The assassination of Father Șerban

One night I met Father Șerban in a courtyard. He was coming from downstairs with a sledgehammer that he had taken to the workshop to attach a tail to it. He had climbed two flights of stairs and was leaning against the wall, pale, with his hand on his chest and gasping for breath.

– What happened to you, Father? I asked him.

– Nothing much! A little grief of the heart. That’s what it does when I go up and down the stairs.

– Well, in that case, wouldn’t it be better if you stayed somewhere upstairs and didn’t go up and down the stairs all the time?

– Whatever I’m doing is upsetting me! I don’t know what else to do! The people I work with are nice, they don’t let me work, but I don’t feel good living off their work, they have to do my part of the work too. I think it’s better to ask to work on the surface or even to send me back to Aiud. I don’t have enough air here.

Father Șerban was the first to come out with the shift supervisor’s report. He sent it to the director. The director sent it to the political officer. He asked them all to work on the surface that his heart was not in sending him back to Aiud.

The political officer replied: Bandit Șerban was sent here to work in the mine, not on the surface!

But when he was called to the political office, the officer asked him to “complete some duties if he wants to work on the surface”. Priest Șerban indignantly refused and, irritated, asked Lieutenant Alexander to send him to Aiud, where he came from.

Alexandru replied: No one can leave this place, anywhere, without special permission from Bucharest. Do you understand? If you don’t settle for the offer I gave you, go and work in the mine!

Priest Șerban went to the mine, but his health was deteriorating rapidly.

One day I met him in the courtyard, after the dialogue with the political officer, and he told me: I won’t go into the mine unless I’m tied up on a stretcher! Whatever happens, I won’t go into the mine!

The crime was so obvious that it needs to be told in detail to underline the “socialist humanism” and the intentions they had with all the prisoners throughout the country. (…)

One day, two metres away from me, I heard this dialogue between the political officer and Father Șerban:

– Șerban, go into the mine, you’re not playing with me!

– I’m not going in, Lieutenant! Do what you want, but I’m not going in!

– I’ll shoot you!

– Shoot me! (…)

The commander of the militia, Feheir, told Director Vanciu that the prisoner Șerban had asked to be removed from the report. Priest Șerban came forward and said: “Mr. Director, I respectfully ask you to take note of the fact that I suffer from heart disease and that my illness is getting worse every day I go to the mine to work underground. I therefore ask you to ask the higher legal authorities to send me back to the basic prison in Aiud.”

The political officer replied:

– The doctor who told you you had a heart condition is a bandit and a saboteur, just like you!

– No one needs to tell me anything. I’m old enough and I’ve seen enough heart patients to know. My illness is what I tell you, and my heart is what I feel.

Director Vanciu takes a few steps towards Father Șerban, grabs him by the throat and shakes him.

– You’re going to the mine. Do you understand me?

– I can’t, Director, please believe me, I can’t, says Father Șerban, his voice broken by palpitations.

– Go to the prison cell until you come to your senses!

Feheir grabbed the priest and led him into the prison cell in front of us.

Dissolve the assembly, adds the political officer:

– Behold, those of you who have worked, see the results. As for the priest, we will see what has to be done!

Since then, Father Șerban has not set foot in the mine. He spent his nights in the prison cell and his days working on the surface.

What did this patient that was suffering of a heart condition do? He was ordered to load a litter with stones, which he carried alone to fill the paved paths between the barracks. Throughout his work, Father Șerban was accompanied by a militiaman from the internal guard, who forbade him to have any contact with the other prisoners. Rarely would a more humane guard, knowing that he was unnoticed by his superiors, allow him to enter the dormitory where he kept his belongings. It was only on these occasions that I was able to exchange a few words with him.

These living and working conditions of Father Șerban lasted for about two weeks, during which time the political officer, Alexander, never appeared in the colony. We all wondered how to explain his absence, because Alexander came to the camp 10-12 times a day to check on the unguarded. His eye was everywhere, even in the toilet.

I had worked the night shift and hadn’t gone to bed yet. There were another 40-50 prisoners in the yard, including the surface workers: tailors, shoemakers, cooks, etc.

All of us who had worked during the night wanted to enjoy a bit of sunshine. It was a lovely spring day. We sat leaning against the barracks where we had our dormitories. My hut was right in front of the hut where the kitchen was, and I watched in awe as Father Șerban dragged his litter of stones between the cupboard and the dining room hut.

It is necessary to repeat some details: the camp had an inner barbed-wire fence, then the four-metre high plank fence, then another outer barbed-wire fence. The outer watchtowers, manned by guards, were very close together. Priest Serban dragged his stretcher 5-6 metres from the 4-metre high fence. The place was often used by the prisoners, day and night, to go to the toilet, because in the mine we were not allowed to have toilets in the dormitories.

It was ten o’clock in the morning. Bright and sunny. Father Șerban could see us in the yard because the guard who was supposed to accompany him was missing.

I heard the sound of a gunshot or two nearby, but it was only when I saw Father Șerban collapse that I looked towards the watchtower. Militiaman George, who must have been at his side all the time, came quickly from the kitchen where he had been, crying:

– Don’t shoot, comrade, can’t you see I’m with him?

– Get out of the way, shouted the soldier from the watchtower, or I’ll shoot you too!

And he fired another bullet at Father Șerban, who was on the ground. From behind the fence, probably from under the watchtower, Lieutenant Alexander’s voice could be heard clearly:

– Enough, man!

All those who had been asleep immediately went out into the yard with a great commotion. The commotion was indescribable. The militiamen all disappeared. Groups of prisoners in the yard were shouting:

– The prosecutor! Murderers! You’re killing us in the camp yard! We won’t go into the mine until the prosecutor comes!

The soldier who had fired pointed his gun at us. Priest Șerban was picked up and taken to the infirmary, but he was dead. The bullet had pierced his heart.

The public prosecutor arrived three hours later. But before he entered the camp, we were all locked up in the barracks. I saw what happened through the window. As a witness for the prisoners, Dumitru Streanță, who worked in the camp’s accounting office, one position below the Grand Mufti, was called.

Streanță entered the gate with the prosecutor and explained something. The reconstruction was carried out. Streanță put his hands in the mud and then put them on the fence, right in front of the prosecutor. But the pool of blood was 6-7 metres from the fence, next to the stone stretcher that Father Serban was pulling and where he was shot.

For this assassination a priest was chosen to be killed by the political officer. And this priest had to be a legionnaire. As a result of the murder of Father Șerban by the political officer Alexandru, which everyone knew about, even the informers bypassed him. (…)

The atmosphere in the camp changed completely after the murder of Father Șerban. The prisoners had become sober and silent, even in their relations with each other. The previous animated dialogues had disappeared. The guards feigned a certain looseness in their contacts with us, but avoided any discussion. There was also a hint of concern in their ranks. The solidarity with us was so great that we soon learned the name of the Securitate soldier who had fired the shot, and where he was from. The soldier’s name was Drăgan, from the commune of Tinca, Bihor County.

(Gabriel Bălănescu – From the Kingdom of Death. Pages from the History of the Iron Guard, Gordian Publishing House, Timișoara, 1994, pp. 145-147)