By Maksim Rrapaj
Second part
– Excerpt from the book “Alive after the sinking of the ship”, by the publicist, translator and writer Maksim Rakipaj, former officer of the Merchant Navy, who suffered in the prisons of the communist regime, as a political prisoner-
Memorie.al / September-October ’79. I have been in Spač for over three months. I continue with great effort the heavy work of the miner. The work becomes even more difficult because from the 7-8 atmospheres that should be the air pressure that must come to the hammer, it never reaches more than 4 atmospheres and baromina, it only makes noise and dust and does not open the holes in the rock. I like, surprisingly, to work on fronts where the hardness of the rock is very high. I have to sit for 4 hours in the dust of the hammer to barely complete the work cycle. I look forward to the end of the shift with great pleasure, wash with cold water inside the gallery, get dressed and go down with the brigade to enter the camp. I made many new friends here, from all over Albania. They come from different professions; teachers, such as: Ron Çobani and Visar Zhiti, writers such as Halil Laze, painters, etc. With different political beliefs: there are Euro-Communists(!), Ballists, Zoists, pro-Russians, pro-Americans, as far as I know. From all walks of life. There are some of them who were born in exile, who continue the family tradition in communist prisons, grandfather-father-son…!
Who is Maksim Rakipaj, from the family biography, to the arrest?
Maksim Xhafer Rakipaj, married, with two children, was born in Vlora on July 15, 1951. He graduated from the Naval School in Vlora in 1972. He worked as a deck officer on ships of the Merchant Marine Fleet, until 1977, when he was arrested and sentenced to 15 years of imprisonment for agitation, propaganda and smuggling. He was released in September 1984.
He opposed the cooperation with the State Security, they left him without a job for 9 months. He started working as a miner in June 1985, in the coal mine in Manzë, Gërdec sector. After 1991, it resumed work on ships of the Merchant Marine Fleet. In 1996, he started working as Head of External Relations, Head of Protocol and Press Spokesman in the Municipality of Durrës.
In 1999, he resumed working at sea as a captain on various merchant ships. After 2002, he emigrated to Italy and lives in Lucca (Lucca, Tuscany). He has published the following books: “20 love poems and a song of sadness” by Pablo Neruda, translated from Spanish, TOENA publishing house 2003; “Prophet” Kahlil Gibran, translation from English, TOENA publishing house 2003; “Alive after the shipwreck”, prison memoirs, published by ISKPK (Institute for the Study of Crimes and Consequences of Communism), 2014; “Anthology of Arabic-Persian poetry” various translations, UEGEN 2015; “Trilusa m’Tirône” translation, UEGEN 2015; “Bukowski poetry”, translations from English, 2015; “The Complete Sonnets of Shakespeare”, translation from English, ADA publishing house, 2016; ‟The Prophet and the Garden of the Prophet” by Kahlil Gibra, translation from English, Toena publishing house 2016; “Kali Valltar”, by Jo Jo Moyes novel, translation from English, UEGEN publishing house, 2018; “I Survived”, reworked edition of the book “Alive after the shipwreck”, Publishing House “Two easts two wests”, 2018; “Anthology of Nobelist Poets”, Publishing House “UEGEN”, 2019; “Anthology of Dissident Poets”, “Jozef” Publishing House, 2019; “Poems from Maram Al Masri”, translations, “Jozef” Publishing House, 2020; “E Sigurt (Safe)”, novel by S.K Barnett, translation, Publishing House “Jozef” 2021; “Skin Color”, “Communism and the Logic of Beauty”, nonfiction by Manning Johnson, translation, “Jozef” Publishing House, 2021; about 20 titles.
Memories of Maksim Rakipaj
-Policemen of Spac-
Winter is quite harsh here in Spac. The icy wind whips your face, just like the hysterical screams of the policeman Nikoll Pula. A few months ago, I was transferred to zone I and the road to get to the gallery is even longer than to zone II. But it is still shorter than the road to the area where I worked for a few months. The policeman accompanying the brigade in the area is called Mark T., from Rrësheni.
Mark T. shouts a lot, but his shouts and threats do not scare anyone. Firefighter Ndrec tells that Mark T. has a very beautiful wife, who is a dancer of the folklore group of Rrëshen and works as a barista in the city. Mark spends his free time in civilian clothes, at the bar where his wife serves. One day, when Mark enters the bar, he sees a guy staring at his girlfriend.
