From Sokrat Shyti
Part Forty-Two
Memorie.al/ The writer Sokrat Shyti is the “great unknown” who, for several years, has only shown the tip of the iceberg of his literary creation. I say this based on the limited number of his published books in recent years, mainly the voluminous novel “The Phantom Night” (Tirana 2014). The novels: “BEYOND THE MYSTERY,” “BETWEEN TEMPTATION AND WHIRLPOOL,” “THE DIGGING OF NIGHTMARES,” “THE SHADOW OF SHAME AND DEATH,” “COLONEL HEADSTRONG,” “DROWNING HOPES,” “THE TURBULENCES OF FATE” I, II, “SURVIVAL IN THE COWSHED,” and other works, all novels ranging from 350 to 550 pages, are in manuscript form awaiting publication. The dreams and initial zeal of the young novelist returning from studies abroad, full of energy and love for art and literature, were quickly cut short by the brutal blade of the communist dictatorship.
Who is Sokrat Shyti?
Returning from studies at the State University of Moscow, shortly after the interruption of Albanian-Soviet relations in 1960, Sokrat Shyti worked at “Radio-diffusion” (which at that time was located on Kavaja Street), in an editorial staff with his journalist friends – Vangjel Lezho and Fadil Kokomani – both of whom were later arrested and then executed by the communist regime. In addition to the radio, 21-year-old Sokrati, if we imagine him, had passionate literary interests at that time. He wrote his first novel “Madam Doctor” and was on the verge of publishing it, but… alas! Right after the arrest of his friends, as if to fill the cup, a brother of his, a painter, escapes abroad.
Sokrat was arrested in September 1963, and in November of that year, he was interned along with his family (mother and younger sister) in a place between Ardenica and Kolonje of Lushnja. For 27 consecutive years, the family lived in a goat shed made of reeds, without windows, while Sokrat was subjected to forced labor. Throughout the 27 years, he was legally obligated to report three times a day to the local authority. He had no right to move from the place of internment, was deprived of any type of documentation, etc. In these conditions, amidst a goat shed, he gave birth to and raised his children. Precisely from these events, or more accurately from a very long history of persecution, he drew inspiration to write the book “Survival in the Cow Shed”!
Agron Tufa
Continued from the previous issue
EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK, “SURVIVAL IN THE COW SHED”
– “Do you borrow from positive characters any valuable traits, or do you try to adopt them? Or is this change temporary, evaporating after the performance ends, with the actor and the role separating from each other, each living their own life?”
I had never heard such a detailed analysis, not even from theatre critics,” my brother said with a look toward me, urging me to respond.
– “We in finance, who only deal with numbers, have fixed and limited opinions. You, however, the actors, or the teachers and jurists, have the foremost say. Therefore, our work seems monotonous and quite tedious to you, not only because it is done in complete silence and with forced concentration, but also because it causes us daily headaches due to the work process, which begins and ends with hand gestures!… Now we’re approaching the house of the groom’s family, and it would be good to stop our chatter…! If you have an interest, we can continue when we return…,” said Stavri as we crossed the large bridge over the stream.
– “A fair observation. We should devote all our attention to the ceremony. The greeting and handshake with the groom’s family will be done according to the order we established at home: First you with Reta. After them, I with Vefa. Then, the host of the ceremony, who gathered us. Lastly, the holder of the suitcase…,” my brother said. “There’s no need for introductions, as we know each other and have talked before.”
Although I had promised myself not to be affected by the emotions of the moment when the two families would be facing each other (as fortunately all remaining uncertainties were resolved, the harsh oppositions flattened, and there was no risk of any unpleasant surprises arising), I couldn’t completely keep my composure. But I did not blame myself, as these jitters happen to anyone during an engagement ceremony. The important thing was to gather myself, considering that all attention would be focused on the couple.
In the yard before the house, lined up on both sides of the alley paved with red bricks, stood the men and women: On the right side, the two Tusha brothers, Gaqi with Zoi. Behind them was my brother-in-law and the sons of uncle Gaqi. At the end were the two cousins, the brothers of Arqelin, Kostaqi and Beniamini. The left side was led by my aunt, the wife of uncle Gaqi. After her came the lady of the house, mother Ula, and her lovely sister from father’s side (whom the young girls and brides called Teta Poja). Behind them were the two sisters, Polikseni and my fiancée. Further along were the first cousins, the beautiful daughters of the Sinjars.
