Iwoke up dripping sweat. It took me a little to realize that I was in the hotel room. There was a dead silence around. It was almost midnight. I was nearby one of the airports in Oslo, Norway. The nightmare that awakened me made me think if I should take a risk. My flight to Canada was a little before noon. Of course, my restless sleep was because I had to fly under a false identity. I knew what I was risking, but I had no choice and still, I had no right to make mistakes.
I tried to trust my intuition. I was wondering what to do. I had taken a ship from Germany to Oslo, and I could have gone back to Germany in the same way. But then I knew I would feel sorry that I did not try and see if the trick would work. But I did not exclude the possibility of failure also. For fourteen years I had tried unsuccessfully to get to my children in Canada, and I was grasping at straws. Obviously, fate has been unfavorable to me all these years. But I was stubborn enough, I did not give up.
I was lying in the dark, in the small hotel room wondering what to do. Everything was encircled by the silence of the night. I was tossing and turning around in bed, and frantically thinking about my nightmare. Should I have to worry at all? Maybe it was just a nightmare. Who the hell does not dream nightmares, and should they be given such a meaning?
But in my memory, there was another nightmare that many years ago, when trying to cross the Bulgarian-Romanian border on a night train, my little, beautiful daughter turned into an ugly, repellent child - a real devil, and said to me: ‘Come on, Daddy, won’t you come at last?’ And then I woke up in a sweat and I was confused, but I continued, ignoring the dream and soon I was arrested.
Yes, thirteen years since then, but obviously I will take that nightmare to my grave with me. Even now I can see the small, dirty cell full of cig butts, and hear the inhuman shouts of some of the neighboring cellmates whom the guards hit and called the ‘Dirty Gypsy.’ No, how can I forget all of this? I spent three days in that stinking, disgusting cell in the Bulgarian border town but it seemed to me like months. I was let off of a prison sentence then only because I did not have a criminal record. The young lady-judge must have taken pity on a father like me who, in desperation to get to his family in Canada, had falsified his identity. I, now, as it was then still had no country of citizenship. The young judge was sincerely confused – I was looking weirdly into her eyes. (Because of my mixed marriage I got into trouble with Bulgarian authorities in 1999 and found myself stateless.) Anyway, I really must have been lucky then. I could have got at least six months to a year in jail.
All these thoughts did not give me rest in the hotel room in Oslo. The clock was ticking and I was confused. Of course, I was aware that all this was a risk and I had to be very careful. No, I was not afraid that I could be caught at the airport. I thought, at least the Norwegian prisons were known as the most civilized ones. Rather, I was afraid I would not see my children anymore if they caught and arrested me. I’ve been thinking for fourteen years, day in and day out how on earth I could get to goddamn Canada. So far, I cannot forgive myself for having sent them to this distant country? The last night I spent with them in Bulgaria I would never forget. Oh, even now, I can vividly see that beautiful evening in June 2004, that sky dotted with big and small flickering stars. And in the very early morning the next day, sending them off to the airport of Sofia... How could I forget that fateful day!
As they were going through passport control my little naughty three-year-old daughter then, seeing that I wasn’t going to accompany them, rushed towards me, running under the rope fences, burst out crying. The police and security guards, as well as her mother, barely managed to catch her and bring her back.
The strangest for me was (and still is) that my little daughter must have felt that our separation will be long, very, very long. No, she wasn’t attached to me at all. After her birthday in Romania, I had to leave and see her but at age of three. So she had only known me for four months and as she was mischievous and going wild she almost always avoided me. She did not accept me; she did not want to or she couldn’t. But then at the airport, sending them away, something in her tore off and unleashed. Her whole little being revolted. She didn’t want to leave me. And so far I think why was that? What had happened to her? She constantly kept me at a distance, did not allow me to go to her. Now after these fourteen years of separation I think her actions then must have been prompted by that mysterious and unknown feeling we call intuition.
And all this seems to have happened yesterday. This scene in front of me is so bright and alive. To this day, I cannot get rid of my wife’s anxious and sad look, who dared to go without me (at my insistence) with our two small children to the other side of the world, to the unknown, to the uncertain. And now it is as if I still see those childish, big and innocent, teary eyes of our little son, as well as his little child’s hand, which waved me goodbye before the three of them, to merge with the crowd of passengers and never to see them again. How, how could I forget all this? This is etched deep in my mind and has turned into a deep bleeding wound that would never be healed.
‘Daddy, are you coming? When? When are you coming? Tomorrow?’ Still, this my son’s innocent voice is haunting me. He became very attached to me when I arrived from Canada at the end of February 2004. He was nearly five years old. But alas, our happiness lasted no more than four months. My heart was pounding when he called me on the phone from Canada. How could I explain to him then that the world of the adults is very different; and that the uncles and aunts, once trapped in the mechanisms of those buildings called government institutions, lose their human beings, become heartless and deaf, they themselves turn into machines, into robots. For months and months, I assured him on the phone, ‘Yes, of course, I will come. A little more, a little more, son. ‘But I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried - both legally and illegally. This ‘little’ turned into months, and the months turned into years, into many, many years. Oh, yes, I realize that everyone else in my place, after so many failed attempts and, after all these fourteen years, would just wave off and forget, would just marry again; or in the worst case: he could have hanged himself. But, thank God, not me. My quest to get to Canadian land after all these years, legally or illegally, was my only goal in life; this goal for me was a matter of life and death, Day and night I thought only of this: how the hell to get there. That’s all I lived for. With this thought, I was going to bed, with this thought I was awakening in the morning. I just want to get there once and hug my dear ones then Canadian authorities may shoot me, if necessary. Many times I was saying this to myself.
