind-deaf. A walk downtown requires enhanced tactile movement sense, corroborated with other senses such as vibration sense, smelling sense, and temperature sense. Having no sight and no hearing frustrated my walks in any scenery. I can say (from experience) that I feel more confident if chaperoned when walking in the street, thus curbing hazards. Based on space size and on the specific analyzers engaged, there are three types of spatial orientation: orientation in a narrow place, orientation over a medium large space, and orientation in the far, or remote, space. I first learnt to find my way inside my classroom, then inside our school, shortly after feeling in control in every nook of the building. I next learnt to find my way in the street (helped by my white cane) as going where I needed to – like shops, association headquarters, job place and such others. As of today, I can say that I know each street in Cluj, and each important building. More often than not I am chaperoned, but I can also go by myself, letting people assist me when it comes to crossings. I also have no problem finding my way about the house, knowing where each object is, plus keeping all my personal stuff in perfect order, needle to shaving foam, knowing where to find what I may need. And wherever I go, especially places new to me, I thoroughly explore about, careful not to break something; or (if in school) I keep a hand against the wall, the other stretched out, to avoid bumping into someone or something, hardly ever getting hurt. Over my last two years in high school I learnt hard for my baccalaureate and for the faculty respective exams. I thoroughly studied Romanian with teachers Tăutu and Stancu, French with teacher Popescu, and history with teacher loan V. Pop. Teacher Șchiopu taught me anatomy and psychology I studied all by myself. Class master Stancu, my tutor and a few other teachers strongly supported my dream, as also did tutor Damian, who was of great help in this exploit. On May, 25, 1973, I graduated high school, graded 9.63 out of 10. Before the baccalaureate exams we took pictures for my graduation panel: my photography in the middle and my teachers’ around, a historical panel, so to say, of a one-man-grade. Before the school year was over, I and my colleagues also graduating said goodbye to everybody left there, teachers, younger colleagues and employees. They sang Gaudeamus and we gave flowers to everybody there, who some way or another had a say in my education. Then there was a party in the gymnasium, like a wedding, rather. I also invited teacher Sandu, to whom I owe my status. We had a great time and drank to our future. I spoke into a mike, thanking those people in Cluj who made me the man I was, the teachers who did their best teaching me wonderful things, the school employees who took care of me, and all of my colleagues for unconditional help. There were many loudspeakers there and I sensed the music like noise. June 17 to 28, 1973, a two weeks long baccalaureate to remember. My colleagues and I entered, excited, a room in the Arts High school, right across the street, at number 50. The first exam was in Romanian; the novel to write about being Moromeții, which I particularly liked, and did very well. The next day (again Romanian) I had to speak about Tiganiada, by Ion Budai-Deleanu, one of the writers in Școala Ardeleană group. I had little time to put down on paper a few ideas to develop my speech around. Then they asked me questions, about Deleanu’s poem, the examiners declaring themselves satisfied with my answers. There came the written exam in French, an essay about the Danube Delta: I remember I did quite well with mine, The Danube Delta, Paradise of Birds and Fish; followed by the spoken exam in French, about Henri Barbusse’s works. Last but not least, written exam in history, two topics: Horia, Cloșca and Crișan’s peasant uprising in 1784, and WWI. In a few days they posted our grades: 9.33 out of 10, to my great joy, no less than my teachers’. It was my coronation for 18 years in that school – two extra added at each stage, to cover it all; thousands of study classes, my unusual power of will, my teachers’ toil, all brought to fruition. I wrote about it to everybody I knew. It was, regretfully, time to say good bye… or so I thought, for later, as a university student, I was to be lodged, again, in this school I held so dear. After the baccalaureate I studied for my university exams: psychology and anatomy, from dawn till late at night. Teacher Stancu and Professor Mare came on a daily basis to see how I did, and help with specific counseling and information. Tutor Damian read to me things in books not printed in Braille. Teacher Stancu also helped me put together my file, requiring medical tests, the baccalaureate diploma, and such like. The Special Psychopedagogy Department that I was trying for was under the History-Philosophy Faculty, and for the 34 positions available there were some 300 registered candidati. And there was the first exam day. Tutor Damian and teacher Stancu saw me to the faculty, where we met Professor Mare who noted my anxiety and talked me out of it. I entered a vast hall and sat my typewriter on a desk, my heart throbbing. The examiners entered that place packed full with students. Teacher Stancu dictated onto my palm the requirements of the exam two topics, then left. I took some time for thinking matters over, then typed and typed for all was left of the two hours allowed, and went back to school happy and in full confidence. The next day (general psychology exam) was very difficult, yet I could cope, too, as I also did in the following two spoken examinations. I was finally graded 8.16 out of ten and was admitted as a university student, even though I had not had access to everybody’s books, but only to the excerpts made available by my teachers. I was advised to take one year off, to acquire all the information due before faculty, but I was too impatient to start on a path I so long dreamt of, studying two sets of exams all at once for the purpose. Well, that was that, I just totally made it. I ran to teacher Sandu, to tell her the good news, and she could not believe, not before the other teachers confirmed. She felt so proud of me! Actually few people could picture me as a university student, given the little time I had to cram for those extra exams.

