By Maksim Rakipaj
Part Eighteen
Memorie.al/ Maksim Rakipaj, originally from Përmet, whose family had helped and supported the Anti-Fascist National Liberation War, after graduating from the Navy School in Vlorë, in 1972 he was appointed an officer in the Merchant Navy, where he served with dedication until in 1977, on the “Durrësi” steamer, he was arrested and sentenced to 15 years in political prison, as part of a “group”, which also included his colleague, Aladin Kapo, the son of Hysni Kapo’s brother. Family biography was also the reason for his punishment. After the end of the war, two of his uncles were sentenced to political prison, his grandfather was declared a kulak and in 1976, his father was expelled from the party. Maksi began serving his sentence in the Ballsh camp and in 1979, he was transferred to the Spaçi camp and then to the Qafë Bari camp. He was released on September 12, 1984, benefiting from a reduced sentence, from an amnesty. After being unemployed for a long time, with many hardships, he got a job as a miner in the Mzezet mine, he worked until 1991. After the 1991s, he started working in the administration of the Municipality of Durrës, he served until 1997 and after that, he returned to the Merchant Navy (the last captain of the transoceanic ship “Vlora”), until he left Albania for Italy, (illegally on a dinghy), where he currently lives for many years. Since the 90s, in addition to various jobs, Maksim Rakipaj has also devoted himself to writing, such as; poetry, prose, fiction or documentary, translations, etc., publishing several books, such as: ‘Prophet – Khalil Gibran’, (translation from English ‘Toena’ 2003), ’20 love poems and a song of sadness’, (translation from Spanish, ‘Toena’ 2003), ‘Alive after the shipwreck’, (published by ISKK, 2014), ‘Bukowski – poetry’, (translation from English, ‘ENEAS’, 2015), ‘Trilusa m’Tirône’, ( translation from Italian, ‘UEGEN’, 2015), ‘Anthology of Arabic-Persian Poetry’ (English translations, ‘UEGEN’, 2015), ‘The Complete Sonnets of Shakespeare’, (English translation, ‘ADA’ 2016′) , ‘Survivor’ (autobiographical novel, ‘2 East, 2 West’ 2018), ‘Nobelists – poetic anthology, (UEGEN 2019), ‘Hymn of happiness’ (‘JOZEF’ 2023), etc. From the creativity of Mr. Rakipaj, Memorie.al is publishing the book “Survivor”, (published in 2022 by “JOZEF” Publishing House in Durrës, directed by Mr. Aurel Kaçulini), where he has described his life chronologically, where the part the main one is that of serving the sentence in camps and prisons, as well as various characters, his co-sufferers that he met in the communist hell, etc.
Continues from last issue
Ferit Lopa
He had a different last name, but “Cow” remained his last name…! “It became a cow, that I put sunflowers, with green glasses, our hand, why?! Not to decorate it, our hand, no, but that blessed cow, she didn’t eat my straw and I don’t see the green sunflowers, it looked like wet grass… Stupid cows, children, this is like a human’s work, you understand…!
I knew Ferit in Spaç from the beginning, but in the punishment dungeon, I am with him 24 hours a day. Everyone knows his stories, but hearing them from Ferit’s mouth is more interesting. Must be over 50 years old, about 1.75 m. tall, burly, with a grotesque appearance, always smiling, as if he had just heard some barcolete. On the jackets of the prison uniform, military star buttons are sewn.
When I ask him why, he answers rubbing the star of the button with his index finger: – “Ah, our hand, you don’t know why I wear them?! I keep them, our hand, so that I don’t forget that this little star set us on fire, I keep them so that the police will keep a good eye on me…! Haha…! That much they know. Ferit says to them: Why not keep it?! You don’t like your star?! Don’t worry about this star! They are afraid, O our hand. They are afraid, they wear their panties, don’t take them to the cooperative and laugh: ‘Who deals with Ferit’, they say.”
If you lose something, you can only find it at Ferit, who returns it against a reward of 5, 10, or 20 cigarettes, depending on what you lost. Ferit doesn’t steal, but if you lost your attention for a moment, or you forgot something somewhere, Ferit is there. Even when the Spaçi revolt took place, while everyone was dealing with petitions, meetings, according to groups and political beliefs, Feriti went to all the meetings…! “I propose, let’s go to the store, it was supplied yesterday, they also brought Halva Istanbul”!
