By Orhan Sakiqi
COLD ON BOTH SIDES
Memorie.al / Feri were ‘cold’ from both sides. Bir Bey and his wife were from the Shijaku merchant family, expropriated by the state. Late one evening I find him sitting on the steps of the Skënderbeu monument. He seemed to have passed the first drunkenness, as Remarku said in “The Three Friends”. “Drinking makes you free, but miserable,” he told me, repeating Remark’s words. “I followed you,” he told me. I was fired from the Design Office. They asked me for an associate. I did not accept. Let’s go to the Crimea and find some comfort”? It was a bar in front of the ‘Kaceli’ building, which worked 24 hours. Late at night third-shift drivers would come, some vagrants and some like our work, to end the day, or rather to forget what had happened that day.
We took the ferns that he had taught me. He with the second drunk and me with the first. When we parted, he said: “I was transferred to Llakatund”. It was a village near Vlora, where former functionaries and the ‘declassified’ were sent. Equally exile. It was 1968.
THE LONELY MAN, MAX VELO
I knew Max since he worked with the group of Bulgarian architects who designed the Great Park of Tirana, where I was their surveyor. Then also from Nallbani tennis. He was a special guy. He was accompanied by loneliness and they did not have good eyes for him, as Kadareja says, also because of loneliness. Loneliness was punished. Schopenhauri says that; solitude ennobles you. But not here in our society.
When the Office of Urban Planning and Design was opened in 1966, we worked together for a while, until we were fired. Several objects together, he the architect, I the constructor. Among others, the building of the former A.T.SH. (Albanian Telegraphic Agency), for which it was criticized, as; “necklace architecture”.
One day, urgent meeting of the Office. Maksi had not agreed to give the house as a voting center. The neighborhood front complains. It was an honor to give the house as a polling station. Chief Architect Koço Miho had taught him how to respond. – The house was unpainted. Maksi, in the meeting with the collective that was organized just for him, said: – “That person who proposed me for the voting center, as he told me, quickly left without waiting for my answer, which was delayed anyway. As if he didn’t want it. Or he wanted not to take it. I would tell him to paint the house, but he ran away.” Escaped with warning. For a while because they transferred him to the Peza cooperative. After a while, in prison……! After years of separation, or occasional meetings, I met with Max more at the National Theater, in his defense.
INJ. VASIL NOCKA – I GO UNDER THE BRIDGE
Great luck for us young technicians, who were able to get to know them and, to some extent, serve them: Nocka, Gjadri, Filipeu, Nuri, Luarasi, Lufi…! Nocka had finished in Germany and received the title: State Engineer.
In the construction of the Fish Factory in Vlora, (“Ernest Telman”), which was being built with the help of the German Democratic Republic, simplified the project. The German engineers leading the implementation sought advice in Berlin. Answer: What the State engineer says must be implemented. The title of State engineer was special. Few took it. The German technicians were surprised when they received the order. But they convinced you. Noxka’s word became law for them.
Among others, he also designed the bridges of the Peqin-Elbasan railway, which was run by the Yugoslavs. Someone mentioned the buzzword “sabotage”. Nocka said: “On the first train that passes, I go under the bridge.” Tranquility. But he did not escape the prison…!
THE SABOTATOR…!
He had won the competition to be a supervisor in the construction of Ali Riza’s Barracks. He came from Vienna in 1928, the Austrian Hans von Nekvatal. He marries a corcara lady and decides to live in Albania. The payment was double that of Vienna. The communists imprison him. Petrit Dumja takes the house. Shelter sends it to our house. His family, cultured. Emilia, the daughter, with the piano and Gustavi, the son, became our friend.
They imprison the engineer. Hansi is accused of “Sabotage”. During the interrogator’s questions, he remained silent and did not speak. Someone said that he doesn’t understand what we ask him! They explained it to him. -Hansi: “Not a single object that I designed or implemented has collapsed…! They suspected – you didn’t sabotage, but you had it in mind…! They had the power to read minds.”
MEMORY OF BEQIRI AND MALIQI
Skaharim, Kujtim’s brother, told me. Late one night, a friend of ours comes home and tells us that they are going to arrest Kuttim. He directed, together with others, the works for drying the Maliqi swamp. I leave immediately at night in a random car, to Maliq. I ask where the Memory is. Where there is light on. Memory with open projects.
– “What good did you bring”?!
– “They informed us that they will arrest them for sabotage, so we advise you to leave.”
– I am the Chief Engineer here. How can I leave the work?! Yes, this would be sabotage. Like the doctor who leaves in the middle of the operation. Swamp reclamation is here. You are wrong”. I didn’t even fill my mind with prayers. I ran away in the morning. The memory was arrested after two days. They sentenced him to be hanged. Thirty years old. Star of the University of Vienna. Year 1946.
