By Visar ZHITI
Part Three
Memorie.al /…It began on the morning of a nameless day, why nameless, it was May 22nd and it is called “The Day of the Revolt of the Qafë-Bar Prisoners? – yes, because the days in prison are very similar, like the prison uniforms, with stripes, the days like this, the nights like the black uniforms of the police. Inside the barbed wire it seemed as if there were exhausted saints and crazy devils. The night brigades, the third shift of prisoners, had returned from work, they had been waiting on their feet for 2-3 hours and no order had been given to go to the dormitory. Half of them were sleeping on their feet. Leaning on the wall, on their friend, on the stairs, on the barbed wire. Black marks on their faces, either from being unwashed, or from the horror they saw in that fragment of a dream.
Continued in the next issue
Confusion. Astonishment. How dare they laugh? Even in Spaç, the deputy minister, Feçor Shehu, had called out from behind the barbed wire for surrender. “Shame on you, you criminal from my village,” the prisoner Hajri Pashaj had called back to him, “come and threaten us. Your belly and neck are swollen with our sweat and blood. You forgot, sir, when Hitler’s Germans caught you and put you in prison, you were a child like me, when you put me in. They gave you bread and milk and sent you home. We are growing old here and you are stripping us alive, because we wanted to escape from your filthy regime. Shame, you have disgraced our village”!
– And he approached the barbed wire, ran here and there, the place could not hold him. Feçor Shehu himself had shot him after two days. – “But you will end up like this too, you will never become a minister,” his fellow villager had shouted at him again. – Your party will kill you…”! Surrender! Feçor Shehu is calling like that? Have they sent him back? No, no, they shot him in time, this other one is now Zylyftar Ramizi, that other one is Agron Tafa, I know them, but they are all the same, bloodthirsty.
Surrenderrrrrr, doomed…! Why should we surrender, that’s how we were, surrendered? Let’s stop the uprising. The leadership delegation should come to the Great Gate to present the causes and demands… and the connections with external enemies. We will wait an hour and thirty minutes. Do you understand, doomed?
After two hours we will enter the camp without considering anything. If there is opposition and resistance, we will crush you with force, without mercy, with all the means at the disposal of the state. The party with comrade Enver at the head is stronger than ever, it has shattered and is shattering and will crush every enemy, every coalition of theirs and… from every battle it has emerged stronger.
Understood….? Think carefully. Your goal, strategy and tactics are going to break your head. The loudspeaker funnel from here resembled an extraordinary tearing of the mouth, the screams of schoolchildren. While their flock was descending from the terrace, the state ultimatum continued to echo in the prison pit. It seemed to us that we saw the rolling of aaaas, ooooos, piercing iiiiiis, flaming cannonballs fell among us.
The state fauna passed by the helicopter monster, which pretended to be sleeping. And now? No one asked, but it was visible on everyone’s foreheads, in the wrinkles.
– What was that palm, I didn’t understand, what do they want from us?!
– To kill us, uncle, they’ve held us back enough.
– And what can we do?
– We will be killed, as always.
– Why?
– We don’t know what else to do. To hell with them!
– Yes, they asked for representation, we are just prisoners.
– Yes, we did, let the elders come to us. Let them kill us.
– Listen to me, they want to tell Enver, lying on his deathbed there in the Central Committee, that, under his teachings, an enemy uprising was suppressed. But they have more to do with Ramiz Ali, to teach him that this is the only path he, the Party, should follow.
– The path of blood.
– How long have they left us?
– An hour and a half.
– Will they divide us in half? Will they come in later?
– They are in. How long has it been?
– But where do we have the time?! Only wounds, look, like an hour, but without time… what time is it? Slavery, hellish times, violence…
– Disperse and wait.
– That’s it?
– Everyone knows for themselves…!
– There is no other way. Let’s attack and be killed. Whoever can escape, let him escape…!