It was quite natural for curious female gazes to be focused on my portrait and appearance, wanting to draw comparisons between me and the fiancée. Perhaps at that moment, the girls of engagement age were asking themselves whether they would be as persistent and stubborn for their loved ones as cousin Lika, no matter how charming and handsome he might be, if they found themselves in the same terrible conditions, living in a goat shed, with him working as a porter? But surely none of them could answer this question, as they had yet to experience the fever of love!
And since they do not know the inner strength of this powerful feeling, they perceive the pairing of girl and boy as a natural and necessary bond for the continuation of life and a primary condition for forming a family. None of them can explain why there is such an unfair distribution of this intoxicating feeling, especially what prevents the majority from enjoying the nectar of love!
Therefore, nature has created the possibility to fill the void of the lack of ability to love, the pairing of man and woman, with the explanation that lovers and married couples, when lying next to each other on the bed, feel the same sexual pleasure, for the pleasure of the bed is not given by love or spiritual strength, but by the genitalia of men and women, the inner fire of desire.
When I approached Arqilin to embrace him, I pressed him so tightly against my body that he trembled and his face turned red! Through a reproachful glance, he pleaded with me not to repeat this embrace a second time, “because we are facing the most delicate test when the hair becomes a rope, and all our movements are seen through a magnifying lens!” I accepted his silent warning and continued on.
After the greetings, the groom’s family and hosts entered the specially prepared corner, furnished with all the possible amenities of that time, and we immediately sat down. (The girls and young brides remained standing).
Uncle Gaqi, instead of addressing the guests with the usual opening questions of any conversation, began to sing; “Even the stones of the street,” accompanied by his eldest son, Thomai, and followed by my brother, Ilia. After them were heard the voices of the female gender: aunt Poja, my older sister, Reta, Arqilin’s sister, Polikseni, and the choir of the Sinjar girls. The atmosphere was filled with festive liveliness.
When the sounds of the song fell silent, to compliment uncle Gaqi, “May your mouth be blessed!” – he turned to my brother: – “Could you ever have imagined that one day we would become relatives?”
– “That’s why they say the world is like an orange,” – my brother replied.
– “This engagement of ours has something special that sets it apart from others,” continued uncle Gaqi: – “For this time, it is the youth who have taken the lead and the rudder from the very beginning!”
– “This is precisely where the beauty of this engagement lies!” – my brother added.
– “But this has left us feeling cold!” … – intervened Thomai.
– “None of us ever imagined that our most obedient and gentle girl would resist our proposals with such strength!”
– “These are the first signs of love,” my brother said.
– “It’s not for nothing that they say lovers are privileged because they project their own choices and future.”
– “But if you let them loose, without restraint, it’s unknown where their breath will take them! The youth can be reckless! If they are not held back by our maturity, their escapades could end in unforeseen ways!” – emphasized uncle Gaqi.
– “Love, as a gift, is part of the chances of life for everyone. The truth is that love, which was born with man, is accepted after many oppositions and frictions. And both sides are right: both the lovers and the parents and relatives.”
– “Following this wise observation, groom Lili, it is your turn to sing…” – said uncle Gaqi, smiling.
– “With pleasure!” – replied my brother. And in an instant, he began: “I fell for you, oh I fell for you…”!
In seconds, the chorus of girls, boys, women, and men filled the entire space of the house. Only Arqilin and I sang with heated gazes, not taking our eyes off each other, experiencing the most blissful moment dedicated to our love!
Meanwhile, the ceremony organizers thought that after the second song and the exchange of pleasantries, it was time to treat the guests. So, after the wish “may you always have joy,” the charming girls designated for this service appeared, holding trays filled to the brim. They began the feast with the men, according to their age. They continued with the women. Then they moved on to the hosts. Finally, they stopped in front of the couple, with cheerful looks.
From everywhere, congratulations could be heard: “May you prosper, may you prosper!” The men clinked their shot glasses of raki, and the women their glasses of liqueur. After the clinking of glasses, it was time for cherry, peach, apple, fig, orange, and lemon drinks. Then came the lokum with nuts, a symbol of happy coexistence, used across all regions of Albania.
