By Shkëlqim ABAZI
Part twenty-two
S P A Ç
The Grave of the Living
Tirana, 2018
(My memories and those of others)
Memorie.al /Now in my old age, I feel obliged 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, burying them in nameless pits. In no case do I presume to usurp the monopoly on truth or claim the laurels for an event where I was accidentally present, even though I desperately tried to help my friends, who tactfully and kindly deterred me: “Brother, open your eyes… don’t get involved… you only have two months and a little more 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 months after, until I was released. Nevertheless, everything I saw and heard during those three days, I would not want to take to the grave.
Continued from the previous issue
“We have plenty of room!” Faiku intervened.
“No, we’ll start from the doorstep of the house. Tomorrow at seven at the Vodica bridge,” Muharrem directed.
“We want to leave from our father’s door!” the niece supported him.
After we parted, I went to the Police Station, met I. and told him what had been decided.
The next day, we met Ali’s family in Vodica, drank coffee in Mbrakull before seven o’clock, and crossed the river at the ford. From the gravel of the Osum river, we headed up the olive grove towards Malinat, on the slope of Trëndafili.
- suggested we stop, and he went into the mouth of the stream and disappeared among the strawberry trees. After a while, he called out for us to approach him: “Boys with picks, follow me, the rest of you wait there!”
Four people descended the grove, while we took a high point and followed them under the fog, thick as a ball of wool, which blurred our view.
“Hey, hey, come down!” the ravine of the stream echoed.
We descended two or three terraces, about twenty meters long and three or four wide. I. surveyed the place like a strategist surveying a future battlefield; somewhere he broke away from the group, crossed to the opposite bank, and disappeared into the thicket, from where he emerged with a bundle of sticks. He jumped two terraces one after the other and stopped where he was before. He paced on one side, stuck in a rod, walked in the opposite direction, turning his head like a surveyor staking the foundations of a building, stuck in another stick, and then shielded his eyes with his hand:
“This was a stream here, before they terraced it!” he whispered, as if to convince himself that he hadn’t mistaken the coordinates. In the boundary, a furrow detached from the flat surfaces was discernible, which if joined on an imaginary line, would create the former stream.
“Long life, men!” they greeted from above, and three silhouettes descended.
“May God bring them light!” prayed the oldest man, leaning on his staff.
“Amen!” Muharrem bowed.
“I brought the boys to help you!” the old man pointed his finger at two young men with a pickaxe and a shovel.
“I owe you for this!” Muharrem replied.
“It’s our duty, friend!” the newcomer jumped in. – “Hopefully, we’ll find them, because the place has changed!” From the other side, I. approached and greeted the old man like an old friend:
“How are you, Shako?”
“Well, by God’s grace! And you, Commander, how have you been all these years?”
“Thank you!” I. replied.
“Still on the government payroll!”
“I don’t know how to do anything else!”
“No, you’re a good man, we had you as support.”
“And I don’t forget the old bread either,” I. laughed. – “Do you remember the place, Uncle Shako?”
“Oh, it has changed since then. They cleared the forest, opened the terraces, and it became a forest again.”
“You’re right, it’s disfigured!” I. confirmed.
“The stream was here,” the old man pointed to the boundary.
“And the path that climbed to the Trëndafili slope,” he revealed a furrow that didn’t lead to any path, except that the bushes were a little scarcer.
“Yes, that’s how it was!” I. corroborated him.
“And here is the pit where they found the deceased,” he marked the corner of the terrace with the tip of his stick. – “A dog kept watch over this spot. But now it doesn’t look like it because it has eroded,” he pointed his stick into the empty space.
“You’re right, we found him dead there.”
“Say killed!” the old man contradicted him.
“As you command, sir!”
“That’s right, I saw it with my own eyes!” the old man put his fingers over his eyes.
“Uncle, do you remember where they might have buried him?” I intervened.
“What did they bury, man?! A human is not buried in forest pits! They interred him, son!” he snapped at me, as if I were ignorant of the old troubles.
“Forgive me, I misspoke!” I apologized.
“I’ve driven two stakes, one here and one there,” I. moved near the markers he had placed in the ground.
“Good, but it seems you’ve spread out too much!” the old man reprimanded him.
“No problem, let’s start, and if necessary, we’ll narrow the radius,” I intervened a second time.
“And two others, one here, the other five paces further,” the old man took two steps and stopped. – “If the wild beasts or dogs haven’t dug them up, we’ll find them!” he gave his verdict and fell silent.
The two young men drove the rods where the old man marked and took up the picks to dig.
“Slowly, boys!” he took off his shoes, stood up straight facing where he thought Mecca was, and began muttering, turning his head from one side to the other, calling out three times: “May God accept this,” he waited for us to repeat it, put on his shoes, sent one more “God accept” into the air, and ordered:
“May it be for our good fortune!”
Now the pickaxe swung; one dug, the others cleared with shovels, while we waited anxiously.
Four or five of our people joined the villagers, but the work went slowly, while the sun grew hotter and hotter. The old man gave instructions like the foremen of old:
“The place wasn’t flat, it was a pit once,” he mumbled and went in and out of the thicket.