A FEW TESTIMONIES

Techer Stancu wrote about me to magazine Viață Nouă; here is the article he entitled How Vasile Adamescu Became a University Sudent. Quoting. Vasile Adamescu was born 29 years ago, in Borcea commune where the Danube River draws the lines of rich Baragan field on Romania’s map. He had all of his senses intact and lived a normal life, up to two and a half years old when, post meningitis, he lost sight, hearing and speech. Thus he descended to life floor level, unable to walk, or eat, or utter any sound. His father did his best, taking him to all sorts of physicians; but salvation was to come from Cluj, where the child was brought to the School for the Blind, in September, 1955, and left in the kindergarten, next in teacher Florica Sandu’s care for seven years he took to learnt speech and acquire the standard knowledge taught in primary school. 1962 to 1967, Vasile attended Middle School, successfully admitted to the High school for the Blind in Cluj, which he graduated in June, 1973, passing his baccalaureate exams in the Arts High school graded 9.33, his overall graduation grading being 9.63 out of 10. Starting 1962, he was entrusted for instruction and education to a team of devoted teachers, headed by Gh. Stancu (Class Master) and Georgeta Damian (tutor), whose infinite abnegation managed to wake, in the child’s soul, a passion for work and noble human feelings. They tirelessly strove, day in day out, to build up a moral societal human being set for overreaching, in the strong belief that progress will come by permanent and strenuous work, drawing on the child’s spiritual potential and energy. Vasile actually started learning for his baccalaureate exams, and for the exams required to any university student, as early as his first high school years, also covering the learning routine for all of the current study subjects taught, assisted by all of the teachers implied, by his Class Master and by his tutor, as supervised by the school political authority –no easy job by any standards! Few were the nights he left the study room for the dorm before midnight, the night guards knew it best; he simply had to, given his double disability which set the fast pace to the long time strife for thorough study. Vasile’s perception of work and life makes him reach out only for better- best, simple good being no option; to him methodic learning and excellence are the keys to his vision of self as a human being in his community; a dream possible, he is aware, only by knowing all of the world’s natural or societal facets and phenomena, and modern acquisitions of science, culture and politics. He therefore tried for the academic milieu, i.e. (post high school) admission exams to the Faculty of History-Philosophy, in July, 1973, competing shoulder to shoulder with 273 sighted candidati for a position in the Special Psychopedagogy Department. The examiners highly appreciated his performance in all exams, as he successfully met all requirements; he was finally graded 8.16 out of ten, and declared one of the happy 34 victors, for his first university study year. A magic moment for Vasile and a predictor of his work in the future! So here is our double disability university student, Vasile Adamescu, a phenomenon unique in Romania and one of the few worldwide: a factual reality attesting to the infinite capacity of the human being to confront life and reach for true self, devoted heart and soul to his dream. By now a university student, Vasile Adamescu is fully aware of what hardship he is up against, but he is strong and enthusiastic to his last cell, which will surely help him to overcome, and proudly say, on graduation day, that he has done his duty, acquiring for himself a thesaurus of old and young lore, his start capital on a difficult path of life: research.

I hold this document sacred, especially since Teacher Stancu passed away after his 91st anniversary, on September, 30, 2003. I will say this again and again: I owe the greater part of my success to my teachers. Teacher Sandu had the vision of my potential, and I fulfilled it emulating my blind-deaf Russian peers, Alexander Suvorov, Serghei Sirotkin, Natalia Corneeva, and luri Lerner. Same year, in autumn, magazine Viață Nouă, published one more article about me, Aspects of Instruction and Education of Blind-deaf and Dumb Student Vasile Adamescu, written by the first of the teachers who taught me speech.

