By Shkëlqim ABAZI
Part seventeen SPAC
The Grave of the Living
Tirana, 2018
(My memories and those of others)
Memorie.al / Now in my old age, I feel it is my duty to tell my truth, just as I lived it. To speak of the modest men who never boasted of their deeds and of others whose mouths the regime sealed and buried them in nameless pits. In no case do I take it upon myself to usurp the monopoly of truth or to claim laurels for an event where I was a random witness, even though I tried with all my heart to help my friends, who politely and kindly avoided me: “Brother, open your eyes… don’t get involved… you only have two months and a little left!” A worry that clung to me like an amulet, from the morning of May 21, 22, and 23, 1974, and even followed me in the following months until I was released. Nevertheless, everything I saw and heard those three days, I would not want to take to the grave.
Continued from the previous issue
Darkness and… Hell.
But the blackness wouldn’t last one night or one week, or one month, or one year, but…! “This will go on for a long time!”
“How long?”
“Three years, man!”
“Why three years?”
“Perhaps?”
“A lifetime!”
“Why a lifetime?”!
“Well, how long?”
“An eternity!”
“Why an…?”
“Well, how long?”
“A…!”
“Who said three years?”
“Me!”
“Who are you?”
“The Darkness.”
“Who mentioned a lifetime?”
“Me!”
“Who are you?”
“The Hell.”
“Dante’s, or that of the Albanian Communist Party?”
“Hey, are you going to shut that beak or…?”!
“What did you say, I didn’t hear you?”
“I’ll tell you!”
“The 731-er! Ten years!”
And the shell game went on until… eternity, beyond the 731-er… Oh Great God, save us from the DARKNESS and the HELL!
Triptych
Aliu, “Politician,” from the sheepfold!
I had been on medical report for a week. After three months in the first zone, the leaders of the technical office and the authorities found no signs of rehabilitation, so with the idea of cleansing my brain of subversive residue, they transferred me to the third zone. They separated me from two easygoing and entirely unproblematic colleagues, moving me two hundred meters higher, where I found two others just as dear, faithful, and resourceful.
The impatient “Polyphemus,” because he was late in getting his share of human flesh, broke off a mass from the cave ceiling and whether intentionally or not, the devil knows, it whirled over our heads. The rock crumbled onto the side of the wagon, and after the ricochet, a stone struck me on the back.
Lord, oh Lord, what pain!
I collapsed unconscious onto the pile of material, while Anastas Papi and Qemal Demiri put me on two planks on the wagon bed, dazed as I was, and let me down the slope. At the bottom, they lifted me abruptly with a blanket fastened over two shovel handles and took me to the infirmary, where Kosovrasti immediately encased me in plaster. I ended up maimed…!
During this time, my friends served me.
When the young ones left for work or lay down to sleep, the “shift” was taken by the “six-hundreds.” One Saturday, the “duty” fell to Ali Hoxhallari from Sazhdarja e Bogdani, in the Tomorr region. With Ali, being from the same region, conversation was interesting because he was straight-edge, but testy like the stinging hornets in the gnarled oaks of old. He had grown old in the sheepfolds with the flocks and had remained on the periphery of the events rolling through communist Albania. He grasped the new developments with difficulty, but he was intelligent and very expressive, with archaic vocabulary and lexicon full of Turkic words. He accompanied the dialectal rudiments with a piquant “o,” which took on a special resonance in his mouth. Precisely because of the “o’s” and the lexical jewels, I enjoyed provoking him.
That Saturday, I provoked him longer: “Why did they push you into prison, Like?” – I asked to open the conversation.
“Eh-u-uh, it’s a long story, o!”
“Does it need more than three years to tell?” – I teased.
“No, man, no, but it’s a bit complicated. They convicted me with about three articles, o.”
He paused, filled his pipe, lit it, and continued: – “I don’t know why they framed me, maybe it was written by Abas Aliu!”
“Were you that dangerous, like?”
“If I had known I was so dangerous, I would have made a huge mess, but I’ve just been a piece of a shepherd, o!”