When they answered that; “We are not thieves”! Ferit Hazer Xevap: “Okay, our hand, thieves didn’t come, but no matter who you are, the man will eat! What are you doing, Ferit opens the shop, you don’t get upset.” When they told him that; if the store is robbed, they would hang him in the middle of the camp, Ferit obeyed. He started guarding the store so that others would not rob him. He wouldn’t let anyone get close: “Leave, you have no business here. Aaaah, Hamit is old, will Ferit eat him? No… our hand, no…”!
I had also heard the story of his punishment from others. He lights up with pleasure when I tell him to tell me the story…!
– “Don’t you know, our hand?! Is there anyone in Albania who does not know the story of Ferit…?! Oh, do you want to hear it in my mouth?! Let me tell you, we have nothing else to do here. What do you say, our hand, I was an assistant tractor driver in SMT, there from Myzeqeja…! Hey, you’re not the only one wandering around, Ferit is staying too. The tractor drivers took the bread with them, but when the lunch time came, look for the bags of bread, nothing…! Aaaa, one day, two…! ‘How is this work?! Ferit is with us all day. There is no way to steal and eat them…’! If no one, the other would have seen it!
…You have seen, our hand, that the door was open to me long ago, when Feriti died. Oh, better the eye, than the mouth! They decided to set up an investigation group for the operation; ‘Who is that bastard who eats our bread’?! Guard these. In a row. They hid in the brambles and guarded the loaves of bread. They caught the thief. It was a cooperative dog. And now…?! “What do we do with the dog”?! Shall we beat him?! Shall we tie it?! Shall we tell God…?! A hundred minds, our hand. I say: Why don’t we set up a judicial body, with a prosecutor, a judge, an assistant judge, a secretary, a lawyer, how do you like the work, when something like this happens?!
I liked them, you say. All others set the predicate. I became a defense attorney. I took the dog aside, tied to a tree. She trembled with fear, mother-in-law. The prosecutor said to hang him on the rope, because he is a repeat offender. As a lawyer, I said: What if we give him a hand once, forgive him this time, consider his minor age. He grew up an orphan, who would educate the desolate?! The poor guy was ruined by bad company, he saw the old millet in the cooperative and said: without trying it once too!
I became a piece, for ‘Murro Myzeqarin’. We gave this name to the dog, our hand. Even though in the last word, in defense of ‘Murro Myzeqari’, I prayed with mother and father: Should we send him to internment, or there are no places of internment, full of Myzeqeja, let’s send him to re-education…?! No, not them: ‘On the rope’…! ‘What if…’?! ‘No’! “With death”!
That’s how they hung ‘Murron’ high. They also hung the sign around his neck: ‘Murro Myzeqari’ has committed the crime of appropriation of private property, of tractor drivers who work to build socialism, the article is so and so, he is punished by hanging on a rope, ‘Murro Myzeqari’ from Divjaka, aged 2′. Below, the names are written: the president of the court and others. They also put my name, supposedly avucati de… 25 years were given to me, more by the prefect and the chairman, who hanged him. Is this right, our hand?! I said to spare the life of ‘Murros’, they told me; you made fun of our ass, with our laws, with our laws, with socialism…! Why, what do you say, our hand, the laws that these people have made, are to mock the ass?! Let me tell you, our hand, to wipe the ass are, eh…”!
Policemen of Spaç
Winter is quite harsh here in Spaç. The icy wind whips your face, just like the hysterical screams of the policeman Nikoll Pula. A few months ago, I was transferred to the 1st zone and the road to get to the gallery is even longer than to the 4th zone. But anyway, it is shorter than the road to the II-th zone, where I worked for a few months. The accompanying policeman of the brigade in the II zone, his name is Mark T., from Rrësheni.
Mark T. shouts a lot, but his shouts and threats do not scare anyone. Firefighter Ndrec tells that Mark T. has a very beautiful wife, who is a dancer of the folklore group of Rrëshen and works as a barmaid in the city bar. Marku spends his free time in civilian clothes, at the bar where his wife serves. One day, when Mark enters the bar, he sees a guy staring at his girlfriend. Sits at the table of that guy: “Where did we get it, or you”?!
“From Tirona, I’m here with a service today,” the guy answers. “I’m staring hard at that owl’s eye, aren’t you”?! Mark told him quietly. “Very good dammit! Ehhh, blessed is he who enters her,” says the tyrant. Marku, without spoiling the fun at all, says to her: “Where do you want me? I’ll go in, whenever I feel like it! If you break the bitch, I’ll get out of the way, because she’s my wife, you bastard”! Mark’s pleasure is to give speeches to the brigade before starting work.
