The Good Life Elsewhere

by Vladimir Lorchenkov

  “We, children of God, live as in a pigsty, praying to Him just as the apostles commanded. And Italy, this Italy, which lives off the sweat of the brow of our sons and daughters—Who can say why?—this Italy grows fat and prospers. Is this fair, my children? For it says in the Bible … ”

  The parishioners once again grew bored. Paisii realized with relief that they didn’t want him to quote more holy books, they wanted a call to action. He changed the format of his speech.

  He jumped onto the ambo and in front of the holy doors. “Now hear me! Take heed, for it is not every day that the priest stands here on this holy spot. My children! We must take back that which was taken from us! Do you desire it? Answer yes, and I will lead you there, naked and proud, as Adam led Eve through the Garden of Eden until their expulsion. Do you desire it?”

  “Yes!” roared the church, for who among the villagers did not want to go to Italy? And who among them had money? “We desire it!”

  “I will lead you there,” shouted Father Paisii and removed from beneath his cassock a sword, where he’d been keeping it for just such an occasion. He’d found the sword in an old funerary mound outside of Larga. “ To slay the impure and give their wealth to the pure! Hark to my words and pass them on to your brothers and sisters, your beloved ones and your enemies. And listen, therefore …”

  White from worry, his nostrils trembling, Father Paisii waited until the ovation was finished and raised his hand again. From a corner of the church the video camera for the local television station started recording.

  “This is alright,” thought Paisii and waited for the red light to come on before talking.

  “I am calling you to defend the true faith of God. Orthodox Christians of Moldova! The time has come for us to go to impure Italy and free our two hundred thousand countrymen, as Moses freed the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. But while Moses was unarmed, we will use force to grant our brothers freedom!”

  “Hurrah!” they called out in the church. “Down with Italy!”

  “I am calling for a crusade to Italy,” bellowed Paisii. “Let it be so. I give you my word as a pastor, my children, that all who venture forth there, if they shall meet demise, henceforth their sins will be absolved.”

  “Verily!” they answered in the church, the golden flames of their candles growing fuzzy before Paisii’s eyes.

  “Those who would fight against their fellow believers, those who fell and those who killed their brothers in war in Transnistria—let them take up arms against the unbelievers in a battle which will bring us an abundance of spoils. We were forced to kill one another for a long time, but isn’t it better to unite and attack the nonbelievers? Let the veterans take up arms.”

  “I-ta-ly, I-ta-ly!!!!

  “That land flows with milk and honey,” said Paisii, brandishing his sword. “He who once was a thief, shall be a warrior today. Whoever has done battle with his fellow believer: Come with me!”

  “Yes!!!”

  “Whoever here is wretched, shall be wealthy there! And so, my children, tomorrow we take up arms.”

  “As God desires!”

  The far-off shouts of the crowd mixed into one regular rumble. Later, Father Paisii fearfully admitted in his heart that amongst the howls and the noise he clearly heard somebody’s subdued shout, “Goal!” He even heard somebody emit a cheer for the Chisinau soccer team. The one thing Paisii, grandson of a Jew, did not hear was a cry of “Kill the Jews!” He let out a sigh of relief.

  That evening they carried the priest home on their shoulders. It was a true triumph for Paisii. His terrified kiddies watched as their father was carried into the courtyard. Afterwards, the people dispersed to prepare for the crusade, while the priest barely made it to the front door on his wobbly legs. After he had calmed down, Paisii sharpened his already-sharp knife—“Too bad the blade’s a bit short,” he thought—and grabbed a massive cross. He threw together a bag of provisions. He gave a slap on the withers to the young mare he was planning on traveling with and caught a few winks. In his dreams he saw miraculous vineyards in Italy which he, Paisii, would pass on to his children in a chain of eternal possession, after the crusade had ended in complete and definitive victory for the holy warriors of Moldova. In his dreams he saw the full, milky white arms of his runaway wife, like those shameless Madonnas in the Italian frescoes …

  At six in the morning, Paisii had somewhat recovered from the dark wine in the plastic chalice and was tormented by thoughts of the future shame this day would bring him. At seven, waking up for good, Paisii rubbed his eyes a minute, went out into the yard and smiled awkwardly and confusedly. The priest was in shock.