Stop! Enough. I think I slipped my mind too much.
I lay in the dark, in the small and cozy, warm hotel room, overwhelmed with thoughts. I had a feeling my head was going to explode. Thoughts just hit me... My situation was very delicate. I wondered what the hell to do. I was and wasn’t (almost) sure that the nightmare that woke me up wasn’t just meaningless. What to do, what? I wondered desperately.
THE TERRIBLE NIGHTMARE, as well as my unsuccessful attempts in the past, shook the determination I had some hours ago. Did I have to take the risk, anyway? I had no answer, I could not decide. I was thinking, I was pondering what to do.
Of course, I couldn’t sleep again. I got up. The silence around was just amazing, captivating. And after a few minutes, standing in the dark like a ghost, I sat in the armchair, watching the deserted street outside whitened by fresh snow. Still, a little more time and April was gone but on the outskirts of Oslo, snowdrifts could be seen here and there. Winter, apparently, was going away very slowly and reluctantly from Norway.
What, what should I do? My whole being was tormented, struggled, torn off. My head was on fire. The nightmare that brought me to this state stirred all my inner peace. I was burning with tension. I realized I was at a crossroads. But what the hell was the right path to choose in this case? WHO could decide what was the right path?
My anger against the Canadian authorities refusing me a visa had subsided over the years. I was convinced (and still I am) that not only they but all, all the rulers of the world are the same, a bunch of cornflowers, God damn it!
It wasn’t the time to think about the past then at the hotel in Oslo, Norway. I had to concentrate, I had to make a decision because I felt like I could go crazy. But... I couldn’t come up with a solution. I sat in the darkness staring out the window, wondering if I should have to take the risk? With all my being, with all my inner energy, I tried to touch that inner feeling of mine, which in moments of danger prompts a man to take the right decision. I was very, very tense. What if my luck let me down again? But how could I know if I don’t try, I was telling myself. I had a vague feeling that I had to take a risk. Some particle in me, I would say even a hundredth of this particle whispered to me and assured me that this time I really would succeed. I tried to encourage myself, anyway. Nothing does repeat in life. And I was recalling my unsuccessful attempts to get to Canada by ship, as well as the successful one from France in 2001. Yes, nothing really repeats in life, I came to the conclusion. ‘Damn it, come what may,’ I finally told myself.
The moment I made that decision, to my great surprise, I soon fell asleep.
I slept for no more than three hours and in the morning, I woke up refreshed and rested. And the shower completely restored me. ‘Oh, yes, I am ready for action,’ I was joking with myself. I had the feeling that last night’s nightmare was and yet was not. Not a drop of my mental disorder remained in me. The suitcase was ready, the ticket, too, was bought online a month ago in Germany. So I had nothing to think of. The fear that had gripped me after the terrible nightmare had evaporated. I was willing to take a risk. And most importantly: I was not afraid.
AFTER MY BREAKFST at the small but cozy hotel, I quickly found myself at the airport, which was only three or four bus stops away. My flight was just before noon, so I had plenty of time to study and watch carefully all around the airport. But the first thing I did, of course, was check-in. No problems. Everything was correct. My passport, of course, was completely normal, real, but I wasn’t real. But who the hell could know, I was telling myself confidently. The most important was to keep being calm, completely calm. And I was. At least I learned this quality with my adventurous life.
I walked around and watched carefully. There was no covid-19 virus then so the passengers passed the customs check quickly. I didn’t see any problem in passing customs checking. And I passed, unhindered. I was rather puzzled: I did not see a passport check. So much the better, I told myself. Luckily for me, there may not be one today. But I was wrong. Just before the entrance leading to my flight to London (where I had to make the change-plane to Toronto), a small booth popped up, in which a blond and friendly lady, not so young already, was checking documents. No, I wasn’t scared at all, I was just surprised. I was completely calm, not thinking at all. Smiling, I handed over my passport with tickets, two ways to Toronto. And I was waiting, smiling. The lady spoke to me kindly, checking my passport at the same time. I was impressed by her approach, her attitude - as I have not encountered such in Europe, and I do not mention the Balkans - they are notorious for their rudeness.
Oh, yes, I’m going to visit my nephews. And of course, the lady got caught. I could almost see the sympathy in her eyes that I hadn’t seen my relatives in years. She handed me my passport with the tickets and smiling wished me a pleasant stay in Canada.
I just wasn’t on my own. It worked! I succeeded! I succeeded! I moved with delight following the passengers. It just wasn’t believable. Everything in me was trembling. I wasn’t on my own with excitement. I did it! I did it! I was telling myself. But I also thought then that it is too early to rejoice. This was only the first obstacle. I did not know what awaited me in London. I was sure that I would pass a passport check there. With this terrorism lately, no, there’s no way there won’t be pass control in London, I was thinking a little later as I took my seat on the plane.
And what could await me at the border control in Toronto I did not think of. Once to get on a plane to Toronto then we’ll think about it, I told myself. Rather London now was in my head. What awaits me there? I was trembling. Although calm, I felt a small ball in my stomach (and there was a reason.) But again I told myself that it would be best not to think, not to think at all, but to let things happen. Calm down, calm down, my friend, I said to myself and closed my eyes. But fortunately, my fears were in vain. During the passport check, the lady quickly glanced at my passport and tickets and kindly pointed out the direction where I had to go through the customs check. Wonderful! I was overflowing with happiness. There is no going back, I told myself as I moved through the labyrinths of the huge London airport. The customs check went smoothly, of course, and I found myself in the free zone, ready to take off. That’s it, it’s over. I must have sighed deeply. I had calmed down. There was no need to be afraid anymore. At least that’s what I thought then. I had enough time until the flight took off, so I walked around the huge colorful crowd around, full of happiness. I was already seeing myself on the plane on my way to long-awaited Canada. I couldn’t believe it.