Vasile Adamescu is the second child in a farmers’ family, in commune Borcea, Ialomița County. When one and a half years old, his mother passed away and, sound and whole, the child was left in the care of a grandmother. One year later he developed meningitis, which left him deaf and blind, he also totally losing his speech abilities for lack of adequate early education. When the child was 11 years old (in September, 1955), his father, Zamfir Adamescu, left him in the Middle School for the Blind, in Cluj, with no instructions as to how people were to communicate with him. The school board decided to let him with the kindergarten blind children, a place unfamiliar but of little complexity to move about in, and adapt to. For months the educators there tried their might finding out how to best work with him, to the purpose of instructing, educating and teaching him rudiments of speech, a processes I attended and did counseling for. In the winter of 1956, the school board (teachers I. Popa and S. Lungu) entrusted me with methodical daily hard work, teaching the child orientation, exploration, speech, writing/reading in Braille, behavior standards and survival skills. Then kindergarten became too narrow a place for a child his age: still lodged there, for classes he was moved to my group, closer peers to him. Vasile found this novelty most welcome, especially as I instructed the children how to treat him. Our daily routine there proved effective in every way. Vasile easily adapted to this new age group and to the more complex (than kindergarten) milieu. His case being a premiere in Romania, instruction and education proved at first very difficult, especially because the school totally lacked adequate equipment and a lab specifically provided with the instruments, meters and devices needed in speech teaching/learning. I tried and tried all I knew in my experience with the blind and the deaf-mute, plus all of my ingenuity, patience and abnegation. Progress was eventually visible and, at the end of school year 1955-1956, besides the precious acquisitions that the child had endorsed, we also had a communication system: a consistent mix of the two signaling systems (of his basic disabilities) and a few extra methods and procedures which helped me see more clearly our future instruction and education sessions. At the end of his second school year the child easily moved about the school premises and had acquired some 200 words which he could easily write and read in Braille; he could also count, stay on his best behavior in community, attend to his own appearance, and partake in group activities, especially since 1956, when lodged with his peers. In the summer of 1957, after almost two years’ working with him from scratch, negotiating with the school board scraps of curricula now of the deaf and now of the blind, I got to draft a first experimental long term plan and concocted a curriculum cut after our student’s needs. He met all our requirements (as planned and over), progressing beyond expectations with each year’s gains. He could then move safely in a tight place, or medium sized or large, he could read and write in Braille, Klein and Hebold, also typing on Picht raised letters. He knew his arithmetic, geography and nature sciences, and seemed naturally gifted with practical technical skills. Amazingly nimble fingers and an uncanny reading of details helped him manufacture all type brushes in Roman Dănilă’s shop, woven reed baskets in Florea Dărăban’s, and compact books in the printing shop. Actually Vasile manufactured loads of artifacts, like vehicles that he had models of in his hands, or was explained about in his instruction classes. He managed to master knowledge and social relations beyond the span of the school he lived in, which greatly helped his societal awareness to develop. All of such results reflect three years of strenuous work in my life, not only in my group classes which he assisted, but also in my tutoring time, spent with him pro bono. Such results made the Ministry of Education create a special grade, over 1958-1959 school year, budgeted for him alone, meaning that I was to be paid for instructing him exclusively, thus our work proving even more fruitful. I did not go for the outworldish; I always considered his capacities and tried taking the touchable concrete to more abstract levels, a tough nut, given his double disability. I made him acquire his knowledge empirically, in Mother Nature’s own lab. We walked down trodden and untrodden paths, we visited museums, exhibitions and markets and we roamed Romania near and far, which contributed to shaping a human being able to gradually realize the geography and history of the place he lived in, as I spared no effort, whether financial or just personal time. Yes, it is my personal victory that, after seven years with him (till 1962 when I retired) he covered seven special grades, equivalent to standard primary school. We worked on a one-to-one basis, and many psychopedagogues visited us, from various places, near or as far as China, U.S.S.R., Iran, France, Democrat Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, Hungary and more. They were interested in the progress made by my student, a case rarely met with worldwide, which they wrote unanimously appreciative presentations about. In February, 1960, I took Vasile to Bucharest, for a session of presentations in the Institute for Pedagogical Sciences, where we showed our theory taught and practice acquired. When I retired, a group of colleagues teaching specific subjects, coordinated by Gh. Stancu, took over Vasile Adamescu, at a point in his life where he knew much about lots of topics and could communicate orally and in written; when he perfectly well mastered his own space and had no problem exploring new territories; when he was eager to find out more about topics he had already basic notions of, like geography, history, society, man, honesty, humanity... Vasile’s love for learning in spite of any hardship makes him progress unfalteringly year in year out. So there he is, 18 study years after, a successful baccalaureate, and his tenacity will not stop here: his powers will expectably carrying him all the way planned, for a position as a university student, and beyond. University student Vasile Adamescu is happy now, for having broken free through stark darkness, gloomy silence and murky ignorance, thus becoming a peer to any human; happy to dedicate whatever is to come next, no matter how humble in appearance, to the people leading him so far, loving and patient; and gracefully grateful to his country which, like any true mother, made it possible for him to become a true man.

