"Моцарт (Мы уезжали в никуда), 1982", Слава Гауфберг/"Mozart, 1982", by Slava Gaufberg

Please see the story in English below under Show More: Стихи, музыка, исполнение Слава Гауфберг July 15, 1982. The wheels gently touched the runway, and the plane came to a stop. I saw a cluster of airport buildings in the distance. And the big sign “Vienna”. I was in Austria. I was free. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t talk. All I could think of - the face of my father ashen with grief, the small crowd of about 30 brave friends and relatives who came to the airport to say goodbye to me forever, risking harassment, or worse, by KGB agents. We knew we would never see each other again. And now I am in Vienna. I exited the plane and walked to passport control. I had no passport. I had no other documents. The Soviet authorities only allowed me to carry a single piece of paper stating that I was a refugee without any citizenship. But the Austrian border guards were familiar with the situation. I was not the first to arrive like that. They let me in. I had a vague plan of what to do next. I found a public phone in a corner of the arrival area and dialed “0”. An operator answered in German. “Could I please place a collect call to…” and in my broken English I gave her the number of the Vienna office of US agency for refugees. I memorized that number back in Moscow, like all other important numbers, since I was forbidden by the Soviet authorities to bring with me any notes, notebooks or any other handwritten, typed or printed material. After a short pause a male voice answered. “I am a refugee from the Soviet Union, just arrived in Vienna, could I meet with you?” “Please take a taxi to this address…We will meet you downstairs and will pay for the taxi”. So, they knew that I had no money, even for a phone call, not to mention a taxi. I found a taxi and gave the driver the address. I don’t remember how we got there, but soon I found myself in a front of a modest building on a quiet street, and a burly middle-aged man, who was waiting for my arrival, paid for my taxi ride. He led me upstairs to the office. After 2-3 hours of questioning me about my whole life, family, work, friends, the same man took me to a small apartment, not far from the city center, where I was to stay while waiting for the next transport to the refugee processing center in Rome, Italy. He gave me a few Austrian schillings – the equivalent of $3 US, - and told me that tomorrow he would come again to give me more money and to talk about next steps. I found myself in a small one-bedroom apartment with two other refugee families with children. I was to sleep on a cot in the kitchen. Since I was alone with very few possessions – just my old mountaineering backpack with a few items of clothing, and my beat-up guitar (it was allowed to leave the Soviet Union with me by some miracle), I didn’t mind at all. I dropped my stuff in a corner of the kitchen and went outside. I couldn’t wait to meet Vienna, the beautiful imperial city, the first city of my freedom. Around the corner I saw a small store with some sausages in the window display. I stopped in a front of that window completely shell shocked. I had never seen anything like that in my life. I hadn’t eaten since the night before, but decided not to spend my few schillings on food, and rather save them for some museum or theater tickets, or to see Vienna’s famous Opera, or beautiful palaces and cathedrals. I didn’t mind being hungry. I tore myself away from that “meat heaven”, and kept walking. I intuitively knew where the center of the city was, and walked toward it. Soon I came to a large square in a front of a beautiful cathedral. The magnificent grandeur of this cathedral in Vienna was beyond anything I had seen before. Suddenly I heard music. I started walking toward the mesmerizing sound. In the corner of the square two teenaged girls were playing Mozart. Violin and cello. I was totally transfixed. I had never seen street musicians – as they were prohibited in the Soviet Union. The beautiful sound of eternal music was filling the air. It was a balmy Sunday evening. People were strolling, sitting in outdoor cafés and on grass. I was standing and listening, my heart filled with music, joy and tears. I don’t know how much time passed. All that terrible sadness, all that grief that I felt - were washed away by these girls with their Mozart. A new life, life where people can play Mozart in the streets was awaiting me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my few schillings. I placed them gently into the violin case in the front of the girls. The one with violin smiled to me and said “Danke”. It made me so happy. It was dark and late. I waved to them, turned around and started walking toward my kitchen with a cot. My heart was singing, my steps were light. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was dancing. Free, I was dancing on the streets of Vienna to the music of Mozart in my head...