The fairest man I have ever met in my life was Valeriu Gafencu

The most beautiful man I ever met in my life was Valeriu Gafencu. I first encountered him when I was a student at the Ion Creangă Gymnasium in Bălți in the late 1930s. He was a year ahead of me because I had lost a year, having failed an exam after running away from school to join the circus of “the greatest man in the world,” Ivan Zaikin.

We were both born under the sign of Aquarius—he on 21 January 1921 in the village of Sângerei, Bălți County, and I on 14 February 1921 in the village of Vărăști, Lăpușna County. Our friendship began when I was in sixth grade and he in seventh. I gravitated toward him because he radiated peace, joy, and confidence. As we grew close, I learned more about him and his family.

His father, Vasile Gafencu, had a polytechnic education and was a member of the National Council, voting for the annexation of Bessarabia to Romania. The Romanian state granted each member of parliament 50 hectares of land. Unlike many politicians such as Inculeț and Pan Halippa, Vasile Gafencu did not pursue a political career and instead dedicated himself to agriculture on his estate in Sângerei. He managed a respected and prosperous farm and had four children. Valentina, the eldest, was about a year older than Valeriu and attended vocational school in Bălți. Then came Valeriu, my contemporary, followed by Nora, or Norica as Valeriu called her, and finally Pușa, the youngest, who had just entered Domnița Ileana Girls’ Theoretical High School in Bălți alongside Nora.

Because four children attended school in Bălți, Vasile rented a house in town where their mother could care for them and provide meals. He personally brought provisions from the family estate in Sângerei, managing a demanding household alone. It was in this context that I met Valeriu, and we soon became inseparable, even though we were not in the same class. We often shared meals and slept over at each other’s homes. I remember Valeriu teasingly suggesting: “Ovidius, let’s grow beards!”

We shaved with razor blades that bore the inscription, “The ELEMENT blade, the hedgehog shaves.” Our beards were soft, more like tulle, and sometimes we used the ELEMENT blade to sharpen pencils, rubbed it on glass, and then resumed shaving. Valeriu had very sensitive skin, and he often cut himself, soothing the wounds with a stick of sour stone.

When I was elected president of the Scientific-Literary Society Bogdan Petriceicu Hașdeu, accompanying the magazine Crenguța, it was Valeriu who had proposed me—even though I was only in the seventh grade and several older, more accomplished students were in the eighth grade.

Valeriu was an exceptional student, admired by all, including Jewish classmates, despite being a fervent patriot. He bore no ill will toward Jews but despised communism. He once remarked:

“The Jews gave us Jesus Christ; the apostles were Jews; the first Christians were Jews. The Bible, our master book, contains the Old Testament, which is far larger than the New Testament. We must recognize these merits of the Jews.”

We were naive to imagine Romania protected by a “concrete wall of steel and fire,” as proclaimed by King Carol II and his clique, led by Elena Lupescu. When Stalin’s armies invaded, the Romanian army lacked even a single tank and surrendered Bessarabia, Bukovina, and Herzegovina without resistance. King Carol had already ceded southern Dobrogea (Cadrilater) to Bulgaria, northern Transylvania to Hungary, and the above territories to the Soviets. Had he remained in power, Romania might have vanished from the map.

On the morning of 28 June, when we learned of Bessarabia’s surrender to the Russians, everyone acted as they could. I will not dwell on that tragedy here, as this story is dedicated to the memory of Valeriu.

I had finished the seventh grade, Valeriu the eighth. Under Antonescu’s government, I was assigned to continue my studies at Petru Rareș High School in Piatra Neamț, while Valeriu passed the exam and entered the Faculty of Law in Iași. He had fled with his mother and three sisters; his father, Vasile, remained in Sângerei, was arrested shortly after Bessarabia’s fall, and perished from starvation in a Bolshevik camp.

I completed the eighth grade, passed the baccalaureate, and entered the first year at Gheorghe Asachi Polytechnic in Iași in the autumn of 1941. One day, I met Valeriu, now a second-year law student, who invited me:

“Ovidius, tonight we law students are having a meeting in the street where my colleague Ciocan’s father, a veterinarian, lives. Everyone is welcome; we’ll discuss interesting topics.”

I declined, explaining that we freshmen were celebrating our success at the Polytechnic. Unfortunately, someone had betrayed the meeting. The street was swarming with Securitate agents. All the students were arrested, tried, and harshly sentenced. Valeriu received 25 years of hard labor. I managed to escape, saved by what I can only describe as my guardian angel, who spared my life three times.

Years later, as an engineer at the Institute of Chemical Research in Bucharest, I learned that Valeriu was working in a vineyard in Galda, Transylvania. I visited him with my fiancée, Angelica, and met many of his comrades. We stayed at the vineyard for three days. The Securitate was practically absent; the men had pledged not to escape, and not a single one did, though it would have been easy for Valeriu to cross the Hungarian border undetected. He welcomed us warmly, appearing radiant and ascetic, his inner flame visible to all. Before each meal, we stood and said our prayers, impressed by the discipline and faith of these young men.

I left with a heavy heart, unaware I would never see Valeriu again. I later learned that he had succumbed to tuberculosis in February 1952 in the Târgu Ocna prison hospital.

Valeriu’s soul was extraordinarily pure. He was generous and selfless, and words fail to enumerate his virtues. Had I married Nora, I would have become a relative of Valeriu, but fate did not allow it. Valeriu, with his humility, could stand among the saints, deserving our admiration. Even now, I feel him near, reminding me that my life was spared last month during a pacemaker operation, and urging me to live an honest, Christian life, defending the sacred memory of Bessarabia.

(Ovidiu Creangă, Christmas Day, 2006. Toronto – Valeriu Gafencu Blog)