Professor Valeriu Mare (basic pillar of my redemption, seconded by Al. Roșca) fought the system up to persuading the top people that a special grade should exist all for me. He, too, wrote an article, later published in a book dedicated to Professor Al. Roșca (1906-1996) entitled The Man, the Scholar, and the School Starter. His article tells my story in terms of the stages I covered; it is entitled Perfect Psychological Redemption of a Blind-Deaf in Romania. And quoting. Shortly before 1955-1956 school year start, Vasile Adamescu – an 11 years old blind-deaf was brought to the School for the Blind in Cluj; actually dropped, as the father left before the reception committee could say no, given that the school was for the blind only. In such context I had my say as an expert in infant deafness in local university’s Psychology Chair, at Principal Ioan Popa’s request that we meet and talk this unique case. I said no to the idea that Vasile should be placed in the school for the deaf, as such school was in no position to teach him speech; moreover, he actually needed a normally speaking world around, which the school for the blind could provide. It was thus decided for Vasile Adamescu to stay in the school for the blind over the time it took me to put together some research on the topic, with detailed instructions for the redemption of a deaf-blind child. Also, V. A. was to be tested body and soul, for an accurate general diagnosis and actual status report, especially in terms of the morpho-functional integrity of his brains. First things first, I took the case to Professor Alexandru Roșca, chief of the Psycology Chair whom I had been working with for years. We well new we totally lacked expertise in such field, a premiere of relatively tardy redemption work on a deaf-blind preadolescent, which would naturally take long time toil and a budget to go with. However, the moral and societal goal justified all it was going to take, to open the gates of life to a human being, one in a group of brothers, not guilty for the deprivations of their class. Our chair seemed called to endorse such exploit. Professor Al. Roșca’s yes was the cornerstone; yet it took some time for us to crop up the project components into a coherent psychopedagogical redemption experiment. We persuaded the School Inspectorate that the child should be kept in the School for the Blind, no special duties for the school staff other than basic supervision, hence no extra budget required. He was to be helped get familiar with the new milieu and adapt, in terms of behavior and development of social bonds, with the children and the school staff he was to get in contact with. V. A. needed a space of his own, comfortable and controlled over the day time in the company of blind children he would not disturb; so the school board decided for the kindergarten, where the basic activity was playing games. Andaluzia Calușeru (married Leahu), a graduate of the Psychology Faculty, agreed to adopt V. A. into her kindergarten group of much younger blind children, providing a beneficial context for V. A. adapting to boarding school life. At first he crouched in a corner, refusing contact with the children trained to sit at their desks modeling clay, drawing, weaving… and moving free in-between. V. A.’s desk was at the back of the classroom, but he was let move from one chair to another; so during breaks children naturally bumped into him, which scared him into defensive withdrawal into a nook providing walls back, left and right. He shook there till the children quieted down, back to their desks, and then only he regained his own desk at the back of the room. By and by, however, he naturally adapted out of his fright, and started getting tasks: toys and such like small objects to explore, to move about, to model in plasticine, simple shapes to complex. In time he got to work in tandem with some child, doing by imitation group tasks as required by the kindergarten curriculum. What most mattered was his getting familiar with his environment, and the social bonds he managed to develop, with his colleagues at first, then with older children whom he met at other times of the day, in the study rooms, in the canteen, in the dorm, gradually becoming a regular inmate of his adoptive school. Thus V. A. had a good place to stay at, tacitly agreed by the local authority, which bought me the time to do the planning of an experiment targeting the psychological redemption of a speechless deaf-blind. We firstly considered the information available (the success stories) hence wrote letters to various institutions in various countries, such as France, USA, USSR, Democrat Germany and many others; but, given the time’s Iron Curtain, only our colleagues in Moscow produced detailed information. Professors A. I. Mescereakov and I. A. Sokoleanski told us about the story of A. S. Skorohodova (a speechless blind-deaf woman born in 1914), who had lost her hearing and sight as she was 5, a gradual loss of speech following. Redemption work started as she was 10, and the success remarkable. They also referred us to American psychologists and cases like Laura Bridgman’s (1829-1889) the first recorded blind-deaf in the world, educated by tutor S. G. Howe, the talk of the time. Naturally, the best known case was Helen Keller’s (1880-1968) who lost hearing and sight when two year old, later totally loosing speech as well. She started redemptive work when seven, with tutor Anne Sullivan, her success gaining worldwide notoriety. H. Keller got invitations to royal courts and republic presidents, acceding to university studies and a Doctor Honoris Causa title, in Glasgow University (1932); she wrote a number of books, and became a socialist activist in 1909; when asked to name the two most prominent people in history, famous