After chewing the lokum and exchanging pleasantries, it was time for desserts, baklava and pandispan (prepared under the care of aunt Poja). Meanwhile, trays with rose and orange syrup were waiting in readiness, knowing that they were needed to dilute the thick sherbet.
When the heaviness in the stomach became evident, conversations began in groups. Thomai took the opportunity to express his impression to my brother that, after the departure from Lushnja of the talented boys and girls, the artistic activity in the House of Culture had significantly diminished!
– “Back then, in your time, the entire city buzzed with life! There was a wealth of varied activities. Everyone awaited the joyous hour with pleasure and impatience, as it pointed out the flaws of society. The square would be filled to the brim to see and hear concerts with songs and dances. Theater performances were held! All of these nourished and rejuvenated our spirits. The entire youth flocked to the House of Culture. But today, there is a boredom and monotonous lethargy. Because after the departure of the cream of talents, a void was created that began to fill with ignorance, peasant mentality!”
– “Art, unlike other work, cannot be done with command or a wave of a magic wand. Art requires passion, dedication, will, perseverance, and sacrifice! When these are lacking, art dries up and withers like a tree with dry branches!” – my brother responded.
– “So back then, there was work and we enjoyed ourselves!” – Thomai continued his thought. Meanwhile, uncle Gaqi had turned his body towards the bank account manager, Stavri, and was asking him what conditions needed to be fulfilled for a client to obtain a loan.
– “First, you need the guarantee of an asset, as a legal commitment, that you will be able to repay the loan, along with the interest. In your case, this is possible because you have a piece of land with olive trees on the hill. Another necessary condition is that the loan amount must not exceed the value of the land,” – he emphasized. “Loans are also given to those who are in distress when their house collapses. The forms are determined by law, by the Ministry of Finance.”
– “For this last part, I want an explanation, as I am unclear and it seems quite murky to me…” – uncle, Arqilin’s father, interjected. “You know we used to have a large house with many rooms near the stream, where we continuously sheltered tenants. According to the city’s regulatory plan, this house was demolished. But the state did not give us a single lek. For this house we live in, we pay rent every month! I don’t understand why we need to pay rent for our own house!”
– “In fact, this residence will become your property only after the entire specified amount is paid off, divided into monthly installments. Only then does it revert from state property to private property,” – Stavri emphasized. “All of these single-story apartments built here are rented out until the value of the cost is paid off. Once that amount is settled, ownership is transferred…”
– “I understand that. But I don’t understand why the state didn’t compensate me for the demolition of the house…” – the father-in-law said, feeling despondent.
– “This issue does not pertain to either the Ministry of Finance or the bank, but only to the court.”
– “So, I must sue the state?” uncle asked with surprise. “What man has ever won a case against the state, that I would be the first?!”
– “This is where the problem lies…” – replied the older brother.
– “The state has found this lenient solution, which is not available to every creditor, but only to the category of expropriated individuals,” – Stavri continued his explanation.
– “Regular tenants, even though they pay their monthly rent regularly, do not have the right to ownership like you. That is the difference.”
I noticed that my mother-in-law signaled to her husband to put a stop to this unpleasant conversation, as it was neither the time nor the place. He complied. Meanwhile, aunt Poja and my sister-in-law, Vefa, reminisced about the memories of past years when they worked in the state factory: they would come in before dawn and worked long hours, without resting for a single minute, constantly standing, until their blood would be drained from their fingers and their veins would swell!
The extremely strenuous load (as if their shoulders would open up from the vigorous arm movements while rotating the dough in the air, the only way to make ten to twenty at once) caused them back pain and bodily strain. They endured this strain only by exchanging jokes amongst themselves, to give each other courage and heart to meet the quota. Otherwise, not only would their pay be withheld, but they were also disturbed by the stings of the critics’ comments. Therefore, they did everything possible to be mentioned on the honor roll as distinguished workers!
My older sister, Reta, expressed to mother Ula her complaints about how difficult it is for a married woman to give birth to and raise four boys while being employed by the state, especially when she is on three shifts and fulfilling a very demanding role as a central operator, which for eight hours does not allow even a minute’s break for answering calls, and when the change of shift approaches, it seems as though her lungs continue to boil from the nonstop talking and her head continues to buzz like a beehive!