– I say let’s talk to the minister or his deputy, or the so-called police officer, let’s present our ideas, our demands. Let’s tell him that the treatment in prison is one of the cruelest, not to re-educate, but to make us worse. You don’t neutralize your opponent like that, but make him an enemy and harden him.
– Why, don’t they know?
– Let’s come to an agreement, it’s for the benefit of everyone, of the country.
– But not of the murderers.
– The time has come, get your chests ready.
Surprisingly, the prisoners now entered the technical office without knocking, met the leaders, the heads of the re-education, received opinions, courage for calm and self-control, to guard against panic and to be prepared for the catastrophe. What about me, who has the day of release tomorrow? Let’s see, I don’t believe it. What about the days of victory? If we win…?!
Further on, a state of frost had descended on the group of those who rebelled first, who crushed the policemen and the guard officer, and they wanted the attack, and they imagined what awaited them, but what were they talking about among themselves, at least not to punish the others, to come up with a different decision, they said. Whatever they would do, what action, when they came in, the wolves, certainly a large pack. They had teeth and claws, and so did we.
Let’s not let others get involved. Let’s take the responsibility on our own shoulders. The conversations were getting anxious and becoming heavier, like walking on snow with a dead body in our arms. I saw snowflakes. Was it falling like that? No, it was the letters thrown everywhere, on the yard, on the stairs, in the rooms. They began to tear up everything that could harm us. Of the manuscripts? Were we surrendering like this? There was a sense of fearful anticipation, mixed with worries, when nothing can be done. Only the sun – where is it, why is it not visible? – gave off flashes like the guillotine’s press.
It was not clear whether any of our representatives were present. They said that five people, no, six, had come to the Great Gate. Lo, lo, he looked… Are they going or returning? A large man from the command came out and received the prisoners’ message. Written or verbal? It was the same. No. Our rebellion was explained as the cause of the incessant, ever-increasing violence, of injustices, and a change in the situation was demanded. To be treated as human beings, even though we were opponents…!
Were there no political demands? The message itself is a political stance. Without accusing and without admitting guilt. Calmness, let’s support each other. Together…! We are not to blame. The crime is beyond the barbed wire…!
Let’s write a letter to Enver, insisted a soldier. Let’s tell him that you, comrade Enver, know nothing, as always, that the water from above comes clear, but it gets muddy below, you know nothing that they treat us badly and make us enemies by force…! Enough! Shut up, you scoundrel! I am not an enemy by force, but by force. I want to be. And listen, the fish stinks from the head.
Do you think that “Dulla” will be touched and will bring justice and give you the ranks that were taken away? Idiot and in prison, this will not be forgiven! No, I say it for tactics. We do not know if Tiran is alive. Can letters be delivered to the dead? Indeed, the encirclement seemed to have been brought closer and narrower by reinforcements with other soldiers. At every step. The wooden towers of the fortresses were full, as if they were about to embark on an adventurous journey.
Here, there they moved monstrously, approaching our ruins. They would throw their tentacles, bridges, over the invisible walls, they would stumble upon the ramparts of our shoulders and the soldiers would flood in with shouts and pointed bayonets. They would tear our flesh and with their spiked boots they would trample our hearts, they would break our skulls…!
THE STATE THAT PRESSED
Everywhere, everywhere around, on the slopes, in the shadows, on the rocks, on the edges of small fields, on the sides of the ditches, on the stones, on the crooked terraces – people. Villagers, men and women, schoolchildren, lo, lo, on the ubiquitous domes of the bunkers. Others were coming, in groups, alone, folkloric, looking for the most suitable place to see this as best as possible. Spectators?! They must have called them. They invited them, “you must come, otherwise you will have a day of work”, to see the enemy, here, for real, a hand signals them to get up from that bunker and sit down further, then the hand is waved this way.
