From Sokrat Shyti
Part thirty-two
Memorie.al / The writer Sokrat Shyti is the “great unknown” who, for several years now, has shown the tip of the iceberg of his literary creativity. I say this based on the limited number of his published books in recent years, primarily the voluminous novel “Phantom Night” (Tirana 2014). The novels: “BEYOND MYSTERY,” “BETWEEN TEMPTATION AND WHIRLPOOL,” “THE DIGGING OF NIGHTMARES,” “THE SHADOW OF SHAME AND DEATH,” “THE HEAD OF THE COLONEL,” “THE HOPELESS HOPES,” “CONFUSIONS OF FATE” I, II, “SURVIVAL IN THE COW’S HUT,” as well as other works, all novels ranging from 350 to 550 pages, are in manuscripts waiting to be published. The dreams and the initial fervor of the young novelist returning from studies abroad full of energy and love for art and literature were abruptly cut short by the harsh edge of the communist dictatorship.
Who is Sokrat Shyti?
Having returned from studies at the State University of Moscow, shortly after the interruption of Albanian-Soviet relations in 1960, Sokrat Shyti worked at Radio “Diapazon” (which at that time was located on Kavajë Street), in an editorial team with his journalist friends – Vangjel Lezho and Fadil Kokomani – both of whom were later arrested and subsequently executed by the communist regime. Besides the radio, the 21-year-old Sokrat, if we can imagine him, had a passionate interest in literature at that time. He wrote his first novel “Madam Doctor” and it was on the verge of publication, but… alas! Immediately after the arrest of his friends, as if to fill the cup, a brother of his, a painter, fled abroad.
Sokrat was arrested in September 1963, and in November of that year, he and his family (with his mother and younger sister) were interned in a location between Ardenica and Kolonje of Lushnje. For 27 consecutive years, the family lived in a cow shed made of reeds, without windows, while Sokrat was subjected to forced labor. Throughout those 27 years, he was legally obliged to appear three times a day before the local authority. He had no right to leave the place of internment and was deprived of any kind of documentation, etc. In these conditions, amidst a cow shed, he gave birth to and raised his children. It is precisely based on this event, or rather a very long history of persecution, that he was inspired to write the book “Survival in the Cow’s Hut”!
Agron Tufa
Continued from the previous issue
EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK “SURVIVAL IN THE COW’S HUT”
When I nodded my head in agreement, her eyes sparkled and she left the room to greet.
– “Sit in one of the hall chairs while I notify Ilia. Or if you want, you can go to the Writers’ and Artists’ Association yourself, through the other entrance,” – she added, ready to assist me. – “I cannot accompany you, as I’m on duty…” – she expressed regret. – “But still, you will definitely see some familiar faces there. Or, after all, just tell the theater porter to notify…”!
I thanked her for her kind assistance and went outside to head to the other entrance. Memories of the past engulfed me, when I worked as a journalist at the Radio and came here from time to time to meet some of the actors from the People’s Theatre, to give them the text of the fable, fairy tale, or story they would read before the microphone. Back then, I was warmly welcomed, as the harbinger of a generous invitation, so as soon as they saw me, they waved for me to sit with them. The environment of this Club was always filled with actors, the regular clients, and occasionally a few writers and journalists came by.
Since the club primarily served selected clients, people of art, culture, and literature, occasionally dramaturgs and publicists with significant party and state positions visited this space, who enjoyed placing themselves in the center of the curious attention of the art and culture elite, mainly the authors of the works staged by this theater group, and critics did not hold back their praises for the successes of this or that piece, which highlighted the ideology of our society before liberation, artistically intertwined with the micro-bourgeois remnants of some intellectuals with a Western worldview.
Naturally, these privileged officials accompanied the elite writers, the perennial winners of national prizes in every literary competition, whose poems held a central place in the textbooks in schools, often interpreted on the Radio by the most renowned actors, and memorized by all age groups of students. But there were times when the invigorated authors invited the actors, who played the main characters of the drama staged, accompanied by the director.
Understandably, around this table, the waiters and the club manager revolve like satellites, showing attention and sharp care to grasp the secret signs of special orders, keeping in mind that alcoholic beverages are not allowed here (so the prohibited drinks must be poured into cups, to give the external impression that coffee is being served).
But at that moment, when I was engulfed by deep inner emotions, these scenes (which once drew my curiosity) were completely out of focus. Because my gaze wandered over all the tables in the Club environment. Suddenly, a tremor ran through my body when I heard the characteristic laughter of my older brother, turned away from me, who could not see me. I needed to find a way to draw his attention without being noticed, knowing that my presence would cause calls of surprise among the attendees when they saw me after so many years dressed as a cooperative worker, in a gray wool coat and velvet pants.