writer Mark Twain said Napoleon and Helen Keller. Such data helped us discard our doubts around V. A.’s redemption. We just knew that we had to continue on that path, against the general belief that the speechless deaf-blind cannot be educated, the reason why they either stayed in their families or were sent to hospitals for incurable diseases, to the same fatal effect that they got lost to themselves and to everybody else. We founded our decisions on the results of the medical tests that ophthalmologists, otorhinolaryngologists and neurologists ran on V.A. Those tests were adamant about his deafness and blindness being quasi total, chance sensory remains (enhanced or not by prostheses) being no use; however, the tests also indicated that the case was of peripheral sensory deficit, only the sensory receptors being affected, the cortical part of the analyzers being intact. The neurologists’ EEG’s confirmed the morphofunctional integrity his brain and cortex. We ran no verbal classical psychological tests on him, as he had no words; we only could watch him close for long whiles. The data we got indicated normal brain morphophysiological structure, which meant green light to this (unprecedented in Romania) redemption of deaf-blind speechlessness. We were called to do our best to counteract an installed disease, expecting the progress that science (to be more specific, psychology) were to score. Knowing redemption possible, to not look for a key and a path would have been unethical. Thus, Professor Al. Roșca urged me to put down an action plan well rooted in both theory and practice, to implement over the next school year (1956- 7); which meant further intensive research, plus finding the right practitioners to actually enact our strategy, in a one-to-one tuition case, over various set stages. Naturally, the first such stage required the child’s tutor to get him to speak and acquire the standard primary school curricular knowledge in two years, and teach him the lessons due over the next two. I knew Ms. Florica Sandu to teach in the school for the blind, having already taught in the school for the deaf-mute, so I asked her to take V. A. in her care, to which she gladly agreed, conditional on whether they let her continue her didactic activity, as she was about retirement age. Professor Al. Roșca asked the authorities in the Ministry of Education to reconsider her case, and they so did; hence, in September 1956, V. A. was enrolled in grade I special, a one-to-one tuition case, as due, no other option valid. Results showed success from the very first year: V. A. recouped his voice, first issuing vowels then short syllables, and even words which he understood the meanings of, as naming basic issues of life in communication. At variance with the hearing person (the blind included) a deaf-blind can only control his own sound emission in a dialogue situation, unable to decode the replies. Hence the importance of the written communication he must acquire from the very on-set: emission and reception, concomitantly with learning speech, thus mixing (actually doubling) the communication canals with the people around, even the blind: V. A. issued his message orally, his hearing interlocutor replying in written, by writing (onto his palm) either in standard (Latin) letters, or in Braille dots. Such processing of information gets psychologically complex; actually V. A. manifests general dermalexia, i. e. can read with any part of his body, not just his right palm, as normally taught to. It thus took six years (not four) for him to cover the tasks required by primary school curricula, i.e. learning both oral and written speech, plus acquisition of the required knowledge as therein stipulated. We asked that V. A.’s education in Middle School (1962-1963) should be budgeted, a request fully backed by our early instruction results; the authorities in the Ministry of Education eventually agreed, and we could continue the experiment. We actually asked that two people be paid to exclusively instruct and educate the child, i.e. class master Gh. Stancu, to assist him in the morning classes by the grade’s curriculum; and tutor Georgeta Damian, to assist him in the extra-curricular activities, like oral and written speech, thematic walks and visits, and, last but not least, proper behavior in societal milieu. They gave us five years (1962-1967) for such tasks to be met (as against the regular four) and, generously assisted by his teachers, the child managed to cope with all requirements…so, again, the same question arose: what next? Once more Professor Al.Roșca addressed the Ministry of Education the request that the experiment should continue over high school time, under similar provisions, by the natural logic of any research: what you set out for, you take to the end, especially when such long time (12 years) effort and budget are at stake. The minister again said yes, and V.A. embarked on another six years’ scheduled time (1967 to 1973) as against the regular four; for this once, we judged in the light of the prospect of opening the university gates for him, so the complexity and the volume of knowledge required was to be thoroughly considered. This was the terminus of our experiment for the complete redemption of a speechless deaf-blind, initiated and guided by our chair in the Psychology Faculty of the local university, in full responsibility to the then State authorities for the scientific accuracy of any contents applied. Special credits must be given to the School for the Blind in Cluj, where the redemption experiment was run, as agreed by the school board and implemented by the school staff, helped by the school students, all involved one way or another over the 18 years since V.A. landed there, deaf, blind and speechless at 11, till 29 years