By: Eugen Oniscu

From childhood to his thirtieth year, Robert Ciubotaru had lived only for brawls, thefts, and scandals. As a minor he had even spent a few years in a reformatory school. If anyone had told him life could be lived differently, he would have laughed in their face, because he was firmly convinced that the people in his world were the greatest—street-smart and good with their fists. He had been born in a neighborhood largely inhabited by Roma; he himself was of Roma descent. As a small boy he tried to imitate the older boys who were good at fighting, the ones the other children spoke of with respect because they knew how to impose themselves through violence. And so he was formed, becoming a violent young man.

He had a crew with whom he sometimes made incursions to rob or beat someone. He and his band were also involved in drug trafficking; they moved alongside bigger suppliers and earned quite a lot. He lived with his mother and his sister, Crina—married, with four children—in an old house inherited from their grandparents. He had never known his father, who had left his mother when she was pregnant with him; his sister was only eight then. Their maternal grandparents had raised them. His brother-in-law, Grigore Crețu, also Roma, was forty and worked hard as a baker at an industrial bakery. For this, Robert despised Grigore—because he didn’t “live” like Robert, who understood life as an adventure in which you do only what suits you.

Sometimes Robert would see Grigore in the evening, exhausted and dusted with flour, a beer in front of him and four children swarming around, and he was firmly convinced the man was utterly miserable, beyond remedy. Once, sitting with Grigore at a table in a bar, he urged him to quit that slave’s work and join him in the drug trade, assuring him he would make far more money. After weighing it a moment, Grigore said:

“Robert, I’m ten years older than you, with a bit of life experience, and I understand perfectly what you’re proposing. As you know, your sister cleans the city streets, and I bake bread at the factory. At first glance, they’re humble jobs. But don’t forget: I am a free man. I don’t live in fear that the police will arrest me one day and I’ll end my days in prison. I even have joys in my life—especially in the evening when I come home and the little ones gather round me, and I open my bag and give them fresh sweet bread and warm loaves, because my bosses send me home every night with a bag of goodies for the children. Just seeing their delight makes me glad, and I forget the toil of my work. I’m glad, too, that the older two go to school and make good marks. I teach them to walk the paths of honesty, because that’s better in life. And as for what you’re proposing: it would mean joining you in destroying society. How many young people are ruined for life by what you and yours do? I feel useful because I make bread for people, and I think of how many will eat what I’ve made—and I’m glad. People respect me at work; I don’t need to force anyone to respect me with my fists. People respect me for who I am. I get up each day and go to work thinking I’m dedicating the day to serving others. And Crina, with a team of Romanians and Roma, cleans the streets, and people walk behind them on clean pavements. You see—that’s truly living: doing something for others. That’s the lesson I want to pass on to my children. Of course, they should aspire to more in life than what we’re doing now.”

“Grigore, you actually amaze me! I’m listening only because you’re my brother-in-law. If anyone else had spewed such nonsense, I’d have beaten him bloody. How can you think such rubbish? You want to spend your whole life just a slave in this world? Have you thought how your bosses live, the ones you slug away for day after day? Go see the villa they’re in and what cars they drive. I want to help you, and you start accusing me. Let’s stop here—you’ve managed to annoy me with your two-bit ideas.”

Grigore said nothing more, and their conversation ended there.

Robert had a girlfriend, Silvana, also Roma, twenty-five and beautiful—she always drew a crowd of men. But Robert knew how to keep them at a distance—with his fists. No one who knew him would have dared face him and his crew. He had in his circle some very dangerous Roma men, at odds with the law, who would do anything for money. For some time he had seen Silvana growing distant; he noticed she always had something new to wear. He understood she was seeing another man, but she denied it, saying she had no one and that the new things were gifts from friends.

Robert tasked a trusted man to follow Silvana and see who she was meeting in secret. After two weeks, the man reported that Silvana was involved with a fifty-year-old named Sorin Ignat, who, together with his brothers, owned a construction firm that brought in a good profit. Silvana, he said, was the man’s mistress. At the news, Robert, seized with fury and jealousy, beat Silvana brutally. She had to be hospitalized—several broken ribs and other complications. Afraid that Robert would do her even greater harm, she did not dare report him to the police.

Burning to take revenge on Sorin, Robert set his men on him. At first he confronted Sorin himself and told him that, having taken advantage of Silvana’s naivety—luring her with money and gifts to seduce her—he owed Robert a substantial sum. Sorin laughed in his face and said that the moment he convinced Silvana to testify against Robert, he would report him for the assault on a defenseless woman at the hands of a thug like him. Robert listened to the threats without another word, then went off to confer with his men about revenge. The whole gang agreed: Sorin needed a lesson he would never forget. Silvana received new threats—if she cooperated with Sorin to hand Robert to the police, she and her family would suffer serious consequences. She promised to keep silent and begged Robert not to touch her family—and, more than that, not to harm Sorin—saying that once she was out of the hospital, she would persuade Sorin to pay. Sorin, for his part, paid Silvana’s medical bills and tried every way to persuade her to denounce Robert. She warned Sorin of the danger he was in. He was not afraid; he carried on his life of entertainment, taking no precautions.