  Surrounding his house was a well-armed crowd, heaving, holding their religious banners. There were seventy-five thousand people from across Moldova. Upon catching sight of Father Paisii, the crowd applauded. Old Man Tudor brought Paisii his little horsie and hefted him up onto the saddle. As if watching a sporting event at a stadium, the crowd gave him a real welcome: they did the wave. The priest sensed another, warm type of wave, one which swelled up through his breast to his heart and which he couldn’t hold back. His tears were warm as a mother’s hands.

  Tudor put on a Romanian infantry helmet from World War Two. “Verily, it’s unbecoming for us, old men-at-arms, to cry. Wipe away the tears and lead us to Italy Lord!”

  22

  OF THE ORIGINS OF THE FIRST MOLDOVAN CRUSADE, IT IS possible to note several interesting moments of extreme import. First among them is the disarray of the crusading army. Amidst an atmosphere of general confusion, the great leader, Father Paisii, commanded the soldiers to traverse the cities and towns of Moldova in a peaceful march until Chisinau, the leader of the crusade intending to take the Icon of the Mother of God of Three Hands, and advance with the object to Italy. Paisii said, without the icon our undertaking was doomed to failure. (It was doomed to fail anyway, but then I am getting ahead of the story.) Such was the official explanation.

  I, a Chronicler following his army, had been in the secular world a teacher in the village of Larga who left his position for lack of demand, as the school was closed. I suggest different motives. It seems to me that Paisii, the leader of our ill-fated exploits, simply did not expect such a number of people as thronged together under his banner. In the Balti region alone, whither the Army of Christ arrived, there joined with us fifteen thousand local residents. All of whom accepted our apothem with enthusiasm: “To Italy! Such is God’s will!”

  I will cite dry numbers. In the Orhei region, from the village of Grozdeshti, where the population is 345, the number of residents who joined us was 345. All of Grozdeshti, from young to old, came with us. In total, the Orhei region gave us 21,000 warriors, men and women. In the Soroki region, 10,000 local gypsies bonded with us saying, “We are tired of a life of alms collecting in trains and want a different, better life …”

  We accepted all, and perhaps we acted mistakenly, for in the third month of our crusade there began thievery and violence. To our misfortune, the troops of Saint Paisii our Father advanced very slowly. Toward the third month we were but twenty-five miles away from Chisinau, having advanced in that time only ten miles. The movement of the crusaders was much delayed for many of our number were on foot, and we waited for them. Likewise we waited for the infants, accompanied by their mothers in the caravans, happy maidens following after the caravans, and the constant trials with the local population were also a nuisance.

  But the army and the police dared not touch us, since in Moldova there are 9,000 soldiers, officers and generals, and 20,000 policemen. And at the time in question, during the First Moldovan Crusade, we were already 126,000 souls. A third of us were infirm, women with children, or old men, nonetheless we were a body and they were afraid of us and did not lay their hands upon us. And many policemen even joined with us, saying, “What use is it to stay at home and risk my life, only to receive a hundred dollars a month, if in Italy I can make a thousand euros just for washing dishes?” And so we
grew exceedingly in number, to the delight of the army, praise be to God, Amen.

  Having taken upon myself the responsibility of attesting to what befell us, I say, as the Chronicler of the Crusade, that at the end of the third month the local residents were more poorly disposed to us, and looked upon us with increasing displeasure.

  In the beginning the residents of Moldova joined the ranks of our army with fervor, but at the end of the third month they began to place obstacles in our way and even tried to halt our procession. They called us marauders, robbers and swindlers. And faithful were their words, for too numerous were the dishonest folk who joined our Holy Crusade to godless Italy. Father Paisii himself, intending to pass the winter in Moldova as the army was not ready to overtake Europe, understood however that if we did not venture beyond the borders of our country, the crusade would end in a disaster, all at once … And Father Paisii, having taken counsel with the Lord, went out to the people and told them we were retreating from Chisinau and making our way to the smaller western city of Ungheni. From there, we would sail to Romania. And he lifted his sharpened sword, which had once belonged to the Emperor Trajan, saying:

  “Follow me, my children!”