Sits at the table of that guy: “Where did we get you, or you”? – “From Tirona, I’m here with service today”, – the guy answers. “I’m staring hard at that owl, you!”, Marku says calmly. “Very good dammit! Ehhh, blessed is he who enters her”, says the tyrant. Marku, without spoiling the fun at all, says: “Where did you get me?” I entered as many times as I want! If you crack her ass, get out of the house better, because she is my wife, you ass…”!
Mark enjoys giving speeches to the brigade before starting work. He always says the same words: “Know the damn thing! Listen and think! Whoever does not catch my cycle is a criminal and for criminals, Mark T., there is only one punishment! I shoot you damned! Come, crack the bit, put it in the gallery and give us a white face”! If someone laughed, Marku started: “Who is the criminal who is laughing? The shooting of the prêt felon”!
But Mark only has words, he has never punished anyone. Only once did I see Mark T really angry…! A convict, young, had hit another convict, older, without having the right. “Listen to the condemned! If you repeat it again and again, if Marka T. swears to you, you will regret it! Hey, don’t mind me! You have no shame, how can you not be in pain, you rascal! The other one has lost his mind in the gallery, and you are hitting him on the cheek! Shame, shame”!
…Policeman Nikoll Pula is new to Spaç. Big-hearted and mean-spirited. It is often seen in the company of the Spaç Security Operative. He has been accompanying the brigade where I work, here in the 1st zone, for several days. From the first day, I feel that I will not do well with him. When we are lined up to go to work, as usual, after taking out a pad from his pocket, he approaches the convicts wearing mustaches: “Maxim Rakipi, is that you”?! No, well…! Oh, you were Maksim Rakipi, right?”?!
-Rakipaj, boss!
– Come on, I’m the boss! – Policeman Nikol frowned. -Lower your hood collars, everyone. Don’t talk when we ride high. Don’t say I didn’t get out of debt! As cold as it is, we all pull down the collars of our brown military uniform military coats. Fine snow falls, which freezes instantly as soon as it touches the icy ground.
The north wind blows mercilessly into our wrinkled faces. We arrive at the square in front of the gallery. Again, in line. We can’t wait to enter the gallery, where we don’t feel the cold, but we are forced to stand ready, in front of a policeman who has had enough of his mind, to make a little fuss. Another policeman comes, with curly hair, Mark Gj…! This one is also new in Spaç. From the expression on their idiotic faces, some fight is expected. But how?!
We are almost silent. The two policemen investigate us one by one, looking us in the eye. They have a slanderous frown. A short and petite prisoner is taken out of the row. It is Gëzim M., from the villages of Tirana, a wise boy, whose voice is never heard.
– Why did you hold up the collar of that hood?! Do you love me, did your ass make fun of me? Come on, I’m the boss now! Go is waiting in front of the office, run! Rakipaj too! You don’t like my orders?! Why is the collar up?
-It’s not true. I’ve always had my collar down, like everyone else, Mr. Police. – I answered in a calm voice.
-Mill! Mylle I told you! Run away too, wait there you have a deer!
Get out of line. I have time to whisper to Andrea to take my things to Zydi, and I go where they told me. It’s been a while since the police stopped beating the prisoners in Spac. Before the revolt, such beatings happened often, but the prisoners also took revenge, beating the policemen when they found them alone in the gallery.
Many of the policemen had tried the punches of the prisoners, who were careful not to leave marks on their faces. The policemen did not report because they risked their careers; in case it was proven that a policeman was beaten by the prisoners, he was demobilized and his job in the agricultural cooperative awaited him. So, when they ate wood, they would sew their mouths shut and wait for the chance to take revenge. But, after the revolt of May 23, 1973, the beatings were stopped, by order from above. What’s happening today?!
It must be some order from the operative, Kosta Prifti, who apparently ordered them to teach me a good lesson. The brigade enters the gallery. The two policemen approach their offices, in front of which I and Gezimi are waiting. They take the joy inside. They tie my hands again, with handcuffs, they hang a wagon wheel on my handcuffs and tell me to stay outside. From the office window, two policemen can be seen yelling at the deserted Joy.
The first slaps and screams of Joy are heard, from the pain he shouts in his dialect: – Oy mom! Oy… oy… no, enough… oy mom! Oh mom…! What’s the matter with you…why are you calling me in vain! Ububuja, oh mom”! The policemen make fun, in the dialect of poor Tirana. That cry of his; “oh mom”, seems to amuse them more. I get a little closer, as far as I can see through the window. I notice that Gezimi’s handcuffs have been removed and they are beating him naked, with the tails of picks and shovels.