Excited, I waited patiently for my flight, pacing back and forth through the crowded Heathrow Airport and finally, I found myself at the terminal and the place where I had to take off. By and by passengers gathered around and the flight time was fast approaching. And not long after, of course, the gates to the other side of the Atlantic Ocean or paradise (for some Eastern European people at least) opened... After the mothers and children passed the two huge queues that had finally formed began to thin out. Finally, I thought thrilled, I will get on the plane. And I lined up in one of the queues. In addition to the inspectors, several civilian gentlemen from immigration Canada were also fooling around. Like the Nazis once, it crossed my mind. But I told myself I had nothing to worry about.
I was wrong.
My goodness, I really might not have boarded the plane. I was at hair’s breadth, as they say. I hastily said ‘oh, yes’ before I walked up the ladder. But how the hell could I know that the young man who was checking the tickets will not know that Romanians and Bulgarians do not require visas anymore? And this, of course, provoked the intervention of the immigration authorities, who, looking at my recently issued passport, without any stamps in it, doubted it. European citizens, who mostly travel with ID cards across the European Union, usually don’t get stamps in their passports. I was really surprised that the gentlemen did not know these details. Well, if that was the case from the airport in Norway I would have a stamp in my passport, I assured them.
I had to apply all my art and eloquence in English to convince the immigration officials. ‘I’m going to visit my nephews for no more than two weeks, and I have almost three thousand euros in my pocket. And I also have a return ticket.’ I tried to be convincing.
However, the lack of documents other than the passport made the immigration officers suspicious. They didn’t believe that I was working in Germany. I had to prove my stay in Germany with my boat ticket to Oslo, as well as with my hotel reservation. I had kept these papers, for God’s sake...
They asked me to wait and hide somewhere with my passport and tickets. This must be the end, I said to myself. The earth seemed to open before me. One can only imagine what state I must have been in. Only a few minutes ago I was in heaven and suddenly I found myself in hell. I was so happy thinking that I would be able to hug my children after so many years and... suddenly everything collapsed: everything went to hell.
I waited tensely. I didn’t know what to expect. Yes, a scrutiny inspection of my passport and the truth would come out. Hell! That’s why they took it. I was waiting for them to appear up and politely ask me to follow them. But the ways of the Lord are unknown. The gentleman from the immigration department returned my passport and my tickets, wished me a pleasant flight, to which I happily and heartily thanked him and ran to the overseas liner, barely holding back my tears.
Later on, in the plane, I really started to cry. Oh, yes, I cried with happiness... Some people must be right in claiming that both heaven and hell are nothing but the psychological state of man. In the meantime, in just a few minutes, I experienced them on earth myself. Finally, I really was on the plane, though I managed it very, very hard.
Fourteen years I’ve been waiting for this moment. It almost seemed like a dream to me. It was hard for me to believe, but I really had taken a flight to my children. Everyone probably experiences those rare moments of happiness (each in his own way, of course) in his life. This moment must have been mine. No, happiness cannot be described, there is no way to be explained, it can only be lived. And I lived it then. I shuddered at the thought that I would finally be able to see and embrace my children, to hold them close to me, to cry, to pour my grief on them for all these fourteen years of separation. Simple things, really, but over time I became convinced that the simplest things in life are the most difficult.
In this state of mind, I hardly felt the long flight. I was literally overflowing with happiness. I wanted to hug all those passengers on the plane. Oh yes, I felt like the happiest person on earth. And there was a reason. After so much effort, after so much torment and suffering to get to my children. And just thinking about it... I was on the edge to fail again but I turned out to be lucky. And that nightmare, it reminded me of itself. That’s why it was all like this, but thank God, everything went well, I told myself. I already had Toronto in mind, as well as the city on the Atlantic coast where my children and their mother had settled and where the cargo ship had left me there many years ago.
How would it go in Toronto, I sometimes thought on the plane. Whatever happens, they can’t just bring me back, I assured myself. No, I didn’t feel any anxiety, but I still told myself that until I passed Toronto I shouldn’t be so sure of my success. And the last hurdle, of course, was the port city, so who knows how many more surprises might be waiting for me, I thought. But I was wrong, everything went perfectly well.
During the passport check, the colored lady just looked at my passport with the tickets and asked where I was going. And that was all. It turned out that London was my last and decisive barrier. And here I am, already in Toronto, Canada. I was extremely happy and joyful. After so many years I am again on Canadian soil. It was unbelievable. The feeling that overwhelmed me then was amazing. It was as if I was not moving but flying. The few hours I had to wait at the airport seemed like minutes. But that’s happiness, I told myself cheerfully.
Time just flew, it rather did not exist, at least for me.
Later, on in a much smaller plane on the way to Canada’s Atlantic and port city, the excitement overwhelmed me more and more. The distance between me and my children was getting shorter. My whole being was filled with a trembling sensation, with that incredible sense of awe that words are powerless to express. ‘Finally,’ I told myself, overflowing with happiness.
I was going to arrive after midnight, but who cared. Nobody was waiting for me. I deliberately did not tell my children. And was it necessary? With my risky way of traveling, with the danger that follows me inseparably like a shadow, how could I tell them. Besides, just thinking that in all these years I have promised I will be coming and I have failed. They wouldn’t believe it. Oh, yes, my arrival should have been the greatest surprise for them. I was trembling with excitement. And my wife, how would she react at my arrival? She didn’t have any relationship, at least so far as I knew that’s what my kids said to me on the phone. But even if she would have some boyfriend, that’s perfectly normal. It’s natural to have someone, I was thinking then.