One night, around two in the morning, as Sorin came out of a club into the empty lot where he’d left his car, Robert suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Hey, big shot—out partying again, I see. That’s fine. What you don’t get is that in life you sometimes have to pay, and fun can be expensive. Given your pocketbook, it shouldn’t be a problem…”

“Now I have a reason to report you without Silvana’s statement. I’ll have you thrown in prison—that’s where you belong. People like you don’t deserve to be free.”

“Oh really? Here’s the deal. This is your last chance. Pay me what you owe, and you can go your way. Don’t pay, and you’ll face terrible consequences.”

“Get out of my sight, you piece of trash…” Sorin said, pulling out his phone and trying to call the police.

He didn’t get the chance. Robert snatched the phone from his hand and felled him with two punches, then began kicking him. From the darkness two more of Robert’s men emerged and joined in, kicking Sorin as well; one had a stick and struck Sorin with it several times. After a few minutes Robert stopped them.

“That’s enough—we’ll kill him…”

With that, Robert and his men melted into the night.

There is no act of cruelty committed against our fellow human beings whose consequences will not one day overtake us. So it was with Robert: he was arrested for having, together with his friends, beaten Sorin with bestial ferocity. That night, after leaving Sorin sprawled on the ground with his skull smashed, he lay there unconscious for hours, bleeding out. Found at last and taken to the hospital, he lay in a coma for several days and then died. Robert was tried and sentenced to twenty years in prison; his friends shared the same fate. In prison, Robert was kept apart from the other inmates because he was deemed dangerous.

At the beginning of his sentence, Robert could not believe his life had ended so dramatically. Sometimes, in fury, he would pace the cell in agitation, wishing he had the strength to shatter the prison’s walls and bars and go back to his former life. He sometimes thought of Silvana—for, in his way, he loved her—though he considered her chiefly to blame for what had happened. At calmer moments he realized he had been in the wrong.

As the days slipped by, he began to think more and more about Sorin and even to feel pangs of remorse. During the trial he had learned that although Sorin had led a life given over to pleasure, he had two children to whom he sent money every month, even though he was divorced from their mother. At night Robert sometimes dreamed of him and would jerk awake from a nightmare, seeing again Sorin lying in a pool of blood on the pavement. He began to grasp that what he had done was altogether different from anything he had done before. This was not a simple beating, not a few punches to “teach someone a lesson.” No—he had done something gravely, terribly wrong: he had killed a man. In his mind’s eye he would replay that night: Sorin as he had stepped out of the club, in his expensive clothes, with the complacent look of a man pleased with his evening; then the way Robert and the other two had crushed him, leaving him bleeding in that empty lot. If only they had called an ambulance and then fled—perhaps Sorin would not have died. But all such regrets were too late, and, in the end, the best would have been to leave Sorin alone.

He could not, because of his pride—and because he had been thinking what the people in his circle would say if someone took his girlfriend and he did nothing to punish the man. He began to feel the weight of his reckless deed as an immense burden on his soul, one he feared would crush him. He had not known that killing a man is something so horrific. He kept asking himself, “How will the twenty years pass, and how will they change me? What sort of man will I be when I get out, and what kind of life could I possibly live after so long behind bars?”

Day by day Robert grew more dejected; he could not make his peace with the reality that was crushing him. His young face and dark eyes were almost always shadowed with sorrow; his heart felt heavy, as if filled with lead. He could find no joy in anything. If only he could be taken out of isolation and live among the other inmates—at least that would be something. But alone, always alone, with his black thoughts and those remorseful stabs that tore at him, the loss of his freedom pained him most of all. Thus a few tormenting months went by.

He had noticed that one of the guards—often near his cell and sometimes the one who brought his meals—was remarkably kind to him. One day the guard said:

“Robert, I asked the warden’s permission, and I’ve brought you a New Testament. I also want to tell you something: if you behave well, you’ll be moved to a cell with other inmates and allowed to take part in other activities…”

“Leave me alone—stay out of my life,” Robert snapped.

His answer was a reflex of what he had once been, but at once he realized he had spoken wrongly and said to the guard:

“Sorry. I’m just… very upset.”

“No harm done. I understand. And don’t forget what I told you. We guards file reports to the warden, and if you behave, you’ll be granted certain privileges. I’m taking a risk telling you all this, but I know it’s in your interest—so don’t betray me.”