Uncle Gaqi, enjoying the song, began to feel annoyance from the prolonged monotony of group conversations. Therefore, he decided to break the lethargy immediately, filling the atmosphere with cheerful sounds. Without addressing anyone, he started to sing, “In a sweet lullaby…”! And his eldest son, Thomai, always ready, along with his wife, Silë, joyfully accompanied their father. Very quickly, they were joined by the joyful chorus of the Sinjars and all the other participants.
– “You know that I have spent the majority of my life singing!” – uncle Gaqi said after finishing the song and receiving a flood of comments: “May your mouth be blessed, Father.” – “You should be grateful for this everlasting desire, wishing you good health!” – my brother replied with a smile.
– “Even when I walk down the street, I sing softly. I have an inner urge; songs come to my mind by themselves. I don’t care at all when some say that those who love to sing a lot don’t give much thought to the other troubles of this world…” – uncle Gaqi added with a sense of open indifference and satisfaction, to show others, “that he enjoys himself this way. – My brother, Zoi, rarely sings for pleasure. His mind works hour by hour in the warehouse…” – he laughed.
– “Even my younger brother, Sokrati, does not have an internal urge to sing solo. His mind, filled with formulas and fantasies, has broader inclinations than that of a singer…” – my brother said.
– “Everyone has a certain inclination that they aim to fulfill. This is where the difference between us begins…” – he added, glancing in our direction, as we whispered completely distracted, because we were not interested in what the others were discussing.
Only when my name was mentioned did I turn my gaze to see if my brother had something to say to me, as the end of the ceremony was approaching, and he was trying to draw my attention, wanting me to be more attentive to their conversation, as a sign of respect. But this thought lasted no longer than a second, as he started singing; “Do those springs have water, you my clove lips,” – knowing that at that moment, their father was preparing to say:
“Groom, it’s your turn!” Everyone present in the hall, in the corridor, and outside in the yard formed a powerful chorus that could be heard throughout the neighborhood. Within minutes, many curious children gathered beyond the yard to see and hear. They were eagerly awaiting the moment when the bride dressed in white would come out to distribute candies.
Stavri felt that the time was right and asked for permission from the two Tusha brothers for the “groom’s family to leave this hospitable house, where the engagement ceremony of your daughter with our son was held, with the blessing of both parties.”
– “You will surely continue to celebrate this remarkable event, just as we will over there, where our mother and grandmother, who have come from Berat, await us impatiently. We will fulfill the traditions and customs until the end. May the couple prosper and live happily!”
After these words, everyone stood up. The hosts were the first to step into the yard and lined up on both sides of the alley paved with red bricks, but now in the opposite direction. After them, we descended the steps of the exterior platform.
The lady of the house, mother Ula, took the opportunity to loudly invite the groom to join them for lunch. Just at that moment, my brother expressed on behalf of the entire Shyti family his gratitude for the wonderful hospitality of this joyful ceremony, which joined and united two hearts with eternal love and created this lasting friendship.
– “I will not be mingling with you, as I will return after I see my dear one’s home and kiss the hands of my mother and grandmother, who have come specifically from Berat, to celebrate with us the engagement of my nephew…” – I addressed mother Ula, when the wishes, embraces, and handshakes concluded.
Arqilin and I were the last to leave through the yard gate, linked arm in arm: he would accompany me to the road, to show the onlookers that we were now publicly engaged, and we were not hindered by the fear of being watched furtively. We felt as free as birds escaping from a cage, as we were no longer held back by the terrifying burden of isolation. We were proud and happy about this wonderful achievement! We wished that at this monumental moment, the main character, our benefactor, the catalyst of this union, could be with us, without whom this engagement would remain just a vision of a dream with a fiery beginning, wrapped in a haze of gnawing sufferings and endless struggles, an unquenchable, haunting request that could cause victims and transform into tragedy!
Thus, walking closely together at the end of the group, without breaking our happy gazes from each other for a single second, it seemed as though we were experiencing a beautiful imaginary mirage filled with earthly and divine love! /Memorie.al
Continued in the next issue
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