old, a baccalaureate attesting to his perfect psychological normality, in terms of intellect, feelings, volition and ethics. The Ministry of Education’s financial investment, considerable as required by such psychopedagogical experiment, was proven fully justified. Alongside with similar cases abroad, V.A.'s success shows that the speechless deaf-blind children with normal morphofunctional brains can and must be recouped, psychologically. Professor Al. Roșca and all of our staff considered long in advance such success and V. A.’s later access to our university, for which goal we planned that he was to thoroughly study for his admission to university exams as well, i.e. for Special Psychopedagogy Department, a routine already established in Moscow, with four of V.A.’s peers, all four university students at that time. I had a hard time talking him into letting on hold his sculpture classes he passionately attended with remarkable results. Also, he agreed to dedicate his summer holidays to cramming for exams in human psychology, anatomy and physiology, as requested in the tough competition for the university student positions available. He was helped to enrichment level, by his school teachers. Formal enrollment paperwork was no problem; however, days before the exams were to start, we were told that the examiners’ board president turned down his file, based on the health certificate not expressedly mentioning his formal right to such exams, as a deaf-blind. So I had to urgently accompany him to the medical committee, who felt at a loss for a precedent to judge the case against: they had had blind or deaf candidati, but none deaf and blind, before. I did my best explaining that V.A. was the very first recouped, speechless deaf-blind in Romania; and that a double disability cannot count, per se, as a strong enough deterrent, to frustrate anyone from his or her legal right to societal life. Moreover, given that he had been recouped, psychologically, society should come meet him half way, providing an employment context in keeping with his expertise. The committee agreed, mentioning in his health certificate that V. A. was not ailing with any disease likely to prevent him from passing his exams. I am only saying it here to show how unprepared society is to accept that deaf-blindness can be overcome, psychologically; hence an irrational (if tacit) tolerance for discrimination, mistrust and suspicion, when it comes to people manifesting a disability like poor sight or absent hearing. Is it anyone’s fault? We are up against science ignored, rather, in spe general human psychology. Here is one more significant incident, same context We understood from our colleagues in Moscow that their four deaf-blind passed their admission exams not competing with the other candidati, but hors- concours. I made it known the chair people, the dean, even the Vice Chancellor… being advised to not ask derogations at the top, any problem of V.A. falling under the jurisdiction of the examiners: our only text resulted in Braille (needing rewriting in Latin Letter for the examiners to assess it) was to be as good as signed. But the committee President decided that V.A.’s rewritten tests should be packed up with all the others, to be assessed under the law of competition. And admitted he was; which meant a lot to him, in his capacity of the first and only speechless deaf-blind in Romania at the end of an 18 years’ scholar toil for redemption. This brief story of the subject of our psychopedagogic experiment needs to be followed by a bit of theory-proper, wherefrom noteworthy practical consequences, that can be further adopted for similar cases. Researchers in various countries manifested a long time interest for this type experiment; some of whom we permanently kept in touch with, by writing letters, or visiting, or partaking in science sessions focused on psychopedagogical topics. Thus our chair was visited by colleagues in Russia, Yugoslavia, Poland, France, Czechoslovakia, Denmark, UK, Mexico and many other countries; and they invited us to partake (with V. A) in science sessions dedicated to the redemption of the deaf-blind – such as in Zagreb, Moscow, Riga, Potsdam, Warsaw, and others. And yet we admit that, for now, recouping (as based on the data provided by investigations and experiments) underperforms, in terms of expectations and requirements; the reason why redemption needs more thorough study. V. A. being now wholly recouped testifies to a basic truth: under specific circumstances, the human brain can make up for a large information package missing (e.g. for sight and hearing), by intensifying the activity of the remaining valid sensory canals, especially of the tactile-kinesthetic sensitivity, i.e. touch. I will conclude with one more remark about a shaping factor, unduly overlooked: V. A.’s diary and its role in the author’s self-education. As soon as he could write he was urged to put down, in Braille, his day’s story or equivalent. Thus he developed a routine of recording, in time – since primary school to high school and university – his trips and travels across Romania or abroad. V.A. wrote thousands of pages, compacted in tens of perfectly orderly tomes, covering an impressive amount of information about forty of his years, a true film where both events and impressions experienced were recorded, as well as projections into the future, in anticipation of what he was to do to meet the targets set. In other words, the diary kept on the background of dark calm and peace became an invaluable instrument, to consult whenever he had a decision to make, or adjust his action in the prospect of the future.

I will further quote a few pages of memories tangent to my education, got from teachers or friends. Firstly, from tutor Georgeta Damian; and quoting.