Despite all these fourteen years, we weren’t divorced yet, but what does it have to do with love. One falls in love and falls out of love and this is quite normal. And apart from a certificate to the institutions, what could a piece of paper, a marriage contract, a signature mean? Nonsense! It’s funny to think that love could be legalized. The greatest nonsense ever invented by mankind.
So, overwhelmed with excitement and thoughts, I did not notice when we arrived. The descent of the plane, as well as the slight turbulence, drove me out of my thoughts. The lights of the airport were already visible in the distance. We were approaching.
I was out of my mind with thrill and almost with tears in my eyes. And in just a few minutes, of course, we took over. Here, as in Norway, winter seemed to be in no hurry to say goodbye. There was still snow around.
To my pleasant surprise, there was no passport control at the airport. Great! I told myself, and picking up my suitcase, following the other passengers, I found myself outside the airport. The Canadian passengers getting into the cars and taxis parked in front of the airport headed for the city, some thirty miles away, right on the ocean. The airport quickly emptied.
I had already arrived, I had indeed arrived. Oh yeah, I had already jumped the ladder. Yes! Yes! Yes! Finally, It’s over, I told myself. I only remember how I sighed deeply, closed my eyes, exposed to the the cold breeze blowing from the unfriendly Atlantic, swallowing my tears. I wasn’t able to think. Such a state must be experienced, there is no other way for it to be understood. I had arrived again in the city where I had gotten on the cargo ship many, many years ago. It seemed almost unbelievable to me. I had the feeling that it was and wasn’t true. It took me a while to come to my senses. Fourteen years! Yes, for fourteen years I have been thinking day and night how, how to get to this place. And... here I am again. I really shouldn’t have been on my own to celebrate this happiness.
Minutes later I found myself at the airport again in a warm place. Midnight passed long ago so the airport became more and more deserted and quiet. I didn’t even think I could call my kids from the airport. Well, my son would grab the car and come immediately. No, no, I was telling myself, happily. The most important thing was that I had arrived and that I would wait till the morning at the airport. Besides, I needed to put my thoughts in order. All was a mess in my head. It took me a while to come to come to my senses. I was confused and because of happiness I couldn’t find a place for myself. And to be honest, to stand in front of my children...I felt fear overwhelming me more and more. Fourteen years! Well, this is a long, long time. What did they look like? I thought with trepidation. I was really scared.
I was walking around the airport happily, carefree, as only idlers can do it. The airport I left years ago was renovated completely. Although the journey was long and painful, I did not feel any fatigue. How could I feel tired?! I was so happy. The bars and shops were closed at this time, of course. But sometimes I was sitting, sometimes I was standing and sometimes I was patiently hanging around the airport waiting for the morning. And McDonald’s and Tim Hortons were the first to open so I sat and had a cup of coffee. It quickly seemed to me that time had passed. I told myself that it would be best to take the first bus to the city. I said it and I have done it. So I found myself in the city whose streets and places I once walked around and I knew. The experience was amazing. There was no snow here, but the cold breeze seemed much colder and more hostile, but what to do, Canada’s Atlantic port city was almost always like that, I knew it. In the early morning, some other passers-by could be seen around here and there. The city, which was already waking up, was slowly returning to its usual rhythm. It was dawning on a new day.
Luckily for me, the cafe on the oceanfront (waterfront place) where I used to visit years ago was still in place and, thank God, it was open. Although renewed after all, it was the same. What a feeling I just had to be there again! I sat inside, where it was warm, sipping my cup of tea lowly, wondering what to do.
I couldn’t wait, I was dying to see and hug my children but I was really scared. How excited I was! My stomach was turning with happiness and fear. I could, of course, call from a nearby street phone, or a taxi could take me to the address. But I didn’t do either. I waited. I needed time to prepare myself. It would be best to call the Moldovan, I did decide. He, like me, had arrived in Canada many years ago in a container, but his luck had worked and he now had a small business in the city. Fortunately, I was still in touch with him. He also knew my family.
The idea seemed good to me. And I surprised him, of course, despite the early hour. And in just about an hour, I was sitting in his new jeep, overwhelmed with excitement and fear, barely holding back tears of happiness that I would finally see my grown-up children after so many years. Yes, he took me to them. It was unbelievable. And I shivered in anticipation. We moved along boulevards and streets familiar to me, deserted, along beautiful houses huddled as if in the early and still cold morning. The Moldovan, naturally curious, kept asking me about my trip. And he was speaking and speaking but I didn’t listen to him; as if I didn’t seem to be there. According to him, we were already approaching. A little more, yes... a little more. Here... Here it is. ‘And the parked Honda over there belongs to your son,’ he said. I could barely hear him. The jeep stopped near a complex of residential buildings. My heart was beating fast, hard; and a little harder and I think it would have popped out. I didn’t think anymore, I couldn’t; I couldn’t say a word. A lump seemed to be stuck in my throat.
I did not understand how I got out of the jeep and found myself with the Moldovan in front of the entrance. He was already ringing the doorbell. The satisfaction of the coming surprise was written on his face. I was barely holding back my tears of excitement, looking at the green door, waiting for it to open. And it opened and my son – a young man, already and his mother stood in front of me, dumbfounded a while. They both were shocked seeing me early in the morning pop up out of the blue.
‘Oh, George, you’ve got so much old!’ My wife pulled her together. My son kept silent, as if he was frozen. He just stared at me speechless, thunderstruck, allowing me to hug him. I could no longer fight back my tears. I wasn’t quite aware of what really happened but I heard my daughter’s voice coming from upstairs, ‘Mom!.. Mom!’
