Home at Marin Dumitrescu
In the Grant neighbourhood, where Marin Dumitrescu lived, I walked up and down the street several times. At one point, Marin sat down on the curb and started to cry. Sixteen years after his arrest, he no longer knew where he lived. I sat down next to him and told him to take note of the changes that had taken place in that time. His face suddenly lit up:
– I know! I know where I live!
He stopped in front of a gate where two tall trees covered the yard and the house.
– Do you see Grigore? These trees, which I planted, were only up to the height of the fence. Look how tall they are now! That’s why I didn’t recognise the place! And when did this house appear, because it wasn’t here?
He tapped the window lightly with his fingers, and a voice asked, frightened:
– Who is it? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?
– Mum! It’s me, Marin! Open up, please!
Then came a cry of despair and joy from the house, a cry I heard long after that night, and every time I remember it, I relive the scene that followed…
It was light inside and there was a bustle through the window and out the door came my mother, his sister – Silvia – another sister and two men, and a few more from the house in the yard. In a few moments Marin was surrounded by them all: one hugged him, one kissed him on the face, on the eyes, one took his hands and kissed them, one stroked him, another looked at him and tried to get closer to him, passing over the others… I watched in amazement! It was like rugby! When Marin was a little distracted, he told them in a deep voice:
– Ho! Ho! Stop! I came with a very good friend. Look, this is Grigore Caraza. You already know him, Silvia.
Almost the same thing happened to me…
In their excitement, the poor people mistook me for their long-awaited Marin. Once they had calmed down, my friend looked around and asked seriously:
– But, Dad? Where’s Dad?
– He died four years ago!
– And my wife, Silvia?
– She left you, dear! She left you and went away! We haven’t heard from her.
Marin buried his face in his hands and began to cry…
– Don’t worry! Don’t worry! At least I found you guys!
(Grigore Caraza, Aiud însângerat, edited by Adrian Alui Gheorghe, 5th edition, Tipo Moldova Publishing House, Iași, 2013, pp. 156-157)