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Eduard Dolgunov

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The Story of One Emigration

The Story of One Emigration. To our great and longtime family friend, David Isaakovich Parnes, with best wishes! Capro-due. Capro-fue. This was a long time ago, very long ago, in the early 60s of the last century. I was still at that wonderful age when, waking up in the morning with great difficulty from my mother's persistent requests, the first thing I thought about was how to get out of the nasty but mandatory breakfast. I sincerely didn't understand why I had to cram completely unnecessary food into myself every morning, without which I felt perfectly fine. And fish oil!? It's every child's nightmare. I was sure that stupid adults specifically invented this terrible execution to wipe all their unloved children off the face of the earth. According to the unfortunate consumers, the best use of this smelly product was to grease squeaky tarpaulin boots, which most of my friends, myself included, did with great pleasure. In that distant time, we lived in the remote Moldovan province. It was an urban-type settlement called Drochia, where asphalt on the roads was only in the reports of the district leadership to higher authorities. The mud was impassable, so the main means of transport was horse-drawn vehicles (excluding tractors and rare trucks). But at that tender age, such trifles bothered me little. In the summer, I wore sandals bought to grow into (2-3 sizes too big), the toes of which, as the consumer grew, were neatly trimmed with scissors, allowing the scarce footwear to be worn for more than one year. And for all other seasons, there were universal tarpaulin boots, the heels of which, as they wore out, shoemakers reinforced with metal taps, clacking which (using modern slang) was very "sexy." In winter, boots were absolutely indispensable and extremely functional, just like felt boots with galoshes. In those years, ice skates were in their very infancy, and not everyone was destined to own this miracle. They were called "snegurki" and were attached to shoes with strings. For the reliability and immobility of the attachment, the ropes were pulled tight and then fixed with specially carved wooden sticks. For this complex structure, boots and felt boots were perfectly suited, as strong shoes were required. How the boys who lacked this "miracle" envied the owners of the skates, how they begged to be allowed to ride. Therefore, so that everyone could show off their "figure skater" class, the largest boots were chosen for the gang of guys, onto which the "snegurki" were fixed. Then they took turns putting them on, went out onto the ice, and, under the critically evaluating glances of strict spectators, performed unimaginable "pirouettes." The owner of the skates was allowed to ride twice. It was fun. But I also had shoes. They came as a set with the school uniform. God, what chic! Gray trousers, a tunic "a la French" with a belt and buckle, a cap with a cockade. And the briefcase? Class!! Well, I got a little distracted. I actually want to tell a slightly different story. Our house was large. Four huge rooms, a large dining room, a barn in the yard with various livestock, including chickens, ducks, turkeys, etc. A peasant of enormous height from a neighboring village, with the funny name Liky, helped us look after this considerable household. My father worked as a doctor and was the head of the surgical department of the local district hospital. He had once operated on this Liky and saved him from death. Since then, the grateful peasant had become so attached to our family that he became an absolutely indispensable person for us. Liky was disabled, with one eye (the result of some injury), poorly educated, with a rather low IQ, which, however, did not prevent him from being the kindest person. He had several children, I don't remember exactly, but it seems, four daughters. They took turns living in our house, helping my mother with the housework, and whom my father later helped to arrange their studies at various educational institutions. As far as I know, one of them became a doctor, another a teacher, I don't know about the rest. In that distant time, the era of television was just beginning. Here in Moldova, TV broadcasting was conducted 2-3 times a week, a couple of hours a day, and it was mostly news and, occasionally, symphony concerts. But this bothered few people, since people didn't even dream about television receivers (that's what a TV was called). But we had a TV. It cost crazy money, but my parents went to these expenses. Neighbors and acquaintances came to us to look at this miracle, moreover, on a schedule, since there was no physical possibility to accommodate everyone who wanted to. The TV signal was extremely weak, with terrible interference and constant "ripples." The television antenna was initially installed on the roof of our house, but the quality of the TV signal reception was terrible. The sound or the picture periodically disappeared. Therefore, on the advice of local experts, it was decided to raise this "engineering miracle" much higher than the roof of the house. For this, all local technicians and builders were mobilized, and a wooden structure of enormous height was erected in our yard, on top of which the antenna was attached. But since the television signal constantly disappeared and had to be "caught," the antenna had to be mobile. For this, the main trunk of the tower was placed in a pipe slightly larger in diameter dug into the ground, which allowed the entire structure to be rotated using a transverse metal bar. This was a rather laborious process, so it was only within the power of our "Hercules" Liky. It happened as follows: dad sat near the TV and looked at the screen, I took up a post near the window overlooking the yard, Liky grabbed the antenna structure pipe. Following the picture on the screen, dad waved his hand, I gave instructions to Liky, and he began a slow rotation. As soon as the image became relatively clear, the tuning ended. This happened almost before every session. There was another problem. Strong winds sometimes broke our tall TV tower, and repairs caused my parents a lot of problems, but the craving for beauty was stronger, so the antenna was persistently restored. In short, I had a happy and carefree childhood. A little history of my family. My father was born in Romania. In the late thirties, after graduating from the medical faculty of the university in Iasi, he found himself in a remote province called Moldova. In the 40th year, this part of Bessarabia having received, "long-awaited liberation from the oppression of the Romanian boyars and joyfully joining the friendly family of Soviet peoples," was separated from Romania, and my father was forced to stay on the territory of the USSR. The border was locked, thereby separating him from his family, that is, from his parents, brother, and sister, who lived in Romania. Then WWII, which he went through in the active army from the first to the last day, marriage to my mother, and return to Moldova. In the 50s, his sister and brother with their families emigrated to Israel, and his father and mother stayed in Romania, as they did not want to leave. Then my grandmother died, and when my grandfather was left alone, a decision was made for him to move in with us. Emigration to the USSR from another country - that was an event! Since this act had a political character and spoke of the "complete victory of socialism" in our country, the issue was decided at the very top. For this purpose, the leadership allocated a "ZIM" car, which was an unheard-of luxury, which delivered my family to the border point where this extremely important act was to take place. And it happened! This historical event was covered by nascent television. The appearance of my grandfather struck our socialist eye. He crossed the border in a light suit, hat, and with a cane. He didn't know a single word of Russian, although he spoke several languages. Upon arriving in Drochia, my grandfather was extremely struck by the squalor of our house. In his opinion, a doctor could live better. The bourgeois worldview made itself felt. Frankly speaking, grandfather's character was far from sugar. From that day on, my mother's torment began. He got up very early, left his room at 7 in the morning, sat down demonstratively at the table in the dining room, tucked a large napkin behind his collar, and silently waited for breakfast.