Fortunately, at that moment, the gaze of the distinguished actor, Sandër Prosi, caught me quite by chance (with whom I often discussed literature and theater). He whispered tactfully in my brother’s ear and surely advised him to leave the table without being noticed, suggesting that the heartwarming reunion between the two brothers should not take place within the club’s premises but rather somewhere else, ultimately at home. Therefore, he greeted me from where he was sitting, waved his hand at me, and signaled for me to go outside.
Filled to the brim with the emotions of the meeting, I was thinking about where to wait, keeping in mind that the theater’s sidewalk is constantly observed with curiosity from the entry post of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, and the possibility cannot be ruled out that someone might be following our meeting from a distance. To avoid any misunderstanding, I told the theater porter to inform Ilia that his younger brother was waiting for him in the café nearby, at the former “Vollga.”
After “Dajti,” the former “Vollga” was mentioned as the second luxurious establishment in the capital. But unlike “Dajti” (which served as a relaxation residence for diplomats and foreign delegations visiting Tirana, as well as for some important officials), usually at the former “Vollga,” now “Drini,” various clients came, including mid-ranking officials accompanied by needy individuals (the ones who paid for the lavish lunches), in addition to many employees transferred to Tirana, who were homeless, because here generally good food was prepared, cleanliness was maintained, service was polite, the prices were not inflated, and the dignity of the job was upheld.
I sat at the bar next to the restaurant. When the waiter approached, I told him that we would place the order a bit later, as soon as my brother arrived. Under the pressure of internal provocations, I asked myself how much his experiences truly paralleled my emotions, which continued to shake me, or whether they had a more subdued nature. I had no doubt that he would be emotional and tearful from this meeting after a long time, driven by a mixed spiritual state, between acting and experiencing. No matter how touching the reunion might be on the outside, I intended to delve deep inside, as much as I could, to gauge the pulse of true sensitivity during our sudden departure.
Or perhaps consumed by panic and fear of movement, his attention was tangled only with the anxiety of transfer, as this terror loomed over him like the sword of Damocles, because hour by hour, he saw the shadows in front of the People’s Theatre, thus the nightmare of the terrifying threat did not leave his imagination for even a second?… Since the latter seemed more likely to me, I had to do everything possible to avoid the haunting moments from our conversation, as we were caught off guard by the horrifying announcement of the escape, especially how the officers assigned to interrogate him had behaved!
I had no doubt about the significant change, as the investigators from the Ministry of Internal Affairs must have been instructed by their superiors to be cautious during the announcement of the chaos, which would stigmatize the pristine personal and family biography, leading to dire consequences not only for his career as an actor but also for the future of his children. I also considered that this manner of speaking would seem much more threatening to him compared to the bloody visage I bore in the empty corner at ‘Selvia’, where the burly colonel nearly left me breathless with his fist like that of a bear.
Ultimately, today I did not come to Tirana to demand an explanation of why he had not come to life during these terrible years when my mother, sister, and younger brother experienced the darkest days, being trapped and waking up like animals next to the cow and its waste. Nor to tell him how I was reduced to a petrol station porter. Because he was not the cause of this state horror. Therefore, my complaints would make no impression. In fact, they might seem extremely petty compared to the blow to his dignity, which suffered a significant devaluation, preventing him from going on tour with the People’s Theatre in Kosovo.
And it especially seemed fatal to him when they took away his right to play the role of Lenin in the prominent drama “The Hours of the Kremlin,” against the determination of the Soviet director, who gave him the highest mark. However, considering the tremendous destruction that political earthquakes bring, he must still consider himself lucky, as the avalanche of punishment only shook the foundations of his career but did not cast him into exile and complete oblivion.
I immediately interrupted the silent explanations and stood up as I noticed his silhouette appearing in the frame of the glass entrance. I was struck by the thought that his portrait had taken on a troubled appearance; the disturbances of longing and emotions, which always accompany the meetings between two brothers after a long separation, especially after that violent departure that occurred on October 5, 1964, were not evident. I had prepared myself spiritually and mentally to see the painful joy of our reunion on his face.
But what I noticed in the first seconds revealed more than anything else the nightmare of an imaginary fear; perhaps the fright had brought his thoughts back to my unauthorized departure, an action that was not only punishable for me but also placed him before a heavy responsibility, if indeed that had happened?! However, this assumption quickly seemed entirely meaningless to me, considering that during these years I experienced the most horrific nightmares, yet never once did it occur to me to turn to my older brother for help, as I knew that this sibling request would terrify him. Could it be that his current concern was caused by the same suspicion?
– “Why did you choose this obvious place to meet?!” – he remarked with a frightened glance. – “I know that the people from the Ministry of Internal Affairs often come here… So let’s go somewhere else!”
– “Is this where your concern lies?!”… I thought you might have some family troubles when I saw you looking so worried…” – I replied, despairing that our meeting had started off on the wrong foot.
– “Do you think it’s a small concern?” – he added, irritated.