‘Your father, George, is here.’ My wife replied.
Surprisingly, the Moldovan wasn’t there. He left unobserved. Obviously, he did not want to embarrass our intimate family happiness after so many years of separation.
I was lying in the dark, in the small hotel room wondering what to do. Everything was encircled by the silence of the night. I was tossing and turning around in bed, and frantically thinking about my nightmare. Should I have to worry at all? Maybe it was just a nightmare. Who the hell does not dream nightmares, and should they be given such a meaning?
But in my memory, there was another nightmare that many years ago, when trying to cross the Bulgarian-Romanian border on a night train, my little, beautiful daughter turned into an ugly, repellent child - a real devil, and said to me: ‘Come on, Daddy, won’t you come at last?’ And then I woke up in a sweat and I was confused, but I continued, ignoring the dream and soon I was arrested.
Yes, thirteen years since then, but obviously I will take that nightmare to my grave with me. Even now I can see the small, dirty cell full of cig butts, and hear the inhuman shouts of some of the neighboring cellmates whom the guards hit and called the ‘Dirty Gypsy.’ No, how can I forget all of this? I spent three days in that stinking, disgusting cell in the Bulgarian border town but it seemed to me like months. I was let off of a prison sentence then only because I did not have a criminal record. The young lady-judge must have taken pity on a father like me who, in desperation to get to his family in Canada, had falsified his identity. I, now, as it was then still had no country of citizenship. The young judge was sincerely confused – I was looking weirdly into her eyes. (Because of my mixed marriage I got into trouble with Bulgarian authorities in 1999 and found myself stateless.) Anyway, I really must have been lucky then. I could have got at least six months to a year in jail.
All these thoughts did not give me rest in the hotel room in Oslo. The clock was ticking and I was confused. Of course, I was aware that all this was a risk and I had to be very careful. No, I was not afraid that I could be caught at the airport. I thought, at least the Norwegian prisons were known as the most civilized ones. Rather, I was afraid I would not see my children anymore if they caught and arrested me. I’ve been thinking for fourteen years, day in and day out how on earth I could get to goddamn Canada. So far, I cannot forgive myself for having sent them to this distant country? The last night I spent with them in Bulgaria I would never forget. Oh, even now, I can vividly see that beautiful evening in June 2004, that sky dotted with big and small flickering stars. And in the very early morning the next day, sending them off to the airport of Sofia... How could I forget that fateful day!
As they were going through passport control my little naughty three-year-old daughter then, seeing that I wasn’t going to accompany them, rushed towards me, running under the rope fences, burst out crying. The police and security guards, as well as her mother, barely managed to catch her and bring her back.
The strangest for me was (and still is) that my little daughter must have felt that our separation will be long, very, very long. No, she wasn’t attached to me at all. After her birthday in Romania, I had to leave and see her but at age of three. So she had only known me for four months and as she was mischievous and going wild she almost always avoided me. She did not accept me; she did not want to or she couldn’t. But then at the airport, sending them away, something in her tore off and unleashed. Her whole little being revolted. She didn’t want to leave me. And so far I think why was that? What had happened to her? She constantly kept me at a distance, did not allow me to go to her. Now after these fourteen years of separation I think her actions then must have been prompted by that mysterious and unknown feeling we call intuition.
And all this seems to have happened yesterday. This scene in front of me is so bright and alive. To this day, I cannot get rid of my wife’s anxious and sad look, who dared to go without me (at my insistence) with our two small children to the other side of the world, to the unknown, to the uncertain. And now it is as if I still see those childish, big and innocent, teary eyes of our little son, as well as his little child’s hand, which waved me goodbye before the three of them, to merge with the crowd of passengers and never to see them again. How, how could I forget all this? This is etched deep in my mind and has turned into a deep bleeding wound that would never be healed.
‘Daddy, are you coming? When? When are you coming? Tomorrow?’ Still, this my son’s innocent voice is haunting me. He became very attached to me when I arrived from Canada at the end of February 2004. He was nearly five years old. But alas, our happiness lasted no more than four months. My heart was pounding when he called me on the phone from Canada. How could I explain to him then that the world of the adults is very different; and that the uncles and aunts, once trapped in the mechanisms of those buildings called government institutions, lose their human beings, become heartless and deaf, they themselves turn into machines, into robots. For months and months, I assured him on the phone, ‘Yes, of course, I will come. A little more, a little more, son. ‘But I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried - both legally and illegally. This ‘little’ turned into months, and the months turned into years, into many, many years. Oh, yes, I realize that everyone else in my place, after so many failed attempts and, after all these fourteen years, would just wave off and forget, would just marry again; or in the worst case: he could have hanged himself. But, thank God, not me. My quest to get to Canadian land after all these years, legally or illegally, was my only goal in life; this goal for me was a matter of life and death, Day and night I thought only of this: how the hell to get there. That’s all I lived for. With this thought, I was going to bed, with this thought I was awakening in the morning. I just want to get there once and hug my dear ones then Canadian authorities may shoot me, if necessary. Many times I was saying this to myself.
Stop! Enough. I think I slipped my mind too much.
I lay in the dark, in the small and cozy, warm hotel room, overwhelmed with thoughts. I had a feeling my head was going to explode. Thoughts just hit me... My situation was very delicate. I wondered what the hell to do. I was and wasn’t (almost) sure that the nightmare that woke me up wasn’t just meaningless. What to do, what? I wondered desperately.
THE TERRIBLE NIGHTMARE, as well as my unsuccessful attempts in the past, shook the determination I had some hours ago. Did I have to take the risk, anyway? I had no answer, I could not decide. I was thinking, I was pondering what to do.