“Well, you were camouflaged, like?”
“You knew it, huh! Because they told me the same thing!”
“What did they tell you?”
“Here, you are a saboteur, you have committed agitation and propaganda, you have cooperated with the Greek NAFSALIA and the American C.I.A., you have entered and left whenever they asked you, and you are disguised as a sheep shepherd.”
“How true is this, Uncle Like?”
“What truth, blackness, o?”
“What did they bring you here for?”
“Ah-ah, for nothing at all, o! – He shook the pipe in the sole of his sandal, filled it again, lit it, and puffed a couple of times: – “In the summer, we migrated the livestock to the pastures in the border areas. One day I was left alone, because my friends went down to Leskovik for food and tobacco. I had to graze three hundred heads at the watering hole, with three dogs that didn’t leave them an inch. I lay down to graze, and I lay down in the shade, but it seems sleep overcame me, I didn’t hear a thing, neither bells, nor bleating, nor dogs barking. I was worried about the livestock, because, unfortunately, they were in the mountain; they would go as far as they could and come back again. But I was worried about the dogs; I was afraid they might pursue some stray bitch and abandon the flock to the mercy of the beasts.
When I got up, I followed the tracks. I walked and walked, following the droppings, but I couldn’t see the flock…! After about an hour, I approached the border line. The trail continued beyond the pyramid; it seemed the flock had crossed the border and risked falling into the hands of Greek shepherds. I was in a dilemma, should I cross or not, I considered the consequences I would have later and the troubles I would cause my family and relatives. You know, when my mind told me to, I crossed the border, and after about an hour, I heard bells and dogs barking. The flock was grazing on the plateau opposite.
I crossed a stream; when I got closer, two Greek soldiers with their rifles turned into crooks, were trying to turn them back. The dogs became brave as soon as they spotted me, their crests bristled, and they rushed at the soldiers, but I calmed them down and quieted them with a trembling heart.
‘You’ve had it, poor like, that’s it for you! You fell into Greek hands, with the sheep and the dogs!’ I said to myself. But they spoke something to me in their language, which I didn’t understand, and they signaled me to help them turn the front of the flock back toward our land. I stood in front of them and urged them, partly with whistles, partly with the crook, partly with the help of the dogs, until I put the frontrunners ahead.
Damn it, the party secretary, the livestock brigadiers, and the border commissioner, who used to speak to us about Greek atrocities, about betrayals, and about throat-cutting while sleeping, appeared to me, and fear entered me, but they smiled happily. When the head of the flock crossed the border, I couldn’t believe my eyes, but the Greeks seemed happier than me. One took off his canteen from his belt and handed it to me. I took it and drank more than half, thirsty from the heat and anxiety. When I returned it, he signaled to me; ‘I forgive it to you,’ while the other took out his box and offered me a cigarette, along with the lighter. I lit the tobacco, and he too, with the pack and lighter in his hand. What could I gift them? I was completely broke. But the moment the last heads were crossing the border, my mind told me to, and I stretched out the crook, caught a ram, pulled it down, and tied it with the strap of my bag. They didn’t want to accept it, but I left the bread-cake in front of their feet, bowed, and we parted, I with the sheep and dogs on our land, they on theirs with the tied ram.
Only when I crossed the pyramid did I breathe fully. I stopped, turned my head to see the Greek soldiers one last time. They also turned for a moment, waved their hands to me, and left with the ram that they had slung onto a rifle and were carrying over their shoulders. I hurried across the plateau, proud of the heroic act, when my friends and a bunch of soldiers rushed towards me, who apparently saw me from the top of the mountain when I returned safely, with the sheep and the dogs, and ran with shouts of joy, each wanting to hug me first. After all, my loss and that of the flock would have cost them dearly, not only the shepherds who left me alone, but also the border guards who were not vigilant. So, they greeted me as a hero. Then I told them exactly what happened, I told them about the gifts they gave me and the ram I gave them. No one scolded me, everyone praised me. In fact, two days later, they gathered the livestock enterprise, the border command, the shepherds, and the villagers of the area, delegates also came from the center and the Executive Committee, they decorated me for the self-sacrificing act of protecting socialist property and for the courage I showed, challenging the wolf in its den. Besides the decoration, they awarded me three thousand lek as a bonus and fifteen days of leave. No one mentioned the gifts or the ram.
