communist country.
1975âU.S. President Gerald Ford visits Bucharest.
1978âU.S. President Jimmy Carter holds a state dinner at the White House in honor of the CeauÅescus.
The album was packed full of colorful photos featuring Beloved Leader and Heroine Mother with dignitaries and heads of state. I scanned through some of the names:
UK Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, Queen Elizabeth II, Queen Silvia of Sweden, Indira Gandhi of India, Pope Paul VI of the Vatican, Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, Charles De Gaulle of France, King Juan Carlos of Spain, Queen Margrethe II of Denmark.
And this one:
President Nicolae CeauÅescu of Romania joined the long list of international celebrities who have visited Disneyland, the world-famous âMagic Kingdomâ in California, to meet Mickey Mouse. CeauÅescu was accompanied by his wife and children.
I stared at the photograph.
Mickey Mouse.
I flipped back through the pages toward the front of the album.
CeauÅescu hadnât outfoxed America.
No.
Heâd outfoxed . . . everyone.
They thought he was a benevolent dictator. Theyâd welcomed him into their countries.
It wasnât disgust. It was despair. Thatâs what I felt, seeing the colorful photos of our leader cuddling with kangaroos in Australia and posing with Mickey Mouse in some citrus dream called California.
And . . . Disneyland. It was a real place?
CeauÅescu and his family were free to travel to every continent and experience all the world had to offer, but he kept his people caged within the countryâs borders, working, full of fear, terrorized if they inquired about a passport. My parents longed to return to the Romanian seaside or to spend time in the mountains. But in recent years, CeauÅescuâs work mandates and petrol rations made that difficult.
I wanted my mother to have a lighted stairwell.
I wanted my father to have a real vacation or a car.
I wanted Liliana to have the birds she missed.
I closed the album and wandered to the shelves with magazines, looking for the one Mr. Van Dorn had suggested.
TIME.
I found it. The moment is forever engraved in my memory.
The headline of the issue:
THE BIG BREAK
Moscow Lets Eastern Europe Go Its Own Way
I shot a quick glance over my shoulder. My pulse began to tick.
The magazine cover featured a large crowd with a teenager waving a flag.
A Hungarian flag.
Hungary bordered Romania.
Wait.
Hungary was no longer ruled by communism?
Hungary was free?
30
TREIZECI
I quickly scanned through the article, struggling with some of the terminology. But I recognized a few words from the Radio Free Europe broadcasts:
Democracy. Perestroika. Glasnost.
How much had we missed with a broken radio? We knew that Poland had been successful with their decade-long Solidarity movement, but now Hungary? Had they really broken free of communism? Did my parents know? I tried to memorize the details to share with Bunu.
I rejoined Dan, who was hunched over a glossy magazine. Flustered, I reminded myself of the agent. I made mental notes of the magazines Dan had pulled to read: Rolling Stone, Sports Illustrated, Billboard .
“Meet the love of my life,” said Dan, pointing to a picture of a woman playing the guitar. “She’s in a band called the Bangles.” He gave an exaggerated, heartsick sigh, then laughed. “Do you have a girlfriend?” he asked.
Did I? I gave a half nod. And maybe smiled a little too.
“Yeah? What’s her name?” asked Dan.
I paused. Should I tell him?
“Liliana,” I finally said. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
He shook his head. “I liked a German girl who was staying in ourbuilding, but her family was only visiting. She sends me letters with cool stamps though.”
He fiddled with the magazine. “Does Liliana like music?” he asked.
“Yes. Springsteen.”
“Springsteen, huh?” Dan flipped the pages back to an article and photo of Bruce Springsteen. Without
1975âU.S. President Gerald Ford visits Bucharest.
1978âU.S. President Jimmy Carter holds a state dinner at the White House in honor of the CeauÅescus.
The album was packed full of colorful photos featuring Beloved Leader and Heroine Mother with dignitaries and heads of state. I scanned through some of the names:
UK Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, Queen Elizabeth II, Queen Silvia of Sweden, Indira Gandhi of India, Pope Paul VI of the Vatican, Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, Charles De Gaulle of France, King Juan Carlos of Spain, Queen Margrethe II of Denmark.
And this one:
President Nicolae CeauÅescu of Romania joined the long list of international celebrities who have visited Disneyland, the world-famous âMagic Kingdomâ in California, to meet Mickey Mouse. CeauÅescu was accompanied by his wife and children.
I stared at the photograph.
Mickey Mouse.
I flipped back through the pages toward the front of the album.
CeauÅescu hadnât outfoxed America.
No.
Heâd outfoxed . . . everyone.
They thought he was a benevolent dictator. Theyâd welcomed him into their countries.
It wasnât disgust. It was despair. Thatâs what I felt, seeing the colorful photos of our leader cuddling with kangaroos in Australia and posing with Mickey Mouse in some citrus dream called California.
And . . . Disneyland. It was a real place?
CeauÅescu and his family were free to travel to every continent and experience all the world had to offer, but he kept his people caged within the countryâs borders, working, full of fear, terrorized if they inquired about a passport. My parents longed to return to the Romanian seaside or to spend time in the mountains. But in recent years, CeauÅescuâs work mandates and petrol rations made that difficult.
I wanted my mother to have a lighted stairwell.
I wanted my father to have a real vacation or a car.
I wanted Liliana to have the birds she missed.
I closed the album and wandered to the shelves with magazines, looking for the one Mr. Van Dorn had suggested.
TIME.
I found it. The moment is forever engraved in my memory.
The headline of the issue:
THE BIG BREAK
Moscow Lets Eastern Europe Go Its Own Way
I shot a quick glance over my shoulder. My pulse began to tick.
The magazine cover featured a large crowd with a teenager waving a flag.
A Hungarian flag.
Hungary bordered Romania.
Wait.
Hungary was no longer ruled by communism?
Hungary was free?
30
TREIZECI
I quickly scanned through the article, struggling with some of the terminology. But I recognized a few words from the Radio Free Europe broadcasts:
Democracy. Perestroika. Glasnost.
How much had we missed with a broken radio? We knew that Poland had been successful with their decade-long Solidarity movement, but now Hungary? Had they really broken free of communism? Did my parents know? I tried to memorize the details to share with Bunu.
I rejoined Dan, who was hunched over a glossy magazine. Flustered, I reminded myself of the agent. I made mental notes of the magazines Dan had pulled to read: Rolling Stone, Sports Illustrated, Billboard .
“Meet the love of my life,” said Dan, pointing to a picture of a woman playing the guitar. “She’s in a band called the Bangles.” He gave an exaggerated, heartsick sigh, then laughed. “Do you have a girlfriend?” he asked.
Did I? I gave a half nod. And maybe smiled a little too.
“Yeah? What’s her name?” asked Dan.
I paused. Should I tell him?
“Liliana,” I finally said. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
He shook his head. “I liked a German girl who was staying in ourbuilding, but her family was only visiting. She sends me letters with cool stamps though.”
He fiddled with the magazine. “Does Liliana like music?” he asked.
“Yes. Springsteen.”
“Springsteen, huh?” Dan flipped the pages back to an article and photo of Bruce Springsteen. Without
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