By noon, the removed earth formed small mounds around the former pit. From the depths, semi-rotten logs emerged, but no bones appeared. Impatience overtook us, especially the daughter who was waiting anxiously, and I. who was panting, leaving the pick and attacking the shovel like a man possessed.
“Rest a little!” I advised him when I saw sweat pouring down him.
“Impossible!” he plunged the pickaxe in like a man possessed. – “Yes, it was a pit!” he grumbled.
“We will find it!” I gave him courage.
“I’m sure!” maybe he wanted to convince himself. – “Uncle Shako, do you remember or not?”
“Of course, man!” the old man replied.
“But all those years have passed!” I. seemed to console himself.
“The place hasn’t moved, unless the beasts dug them up!” the old man repeated.
Around lunchtime, a caravan with two animals (mules/donkeys) appeared. The two women spoke to the old man and spread a tablecloth over some strawberry tree branches and cornel tree branches. They had us wash our hands from a canister they had brought and we took our places around the mournful lunch of poor Lika.
The old man performed the custom of the host, with a shot of raki:
“Cheers, and may God help us! May Ali find peace where he fell!”
“And the dog, too!” it slipped out of my mouth.
I paused when I realized I spoke nonsense. I was looking for a way out, convinced I had hurt the family’s feelings, but the daughter relieved my discomfort:
“Only he remained loyal, may he find peace, if there is heaven for animals!”
After her, no one spoke. Balo gained the status of a martyr, which I had attributed to him many years ago, the day I encountered him at the spring.
The understanding between the dog and its owner multiplied my conviction.
“Come closer, my son, he is my friend, you wretch!” Ali’s words echoed, and the dog’s barks pierced my eardrum.
I turned my head, a black dog was wagging its tail behind me, a sign of gratitude. When they threw it a bone, it gulped it down and waited with its tongue out.
“We’ve grown old now, Balo! Be careful, only you remain of the living, dear Balo!” – as if speaking to a person, the breeze brought Ali’s advice.
“Ham-hum-hmm,” softly, his tongue sticking out a palm’s length, and Balo’s eyes shining. – “My son, sleep, you’ve been tired all night!” Lika caressed him.
“Is this your dog?” I asked then.
“Only he remains of the living, my Balo will not betray me!” and I remembered the last moment, when his owner shook my hand and the dog’s tail disappeared into the bushes.
“We must find them!” I said unconsciously.
“Who, man?” the old man asked.
“Both!” I replied, my mind elsewhere.
“Well, cheers!” he looked at me with pity, as if I were some aliens sprung from another planet.
“He asked how you met!” I. elbowed me in the ribs.
“What did you say, my mind was not here!” I apologized.
“If your mind is not here, you don’t need a guide, but where are you wandering, dear one?” the old man said ironically. My distraction, it seems, made the old man think I was off the rails.
“In ancient times, uncle!”
“You don’t look that old, son?!”
“Perhaps not as old as you would like, but fate condemned me to be a fellow sufferer and friend with Ali!”
“What did you say?” the old man’s curiosity grew and he turned to me face to face.
When the present people confirmed the acquaintance, the curious old man shifted his attention toward me. He didn’t leave me even when the work resumed, asking and waiting for me to tell him even insignificant details. When the layer thinned, hopes also faded as to whether we would find the remains at that depth.
“Move further to the right!” I. ordered those who were on the top of the terrace.
“A piece of coarse wool cloth!” someone said.
“Stop!” the old man commanded.
“We will clear it by hand!” I. added.
“By Allah, they buried them as they were!” the old man climbed over the mound and got to the other side.
“Careful, those are Ali’s trousers!”
Now the work progressed at a snail’s pace. After moving the top layer, the wool cloth was taking shape. A few centimeters deeper, some bones, blackened by time, appeared.
“Here they are!” someone said.
“Those on the shajak?” another observed.
“Undoubtedly, they must be Balo’s!” I intervened.
“Yes, they are the dogs!” I. confirmed.
“Slowly, carefully!” I spread out the plastic and leaned over the pit, lining up every bone we took out. After about an hour, the unspoiled opinga (traditional peasant shoes) also appeared, except that they were deformed by time.
Two skulls next to each other.
“They lived together, they decayed together, oh-oh-oh!” the wail of the daughter echoed, weeping for her father and the dog!
The dog’s skull was shattered at the back, as if it had been hit with the head of the pickaxe, while the friend’s remains, layered under the faded shajak, like under an imperishable Egyptian shroud.
I meticulously examined them like archaeologists examining ancient sarcophagi, while in the inner pocket of the vest, we found a frozen leather wallet, stuck to the rotten cloth.
I stopped the poking out of fear that it might break in my hand. We finished at sunset.
“We should return to the village,” someone said.
“Today you are with me!” the old man ordered.
“Custom requires that the deceased spend the night in their own house!” Muharrem insisted.
“The deceased, not the bones!” the old man countered.
Now darkness enveloped the ravines and the hills around, extending the black shroud on the horizon.
“Muharrem, would we have continued tomorrow if we hadn’t found them?” the old man asked cunningly.