Of course, I couldn’t sleep again. I got up. The silence around was just amazing, captivating. And after a few minutes, standing in the dark like a ghost, I sat in the armchair, watching the deserted street outside whitened by fresh snow. Still, a little more time and April was gone but on the outskirts of Oslo, snowdrifts could be seen here and there. Winter, apparently, was going away very slowly and reluctantly from Norway.
What, what should I do? My whole being was tormented, struggled, torn off. My head was on fire. The nightmare that brought me to this state stirred all my inner peace. I was burning with tension. I realized I was at a crossroads. But what the hell was the right path to choose in this case? WHO could decide what was the right path?
My anger against the Canadian authorities refusing me a visa had subsided over the years. I was convinced (and still I am) that not only they but all, all the rulers of the world are the same, a bunch of cornflowers, God damn it!
It wasn’t the time to think about the past then at the hotel in Oslo, Norway. I had to concentrate, I had to make a decision because I felt like I could go crazy. But... I couldn’t come up with a solution. I sat in the darkness staring out the window, wondering if I should have to take the risk? With all my being, with all my inner energy, I tried to touch that inner feeling of mine, which in moments of danger prompts a man to take the right decision. I was very, very tense. What if my luck let me down again? But how could I know if I don’t try, I was telling myself. I had a vague feeling that I had to take a risk. Some particle in me, I would say even a hundredth of this particle whispered to me and assured me that this time I really would succeed. I tried to encourage myself, anyway. Nothing does repeat in life. And I was recalling my unsuccessful attempts to get to Canada by ship, as well as the successful one from France in 2001. Yes, nothing really repeats in life, I came to the conclusion. ‘Damn it, come what may,’ I finally told myself.
The moment I made that decision, to my great surprise, I soon fell asleep.
I slept for no more than three hours and in the morning, I woke up refreshed and rested. And the shower completely restored me. ‘Oh, yes, I am ready for action,’ I was joking with myself. I had the feeling that last night’s nightmare was and yet was not. Not a drop of my mental disorder remained in me. The suitcase was ready, the ticket, too, was bought online a month ago in Germany. So I had nothing to think of. The fear that had gripped me after the terrible nightmare had evaporated. I was willing to take a risk. And most importantly: I was not afraid.
AFTER MY BREAKFST at the small but cozy hotel, I quickly found myself at the airport, which was only three or four bus stops away. My flight was just before noon, so I had plenty of time to study and watch carefully all around the airport. But the first thing I did, of course, was check-in. No problems. Everything was correct. My passport, of course, was completely normal, real, but I wasn’t real. But who the hell could know, I was telling myself confidently. The most important was to keep being calm, completely calm. And I was. At least I learned this quality with my adventurous life.
I walked around and watched carefully. There was no covid-19 virus then so the passengers passed the customs check quickly. I didn’t see any problem in passing customs checking. And I passed, unhindered. I was rather puzzled: I did not see a passport check. So much the better, I told myself. Luckily for me, there may not be one today. But I was wrong. Just before the entrance leading to my flight to London (where I had to make the change-plane to Toronto), a small booth popped up, in which a blond and friendly lady, not so young already, was checking documents. No, I wasn’t scared at all, I was just surprised. I was completely calm, not thinking at all. Smiling, I handed over my passport with tickets, two ways to Toronto. And I was waiting, smiling. The lady spoke to me kindly, checking my passport at the same time. I was impressed by her approach, her attitude - as I have not encountered such in Europe, and I do not mention the Balkans - they are notorious for their rudeness.
Oh, yes, I’m going to visit my nephews. And of course, the lady got caught. I could almost see the sympathy in her eyes that I hadn’t seen my relatives in years. She handed me my passport with the tickets and smiling wished me a pleasant stay in Canada.
I just wasn’t on my own. It worked! I succeeded! I succeeded! I moved with delight following the passengers. It just wasn’t believable. Everything in me was trembling. I wasn’t on my own with excitement. I did it! I did it! I was telling myself. But I also thought then that it is too early to rejoice. This was only the first obstacle. I did not know what awaited me in London. I was sure that I would pass a passport check there. With this terrorism lately, no, there’s no way there won’t be pass control in London, I was thinking a little later as I took my seat on the plane.
And what could await me at the border control in Toronto I did not think of. Once to get on a plane to Toronto then we’ll think about it, I told myself. Rather London now was in my head. What awaits me there? I was trembling. Although calm, I felt a small ball in my stomach (and there was a reason.) But again I told myself that it would be best not to think, not to think at all, but to let things happen. Calm down, calm down, my friend, I said to myself and closed my eyes. But fortunately, my fears were in vain. During the passport check, the lady quickly glanced at my passport and tickets and kindly pointed out the direction where I had to go through the customs check. Wonderful! I was overflowing with happiness. There is no going back, I told myself as I moved through the labyrinths of the huge London airport. The customs check went smoothly, of course, and I found myself in the free zone, ready to take off. That’s it, it’s over. I must have sighed deeply. I had calmed down. There was no need to be afraid anymore. At least that’s what I thought then. I had enough time until the flight took off, so I walked around the huge colorful crowd around, full of happiness. I was already seeing myself on the plane on my way to long-awaited Canada. I couldn’t believe it.
Excited, I waited patiently for my flight, pacing back and forth through the crowded Heathrow Airport and finally, I found myself at the terminal and the place where I had to take off. By and by passengers gathered around and the flight time was fast approaching. And not long after, of course, the gates to the other side of the Atlantic Ocean or paradise (for some Eastern European people at least) opened... After the mothers and children passed the two huge queues that had finally formed began to thin out. Finally, I thought thrilled, I will get on the plane. And I lined up in one of the queues. In addition to the inspectors, several civilian gentlemen from immigration Canada were also fooling around. Like the Nazis once, it crossed my mind. But I told myself I had nothing to worry about.