Of course, there is organization. And on the other hand, people. Where were so many of them found? They had invited them from other villages, are they a united cooperative? Like a large, sprawling amphitheater… here are the boxes, the good seats under the trees, the stairs, the first, second, fifth… and us in the arena. Let the people see the suppression of an uprising. The guests have been selected, distinguished cooperators, communists, shepherds, council members, club members, rhapsodes, nurses, teachers, high school students, newlyweds, janitors, interns for party members, crazy people, etc., etc.
Calm. The calm was suddenly broken by loud metallic clangs. Gun bolts? The big gate was opening, its chains, the keys gave the first threats. On the small terrace of the command post, on the side of which the suspended helicopter rotors were approaching, a group of soldiers appeared. One with a loudspeaker on his shoulders ordered: “We are entering, if any of the convicts raises a hand against us, provokes us, makes the slightest suspicious movement, we will shoot from everywhere, into the crowd… Do you understand? No movement… You are surrounded… Surrender!” In Spaç we decided to die for the Flag that we raised ourselves. Shuaip Ibrahimi and Ndrec Çoku became honorary bodyguards, they stood under it day and night.
Military guards entered, they looked like they were mad, they could hardly wait to tear anyone apart, among them many officers, from the command and the Ministry, civilians we didn’t know, in green suits, the color of poison, well-fed, not like us, badly torn, who muttered like that next to me, I saw that he was fading, what’s wrong, you’re fading too, here’s the commander, the commissioner, the chief of the prison police, he’s proud and proud, the faggot, the guards’ whip, policemen, policemen again, with frozen ferocity like masks, captors, they didn’t seem miserable, pa-pa-pa… While the head reached the first courtyard, the tail was still snaking towards the gate.
They walked under that tent of barbed wire, with tactics, as if they were treading on mined paths. Eee No one is imprisoned in the cells, whoever is caught not wanting to come, he will be thrown out! Because… they can’t do anything to us. We have both the stone and the nut in our hands. We have the Party… a captain’s gorge shouted like this, order no. 1 of the command, quickly, quickly, in line. You are surrounded, the uprising has in fact been crushed. That’s enough. Now the punishment begins.
We all moved sadly, with double anxiety and joined the funeral rows in the dry courtyard like a huge sheet with letters of stone and quicksand. Wise. With blackened faces, because there were some of us who hadn’t been able to wash ourselves since they had left the gallery. The water had been cut off. But there are other blackened faces, from the fight with the police. Order no. 2 was given: everyone on the ground, sit down! We were cut in half like this, we became gutters, the earth could swallow us more easily. Our heads resembled large lumps of earth. Cracked earth, made into a mound, plowed by mythical, wild oxen, not with plows, but with swords, with the iron of shells.
Even they seemed to be reduced in fear by our immediate reduction. After the ragged noise of falling clothes had ended, the last of them sat down. The soldiers above seemed bigger, more threatening, more formidable. Policemen and captors scattered among us, wild as animals, walking carelessly, sometimes stepping on someone’s hand, sometimes knocking them down with the tip of their boots. Oh, he made a noise, a provocation, the policeman shouted, the continuation of the uprising, get up, take it! The big kitchen pots are coming, don’t think they’ll bring them with soup, the friend next to me told me. During the Spaç revolt, they brought them full of handcuffs for us.
You can do nothing to us, – one of the officers began to shout, – irreconcilable enemies, you cannot overthrow the people’s power, the dictatorship of the proletariat. We came to power with the blood of martyrs and with blood we will keep it. The foam at his mouth seemed to me to be drops of blood, perhaps some sparkling reflection of the lights of the siege…! We do not ask from capitalism and revisionism together, – another officer was shouting, – we will crush you, you who have connections with external enemies, direct and spiritual.
Don’t you want to be re-educated? The violence of the proletariat will fall mercilessly on you, right now! Start. Scream. Lots of scream. Dead bat wings. Tyrannosaurus wings. The other person’s breathing could also be heard, but so could the voices, a thin child’s cry, ah, how beautiful, came from beyond, where people were gathered, along the steps of the ah-mfi t-eh-ah-tr-ih. One of the non-commissioned officers took out some papers and gave them to the chief of police. Yes, he said, let’s begin. Let’s begin and cast a dirty look at the kneeling prisoners, tombstones, among which everywhere policemen towered, black cypress boards as in military games.