  And a flame of ecstasy blazed up again in our hearts, which had gone cold from delays and procrastination. Even the bandits became holy, the prostitutes were cured of their lust and the swindlers returned the stolen goods. The muggers and violent offenders singed their own hands that had committed evil. And so we moved forward, and in Ungheni there poured into our army another 10,000 souls, and they all desired, like us, from the first to the last, only one thing.

  To go to Italy. To God.

  23

  FATHER PAISII’S SWORD, RECORDED IN MOLDOVAN HISTORY as the “Sword of Father Paisii” and the “Sword of Emperor Trajan of Rome,” was forged from the steel shocks of a truck. Thus, the “Sword of Emperor Trajan” had never really belonged to the Emperor, at all.

  “It’s a forgery,” said the best goldsmith in Ungheni, who also happened to be an antique lover. Luckily, unlike many other residents, he hadn’t abandoned the city with the approach of the crusaders.

  “A clever forgery, but pretty unsophisticated. As you can see, the sword maker didn’t even erase the inscription that says, ‘Engineering Works.’ ”

  “Is that so?” Paisii was absentmindedly biting his lip. He’d really come into his own during the course of the crusade. “I wasn’t expecting that …”

  The goldsmith looked at Paisii with a grin, giving the sword a toss in his hand. It was shaped liked the Scythian acinaces, but was there anybody else there who knew a thing about history? The goldsmith sighed. Shouts were coming from the street. It was the crusading army, pillaging the city. Downtown Ungheni was in flames. With shouts of “Italy, Europe, Heaven!” the pilgrims were dragging couches and television sets out of abandoned houses. Paisii wiped his pale temples. He knew that the couches were being adapted into carriages, and he wasn’t surprised.

  “Just think,” said the goldsmith, shrugging his shoulders. “The twenty-first century, and look what’s happening. I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it,” answered Paisii coldly. “You’re a man of a meticulous craft. These are the facts. You better come to grips with them.”

  The goldsmith winked. “Any nominally trained army, even from a backwards country like Romania, or even Slovenia, will wipe you out.”

  And the seasoned Paisii, who had indeed “grown exceedingly wise” as a result of leading the vast army of pilgrims, as the chronicler noted, smiled.

  “I’m counting on them letting us be. For the same reason they let the Albanians alone.” The priest gave a cunning wink, like a mischievous boy.

  “Which is?” asked the goldsmith, confused.

  The priest smiled even wider.

  “Do whatever you want, as long as you say you want to be a part of Europe. And then you’ll get away with anything. Look, the Albanians do God knows what. They sell weapons and women, they take hostages. And the world forgives them, as long as they’re pro-Europe and pro-NATO. They’ll forgive us, too. That’s the trend in today’s world.”

  “The exception being this.” The goldsmith shook his head. “Barbarians like you and the Albanians – Europe lets them do whatever they want, but only in certain, specific places. Italy, alas, isn’t one of them.”

  “Well, they’ve already shot three stories about us for EuroNews and written dozens of articles in the European papers,” said the priest, now unsure of himself. “They all praise us for striving toward the democratic world and shaking off the dust of our communist past.”

  “Which is what they’ll do until the exact hour when your army of—excuse me—ragamuffins shows up at the border of the European Union. Then they’ll stop being so welcoming,” explained the goldsmith.

  “You don’t mean they won’t take us?” said Paisii, now thrown into doubt. “No, impossible … ”

  “They won’t take you,” the goldsmith cautiously warned. “Now, if you were to lead a crusade to Russia, they’d support you to the end. But when you’re talking about Europe itself, they don’t need riffraff like you.”

  “What do you know about it?” said Paisii, putting the brakes on the argument. “Better, let’s take care of the sword. I would like for it to be the sword of Emperor Trajan.”

  “Uh, if you’ll allow me,” said the goldsmith, very delicately. “How’s that? Erase the inscription?”

  Paisii looked at the inscription pensively—truly, it’d be a sin to just ignore it—and he patted the goldsmith on the cheek. With his sword.

  “No. Leave it. Just engrave two more words above the inscription,” he said, after a long pause. “The Emperor’s title and his name. Then, the sword will no longer be a forgery.”