I was wrong.
My goodness, I really might not have boarded the plane. I was at hair’s breadth, as they say. I hastily said ‘oh, yes’ before I walked up the ladder. But how the hell could I know that the young man who was checking the tickets will not know that Romanians and Bulgarians do not require visas anymore? And this, of course, provoked the intervention of the immigration authorities, who, looking at my recently issued passport, without any stamps in it, doubted it. European citizens, who mostly travel with ID cards across the European Union, usually don’t get stamps in their passports. I was really surprised that the gentlemen did not know these details. Well, if that was the case from the airport in Norway I would have a stamp in my passport, I assured them.
I had to apply all my art and eloquence in English to convince the immigration officials. ‘I’m going to visit my nephews for no more than two weeks, and I have almost three thousand euros in my pocket. And I also have a return ticket.’ I tried to be convincing.
However, the lack of documents other than the passport made the immigration officers suspicious. They didn’t believe that I was working in Germany. I had to prove my stay in Germany with my boat ticket to Oslo, as well as with my hotel reservation. I had kept these papers, for God’s sake...
They asked me to wait and hide somewhere with my passport and tickets. This must be the end, I said to myself. The earth seemed to open before me. One can only imagine what state I must have been in. Only a few minutes ago I was in heaven and suddenly I found myself in hell. I was so happy thinking that I would be able to hug my children after so many years and... suddenly everything collapsed: everything went to hell.
I waited tensely. I didn’t know what to expect. Yes, a scrutiny inspection of my passport and the truth would come out. Hell! That’s why they took it. I was waiting for them to appear up and politely ask me to follow them. But the ways of the Lord are unknown. The gentleman from the immigration department returned my passport and my tickets, wished me a pleasant flight, to which I happily and heartily thanked him and ran to the overseas liner, barely holding back my tears.
Later on, in the plane, I really started to cry. Oh, yes, I cried with happiness... Some people must be right in claiming that both heaven and hell are nothing but the psychological state of man. In the meantime, in just a few minutes, I experienced them on earth myself. Finally, I really was on the plane, though I managed it very, very hard.
Fourteen years I’ve been waiting for this moment. It almost seemed like a dream to me. It was hard for me to believe, but I really had taken a flight to my children. Everyone probably experiences those rare moments of happiness (each in his own way, of course) in his life. This moment must have been mine. No, happiness cannot be described, there is no way to be explained, it can only be lived. And I lived it then. I shuddered at the thought that I would finally be able to see and embrace my children, to hold them close to me, to cry, to pour my grief on them for all these fourteen years of separation. Simple things, really, but over time I became convinced that the simplest things in life are the most difficult.
In this state of mind, I hardly felt the long flight. I was literally overflowing with happiness. I wanted to hug all those passengers on the plane. Oh yes, I felt like the happiest person on earth. And there was a reason. After so much effort, after so much torment and suffering to get to my children. And just thinking about it... I was on the edge to fail again but I turned out to be lucky. And that nightmare, it reminded me of itself. That’s why it was all like this, but thank God, everything went well, I told myself. I already had Toronto in mind, as well as the city on the Atlantic coast where my children and their mother had settled and where the cargo ship had left me there many years ago.
How would it go in Toronto, I sometimes thought on the plane. Whatever happens, they can’t just bring me back, I assured myself. No, I didn’t feel any anxiety, but I still told myself that until I passed Toronto I shouldn’t be so sure of my success. And the last hurdle, of course, was the port city, so who knows how many more surprises might be waiting for me, I thought. But I was wrong, everything went perfectly well.
During the passport check, the colored lady just looked at my passport with the tickets and asked where I was going. And that was all. It turned out that London was my last and decisive barrier. And here I am, already in Toronto, Canada. I was extremely happy and joyful. After so many years I am again on Canadian soil. It was unbelievable. The feeling that overwhelmed me then was amazing. It was as if I was not moving but flying. The few hours I had to wait at the airport seemed like minutes. But that’s happiness, I told myself cheerfully.
Time just flew, it rather did not exist, at least for me.
Later, on in a much smaller plane on the way to Canada’s Atlantic and port city, the excitement overwhelmed me more and more. The distance between me and my children was getting shorter. My whole being was filled with a trembling sensation, with that incredible sense of awe that words are powerless to express. ‘Finally,’ I told myself, overflowing with happiness.
I was going to arrive after midnight, but who cared. Nobody was waiting for me. I deliberately did not tell my children. And was it necessary? With my risky way of traveling, with the danger that follows me inseparably like a shadow, how could I tell them. Besides, just thinking that in all these years I have promised I will be coming and I have failed. They wouldn’t believe it. Oh, yes, my arrival should have been the greatest surprise for them. I was trembling with excitement. And my wife, how would she react at my arrival? She didn’t have any relationship, at least so far as I knew that’s what my kids said to me on the phone. But even if she would have some boyfriend, that’s perfectly normal. It’s natural to have someone, I was thinking then.
Despite all these fourteen years, we weren’t divorced yet, but what does it have to do with love. One falls in love and falls out of love and this is quite normal. And apart from a certificate to the institutions, what could a piece of paper, a marriage contract, a signature mean? Nonsense! It’s funny to think that love could be legalized. The greatest nonsense ever invented by mankind.
So, overwhelmed with excitement and thoughts, I did not notice when we arrived. The descent of the plane, as well as the slight turbulence, drove me out of my thoughts. The lights of the airport were already visible in the distance. We were approaching.