I tenderly remember the time when I was Vasile Adamescu’s tutor, up to his graduation day and further becoming a teacher himself and assisting me with my sensory impaired students. In 1962 I took Vasile Adamescu into my care ( together with my colleague Gh.Stancu) from Florica Sandu, who had taught him speech and reading/writing in Braille, messages tapped onto his palm and a few other such communication skills. I was surprised to learn that ours was to be a one-to-one routine, in the afternoon, my role being to help him do his homework and study for his morning classes. I read to him, debated and rewrote in Braille the lessons there were no textbooks for, such as Latin and French, or history and geography. The curriculum was difficult to cover, so it took us the whole afternoon. Vasile acted interested in of all life’s aspects, avidly recording and sternly debating all the information he got. I found out he understood complex things explained in his classes, and ignored others less intricate, so an extra lifetime would have been too short for us to debate it all, any concept being many faceted.

In our leisure time we talked about his childhood and family, at the time before he was brought to us and he did chores about their farm. I listened amazed about his weeding the garden: he explored the plant, the leaf contour, the stalk, he smelled the plants, and he picked the weed and finally pulled it out. His grandmother took him to their land on the Danube River bank; he was not watched over, he could feel the water flow and did not go near it. And when he played with the village children, before crossing the street he stuck one ear to the ground to feel the vibrations produced by the carts wheeling by. We often walked downtown, arm in arm to signal out the curbs, but he already knew where he was to step down, or up, and detected the shops by their smell. No matter the road we took, he always knew where we were. The most amazing thing I experienced was in Zagreb, in the Phonetics Institute, where they ran all sorts of tests on him. They seated him on a chair which they spun left and right, then indicate the cardinal points the child was to set out for. He never failed, and I need adding here that they were testing a device for the deaf, and only needed a blind-deaf for contrast tests. Still in Zagreb, I was to read out loud in a mike a number of sentences, made up of a variable number of words. In a short while he could say which was which, by word length, by sound pressure, and by specific vibration, to the utter amazement of our hosts. As a university graduate and a teacher, Vasile was asked to assist my group of poorly sighted children and blind, that I taught writing and arithmetic to, on special devices. Well, our Principal happened to witness a ministerial meeting where someone complained that in Cluj it took more than four educators for four students, which meant inadmissible waste of money. Consequently that arrangement had to go, so those children were left in the care of Vasile alone. Try to picture how a deaf-blind listens to what his students say, or how they read to him. I often went over, to see how he managed this impossible mission, but he often locked the door, so his smart Alec youngest should not sneak out. This child would also hide under the desk, or inside the cupboard and I remember a minor incident, when, as I was looking through the window of the locked door, I could hear the child crying. Vasile knew that something was wrong, understood the sighs in his palm applied to the child’s chest, then felt something humid, tasted and realized it was blood. I was already shaking the door, and he came unlock, feeling those vibrations, a minor incident as I said. At another time a group of us were seated round the table talking in a loud voice, someone replying on an even higher pitch. Vasile told me someone is talking too loud, which he could discern by how the air and the table vibrated. Our life in a closed in milieu saved him much of the hardship and ugliness in real life. When let free, he was shocked to know tough real life. Of notoriety is a story where he, still a student, went in a group to harvest corn: his bag got stolen and he could not process the fact, taught as he was that in a socialist society all is perfect and no one steals. His colleagues had the fun of their life, and asked a militia man to write onto his palm that yes, theft was still an option. The school curriculum was dense and, to my regret, we had not enough time left for debating the facts of life and the ways of the world. Such things were left for life to teach him, for his two wives, for his lifetime friend Laurentiu Crișan, and now for my ex-student, interpreter Viorel Micu. He gracefully writes to me a letter each week, grateful for all I did for his redemption. He always ends GOD BLESS! striking a tender chord each time. My work was not lost.

And here is what Teodor Manta, in Tg. Mureș, reminisces; quoting. I was a student of our teacher Florica Sandu, whom to this day I look up to, in awe for her abnegation. When still in primary school, one day a new student was brought in, different from us by his multiple impairment: Vasilică Adamescu, two or three years older than us so teacher urged us to act younger brothers. He knew me by the mole on my right cheek, and by a scar on the left side of my chin. In his first years with us Vasilică did not understand the rules of being places at the right time, or being present at all. Teacher trashed the school looking for him, or sent one of us to look for him… and we found our fugitive in the Association for the Blind, that had their headquarters on the school ground floor; or he may have been in the printing shop, or in some practice shop of ours. When he was eventually brought in, Teacher punished him, sending him to a corner, hands up, patting him on the forehead, like saying that class skipping makes stupid for life. At times punishment time ran over the break, teacher going out, so we patted him on the forehead, which made him hit back wild, or kick. He knew when it was Teacher and when it was us. We keep in touch through his interpreter. When I happen in Cluj I call on Vasilică, who is always glad to see me.

