I awoke because of turmoil starting in the train. <Weeping and lamentations were heard from every carriage: they usually wail over the dead in that way. And no wonder: everyone parted with home, with native Bessarabian land…>

The train snailed along a bridge hastily built between Rezina and Rybnitsa. The bridge creaked, the circles spread around the piles. We were leaving Bessarabia: under us was the Dniester, ahead of us... What could we know about the things lying ahead? The train barely moved and I, for a long time, looked at two oaks standing on the Dniester brink.