In the provinces they established a fixed quota, 20 liters of gasoline a month. The town officials managed to get some extra coupons. In Bucharest we had a right to 4 reservoirs. You were appointed to a certain gas station where they marked you off every time you filled your reservoir. But you could manage? I for one had Welle catalogues ? they were valueless, but in exchange for one of them, they didn?t mark me in their registers. Once I even gave them a pair of boots that cost me 700 lei.

In August or September 1983 I went on a trip to the monasteries in Moldavia. I took with me 4 cans of gasoline. On the road between Sf. Gheorghe and Brasov I came upon a funeral convoy that was blocked on the way. The driver was waving and making signs that they had run out of fuel, and could not move to take the dead man to his grave. I gave him 10 liters. I was well covered with the rest.

In January 1989, your father, Liviu, George Cerbu and myself were together, watching a video tape and having a glass of something. And Liviu told us a joke. I guy is walking in the street, under the November drizzle, and hears someone calling him. He looks around and sees no one. He walks on and hears again, Hey, there. He looks down and sees a shivering frog. He takes it into his hand, and it says, take me to your home, I?m freezing. The man wonders at the speaking frog, but takes it, and it tells him it is under a spell: it has to remain a frog until a naked man puts it on his skin and then it will turn into a beautiful king?s daughter. The man arrives home, undresses, puts the little frog on his chest and lies on his bed. The frog immediately turns into a gorgeous blonde and that very instant his wife comes in. Now, imagine telling the wife the story with the frog!

It was midnight already, when the phone called: it was a friend of mine who told me there was no one waiting in line at the Baneasa gas station. There was snow outside, and glazed frost on the ground, driving was forbidden. We tried to take the Dacia with the right number, pushed it along three back streets, but couldn?t set it going. We finally started the Dacia with a company number and set off to the station around 2 AM. We took with us a thermos full of coffee and some plastic cups. We got to the station, gave the man the catalogues and the Kent packet, filled my reservoir and a canister, and went back to the Victoria Plaza to drop George off. He wasn?t properly dressed, his shoes were too thin, and at some point he was so cold that he wrapped a shawl round his head and neck and couldn?t stop shivering. We passed through the Scinteii Plaza, and by the circus in front of the Doina Restaurant, and then remembered we had coffee and it was a shame to waste it. I pulled over, next to the statue of the Soviet Soldier, which had very much light on. We stopped the car, poured the coffee, lit our cigarettes and while we were letting air in through the half-opened window, we heard a sort of stamping of feet. The snow was crunching. Whatever it is, never mind. I started the car, drove round the circus, and the moment we were on Kiseleff Street again, we saw two militia officers running towards the statue of the Soviet Soldier. And Liviu said, now, imagine telling the wife the story with the frog! (I. H., 48)