“Of course!” the other replied.
“Well, pretend we didn’t find them!”
“We found them, Shako!” Muharrem insisted.
“Now we are safe and sound, we will sleep peacefully!” and he ordered: – “Load the animals, the night is upon us!” The boys did not wait, they threw the sacks on the saddles, tied them behind the cart, and set off.
Night.
The contours merged with the darkness.
“Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo!” an owl hooted. “Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo!” they replied from the slope nearby, while the dog began barking at the moon, “woof-woof, woof-woof.”
Darkness… souls seek peace!
They divided up among the family, Uncle Shako kept me.
We drank coffee on an outdated sofa and dozed off to sleep, while the people of the house tiptoed so as not to wake us.
In the background, Lika and Balo appeared to me, the man sitting cross-legged with the scarf spread on the ground beaten by thousands of feet and the scythe on his knees, the dog with the tip of its tail up, tongue out.
The man looked sullenly from under his brows, the animal watched with half-closed eyes. “Speak, man!” – “Ham-hum-hmm!”
“Have they locked you up, you poor thing?” – “Ham-hum!”
“What’s up, Balo?” I addressed the dog, since the man remained glum.
“Ham-hum, we’re doing great here!”
“What did you say?” the talking dog surprised me.
“Are you deaf, man?” – ham-hmm
“I thought you only knew dog language; since when did you learn ours?”
“Since people started babbling dog language, Balo learned human speech!” Ali burst out at me.
“Slowly, Lika, why are you getting angry?” I tried to appease him.
“I don’t owe you the right to insult my son, man!”
“Pardon, I didn’t know he was your son!”
“Ham-hum-hmm, what’s new with the living, man?”
“Nothing much!”
“What are you busy with?”
“We do p-o-l-i-t-i-c-s, man!”
“Politics!?”
“Doesn’t it impress you, man?”
“It fills my eye, but it can’t fill my mind!”
“If your mind was sound, you wouldn’t be here, man!”
“Where?”
“In the world beyond!”
“I didn’t come by myself.”
“I know! But why did they bring you, man?”
“How should I know?”
“Lika will tell you, for nothing.”
“Who are you agitating with now, Lika?”
“With Balo, my child!” – woof-woof, hum-hum, hmm
“They brought the dinner!” I heard through the haze.
“Is it not dawn yet?”
“Who were you talking to, friend?” the old man looked at me anxiously.
“Agitation and propaganda, because your mind can’t rest!”
“With Lika!”
“Are you talking to the moon, comrade?”
“With Balo!”
“I thought you were talking to the angels!”
The old man was right, I was talking to the bones in the sack.
“Drink, because we have joy, we found Lika’s remains!” the old man tried to cheer me up.
“And Balo’s, too!”
A person cheers up when he retrieves relics buried in the cursed time! The Homo-democraticus rejoices over the bones of the Homo-politicus, eliminated by the Homo-communistus, as if he has discovered the mysteries of the world!
“When will the burial be?” the old woman asked.
“Reburial!”
“Reburial, at least!” she repeated mechanically, surely hearing this word for the first time.
“I don’t know, the family needs to be asked!”
“From what I saw, I think you are more family than the family!” the old man jumped in.
“I finished my duty, it’s up to them to decide!” I insisted on my point.
“Were you close to poor Lika?” the old woman asked.
“I was, for about three years!” and I turned to the old man.
– “Uncle Shako, what do you know about Lika’s death?” “Nothing, man, he just came and died!”
“But he died a poor stranger (garip), without anyone!” the old woman intervened.
“He had Balo!”
“A loyal dog, he guarded his master, for three days on the embankment!” the old man confirmed.
“How did it happen?”
“They killed him, man?”
“Who, Ali?”
“No, poor Ali had his fate, they put the shotgun in the dog’s mouth!”
“How?”
“By God! The poor thing was guarding the body! He remembered him in his sleep and guarded him as always. Hunters came along that path, but Balo wouldn’t let them pass. Ali dead in the pit, Balo the watchman on the embankment. They approached because they smelled the corpse, but he almost ripped them apart with his fangs. Eventually, they climbed the embankment, and what did they see? A swollen corpse in the pit. They tried to approach it, but Balo had turned into a wolf, partly because his master wasn’t talking to him, partly from not eating.
When he attacked the hunters with his mouth wide open, they thought he was mad and assaulted him; one of them fired his gun, and the dog fell with its skull shattered to pieces. They informed the police; they were ordered to cover both the human and the dog. ‘One enemy less, it’s good for the Party,’ the great one brought some rogues and ordered them to bury them.
The place was terraced and disfigured, no one looked for them, and they rotted, dear Shako’s soul! He was my friend and we loved each other until the end, but the class war separated us, my son!” the old man concluded. We spent that night keeping watch next to the sack with the “bones” of Lika and Balo.
A few days later, they opened two graves on the hilltop, where they placed Ali’s remains with the shajak and the wallet still attached, as well as Balo’s, with the skull shattered by the buckshot. The two inseparable friends rest side by side, under the light earth! Memorie.al
To be continued in the next issue
