By Reshat KRIPA
Part Six
Memorie.al / Arbëri stood in his corner in the lounge, waiting for the arrival of the plane that would take him to another world, and he meditated. He meditated and dreamt of the road full of stinging nettles and thorns through which his life had passed. He recalled the worries that had accompanied him for years. He had many passions. He wanted to become a lawyer, a journalist, a doctor, an engineer, an artist, a writer, or anything else that might be possible. But fate had condemned him not to reach any of the dreamed-of peaks. He encountered disappointment at every step of his life.
Two months earlier. A commotion was taking place among the students who had just graduated. Something was whispered under the breath. Why? How is it possible? No one was able to understand the reason why such a thing was happening! The names of the graduates who had won the right to study, and their respective fields, had been posted on the school notice board. Only one name was missing! The name of the one who had been the ace of all the others!
“Why?” – the students kept asking each other. They had asked this same question even when he hadn’t been given the gold medal. They couldn’t understand it. Only one of them knew. This was Petriti. He was the only one among them who knew the reason well. He separated from his friends and went to meet Arbëri. At home, he only found his mother.
“He left earlier than usual today,” she told him. “You will find him in the city park.”
He found him sitting on a bench reading a book.
“What book are you reading?”
“I just bought it now,” – and he showed him the cover.
It was the novel “The Man Who Laughs”, by Victor Hugo.
“It is the first Albanian edition.”
“Yes.”
“I read it five years ago, in French. We had it at home. My father brought it from France.”
Afërdita had taught him French since he was ten years old.
“Do you remember the plot of this novel?” – Arbëri continued. – “On the southern tip of Portland in England, on one of the cold days of January 1690 (Note: The original text of the book mentions 1690, not 1960), a ten-year-old deformed child is abandoned. He walks and walks through the darkness and frost, alone and unfamiliar with the place, to find shelter to put his head in and a bite of bread to fill his stomach. An excellent combination of the savagery of nature with the child’s spiritual state. On the top of a hill, he encounters a horrifying sight. The skeleton of a corpse hung before him. The cold wind swayed it back and forth. The child is terrified. Who was this child? Who had disfigured him? They were the comprachicos. They bought and sold children.
Hugo wrote: ‘The Comprachicos were a strange and hated society of vagabonds, famous in the seventeenth century, forgotten in the eighteenth, and completely unknown today.’
According to him, the comprachicos were completely unknown in the nineteenth century. Europe had moved forward. It had eliminated them. But strangely, they were revived again in Albania, in the second half of the twentieth century. They were no longer called comprachicos. But they were just as savage as the former, if not worse. Wasn’t it they who turned my mother from an excellent pedagogue into a simple cleaner or a worker in an agricultural enterprise? Wasn’t it they who destroyed my childhood and youth? Wasn’t it they who denied me the right to the gold medal and whose end is unknown? These are the modern-day comprachicos!”
He fell silent. Petriti did, too. Many moments passed in this state. Finally, Arbëri spoke:
“Why are you silent? Why don’t you say a word? From the expression on your face, it seems you have something to tell me!”
Petriti remained silent again. He did not have the courage to give him the bitter news. He was afraid that such a thing would greatly affect his friend’s consciousness. But could he keep it a secret for long? Wouldn’t he find out from the other friends?
Arbëri continued to stare at him, awaiting a response. Finally, Petriti began:
“You are right. The modern-day comprachicos are several times more savage than the old ones.”
“This is the Albania we live in.”
“What then?”
Arbëri realized that this was just an introduction…!
“Speak. Don’t be afraid! Everyone in the class got the right to study, except for you – you who were above all the others.”
Contrary to what Petriti thought, this news did not cause any tremor in Arbëri’s heart.
“Is that why you were afraid?” – he asked him. – “I was clear about this since I was denied the right to the gold medal. What field did you get into?”
“Agronomy. I think I’ll reject it. I had applied for teaching, like my parents.”
“Don’t be foolish. Go and finish that faculty, while I, as an autodidact, will study by myself at home. My own mother will be my teacher.”
This was the end of the dialogue.
Arbëri and Blerina
“Arbër, what field did you get the right to study in?” – Blerina asked when they met.
Arbëri was caught off guard. It was the most difficult question he had been asked until then. He was unable to answer. He had passed the denial of the gold medal in silence. Now he absolutely had to answer. But how? Initially, he pretended not to hear, but when she repeated it, he saw there was no other way. One day she would find out the truth, so it would be best for him to tell her himself.
“I didn’t get into any field,” – was the sharp reply.
Blerina jumped up.
“How is that possible, you with those excellent results?!”
“Precisely me, who was born to live differently from others, to dream differently from others, and to crush those dreams in an iron cage.”
“Why?!”
“Because I belong to another world, unlike this one we live in.”
“Which world is this?”
Arbëri paused for a few moments without answering. They were walking on one of the city’s boulevards where people’s movements were frequent. He couldn’t speak further. He wanted a place where he could express his thoughts aloud. He remembered the night of the school year closing ceremony. The solitude of the seaside, where he had spent that evening, was the most suitable place.
“Come with me!” – he said to her.
They went out to the coast and began to walk alongside it.
“Where are you taking me?” – Blerina asked, feeling a certain fear.
Arbëri understood.
“Don’t be afraid! We are going toward a place where we can talk freely.”
Finally, they reached the designated place. They sat down on a sand dune. Arbëri began:
“A proverb says: ‘Even walls have ears.’ But there are no walls here. No one can hear our words, except for these wild waves, clashing with each other. They clash because they have their own problems, which strangely resemble mine!”
“Arbër, speak, what do you want to tell me?” – Blerina asked with a voice expressing impatience.
