From Lek Previzi
Memorie.al / Late May evening, sweet and calm. An evening similar to the others for its banality, where life follows its unchanging course and nothing made you think about a disorder of the life process of that day. Nature did not show any sign that any event could be foreseen outside of the normal course of life of the sector where we lived. It seemed as if she followed her unconcerned rhythm, and didn’t even want to know about the people who thought only that they didn’t feel sorry for each other.
In the communist system, the only change that could be dreamed of was the overthrow of the regime, to end its unbearable oppression. An almost dreamlike, unrealizable expectation, because everything was under observation, even the breathing of each person. Terror reigned everywhere, which was exercised daily, in every aspect of the existence of Albanian citizens.
The so-called “enemies of the people and the party” were my favorite targets. They were defined early on as “reactionaries”, which included internees and deportees, the families of those shot, prisoners and political fugitives abroad.
The Pluk sector of the Agricultural Farm, “November 29”, was also an internment camp for many families convicted by the regime. Our family was one of them. I, Leka, was the son of a fugitive, Prenk Pervizit, called enemy number one of the communist regime. He had been a general of the Albanian Kingdom, and was on the run abroad, where he had found political asylum in Belgium.
Thus, as a family, we: his mother, his wife and three sons were sentenced and exiled, because they had burned our houses and confiscated all our possessions. Since 1945, we had suffered 36 years of punishment and were without any hope of salvation: therefore, to be considered life convicts.
That evening, I and the three children, aged 15, 13 and 6, were gathered in the small kitchen shack, waiting for Beba, my wife and the mother of the three children, to return from work, talking about various things. And here she came, smiling as always, though tired from the hard work of the field.
– I came earlier today, because there is a meeting of the brigades, she said, while the children jumped on her neck with all the joy that your mother came.
– I don’t know what the hell meeting is, she continued, but the brigadier ordered me not to be absent, because it is an important meeting. I answered that he knew very well that we, as internees, are not allowed to participate in those meetings, and I left.
-You did well! I told.
When she was getting ready to take off her work clothes, someone called her from the street. It was Riza Shefa, her brigadier. She came out of the kitchen half-dressed like that.
-Listen Beba, I told you not to miss the meeting, the brigadier said; now I came to order you to come!
She didn’t even have time to change; she just threw something on her arms to cover her work clothes and went out. After a while, the children and I gathered around the kitchen table, waiting for her to return. Wait and wait, the hours passed and she was not coming back. Once I even began to worry with a bad premonition. What has happened?! So I decided to go with her, when she came to the door by herself, crying and talking like that.
– Collect the spoils, because they will take us away from here, and they will hit us somewhere, far and much worse.
She looked so shocked that she lost her composure. The children and I were shocked by what he said, until the children also started crying, after their mother. Finally, she calmed down and started telling us how shocked she was about what had happened that night at the meeting. The cinema hall where the meeting was held was completely packed. Her friends had saved her place and she went and sat between them.
Above the stage, a podium, a long table with a red cover. Behind the podium, the plaster bust of the dictator Enver Hoxha stood. In the background, a slogan in white letters: “The most dangerous enemy is the one who is forgotten”! Solemn atmosphere. The expectation was great. Yes, all this pomp, let me understand that something important was going to happen. Beba, there among her friends who loved her, was feeling herself a bit like among thorns.
A bad foreboding had come over her, if only because she had never attended such gatherings. While now they had forced him to definitely be there…! Hey, damn it! But why?! No one knew what it was about. The banner above the stage spoke of the dangerous enemy, who was our forgotten one. Beba noticed that there were no other internees around. But why only her?! A bad premonition!
Meanwhile, the farm authorities were lined up at the podium table. In the center, the secretary of the farm party, Filip Boçi; then others: chief of staff, Rexhep Guga; head of the Pluk sector, Diftir Myrto; The Chairman of the Democratic Front, Kadri Beqiri; Secretary of the sector party, Fadil Kiptiu and Agronomist, Murat Mullaj. After Beba took her seat, someone knocked on the podium table, calling: Calm, keep calm!
The secretary of the party, Filip Boçi, stood up. A middle-aged man, yellow hair, clears eyes, with a round face. When he was ready to speak, the hall fell completely silent.
– Friends, I believe you have understood the slogan in the background: “The most dangerous enemy is the one who is forgotten”! For this, we have gathered here tonight, all the people of Pluk, to talk or rather to say, to always be ready for this danger.
The secretary’s speech was heard in great silence. Why did the slogan give meaning to that meeting? Something happened that did not suit the ruling party.
