When a poor man turned forty-four, he decided to sell everything and go on a big adventure to find peace and a sunny place.
But no matter how well a man plans, a girl has the power to turn everything upside down.
The day Tiberiu met Eva, a mysteri...
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My fate was sealed!
If my father said I had to go into the army, then... the army it was. Who was I to oppose him? Seeing that I had no objections, my father softened a bit and pulled out the ultimate argument: a five-star bottle of cognac.
"You'll see," he said with melancholy, "the army will make a man out of you. I did three years in the army and look at me, I'm a man!"
I started to become interested in the army. I listened eagerly to my father's advice. "After the army," he continued, "I met your mother and we settled down. You'll see what it's like. I bet you'll get married right after you return from the army!"
Ah, girls! Marriage! It didn't sound too bad for a greenhorn like me. The cognac glasses and the prospect of marriage started to appeal to me. I couldn't wait to become a MAN and finally leave my father's house, to stand on my own two feet.
"Well, if that's the case, I want to go to the army as soon as possible!" I told my father. "Very good!" he replied, delighted. "Tomorrow morning, you go to the recruitment office and tell them you volunteer for military service." "And if they refuse?" "They won't refuse," he reassured me, pouring me another glass. "I spoke to them. You're already on their records."
My visit to the recruitment office involved a lot of paperwork, many questions, and a dubious medical examination where about five doctors, both women and men, took turns staring at us, the recruits, lined up stark naked.
So, I was to serve my country. But where, how? "Here, right in the city, in the infantry, for twelve months!" a friendly sergeant informed me, handing me the papers.
In the first month, I quickly learned that the country didn't need my blood, nor a leg or an arm. No, not at all. The country wanted me to march all day on a concrete parade ground, with a straight back and legs stiff as a goose's.
The country wanted Tiberiu to make his bed perfectly every morning, even a hundred times if necessary, until the corporal was satisfied.
The country also wanted me to wash my underwear every evening, polish my boots, and read daily a small red book titled "Internal Regulations."
And one more thing: the country wanted me to shout all day. In the army, people don't talk normally to each other, like in civilian life. No.
If you're in uniform and don't shout, it means you're not a real man and the country doesn't love you.
On my very first day there, a recruit came to me and said we had to swap beds. Apparently, he didn't like sleeping by the door. I sent him packing. He insisted. He was stubborn. Just like that, a beautiful brawl began, with cheers and encouragement for both sides. The whole shebang. Metal beds flew like straw from one side of the dormitory to the other, suitcases became projectiles, I lost a sleeve, but he lost two tufts of hair.