“Then listen to me,” – he said, turning his gaze toward the sea. – “First, I want to apologize for not telling you these words since the first day we got together, but, to tell the truth, I didn’t even know them myself. I am not who you think I am. I am different. I told you a little while ago that I belong to a world completely different from this one we live in, another world.”
Blerina got ready to speak, but he, without turning his head, signaled her to be silent.
“Don’t interrupt me, let me finish. I belong to an intellectual family that has given much to this country. My grandfather was one of the participants in the National Independence Movement. He took part in the Declaration of Independence in 1912 and the Vlora War in 1920. My mother graduated with excellent results from the ‘Nana Skanderbeg’ Female Institute in Tirana. My father was a renowned jurist in the city, a graduate of the Sorbonne in France. During the Second World War, he joined the ranks of the nationalists. These were his convictions. But the nationalists lost the war. After its end, my father was arrested and imprisoned in the cells of the State Security. There he was brutally tortured, and do you know by whom? By his close friend, who had studied with him and had now become a personality in the offices of the State Security!
I won’t tell you his name, because it’s better not to know it. Under these conditions, he closed his eyes there in the dark cell. He was only thirty years old. He had been married for no more than three years. I was born three months after he passed away. Believe me, Blerina, I learned all this only two months ago, the day I was denied the gold medal at school, which I deliberately haven’t spoken to you about. My mother told me. She told me to prepare myself for other cases that might happen to me, and not to be broken by them. For this, I thank her. So, I apologize once again, that I only learned these truths in the last two months!”
He fell silent. Both were lost in thought. Only the crashing of the sea waves could be heard, as if they wanted to wake them from the reveries they had fallen into.
Arbëri turned his head toward Blerina. He saw two tears in her eyes.
“Are you crying?” – he asked.
She did not answer.
“Why?” – she managed to say with a trembling voice.
“This is the world,” – was the answer.
A long silence followed the reply. Both were immersed in their inner world. Both were fighting with their consciences. It seemed as if a high mountain had suddenly risen between them, preventing them from meeting. Would they have the strength to tear down this mountain?! Such a thing had happened to many others, but they hadn’t found the strength to cope, even after starting families and having children. It was very difficult to break away from the existing reality. It was very difficult to go against this reality.
Finally, Arbëri spoke:
“Blerina, I understand your psychological state. You have been hit by a sudden shock, from which no doctor can save you. Only your conscience can do this!”
“I have…” – Blerina began to speak, but Arbëri interrupted her.
“Don’t answer! Reflect on it with your conscience. Think it over carefully. A decision for such a case cannot be made immediately. In fact, it must be carefully considered. It must be well thought out. Let it be a decision of your conscience. The waiting time does not matter. However events unfold, I am sure that we will find the strength to cope with it.”
They didn’t speak again. They began to return along the coast. All the way, neither of them made a sound.
The battle in Blerina’s conscience had begun. Arbëri’s story had shaken her. She was faced with a great dilemma. “Let it be a decision of your conscience,” he had told her. But could she decide easily? She wanted to discuss it with someone, but she couldn’t find any friend, male or female, whom she could trust. The ending of her first love had shown her this. Only in Arbëri had she been able to find answers, but he himself was the subject of the event.
She thought of discussing it with her mother. They had become like two close friends rather than a mother and daughter. Often, when an issue arose, they would sit together and discuss the path to a solution. However, the issue that worried Blerina was of a different nature. It concerned a love connection between two individuals who came from different worlds, which were actually at war with each other. She decided to remain silent. She would think about it and process it in her mind, in her conscience, until she decided.
The worry of his daughter could not go unnoticed by the mother.
“Daughter, what is troubling you?” – she asked one day.
“Nothing, mother,” – she replied, but her voice indicated the opposite.
From this answer, the mother understood that she had something on her mind.
“Has someone stolen your heart and you hesitate to tell me?”
“No, no mother.”
“All right then, I believe you, but I want to tell you that whenever you have a worry, you will have your mother by your side. Don’t forget that.”
The mother left and let her stay in her thoughts. She also discussed the matter with her husband, and he, after thinking for a while, said:
“Leave the girl in her own world. She is grown up now. She is graduating this year. Let her express herself when she sees fit.”
Blerina came from a family that had been on the side of the National Liberation Movement during the War, but neither her father nor her mother had joined the Communist Party. Only her uncle was an ardent activist of this party and, as a result, had managed to rise to the highest ranks, even being transferred to the capital for a very important duty.
Personally, Blerina did not have a clear opinion of the situation. She noticed that phenomena often occurred that seemed unfair to her. She was born and raised in a system that was being implemented in Albania for the first time. She belonged to a family that had fought for this system. But deep in her conscience, she felt that not everything was unfolding on the promised path.
The terms: “collaborator,” “saboteur,” “enemy of the people,” and others like these, circulated daily in the press and on the radio. These terms had also entered the school curricula. Nevertheless, she hadn’t worried much about them. The age she was living in was such that she was not interested in knowing about such things.
Now that Arbëri told her his story, she suffered a great shock. A great doubt covered her conscience. How should she act?! She was between two paths. Either she would break up with him, and this would be a second disillusionment after the first one, or she would take into account all the consequences that might arise and accept the love.
Would she be able to cope with them? As an example, she had Arbëri and his mother. Weren’t the mother and son coping with the pressures being exerted on them? Before her eyes appeared the characters of novels read years ago, where the heroes stood firm against the phenomena of the time they lived in. But, in many of them, the end was very tragic! Would the same thing happen to her?!
Days passed and she still hadn’t decided. The start of the school year was approaching. She hadn’t met with Arbëri since the day she learned the truth about him. She spent most of her time indoors, meditating. She rarely went out, only to get some air and return to her thoughts. Finally, she decided. Memorie.al
Continues next issue