– “To me, it’s not a concern at all, as I traveled from Plepat to the People’s Theatre in the ‘Gaz’ of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. So let’s sit down and talk freely, without fear or trepidation from the shadows. I’m used to their presence. I traveled with two officers who knew me. Moreover, this one from the ministry was the inquisitor who burned my manuscripts…”!
– “Please, lower your voice and don’t mention such epithets, as the walls have ears here!” – he pleaded with me.
– “Don’t spoil the blood for no reason, as I took the measures on how to discuss this properly,” – I tried to calm him.
– “The officer from the Ministry himself proudly recalled that past act, that horrifying scene of the burning of the manuscripts. And not only did he mention it, but he emphasized that I should be grateful to him for freeing me from such dangerous filth!”…
– “According to his reasoning, he was right. Because however painful that scene may have been for you, within his assertion lies a terrifying truth: if your manuscripts had survived today, you can’t imagine what dangerous fabrications they could have orchestrated.”
– “I do not deny that it caused you a very deep wound to your soul. But you must keep in mind that you were facing survival when a person accepts every sacrifice. And how did you respond?” – he asked, quite concerned.
– “I gained a lot of experience during these years in the cow shed: there were times when they called me in the middle of the night to instill fear in me…”!
– “Anyway. Now is not the time to recall the experiences we endured after our brother’s escape!” – he interrupted me, annoyed by my statement. – “Surely, you must have had some strong reason for coming today?” – he asked directly, looking at me with the same fear.
– “I have not one, but three major reasons!” – I replied in an undetermined tone. (In his gaze, both fear and curiosity appeared simultaneously. I gestured for the waiter to come closer and ordered him to bring us coffee and a shot of grape brandy).
– “The treat is on me,” – said my brother, offended by this action, as the waiter left.
– “Although Ardenica is only a hundred kilometers from Tirana, the separation between us felt as if we were on two continents…! We know the reason for this, so I won’t mention it. I said this to explain why news from Lushnje comes with so much delay?! Recently, you haven’t visited your mother-in-law, otherwise, you would have heard of the significant fundamental turn, which brought a new opportunity for life for all three of us, who took shelter in the cow shed…”!
– “They’ve taken you away from there?” – my brother interrupted me, extremely curious and surprised.
– “Let’s raise our glasses and wish each other well!” – I added when the waiter brought the order and left.
– “With an order from above? Or is this kindness coming from the head of the Department of Internal Affairs?”… – he asked with an anxious expectation.
I briefly explained to him the origins of how my name got to the ear of the First Secretary, “not out of someone’s goodwill, but because no one dared to express their personal opinion!”
– “That’s why everything that happened, (the arguments, the analyses, and the entire dissection of our family matter), belongs to the mind, vision, and human spirit of comrade Qemal!” – I elaborated further, leaving my older brother stunned.
– “Moreover, the big chief criticized the head of the Department of Internal Affairs severely, treating us like a criminal family. – “But how did you find out this detail?” – he asked, quite curious and frightened.
– “From a reliable source in his office. But I especially felt it deep within my being when I saw with my own eyes how swiftly and accurately the chief’s order was fulfilled: just one day we suddenly moved from the cow shed and took shelter in Kolonje, in the presence of the local chairman, the Authority, and the officer in charge of the interned! This officer had told me a few days earlier with a smile that; you can visit your older sister’s house as a family. The relocation happened while my mother and Dhora were in Lushnje, so they have not yet seen the apartment where we will live from now on.
– “This sudden move is indeed a very strange event!”… – my brother said with a bewildered look.
– “Strange and unbelievable!” – I added.
– “Even for me at this moment, this change of three hundred and sixty degrees still seems like a beautiful dream, without any provocation on my part! Therefore, I cannot explain this miracle that, fortunately, happened! My mother insists with complete certainty that the inner voice of goodness comes to each of us from God. Meanwhile, the one from the Underworld whispers slanders in our ear to lead us into malicious actions. In our case, according to my mother, God saw in the big chief a man of good standing, generous and kindhearted, and guided him on how to appropriately atone for the sins against our family.”
– “According to you, did the First Secretary make this decision on his own, without consulting the big bosses in Tirana?”… – my brother expressed open disbelief.
– “I’m not interested in knowing where the internal impetus came from to make such a significant decision for us, whether from his personal conviction or whether he consulted with a significant member of the Commission. For us, he is and will remain the saving angel!”
– “There must definitely be something in this…” – my brother added in a low voice, almost as a whisper, to convince himself.
– “Do you think our brother might be serving the state over there, sent by our secret Security?!” – I asked, alluding to his doubts.
– “Well, this big change doesn’t happen for nothing!” – he insisted on his expressed suspicion. – “You know that I used to work as an instructor in the District Party Committee, and I know, more or less, a few types of secretaries.” Memorie.al
Continues in the next issue
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