Later that day when all the shooting stopped I got the courage to climb again to the surface. The tanks were aligned in a straight line now, facing the immense crowd of revolutionaries, shining in the evening twilight and the blurring streets lights, like giant dark killing machines bowing down on their knees to their victims. “Come down God and see what is left of us!” I heard a fade crying lost somewhere in the smoke. “They stole my son…they stole the light of my eyes!” someone else was shouting to my left. Somewhere behind all that I could hear a church’s bell ringing in a high tower far away. “We were soldiers once and we didn’t shoot our brothers!” an old man was lamenting next to his dead son while lighting a shaking candle above his head. “I begged you not to go with the revolutionaries!” an angry mother was yelling to her dead daughter “I begged you!” “The mothers and wives came to claim the dead,” said Crow sadly. “Even the streets are crying… if you listen very carefully there is a deep black feeling coming from the streets.” Once in a while, in all that racket, I could still hear street dogs barking in a distance. I fell asleep that night, listening to their cries of suffering, thinking how strange it was that these many people who were well and healthy yesterday were dead now. I woke up next day as dawn crept over the newly-liberated Bucharest. I heard loud shouts of happiness pouring with uninhibited enthusiasm and pure joy. They cleaned the streets of bodies so fast! I saw young beautiful girls tie ribbons with the Romanian tricolor flag on soldiers arms and exalted people carrying the defiled portraits of Ceausescu while chanting: “Ole! Ole! Ole! Ole! The dictator is gone!” Trucks with revolutionaries were driving in all directions waving the new Romanian flag. The big square was full of happy people chanting the new Romanian hymn “Wake up Romanian.” A middle aged man with a megaphone was sitting on the roof of a car and announced that the carnage had finally stopped but there was still a part of the secret police that was loyal to the dictator to Ceausescu. People from a tall building were throwing books down in a big pile where people with torches were waiting to set them on fire. “Burn the books! Burn them,” Vlad approved, nodding while running to help “They only bring evil and death.” From the book Gods Buried Children by Daniel Farcas available on Amazon.
Posted on: Sat, 17 Jan 2015 00:37:30 +0000
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