Silviu Valeriu Vanda, a deputy to our principle, who taught us history in high school, knew me well for scores of years. We made friends and he helped me, especially since 1998 when he was appointed Principle. He said he wished to mention a few things, so here they are, quoting, to end this book with, for now.

I got to know Vasile Adamescu by hearsay, and then knew him in person 1963 to 1973, when we were students in the High school for the Visually Impaired in Cluj-Napoca, and then colleagues, teaching there, 1980 to 2004, when he retired. We thus had a long enough time to indirectly develop our enduring friendship, mediated by our mutual friend Laurentiu Crișan, who cared for Vasile Adamescu brotherly, and talked in infinite enthusiasm about him, happy with each new good thing happening to him, or grieving each new failure. I see Vasile as a victor touching at victory in his life, through intelligence, perseverance, faith, resilience, thirst for knowledge and open-mindedness to all novelty, beating both matter and destiny as rising to the status of human among humans. He was helped by friends and colleagues supportive of his dreams, along this road to such heights in career and personal development. In his university student years (1973 to 1977) I set up a group of high school students to rewrite (under my co-ordination) in Braille our textbooks and specific subjects’ literature. Well, his university colleagues came over, to dictate to us courses and synopses useful as learning for our future university admission exams. Thus Vasile could read, ponder upon and fully acquire his bibliography, the easy way home, given that audio tape recordings were of no use to him. As a teacher, he always made new materials for his students, insisting that their teachers should thoroughly instruct them, and get everybody work with their hands to develop such skills, thereby tactile-kinesthetic sensitivity, and further sensitivity thus enhanced.

***

What a piece of work in man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! (Shakespeare) Positive discrimination, of Vasile Adamescu, was a miracle solidarity phenomenon sans frontiers, yet often met with in special needs field. As this book’s translator I strove to capture the author’s thought flow, as developed in a culture transparently post WWII Romania, yet actually still interwar, i.e. run on traditional ethics which lasted all the way to the fall of the Wall and of the Iron Curtain. At Europe’s 1989 Revolutions’ place in time, most adult Romanians could be construed as mainly raised by interwar grandparents, who lived to see the day when the red pest vanishes like smoke and good old times may know some sort of a comeback – at least things like church bells ringing down every street and people again trusting people – no bug in the flower vase, no fear to be sold out by your own, no Party activist deciding your destiny on a frown: truth-beauty- goodness, love-hope-faith, equity-solidarity-responsibility rediviva. This is the world that Vasile Adamescu reconstructs by stringing words: a recreated replica to the world he was guided to discover bit by bit, positively discriminated to stay this safe side of life, leaving to others lie- ugliness-meanness, hatred-despair-treachery, and inequity-isolation- selfishness. A writer writes his mind in words, a translator translates thought. As an educator of blind and of deaf children, I would say that everything achievable in deaf-blindness by the methods therein proven best should be translated to single sensorial impairment. How could letters be NOT the way for the blind, when the blind-deaf communicate by letters, the universal language of all educated people? Why tell the blind that letters are one code too far for them? Vasile made it. Louis Braille will forever stand tall in blind education, at the very least for the raised music score (dots on a grid) if all else goes supplanted: my research team has proven the raised music sheet valid, and so did blind pianist Yeaji Kim’s, who can now read her chords like everybody else, as dots placed on five lines. As just another human being reading memoirs… I would not know where to begin expressing my feelings. These are memories of a protagonist living a heroic life, exploratively enough to interconnect any lose ends left to him operational, supplanting the discarded, the absent to him yet anyone’s basic – sight and hearing. He bravely played the deck of cards dealt him, humble enough to grasp any hand held out his way. Vicinity at the tip of his fingers, distance felt nose in the air and ear to the ground, his mind turning round all possible and impossible clues, plausible and implausible, randomized and systemic, crudely matter of fact and spot on Deus ex machine… this singular life may look like lived in some ship’s trellis, but the story is factually told in the driver’s seat, for you and me to check our own stories against his, asking is it worth such strife? is it meaningful? is it in touch with humans following on his steps? is it as much about self as it is about the others I? It surely IS, all that and then some. Vasile Adamescu romances himself as a jeweler romances a myriad faceted crude stone into the corner stone of the crown. Thank you, Mister Vasile Adamescu, may the Universe still send you his seen and unseen, heard and unheard, touchable and untouchable messengers – your day is still young, an artist never leaves his dais no matter what.

M.A.Christi, Timișoara, June, 24th, 2020