He always says the same words: “Listen to this damned thing! Listen and think! Whoever does not catch my cycle is a criminal and for criminals, Marka T. there is only one punishment! I charge you to be punished! Come, crack the bit, put it in the gallery, and give us a white cheek”! If someone laughs, Marku starts at them: “Who the hell is that, the one who’s laughing? The shooting is waiting for you, the fool”!
But Mark only has words, he has never punished anyone. Only once, I saw him really angry, Mark T…! A convict, young in age, had hit another convict, older, without having the right. “Listen to the condemned! If you repeat it to me, for ever and ever, if Marka T. swears to you, you will regret that you left! Go away, never mind me! You have no shame, how can you not be in pain, you rascal! The other one’s heart is more gallary, and you, it’s on the shoulders! Shame!
…Policeman Nikoll Pula is new to Spaç. Big-hearted and mean-spirited. It has often been seen in the company of the Spaçi Security operative. He has been accompanying the brigade where I work, here in the 1st zone, for several days. From the first day, I feel that I will not do well with him. When we are lined up, to go to work as usual, after taking out a pad from his pocket, he approaches the convicts, who are wearing mustaches: “Max Rakipi, is that you? No, well…! Oh, you were Max Rakipi, so”!
– “Rakipaj, Mr. Chief.”
– “Come on now I’m the boss”! – Policeman Nikol frowned.
– “Lower the hood collars, everyone. Don’t talk when we go upstairs. Don’t say that I didn’t owe you”!
No matter how cold it is, we all lower the collars of the military coats, the brown uniform of the prison. A fine snow falls, which freezes instantly as soon as it touches the icy ground. The blowing north wind hits us mercilessly, on our wrinkled faces. We arrive at the square in front of the gallery. Again, in line. We can’t wait to enter the gallery, where we don’t feel the cold, but we are forced to stand ready, in front of a policeman, who has had enough of his mind, to make a little fuss.
Another policeman comes, with curly hair, Mark Gj. This one is also new in Spaç. From the expression on their idiotic faces, some fight is expected. But how?! We stand ready and silent. The two policemen interrogate us one by one, looking us in the eye. They have a slanderous frown. A short and petite prisoner was taken out of the row. It is Gëzim M., from the villages of Tirana, a wise boy, whose voice is never heard.
– “Why did you hold up the collar of your hood?! Do you want to make fun of me, you bitch?! Come on boss now! Hik is waiting in front of the office, run! Rakipaj too! You don’t like my orders, do you?! Why did you leave your collar up”?!
– “It’s not true. I always had my collar down, like everyone else, Mr. Policeman! – I answered in a calm voice.
– “Mill! I’m telling you! Run away too, wait there you have a deer”!
Get out of line. I have time to whisper to Andrea to take my things to Zydi and I went where they told me.
It’s been a while since the police stopped beating the prisoners in Spaç. Before the revolt, such beatings often happened, but the prisoners also took revenge by beating the policemen, when they found them alone in the gallery. Many of the policemen tried punching the prisoners, who were careful not to leave marks on their faces.
The policemen did not report because they risked their careers; in case it was proven that a policeman had been beaten by the prisoners, he was demobilized and his job was waiting for him in the agricultural cooperative. So, when they ate wood, they sewed their mouths shut and waited for the chance to take revenge. But, after the revolt of May 23, 1973, the beatings were stopped, by order from above.
What’s happening today?! It must be an order from Operative Kosta Prifti, who apparently ordered them to teach me a good “lesson”. Brigade, enter the gallery. The two policemen approach their office, in front of which, Joy and I are waiting. They take the joy inside. They tie my hands behind me, with handcuffs, they hang a wagon wheel on my handcuffs and tell me to stay outside.
From the office window, two policemen can be seen yelling at Desolate Joy. The first slaps and screams of Joy are heard, from the pain, he shouts in his dialect: “Oj mome! Oj…! oj…no, enough…! Oj momeee…! Oj momeee… why bona, me yahu…?! Why are you beating me, in vain! Ububuja, oh momeee”!
The police make fun of the dialect of poor Tirana people. That cry of his; “oh momeee”, seems to amuse them more. I get a little closer, as far as I can see through the window. I notice that Gezimi’s handcuffs have been removed and they are beating him untied, with the tails of picks or shovels. I leave the window. The wagon wheel, it’s ripping my wrists. The uncle continues inside. “How many are beating him?! A quarter of an hour…?! Two hours, one month, 10 years?! Why don’t you take a pickaxe, Joy, you’re so close, the devil took it…!? I hope they take off my handcuffs, when they put me in there too, to beat me! Oh me, oh them! Why, they spend another 12 years in prison, enduring these police-animals?! If I managed to kill one of them, maybe they will shoot me and I will escape! Or both! I will kill the dogs, if only they dare to beat me loosely”!
