The fearless Sandu Ștefănescu and a silly guard

…The following Sunday I had another adventure. A field of sunflowers had to be harvested, the flowers beaten and stored, and the stalks tied into sheaves and made into string. As it was the last one left, we decided that the older ones, including Trifan and Marian, should return to Galda, and the others after the work was done. The remaining 10-15 of us harvested the sunflower “hats” during the week, stored them in a shed in the field and cut the coconuts. We wanted to crush the hats and store the seeds. The militiamen who had shamed the hay had gone to Aiud; in their place was a newcomer to the colony, a bit of a fool. Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t think he could have been called anything else. “Hey! I’m somebody here! Get it?” was his refrain. Everything he wanted and ordered was to be carried out without comment. On Saturday night it was announced that we were going to church on Sunday.

– See you tomorrow, he said, and went into the guardhouse.

He got up in the middle of the night and gave the wake-up call for the whole colony. We had just finished making up the beds:

– Assemble! Fall in and go to the sunflower!

Among those who stayed in Unirea were Valeriu Gafencu, Nicu Mazăre, Bălan Iulian, Naidim Marin, Ianolide Ion, Florea Trandafir, Sandu Ștefănescu. In order to get used to the act of leadership and responsibility, each of us commanded the band for a certain period of time. That week, Sandu Ștefănescu had this mission. He warned us:

– What do you think, brothers? Can we come into conflict with a man who has no moral scruples? Let’s get to work and see what we can do!

The work was done quickly; by ten o’clock the job was done. We could have made the service if we had hurried.

– But no! What church? You have to chase the seed, the guard scolded.

– Mr. Guard, said Sandu. You can’t chase the seed, there’s no wind. It’s a pity to work for nothing. Please let us go to church.

– No! Do as I say! Because I’m somebody here.

Sandu Ștefănescu, suppressing his confusion, replied calmly:

– Mr. Guard, be an understanding man. When the wind blows, we’ll chase the sunflower. Leave us to the church.

– No, no, no, no! I’ll decide here, he said, his face flushed.

– “Group together, towards the church!” decided Sandu Ștefănescu.

We all formed a line and left immediately. Sandu sensed what the fool was capable of and stayed close to him. The guard, annoyed that his order was not being carried out, put his hand on his gun and threatened:

– Stop! Stop, ‘… you’… Gods damn you, I’ll shoot you!

In the same second, he was no longer holding the gun. We stopped and looked at the scene. The gun was in Sandu’s hand. The bewildered guard was holding an imaginary weapon; when he realised, he began to whirl around in despair and scream:

– Give me the gun! Give me the gun, I will kill you!

– What are you going to do? Think hard, we told Sandu.

– How can I give him the gun? Can’t you see he’s stupid? He will shoot us, cause he is a fool. Then to the guard: “Follow me, but don’t come closer than ten paces, or I don’t know what will happen to you”.

The guard followed us at a distance and asked for the gun with tears in his eyes:

– Give me the gun or you are going to ruin me!

– I’ll give it to you if you give me the magazine, Sandu said.

– I’ll give it to you. Here, take it, he threw it at Sandu.

– Five more steps back, he said to the guard. Now take off your tunic and step into the third row between the prisoners. Don’t say another word until I tell you!

– Give me the gun, you said you’d give me the gun!

– I said I’d give it to you! But I’ll give it to you when I want it, because you’re stupid and don’t know what to do with it. And now, silence!

There was a gendarmerie post at the crossroads of the tarmac and the main road. Sandu stopped us. He entered the gendarmerie post with the sentry’s gun and bullet, after warning him:

– You, stay there! Don’t move!

After five minutes, Sandu came out with the head of the post and called the guard. The guard, shaking and staggering like a drunken man, entered the post. After another ten minutes, Sandu came out alone and said:

– Let’s go to the colony, brothers. I’ll tell you what I’ve done there.

Sandu had told the postmaster what had happened and asked him to make a report to the guard so that he could be sent back to Aiud for another charge. The guard accepted. The stationmaster assured Sandu that he would send the guard back to Aiud that very evening.

– Sandule, I said to him, after we had calmed down, why did you ask for the cartridge and put him in the column without his jacket?

– Don’t you realise, my brother, that it was a sight for sore eyes when the villagers saw an unarmed guard crying behind the column of prisoners? They would have told the gendarmerie post before we arrived and things might have been different.

(Virgil Maxim, Hymn for the Cross Carried. Abecedar duhovnicesc pentru un frate de cruce, 2nd edition, Antim Publishing House, Bucharest, 2002, pp. 136-138)