IN THE STADIUM
With Abdulla, we were watching a match at the stadium. We had an hour off from school. The faculty was nearby. He suddenly got up. Run away. You remembered something. He had told me some things, but not all. He continued: “I was in prison, as a member of the youth group of the “Democratic Union”. With leaders Musine Kokolari, Qenan Dibra, Shaban Balla, etc.
I was sentenced to ten years in prison. I was 18 years old. They sent us to forced labor to finish the stadium started by the Italians. This is where we are now. On the way from the prison to where we are, we sang patriotic songs. Upon arrival, the whip was passed into the hands of the policemen, like the ball these boys play. We didn’t go back to the lesson.”
NEXHMIJA, TEFIK EFENDI’S CHICKEN…!
Nexhmije Hoxha (Xhuglini) was the daughter of Tefik Efendi, who at that time was a cashier at the Red Cross Pharmacy on “Barricades Street”. I often went to the pharmacy, also because my uncle worked there as a pharmacist, not forgetting Telat. Tefiku, a wise man, over 60, was sitting there in his shelter, with a glass in front. He was the cashier of the pharmacy. It looked like Zweig’s bookie. He was worried that he would not be charged with orders for his daughter and avoided talks. The elite pharmacy of Tirana, where Bujar Emiri, Naz Alibali, Telati, my uncle, Jani Greku, Drita Andoni, were its soul.
In the enterprise, I had a dibra, a middle man, Hilmiu, who every time I met him, even from a distance, he would say: “Greetings from Tefik Effendi.” But one evening, on the occasion of May 1st, he drank too much. In the ear: – “Mor cull, Tefik Efendi’s baby, we will endure all our lives”?! – Me – “Shut up, because I got on our necks.” Today, this is Hilmi. The baby is gone, but we are enduring the baby’s baby, my son’s baby and sorolop’s baby. As in the bad time.
HO SHI MINI
September 1969. That month I took 15 days leave, because the cabins, or rather the rooms with a view of the sea, were without authorization. I borrowed the transistor from my friend, Lek Dizdari, and I listened to ‘Hit parade’ in the sand. Ranking of the best Italian songs. It was every Friday at 1 pm. I see someone approaching my tent and I change the station.
– “Dude, I don’t know that my friend Ho Shi Min is dead, and you listen to forbidden music”?! – “You’re wrong; I’m listening to the news.” He hesitated. I was listening to the song: ‘Una lacrime sul viso’, by Bobi Solo. We had ‘Lacrime sul cuore…’!
BACA
January 1991. It was the first time I was going abroad, to Pristina to my people. I had made the request years ago, but no response. It is now open to all. Previously, to go abroad, you had to go through the “rat hole”. I couldn’t pass it. The bank there was full. The difference with here was noticeable. After two days, the aunt’s son, prof. Afrim Vokshi tells me that according to custom, we should make several visits to his tribe. The great Vokshi tribe.
The first visit to Baca, that was the name of the oldest. Enver’s portrait, at the head of the country. Near Skanderbeg. I like that, he like that. In the farewell visit, at Baca’s house, Enver’s portrait was not there. It seems that my word had taken place. But to someone else, it was. Maybe it is even today…!
THE LOST TOMB…!
Three years ago, a school friend invited me to go to Vlora. He was talking all the way. I didn’t answer at first. I want to meditate, – as Mr. Etemi – when I travel. The rocking of the car, as if urging you on. And the friend didn’t speak anymore. On the way out of Fier: – “Around here, engineer Xhavit Sallaku is buried”. I was mentioned.
Keep the car please. Where? “I don’t know exactly. I was told a long time ago by a colleague who worked at N.SH.N. of Fier with Xhavit. But even he heard it. There they arrested him for ‘sabotage’ and after a short trial, to shoot him.”
I had a bad day, very bad. I could see Xhavit’s open laughter. I remembered a verse by Akhmatova: “This land of ours is thirsty for blood…”!
TURN
The end of the 40s. We stood in line for a liter of milk. The milk was distributed at the pedestrian area, where Bar “Guva” is today. The queue of men started at the theater. Of women, in the building where the headquarters of the Democratic Party used to be. The queue was one line. Between the martyrs and the invalids. If you looked at it from above, it formed a T, with a very long arm and a small tail. Once the “attackers” were added.
A gray-haired man in front of me said in a low voice: “We needed these too.” As if they listened! The attackers became too much and deprived them of the privilege. But the queue did not decrease. Or did the milk run low? Rows, rows, rows, the daily chorus of life, as Kolevica writes – “Rows, rows, rows, the daily chorus of life”.
PARTICLE WITH TANUSH KASON
I am waiting for my friend Kaso, near a grass. He leaves the bike somewhere and approaches me. He is 85 years old. The only one alive, from those who tried to create the Social-Democratic Party in 1961. Pjetër Arbnori, 28 years in prison, Uran Kalakula, 21, Tanushi 11, Agim Musta 10, Riza Kuçi, less. Together they have written dozens of books. Even the philosopher Kalakula.