I leave the window. The wagon wheel is snapping my wrists. The uncle continues inside. How many are beating him…?! A quarter of an hour…?! Two hours, a month, 10 years? But why don’t you take a pickaxe, Joy, you’re very close, the devil took it? I hope they take off my handcuffs, when they put me inside too, to beat me! Oh me, oh them! Why do they spend another 12 years in prison, putting up with these animal policemen?! If I managed to kill one of them, maybe they will shoot me and I will escape! Or both! I will kill the dogs, if only they dare to beat me!
…I mention it from the voice of the convicted brigadier, which I had last month in the 1st zone. He is the uncle’s son, with Zydi Morava, but Zydi does not speak to him, since he has agreed to be a brigadier.
– Max, how is work? What about you?
– It’s Nikol Pula. Do you hear what they are doing to that cuckoo inside?! They are beating him up. Here comes my turn. I apologize to Zydi, but we didn’t see each other again.
-I went to tell the policeman Mark T. He knows you. Aman, try to buy time and don’t do anything stupid, because you also have Zydi’s head. Thank you for passing by, because I have to take the heads of the baromines to my miners…! Runaway…! Gëzim M., they take him out covered in blood. “Wash, shit”! Where is your barrel water? Even a march in the gallery”! Policeman Mark Gj. comes behind me, removes the wagon wheel from my handcuffs, then removes my handcuffs as well. “Wait here, when we call you”!
I can’t feel my hands at all. I have bled from the heavy weight of the wagon wheel and the cold. The policemen are lounging by the fire, smoking cigarettes and shouting imitating Gezimi: “Oj mom, oj mom…hahha hahah… I’m going to fuck you, shit, shit, hahaha”! – Come on, mustache! Come on, eat a little, because you have plenty of udder, wait outside…! Hahahha and Nkoll, shall we start with this?
“Farewell my loved ones, mother, father, sister, my brother Aries, and you, dear grandmother”, – I think for the last time as I enter the torture room. Enter what is called; “the office of the accompanying police officer of the brigade”. A shack made of boards, two windows and a narrow door, which I pushed and entered. It is a room, with a floor of compacted earth. There are two windows: one near the door and the other behind the backs of the policemen, one of whom is sitting on the table, while the other, Nikola, is sitting on a chair.
On the table, a phone and nothing else. To my left, leaning against the wooden wall, are about 10 pickaxe tails. To the right, next to the wall, a wooden cabinet. Inside the closet, I noticed some 3-4 baromines, about one meter long. A metal barrel, adapted for the stove, fry from the heat. The cops look sweaty.
They examine me for a long time with their eyes. I look them straight in the eye too. War of nerves. I try to look calm. I’ll grab the baromine, it’s easy to use, and one hit to the head, it’s done. I will hit Nikola first. I see they don’t have that first enthusiasm. Satisfied smiles disappear from the faces of idiots. Nikola, as wiser, starts to ask me:
-Where are you from, damn?
– From Durrës.
-How many years have you been sentenced?
– They sentenced me to death, but they gave me 25 years. I’ve only done three years, I’m still 22 years old.
-What crimes have you been convicted of?
– It is not your job to know what I was punished for.
– So, huh? We will find out about that work too…! Don’t tell us once, why do you sell farts? Why doesn’t he follow the orders he receives?
I measure out of the corner of my eye, the distance from the baromina. I just need to step to the right and I can grab it easily. I answer him looking him straight in the eye:
– You know very well that I have the collar of the hood down, because all the way to the gallery, you were one step behind me. Get it straight, where is your problem?
– Look more Marka Gj., what’s up! Doesn’t he also love a bully like that deer? – and is carried away on foot. I take a step towards the baromina. Just reach out your hand; I have time to open his brain, until the other one comes down from the table, where he is sitting. The phone rings. The curly policeman catches him:
– Nikola, this is Mark T., I love you.
-Regards Mark T.! how is work Eh… yes… no man, what do you say. Oh, for God’s sake, no…! I understood, so you don’t need to shout now, if you didn’t believe, come here yourself. Come on Marka T…! You, fuck off, run and go to the gallery! Try it, don’t catch the cycle, because the boss…! Ait, disappear! Death was very close in Spaç. Enough, to extend your hand a little…! Memorie.al
