By Adrian (Adi) Catanescu
A true story from our childhood in Brăila, Romania.
The Owl Never Forgets.
It was winter. I can't remember exactly which month, but our Christmas tree was decorated. Christmas might have already passed, or perhaps it was still a few days away. I honestly don't remember.
It was evening, not terribly late, but already dark outside. The snow was quite deep.
Our mother and Mrs. Ciulinaru were walking home together. I don't remember where they had been. A doctor's appointment? Some kind of meeting? I haven't the slightest idea.
Between the apartment buildings near our home, there was a secluded spot by a fence, where the darkness provided a perfect hiding place for anyone with bad intentions.
Suddenly, we heard screams and desperate cries for help.
It was Mrs. Ciulinaru's voice:
"Mr. Catanescu! Mr. Catanescu!"
Dad jumped out of his chair, opened the window, and, seeing what was happening, rushed outside.
Barefoot!
Wearing nothing but his thin indoor clothes, he ran straight into the snow.
He managed to catch the attacker, a young man of about twenty who didn't appear to be drunk.
I don't know where Dad found the strength, but he caught the fellow and gave him the beating of his life.
He was so furious that, until the police arrived, he kept punching the young man, whose face was already swollen and covered in blood.
Adrenaline had taken over. Dad didn't even feel the cold, although he was standing barefoot in the snow, dressed only in his light house clothes.
The police arrived fairly quickly.
They came in a Russian-made GAZ vehicle, painted blue, with the word "MILITIA" written prominently on it.
By then, some of the neighbors had gathered outside. I believe Mr. Ciulinaru was the one who called the police, although I'm no longer certain.
The officers didn't handcuff the attacker.
I don't know whether they simply didn't have handcuffs or whether using them in public wasn't part of the Romanian Militia's usual practice.
Perhaps it was a matter of appearances. After all, they were supposed to represent the people's militia, serving the people...
They took statements from those present.
Curiously, nobody asked why the young man's face was such a bloody, swollen mess.
They put him into the GAZ and drove away.
Only after the officers had left and we were back inside did Dad begin to shiver.
The cold, which he hadn't even noticed until then, was finally catching up with him.
He tried to warm himself. His knuckles were scraped and bruised.
The anger and adrenaline had faded.
What remained was a man who, upon hearing cries for help, had rushed out without a second thought, barefoot into the snow.
The Trial
A few months later, our mother and Mrs. Ciulinaru received summonses to appear in court.
They were to testify as prosecution witnesses in a trial for attempted rape.
Both women went, but they were deeply frightened.
On the night of the incident, it had been dark. The attacker hadn't had a very clear look at the two women.
But now, in the courtroom, he would have the opportunity to see their faces in broad daylight, remember what they looked like, and perhaps, after being released from prison, come looking for them to take revenge.
Such things were known to happen, and people were afraid.
Especially of those who had nothing left to lose.
Because sometimes, people who have nothing left to lose are the most dangerous of all.
An Additional Memory from My Brother, Ovi
I remember that both Adi and I ran outside through the fairly deep snow. Many of our neighbors had come out of their homes as well. Within less than five minutes, we were all there, gathered around the attacker.
Dad was the one who had caught him, but the neighbors hadn't stayed inside their warm homes. They had come out, too, and were standing there with us.
By then, our mother and Mrs. Ciulinaru were already inside, trying to recover from what had happened.
Written from the memories of Adrian (Adi) Catanescu, with an additional recollection contributed by his brother, Ovi.
The Owl Never Forgets.