I was out of my mind with thrill and almost with tears in my eyes. And in just a few minutes, of course, we took over. Here, as in Norway, winter seemed to be in no hurry to say goodbye. There was still snow around.
To my pleasant surprise, there was no passport control at the airport. Great! I told myself, and picking up my suitcase, following the other passengers, I found myself outside the airport. The Canadian passengers getting into the cars and taxis parked in front of the airport headed for the city, some thirty miles away, right on the ocean. The airport quickly emptied.
I had already arrived, I had indeed arrived. Oh yeah, I had already jumped the ladder. Yes! Yes! Yes! Finally, It’s over, I told myself. I only remember how I sighed deeply, closed my eyes, exposed to the the cold breeze blowing from the unfriendly Atlantic, swallowing my tears. I wasn’t able to think. Such a state must be experienced, there is no other way for it to be understood. I had arrived again in the city where I had gotten on the cargo ship many, many years ago. It seemed almost unbelievable to me. I had the feeling that it was and wasn’t true. It took me a while to come to my senses. Fourteen years! Yes, for fourteen years I have been thinking day and night how, how to get to this place. And... here I am again. I really shouldn’t have been on my own to celebrate this happiness.
Minutes later I found myself at the airport again in a warm place. Midnight passed long ago so the airport became more and more deserted and quiet. I didn’t even think I could call my kids from the airport. Well, my son would grab the car and come immediately. No, no, I was telling myself, happily. The most important thing was that I had arrived and that I would wait till the morning at the airport. Besides, I needed to put my thoughts in order. All was a mess in my head. It took me a while to come to come to my senses. I was confused and because of happiness I couldn’t find a place for myself. And to be honest, to stand in front of my children...I felt fear overwhelming me more and more. Fourteen years! Well, this is a long, long time. What did they look like? I thought with trepidation. I was really scared.
I was walking around the airport happily, carefree, as only idlers can do it. The airport I left years ago was renovated completely. Although the journey was long and painful, I did not feel any fatigue. How could I feel tired?! I was so happy. The bars and shops were closed at this time, of course. But sometimes I was sitting, sometimes I was standing and sometimes I was patiently hanging around the airport waiting for the morning. And McDonald’s and Tim Hortons were the first to open so I sat and had a cup of coffee. It quickly seemed to me that time had passed. I told myself that it would be best to take the first bus to the city. I said it and I have done it. So I found myself in the city whose streets and places I once walked around and I knew. The experience was amazing. There was no snow here, but the cold breeze seemed much colder and more hostile, but what to do, Canada’s Atlantic port city was almost always like that, I knew it. In the early morning, some other passers-by could be seen around here and there. The city, which was already waking up, was slowly returning to its usual rhythm. It was dawning on a new day.
Luckily for me, the cafe on the oceanfront (waterfront place) where I used to visit years ago was still in place and, thank God, it was open. Although renewed after all, it was the same. What a feeling I just had to be there again! I sat inside, where it was warm, sipping my cup of tea lowly, wondering what to do.
I couldn’t wait, I was dying to see and hug my children but I was really scared. How excited I was! My stomach was turning with happiness and fear. I could, of course, call from a nearby street phone, or a taxi could take me to the address. But I didn’t do either. I waited. I needed time to prepare myself. It would be best to call the Moldovan, I did decide. He, like me, had arrived in Canada many years ago in a container, but his luck had worked and he now had a small business in the city. Fortunately, I was still in touch with him. He also knew my family.
The idea seemed good to me. And I surprised him, of course, despite the early hour. And in just about an hour, I was sitting in his new jeep, overwhelmed with excitement and fear, barely holding back tears of happiness that I would finally see my grown-up children after so many years. Yes, he took me to them. It was unbelievable. And I shivered in anticipation. We moved along boulevards and streets familiar to me, deserted, along beautiful houses huddled as if in the early and still cold morning. The Moldovan, naturally curious, kept asking me about my trip. And he was speaking and speaking but I didn’t listen to him; as if I didn’t seem to be there. According to him, we were already approaching. A little more, yes... a little more. Here... Here it is. ‘And the parked Honda over there belongs to your son,’ he said. I could barely hear him. The jeep stopped near a complex of residential buildings. My heart was beating fast, hard; and a little harder and I think it would have popped out. I didn’t think anymore, I couldn’t; I couldn’t say a word. A lump seemed to be stuck in my throat.
I did not understand how I got out of the jeep and found myself with the Moldovan in front of the entrance. He was already ringing the doorbell. The satisfaction of the coming surprise was written on his face. I was barely holding back my tears of excitement, looking at the green door, waiting for it to open. And it opened and my son – a young man, already and his mother stood in front of me, dumbfounded a while. They both were shocked seeing me early in the morning pop up out of the blue.
‘Oh, George, you’ve got so much old!’ My wife pulled her together. My son kept silent, as if he was frozen. He just stared at me speechless, thunderstruck, allowing me to hug him. I could no longer fight back my tears. I wasn’t quite aware of what really happened but I heard my daughter’s voice coming from upstairs, ‘Mom!.. Mom!’
‘Your father, George, is here.’ My wife replied.
Surprisingly, the Moldovan wasn’t there. He left unobserved. Obviously, he did not want to embarrass our intimate family happiness after so many years of separation.
Born in Bulgaria in 1961, Gee I Vee used to publish short fiction, essays, and articles in local newspapers mainly. After his marriage in 1999 and due to some discrepancies in Bulgarian legislation, he was forced to renounce his Bulgarian citizenship publicly, and since then he has been stateless, without any citizenship. Now his writing has appeared from time to time in different English-speaking countries.
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