Everything seemed in order, absolutely fine, he adjusted his hat, its star shone brightly and in a pretentious voice he read a name. Sokol… which one, both of them… the raven scribbled. Get up, you, you too… several little ravens croaked at once, absent-mindedly, their eyes were watching us from all directions, get up-uh! Before the first one could get up, 7-8 policemen rushed at him, snatching his clothes and skin together, and dragged him behind the canteen wall, where we couldn’t see what was happening. Another Sokoli… Another name was called: Tom Ndo… another, Bushgjoka… and other policemen, still others jumped in, Haxhi… Vllasi, Kostandin… they dragged the man, handcuffed him badly and from there, from behind the wall, came the sounds of blows, screams and their suffocation.
Other names were called out in a loud voice… Vuthi… Martin… Lazar… Tabaku… Pisha… the barbaric ritual was repeated… and, if you made a mistake, moved slightly from numbness and anxiety, the policemen rushed at you to drag you away, not waiting to see if you were the one who was called or not. They are the same, enemies! The rise continued, all astonishment and terror. What do they do behind the wall, don’t they annihilate them? Do you hear the sound of guns? Deaf, yes. How do they choose names, on what basis? As organizers of the rebellion… those who opposed the first ones.
When someone tried to explain something, to justify himself, his dragging was accompanied by immediate blows, kicks and rubber batons, and behind the wall there fell a heavy silence, heavier than the wall, mysterious. In the Spaç revolt, the arrested were passed between a long fence of policemen – I told you, lower your voice, policeman, don’t move, they’re calling my name, watch out for the sack – and policemen from both sides fired with kicks and rubber batons, the arrested’s feet wouldn’t touch the ground and, if you reached the end of the path with the policemen alive, you would faint.
There they would leave you in a heap, amidst the blood, on the floor, on the stairs, stop please, I can’t hear, you have to know, witness it sometimes, enough, I’m playing with my mind. And then they would wet them with the water hose from the public bathrooms. Like the firemen who put out fires. To revive them, so that they could sentence them to be shot later. Oh! My name, ah, if I didn’t have a name, where did they find it for me, I had forgotten it! Each one waited to be called, to go behind the terrible wall. They hated their own name, they heard the beating of the other’s heart, so loud, lest it be the last.
Here are the policemen who beat, they changed, they got tired, they brought in new ones, fresh ones. Why does the wall sometimes scream? We froze on the cold ground. Don’t I have a face made of cement? What is my name, I swear I can’t find it, the chief of police I know, the operative? Don’t move. The policeman stepped on my hand, the nails stuck in my flesh, blood, don’t move. Why isn’t it over? What a long trial. Will we ever be able to get up, will we be left in a ditch, will we crawl, will we walk on our own feet, will we have a name, or will we have scales stuck to our foreheads, torn skin? The commander gave the order for the doctor to get up, all the doctors, don’t touch them, he told the policemen.
Quickly behind the wall, he ordered them. Maybe there are dead people. Who will they shoot next, the dead? They want us alive. Behind the wall. They also forcibly removed the imprisoned head of the re-education camp, Zhabolli…! Screaming, bloody walls, and the construction engineer, Fratari, Dinia, ah, why… the police shot wherever they could, crazy walls, walls of cells, of the command, of the Central Committee of the Party, the Berlin Wall, the Great Wall of China, m-hungry, m-hungry for a scream… and for bread… bloody bread, they are still looking for, who, Sokol, did they take once, this is another Sokol, they took the other one too, this is the the-me-luesi… is there a wall to lean on or not? – they collapse and trap us under them. Memorie.al
To be continued in the next issue