I am waiting for him with my first feet: – “Tanush, why did you go to prison, to write books and then to donate the Social Democratic Party to Gjinushi, with a friend of yours in the middle?! Do you know what Tomski said in Russia: “They accuse us in vain, that we don’t have other parties? It’s us and them in prison.” He thought for a long time, sipped his coffee and said: – “You have read a poem by your friend, the poet Sulejmam Mato, where at the end he says: because, because it is impossible to say everything”! Then we continue the conversation. It’s hot.
LOUDSPEAKS
Loud speakers booed when the trials against the “enemies of the people” took place. Everyone should have known, “enemies on the rope”! Such a trial was held in the “Tomori” Cinema, later “Brigada”. In that place, today is the headquarters of the Socialist Party. Ushtima could be heard up to our school “Kristoforidhi”, about 100 m. away. A friend of ours sat as if numb. We were children, but we knew that his father was there at Kino “Tomori”. No one, the glances, even if hidden, was directed at him. In an instant, the teacher Sofika Falli, gets up from the chair, goes towards him and pats his head…!
REZI YPI
We had Rezi as a neighbor. Our houses were nearby, in front of the Shallvares sports field. We played in the endless spaces of the field. Children 8-9 years old. Rezi somewhat smaller. Someone young in the neighborhood, which lived in the white buildings built by the Italians, said: “With Rezi, we don’t have to play anymore, because his mother has run away.” Runaway? We didn’t understand it well. Wilson, a little older than us, followed the speaker. “Don’t look here anymore”.
At home I asked my mother: “What does escape mean” and I showed her Rezi’s work. “My mother has gone to another country”, and she ordered me not to hang out with the children of the residents of the white palaces…! Premature children…! The families of the officials were sheltered in the white palaces. (Rezi, mother of Blendi Fevziu).
SULEJMAN MATO AND THE MALLI THAT IS MISSING ME!
It is a pleasure to be with Sulejman Maton. Wise, knowledgeable, loving. Writer and poet. It is difficult to publish today, without financial means of publication. Sula has several books ready for publication, and yet he still writes. “The artist cannot but express his feelings”, he says. I have his autographed books, but I separate; ‘Ballad of Loneliness’. ‘Longing’ and especially poetry; ‘THE MOTHER’S SPIRIT LIVES’.
A fragment: It knocks lightly at night and on my door, / comes in like the wind and wakes me up from sleep, / scolds me for the work I have left half done, / covers the children and caresses them to sleep, / and again comes out through the cracks of the window…” !
MOTHER…THE LIGHT ITSELF EVERYTHING
It reminds me of my mother, yours. But the poetry of longing sent me recently: “Longing, the mighty ocean that springs from the heavens / overflows like a sad wave…/ her sweet voice comes to me like an echo…/ Longing, longing, where are you, in the air on the ground in sea, you are nowhere and you are everywhere…/ how merciless the longing is, / cruelly exhausting you”. It’s like you’re teasing me!
We come to the particles, in good time. I met Sula in the City Hall, in 1996. Someone comes and says to me, how you keep a servant of the dictatorship in the City Hall. I tell him that he runs the Municipal Gazette well here. Then it’s not my job. I don’t say anything to Sula that continued until 2000, when the other one removed him. What this world is like: The one who spied on Sula is a big boss, while Mato, one of the 300 signatories of the founding of the Democratic Party, creates and seeks… the sponsor?! We have left him one day to go to his place of birth, dear Ftera…!
TWO WOMEN RUB THE GRANILE
When I pass the streets of Tirana, many buildings that are disappearing every day remind me of something. But also the existing ones, for example, the building of the former Central Committee of PPSh, and more precisely the stairs from the central entrance. Ms. Hyrie Asllani, worked as a worker in the construction of the Palaces of “Shallvara”, there from the beginning of the 50s. Wife of lawyer Suat Asllani, prisoner and daughter from the Aranitasi family. That gray weather, but my mother told me that there was rare beauty and nobility, like Antoneta Lualdi, the famous actress of the 1930s-1940s. He kept the signs of nobility.
Girls were known at the American School of Kavaja, or Dako. At dinner time, he came to our house near the block that was being built in Shallvare. With the bread wrapped in newspaper. My mother continued to be a teacher, but strong winds were blowing.
Mother – “Come in, it seems to me that we are joining the fairies.” – “No Nevrez, God forbid.” Yes, God gave it.
A year later, when I was going to the stadium, I see them together rubbing the granite on the central steps of the building, where you enter today, the former Central Committee of the APS. The mother’s prediction had come true. I knew she worked as a laborer there, but I was shocked to see her hunched over the stairs. For those who don’t know, granil is added to the concrete to make it decorative. After the mass dries a little, it must be rubbed, so that the white granil appears. That work is now done by machines, at that time it was done by hand. Today the stairs are there, and it looks like the granite was washed by their hands. Memorie.al