So, my dear Like, may you return to yours with the decoration on your chest and money in your pocket. But the news had arrived before me, the leaders of the village and the region had come out to meet me.”
“You made a big impression, Like!” – I interrupted him with a laugh.
“You laugh, you laugh, but this is where the downhill started, o!”
“What downhill are you talking about?”
“The prison, o!”
“You said they greeted you like a hero?”
“They greeted me…!”
He shook the pipe in the sole of his sandal, filled it, lit it, puffed, and began to blow out plumes of smoke.
“The event echoed. The authorities congratulated me, but the party secretary was irritated, he started intrigues until he pushed me inside…!”
“What did they push you inside for, Like?” – I interrupted him impatiently.
“I told you, for politics, o!”
“You for politics?!”
“Why, doesn’t it fill your eye?”!
“It fills my eye, but it can’t fill my mind!” – I deliberately opposed him, to see his reaction.
“Well, you have that kind of mind, because if you had a sound one, you wouldn’t be here, o!”
“I didn’t come by myself.”
“I know! But why did they bring you, o?”
“They convicted me as an enemy of the people and the Party!”
“Why, are you perhaps more of a politician than me, o?”
I wasn’t really, but how could I prolong the conversation?
“I’m sorry, but you can’t even read or write!”
“No, only you city dwellers were born for politics, o!”
“I didn’t say we are prominent politicians, but we have seen a little of the world!” – I teased him on purpose.
“What world have you seen, you wretched ones, you have only seen smoke and frogs, o!”
“We are from the city, Uncle Like!” – I pretended to boast.
“You graze in one pasture; I have seen all those towns, o.”
“Where have you seen them from, sir?”
“From the top of Tomorr, o!”
“What can be seen from there?”
“The whole world, o!”
“As for wolves, bears, and foxes, I guess you’ve seen plenty, but…!” – I teased him.
“I’ve seen those too, but I could clearly distinguish Berati and Korça, Elbasani and Lushnja, Fieri and Vlora, and when the weather was crystal clear, I could see even across the sea, o, to Italy!”
“But did you do politics with the sheep on those peaks, Like?”
“With the sheep, with the dogs, and with the mind.”
“Whose mind?”
“Abas Ali’s, o young one!”
“Does that mean you did agitation and propaganda with God?”
“What haxhikaçon and prupagradë are you talking about, o?”!
“That’s it, the one they pushed you in here for!”
“Aha! With the old woman, o young one!”
“With the old woman?!”
“Eh, o, doesn’t your head accept it?”
“My mind accepts it, but my brain doesn’t approve?”
“You don’t have a brain, o, if you did, you’d be with your friends!”
“They didn’t let me!”
“I know, I know!”
When he puffed the pipe, the plumes created a dividing curtain, but the fog dispersed, and I saw him with his chin resting on his rough palm.
“Eh, world, world!”
“What happened to you, Like?”
“Eh-u, my dear Like, the poor troubles never leave us!”
“Troubles are for people, Ali!”
“But man is flesh, you endure and endure and then you burst!”
“How is the old woman?” – I changed the subject.
“A-ah, it’s been three years since she left with the majority, the poor thing!”
“I’m very sorry to hear that!”
“That’s how the world has run away, o son! Some leave, others come, but one way or another, that’s where we’ll go!”
He paused, puffed the pipe, shook it, and filled it again.
“Are you in pain, son?”
“A little,” – I had a lot, but I didn’t want to hurt the old man.
“Don’t worry, you are young and your bones will heal easily! What can you do with these bones of mine that crackle day and night, like ox bones, o.”
Need urged me, I made to get up, but my ribs stung.