The guard went on his way. Robert stood dumb with amazement: in all that hell of imprisonment, a human being had spoken to him with simple humanity. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to him like that. He turned and looked at the little New Testament—a black-covered book with a yellow cross stamped on the front. He had never read it; he had never tried to understand religion. “So—even in this hell—someone still counts me a human being and gives me such a book. And I, who thought everyone here saw nothing in me but a dangerous animal to be isolated lest I tear others apart…”

One day, after pacing the cell under the press of troubling thoughts, he took up the New Testament and tried to read. He began with the Gospel of Matthew, but it was all confusion: a string of names, a whole genealogy filling the opening lines. He understood nothing, shut the book, and began to pace again. “So religion is very confusing, not something anyone can understand—especially someone with little schooling, like me. And yet I’ve heard that simple folk who set out on the way of faith read the Bible and can explain many things to others. But look at me—I tried and it didn’t work. So people must be lying, because I have a quick mind, and if this book could be understood, I would understand at least something,” he thought.

He paced a little more, then picked up the book again—drawn to it for reasons he could not himself explain. He opened Matthew once more and began at chapter two. He read longer this time; now he understood some things, though others would not yield, as if a fog lay over his mind no matter how he strained. He grasped a little about Jesus’ birth and the other events recorded on the pages of the Gospel, but it was all hard going; he felt important things were slipping through his fingers. Still, every day—out of sheer boredom at first—he opened the book and read, then grew stubborn and began to reread certain passages, wanting to understand the book’s message. For weeks he labored over the Gospels.

One evening he prayed in his heart: “Lord Jesus, help me understand what is written in Your book.” The days went by, and he kept working his way through the four Gospels; he noticed that every time he read, his heart felt lighter. Something else happened that sweetened his time there a little: though he was not allowed visits from his own, he received packages from Crina and Grigore, and he was startled to find pastries inside—he knew Grigore brought them from the bakery. He was stunned: he who had despised Grigore for his work was now living off its fruit. He felt profoundly humbled and began to weep. He had not cried in a long time; life had taught him to be hard. But now something in him broke, and he felt helpless.

One day he read in the Gospels about the crucifixion, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Of all those scenes—so beautifully rendered by the New Testament writers—he went back several times to a passage that seemed to mirror his own life:

“One of the criminals who were hanged railed at Him, saying, ‘Are You not the Christ? Save Yourself and us!’ But the other rebuked him, saying, ‘Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence? And we indeed justly, for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong.’ And he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.’ And He said to him, ‘Truly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in Paradise.’” (Luke 23:39–43)

Robert understood that the story of that thief had been set down for people like him. He truly knew the abyss from which that thief rose to come to Jesus; he knew that anyone who had not lived something like it could not grasp the depth of the darkness in which he himself had thrashed.

“How could such a thing be?” he mused. “They crucified between two thieves the One who had loved people so much and done only good for them. For a while both thieves mocked Him; then one of them admitted he was a criminal—like me—and was only getting what he deserved, while the other went on jeering at Jesus to his final breath. How beautifully that thief prayed! And how beautifully Jesus answered! But why doesn’t Jesus condemn him for all his crimes? Not a word of reproach—only goodness and love. Yes—this is beyond my way of thinking. So there is a kingdom of Christ; life does not end here. And what matters most is this: people who confess their sins—even if they’ve sold drugs or committed horrible crimes, as I have—are forgiven. So this Jesus, whom men crucified, rose again and will return to establish His kingdom on earth. The essential thing is to come to Him as that converted thief did at the cross—and begin a new life in Christ.”

After speaking thus to himself, Robert felt a wave of warmth spread through his burdened heart; he felt the unmistakable presence of Christ’s grace in his being. From that day on, his life changed entirely. He began to order his days by the teachings of Jesus, set forth so clearly in the Sermon on the Mount. He was moved from isolation to a larger cell with other inmates, and wherever he went, his life exuded a Christian gentleness. In time he began receiving visits from Grigore and Crina. On one occasion he told them he had begun a new life. Grigore listened attentively and said:

“You’ve begun to become truly human. It’s a wonderful road you’ve started down. Don’t be frightened by the years of prison ahead—they will pass, and you’ll come out a new man. Then you’ll marry and begin anew. I’m glad you’re learning what it means to truly live. It’s a pity you had to go through this terrible experience to learn—and that a man’s life was cut short for it. But there’s no going back. Now you must look ahead, endure, and hope that in the end things will turn out well for you.”

He learned that Silvana had left for Italy. The news saddened him; he had hoped she would visit and he could share his new life with her as well. He understood all too well that she saw him as dangerous and fled from him. He would have liked at least to make amends to her in some way for the harm he had done, but it was no longer possible. For a while he had dreamed that Silvana might wish to stand by him through his imprisonment and, afterward, be together again in civilian life. But he understood that this could no longer be. All that mattered now was to serve out his remaining years quietly—and then see what might yet unfold.

In prison he began to take part in assigned work; he even learned the trade of welding. After fifteen years, because of the deep changes he had made and his exemplary behavior, he was released. He stepped back into civilian life a truly free man, for in prison he had met the Great Deliverer—the One who had lifted him from death’s shadow and taught him, by grace, to live a new life. He was determined to find honest work, to live decently, and to do no more harm to his fellow human beings. Life in freedom beckoned to Robert, offering him rich possibilities to live as a truly free man.

Some lives unfold between darkness and light; blessed are all who choose to step toward the light.