…I mention from the voice of the convicted brigadier, Irfan, that I saw the brigadier last month, in the 2nd zone. He is the uncle’s son with Zydi Morava, but Zydi does not speak to him, since Irfan has accepted to be a brigadier.
– “Maxi, how is work?” What did we tie you to?!
– “It’s Nikol Pula. Do you hear what they are doing to that cuckoo inside?! They are beating it solved. Here it is, it’s my turn. I apologize to Zydi, but we didn’t see each other again”.
– “I went to tell the policeman, Mark T. He knows you.” Aman, try to gain time and don’t do anything stupid, because you, too, have the head of Zydi! Thank goodness I passed, because I have the heads of baromines to take to my miners…! Runaway…”! And he ran.
Gëzim M. they take him out bathed in blood. “Wash, shit! Where’s the water from the barrel. Take it, in the gallery! They don’t do the norm, I’ll let you know as a man, by God”!
Policeman Mark Gj. comes behind me, removes the wagon wheel from my handcuffs, then removes my handcuffs as well. “Wait here! When we call you”! Hands, I can’t feel them at all. I have bled, from the heavy weight of the wagon wheel and from the cold. The policemen are loitering by the fire, smoking cigarettes and chanting imitating Joy: “Oj mome, oj momeee!…ahahah…shit mom, shit shit, ahahahh”!
– “Come on, your moustache! Come on, warm up a bit, because you have plenty of udder, wait for them outside…! Ahahahaha… and Nikoll, shall we start with this”?
“Goodbye my loved ones, mother, father, sister, Aries, my brother and you, dear grandmother”, I think for the last time, as I enter the torture chamber.
I entered what is called; Office of the Escort Police, of the brigade. A wooden shack, two windows and a narrow door, which I push open and enter. It is a room, with a floor of compacted earth. There are two windows: one near the door and the other, behind the backs of the policemen, one of whom is sitting on the table, while the other, Nikola, is sitting on a chair. On the table, a phone and nothing else. To my left, leaning against the wooden wall, are about 10 pickaxe tails. To the right, next to the wall, a wooden cupboard, without a door.
Inside the closet, I caught my eye, some 3-4 baromines, about a meter long. A metal barrel, adapted for the stove, fry from the heat. The cops look sweaty. They examine me for a long time with their eyes. I look them straight in the eye too. War of nerves. I try to look calm. I’ll grab the baromine, it’s easy to use and… one hit to the head, it’s done. First, I will hit Nikola. I see that they don’t have that first enthusiasm. Satisfied smiles disappear from their idiotic faces. Nicholas, as wiser, begins to ask:
– “Where are you from, convict”?
– “From Durres”.
– “How many years where you sentenced?”
– “They sentenced me to death, but they left me 25. I only served 3 years; I still have 22 years left.”
– “For what crimes did they punish you”?
– “It is not your job to know what I was punished for.”
– “So, huh?! We will find out about that business too…! Tell us once, why do you sell farts? Huh? Why doesn’t he follow the orders he receives?!
Measure out of the corner of the eye, the distance from the baromina. I just need to take a step to the right and I can grab them easily. I answer, looking him straight in the eye:
– “You know very well that I have the hood collar down, because all the way to the gallery, you were one step behind me. Straighten up, where is your problem”!?
– “Shife more Marka Gjergji, what’s up! Doesn’t this guy love him too, like that deer”? – and is taken on foot. I take a step towards the baromina. Just reach out your hand; I have time to open his brain, before the other one comes down from the table where he is sitting. The phone rings. The policeman caught him with curls: “N’koll, it’s Marka T., I want to talk to you”!
– “Regards Marka T.! how is work EE? How are you?! Ehe… yes… no man, what are you saying…?! Oh, for God’s sake, no…! I got it, so you don’t need to shout…! Now, start… if you don’t believe, come here yourself. Go ahead Marka T.”! …you, go away, run, go to the gallery! Try it, don’t catch the cycle, because it’s the boss…! Ait, disappear”!
Death was very close in Spaç. Just reach out a little…! Sometimes, the guardian angel took different forms. Today, I got the picture of the convicted brigadier, Irfan Morava. /Memorie.al
The next issue follows