“Oh, mother!” – a groan escaped me.
“What’s wrong, o?”
“Nothing, Uncle Like, I need to go outside, but my back hurts!”
“Do it here, o!” – he got up and walked into the corridor.
Despite the pain, I refused to relieve myself in front of my comrades. The feeling of shame forced me to gather my strength and go hobbling to the latrine, sometimes held by the arm of a friend, sometimes leaning on the cane of Xhelil Ferra, from Dibër.
I took the old singer’s cane and shuffled with difficulty to the narrowness of the corridor, where I almost collided with Ali’s cap, which was hurrying; head down, with a bucket in his hand.
“Where are you going?”
“To the toilet.”
“Just like that, boy! Why, did they leave me for nothing?”!
“For conversation, Uncle Like!” – and I headed down toward the barbershop.
“Wait, let me accompany you, or you’ll head down to the stream!” – he threw the bucket away, grabbed my elbow, and turned me into an annex of the latrines, where he tried to pull down my trousers.
“Why are you embarrassed, I am your father, o?” – he unbuckled my belt.
“Please, let me continue by myself, Uncle Like!” – I pushed him away decisively.
I held onto the planks so as not to slip on the viscous footing, finished, and stood up with the help of the stick. Ali was waiting for me at the taps with the pipe in his mouth.
“And now, o?”
“I’ll splash two handfuls of water on my eyes and go back to my bed.”
“If we smoke a pipe comfortably, we’ll relax for a while; get some fresh air, maybe God will even deliver some coffee to us, o.”
I didn’t spoil his mood; I crawled to the corner of the private kitchen.
Indeed, we got coffee! Not from God, as Ali prayed, but Xhelil Ferra invited us: “Come on, men, let’s brew a pure coffee!”
“Ejvallah, may God increase your bounty, Xhelil Aga!” – Like thanked him. –
“May God give health to the boys’ bodies?” – the old man replied.
“Amen, God willing, may at last!” – Like supported him and sat down on the blackened bricks.
As I leaned on a bundle of wood, my body was bruised. The old man divided the coffees into some aluminum mugs:
“Cheers, Ali, joyful and May you go well, young man!” – he took the qeleshe (white cap) off his head and shook it, to make the greeting more ceremonial.
“May your honor grow, Uncle Xhelil!” – I thanked him and sipped the mug.
“How do you feel now, young man?” – he asked me.
“Better, Xhelil Aga!”
“God willing, may it be without harm!”
“Amen, God willing!” – Like echoed.
“With Allah’s help, you will get over it quickly!”
“I hope so!”
“But you have to be careful for a while, until the bone heals!”
“These guys won’t let you, Xhelil Aga!”
“The ignorant won’t let you, may Allah ruin them!” – the old man swore. –
“I’m leaving now, because I’m not well!” – when he put his hands on his knees, his breeches strained, almost tearing.
“Here’s the cane, thank you for the help!” – I handed him the stick.
“What are you saying, man, heal up, we’re here!” – and he walked away limping.
My rib and back pain increased from standing up, leaning on Like’s arm and Xhelil Ferra’s cane, so we returned.
Once I was comfortable, I returned to the conversation:
“Where did we leave off, Uncle Like?”
“I don’t remember, if you don’t remember, how it will come to my mind, o!”
“We left off at your conviction. Why did they convict you, Uncle Ali?”
“I told you, for politics, o!”
“Who did you do politics with?”
“Abas Ali, with the old woman, o young one!”
“What politics could you do with the old woman?”!
“None! We talked about the troubles of the world. I told her exactly about the heroism in Greece with the sheep and the Greeks, until we got to the troubles of the day: Ejvallah Abas Ali Tomorr, who is keeping us with favor, the cow gave birth to a calf, the donkey a foal, the mare a colt, the bride Këze, the sheep gave two lambs each, the hens with a flock of chicks come out of the bush, and even the hearth is full of embers with grapes and vine shoots…!” Memorie.al
To be continued in the next issue