  The goldsmith swallowed his soupy saliva. “And then what’ll we be left with?” he whispered.

  “Emperor Trajan’s Engineering Works!”

  24

  CHISINAU — 03.11.2004 / 07:38 / MOLDOVA INDEPENDENT PRESS AGENCY

  MOLDOVAN CITIZEN DETAINED BY POLICE ON CHARGES OF HUMAN TRAFFICKING. A Moldovan citizen was detained by the police on charges of organizing passage for hopeful émigrés. Sources inside the Ministry of Interior have informed Moldova Independent Press of these goings on.

  32-year-old Chisinau native Valeriu Albu, together with accomplices from Romania, Serbia, Croatia, and Slovenia, organized a route of transport for Moldovan citizens seeking to work illegally in Italy.

  Under questioning, Albu confessed to enlisting around 100 Moldovan citizens, receiving from them a total of 90,600 Euros. Upon arrival, the unsuspecting people were not given employment, as they had been promised by the enterprising swindlers. Instead, they were detained and held in captivity. Realizing they had been duped, the people surrendered themselves to the Croatian police and were deported back to Moldova.

  CHISINAU — 03.11.2004 / 7:38 / MOLDOVA INDEPENDENT PRESS AGENCY

  REMAINS OF ROMAN EMPORER TRAJAN’S ENGINEERING WORKS UNCOVERED IN MOLDOVA. The surprising discovery was made by researcher Jan Byzgu, who studies the peaceful coexistence of the cultures of the Roman Empire and Dacia. Soviet historians mistakenly referred to the period as the “Roman occupation of Dacia.” According the researcher, it was not an occupation, but rather a fruitful collaboration between two cultures.

  Attesting to this are the unique discoveries made by Byzgu at the end of last month outside of Ungheni. In a nearby town, thanks to the prompting of local residents, the location of what seems to be the first Daco-Roman engineering works was uncovered.

  “Of course,” said the researcher, the excitement audible in his voice, “they weren’t producing submarines. But we are aware of the existence of one surviving artifact from this factory, a Roman sword, with an engraving: “Engineering Works of Emperor Trajan.”

  As the researcher told this agency, the sword belonged to the leader of the World March for European Integration, mistaken by Romanian border troop
s as Father Paisii’s Holy Crusade (see article under headline 40,000 MOLDOVAN CITIZENS DROWN IN PRUT RIVER UPON ILLEGAL CROSSSING INTO ROMANIA, 02.12.2004 / 08:33). Father Paisii spoke with a correspondent from our agency:

  “Unfortunately, the sword drowned in the Prut River. Thank God, I didn’t drown, too. Now this sword is lying on the riverbed, uniting us with Mother Romania, as an eternal reproach to our neighbors.”

  It is noteworthy, the researcher further argued, that the inscription on the sword was engraved in the Romanian language, and, consequently, we see that Latin was actually Romanian, and not the invented language that for many centuries has passed for ancient Latin.

  Today, what’s left of Emperor Trajan’s engineering works in present-day Moldova are a pit, several structures in half-ruin which the local population mistakenly took for neglected pigpens from the former collective farm on the same spot, and stone structures which appear to be walls of some sort. In the near future the site will be visited by President Voronin for the opening of a Historical Heritage Site.

  We also relate that at the time of the discovery, the researcher himself, Jan Byzgu, was participating in the March for Europe & the World, also known as the first Moldovan Holy Crusade (see article from Moldova Independent Press Agency on 01.12.2004 / 05:38 and 10.17.2003 / 07:38). The march is being led by Moldovan enthusiasts, supporters of the European path for Moldova of integration into the EU and the repudiation of cooperation with Russia and the Commonwealth of Independent States.

  25

  AFTER GIVING THE CITY OVER TO FIRE AND SWORD, OUR VALIANT pilgrims sat down to rest in Ungheni Park, which extends to the border, that is, to the Prut River. And the whole night we were able to observe the fires burning on the other bank, and even in the Romanian city of Iasi, which did not slumber. At midnight there arrived at our camp a delegation from the Romanian parliament, who told us they would not let our army pass. Although Father Paisii promised peace and security, saying, “Our mission is only to reach the impious Italy, you shall render us assistance and let us pass in peace. ”