-But we must also be vigilant because the enemy is hiding everywhere, and it is our duty not only to discover him, but also to unmask him. We will always follow the teachings of our dear leader, of the Party and the State, Comrade Enver Hoxha. He has taught us that the most dangerous enemy is the one we don’t know and the one who is forgotten.
– Long live Comrade Enver Hoxha! Long live the Party! – Someone older called from the hall. All of them were taken to their feet, shouting like crazy: “Party – Enver, we are ready at any time”! Slapping rhythmically for several minutes. The secretary waved and calmness returned. He continued to speak:
-As I told you, we must be vigilant because our opponents hide in a thousand ways. They seek to get in among us to hatch their plots. Here, even a woman, here among you, Juliana Malaj, belongs to these enemies of the people…!
The hall, which had kept calm until that moment, was permeated by a general murmur: Who was this Juliana Malaj? Then Beba realizes that that massacre meeting was organized just for her. He immediately stood up and spoke in a loud voice:
– Yes, I am the Juliana you say, but my name is Gjiliana Malaj!
The secretary, who knew him well, invited him to appear there in front of the people. All eyes focused on him. The authorities of the podium began to look at him with wonder. The hall was buzzing with call after call. Yes, this is – Baby…! Baby…! Baby! What about Juliana?!
Beba, although we surprised her, calmed down and tried to keep her cool. She went and took a seat in front of the stage near the podium, where she was told to stand like that.
– In those moments, I felt bad for myself. I decided not to show any sign of fear to the danger that threatened me. Several female fairies were heard.
– Yes, we all know her as Beba! Where did this name Juliana come from?!
The atmosphere was heating up. At that moment, an elderly woman, Nurie Bilimani, mother of six children, from an early communist family, took the floor. She had a lot of influence. It was said that during the war, it sheltered Enver Hoxhën.
– Listen! No one can know him better than me. She grew up with my children. For 26 years, she has lived and worked on our farm.
-We know her as Beba, since her family settled in our sector, brought by the Ministry of the Interior, as an internee. Everyone calls her that, Beba. Neither I, nor my children, have noticed any bad behavior from her or her family. But if the authorities of the Party and the sector have decided to present it here to the people, it means that they know some things about it that we don’t. Therefore, we await appropriate explanations.
As she said these words, she sat down. Her intervention brought peace. The secretary was able to continue his intervention.
She was interned with her mother at the age of four months, in the Tepelena camp and was named Beba, as a baby who escaped the mass death of children in that camp. When we interned her, she was forced to work in the fields of agriculture from the age of 15, 26 years in a row.
– We agree with friend Nurie. We have to come to the facts. In addition to the Montenegrin origin and the fact that she is the granddaughter of Krajl Nikola, the King of Montenegro. She is also the daughter of a sworn enemy of the people and of our party, Nikoll Prek Malaj, who fled to Yugoslavia. Married to Lek Pervizi, an internee, whom you know. We know that her real name is Juliana, and that Beba has already had a child.
However, we have not gathered here to make his biography, but to expose him for some mistakes that take the form of agitation and hostile propaganda against our socialist system, the party of our government. In the hall, a murmur spread among the people, according to the secretary. They knew Baby very well; they were surprised by what they heard.
-Now Juliana or Beba, it’s up to you to answer our questions. According to the information we have, you spread the word that; the peasants of the cooperatives eat corn bread. Is it true? Answer! The party secretary raised his voice.
Beba was stunned, looking the secretary straight in the eyes. Was it a question for her to ask? He lowered his eyes and continued in a sour tone.
-So you have nothing to say? Listen here, the people are gathered for your sake, he will know if you have shown such things and for what reason you have done them.
Beba felt compelled to answer. Bile took heart and spoke:
– This really surprises me. Albanians are fed and fed with corn bread. This is not something that is unknown or forbidden to tell them. Eat me corn bread, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s natural for every person. However, I feel like giving an explanation.
I was a guest at my cousin’s wedding, in the village of Baks of the cooperative of Velipoja. I told my work friends that my aunt had a big party. The tables were full of goodies. Roast lamb, pies, pancakes with honey, as much brandy as you like, dessert and fruit. One of my friends asked me if there was any corn bread.
– Yes, I answered, but also wheat bread. But why was there agitation? My workmates are here in the hall; let them contradict me on what I said.
There was silence. The secretary glanced at Baby. He was forced to intervene.
-Good! Let one of her work friends be taken and tell us if Juliana told the truth, or if she was making fun of us. No one moved. Then the secretary turned to a communist worker who worked in Beba’s brigade.
-Get up, my friend Sanie, and tell us! Memorie.al
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