From Sokrat Shyti
Part Forty-Two
Memorie.al / Writer Sokrat Shyti is the “great unknown” who, in recent years, has shown the tip of the iceberg of his literary creativity. I say this based on the small quantity of his published books in recent years, primarily the voluminous novel “Phantom Night” (Tirana 2014). The novels: “BEYOND THE MYSTERY”, “BETWEEN TEMPTATION AND WHIRLPOOL”, “THE DIGGING OF NIGHTMARES”, “THE SHADOW OF SHAME AND DEATH”, “COLONEL HEADEN”, “THE QUIET HOPES”, “THE TWISTS OF FATE” I, II, “SURVIVAL IN THE COWSHED”, as well as other works, all novels ranging from 350 to 550 pages, are in manuscript form awaiting publication. The dreams and first enthusiasm of the young novelist, returning from studies abroad full of energy and love for art and literature, were cut off early by the brutal edge of the communist dictatorship.
Who is Sokrat Shyti?
Returning from studies at the State University of Moscow, shortly after the breaking of Albanian-Soviet relations in 1960, Sokrat Shyti worked at Radio “Diapazon” (which at that time was located on Kavaja Street), in an editorial office with his journalist friends – Vangjel Lezho and Fadil Kokomani – both of whom were later arrested and subsequently executed by the communist regime. In addition to the radio, the 21-year-old Sokrat, if we can imagine him at that time, had passionate literary interests. He wrote his first novel “Madam Doctor” and was on the verge of publication, but… alas! Right after the arrest of his friends, as if to fill the cup, a brother of his, a painter, defected outside the country.
Sokrat was arrested in September 1963, and in November of that year, he was interned along with his family (his mother and younger sister) in a place between Ardenica and Kolonje of Lushnja. For 27 consecutive years, the family lived in a shed made of reeds, without windows, while Sokrat was subjected to forced labor. Throughout these 27 years, he was legally required to report three times a day to the local authority. He had no right to leave the place of internment, was deprived of any kind of documentation, etc. Under these conditions, in a cow shed, he gave birth to and raised his children. Precisely from this event, or rather a very long story of persecution, he based his writing for the book “Survival in the Cowshed”!
Agron Tufa
Continued from last issue
EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK, “SURVIVAL IN THE COWSHED”
“I often think of a saying from a wise man, which Nasi, may his soul shine where he has gone, would repeat: parents who give birth to and raise intelligent children suffer more than others who have ordinary neighbors. Back when I was young, I didn’t understand why this difference occurred. Now that I am experiencing it on my back, I agree with him. In my view, the cruel spirits would not be so malicious towards us if we were only mother and daughter at home, after the defection of the seal-lost one.
They have harbored their spite and fury primarily towards my little son and your cherished nephew because they burned all his writings in the courtyard of the Ministry of Interior. As far as I understand, they found a reason to banish him from Tirana, so that his creative mind would shrink and fade, leaving no trace of the talent that God granted him.
If he had a common mind, I believe they would not have exiled us so far from Tirana, to this cow shed in a village whose name we did not even know. And now, if it were not for the miracle of Almighty God, which sparked in the mind of the Party chief of the district the desire of a pure-hearted soul, which set everything in motion, I say with complete conviction that we would not have known how we would end up until we rotted away!
Praise God that the force of Heavenly Mercy repelled and defeated the forces of the devil, which aimed to wither the youth and mind of my son and your adored nephew! And today, it has given us the opportunity to stand before a sacred event, an engagement, that will take place soon, in the first week of March. When your nephew comes to Berat, you will talk at length to catch up after this three-year separation. This is what your dear sister wanted to write. The rest you will complete there.
I kiss and hug you with great longing! Ana.”
When the mother finished elaborating the content of the letter she sent to my wonderful brother and my big-hearted uncle, she asked for my opinion on whether she acted correctly or if she hastily sent it without reading it to me.
– “Of course, I can’t remember verbatim everything I have written. But you will read it yourself when Nauni gives it to you, as he certainly wants to hear your thoughts on my words. Only when you finish reading it will you give me a grade on whether I have a little writer’s flair…” – she laughed lightly, kissing me on the forehead.
– “If you didn’t have the flair of a writer, where would I be?” – I responded quite pleased that she had prepared the conditions for the conversation with my wonderful uncle in advance. Because if she had been soft-spoken and sent me off with the ordinary words: “There’s no need for me to advise you, as you manage it on your own,” such a cliché would put me in quite a difficult position, considering I would be meeting the most wonderful person in the family, who adores me as a saint. Especially after three years of dramatic separation, with extremely poignant experiences, it would have been almost impossible for me to mention the request for the loan. Even if he had asked me, I would still hesitate to elaborate, as the conversation would inevitably lead to the request for the loan.
That’s why my wise mother crafted and embroidered the letter so beautifully, (according to her narration during those moments), that without a doubt, the entire conversation with my uncle would unfold in the right manner, convinced that he had read my sister’s letter several times and had underlined with a pencil those lines that needed clarification and elaboration. Thanks to this careful attention, she relieved me of the heavy burden of asking for the loan, (this responsibility she took upon herself, without me needing to remind her), and it significantly eased my meeting with the wonderful man.
I set off the next day after I kissed her hands and assured her not to worry about the journey. And to convince her that everything would go as planned, I showed her the travel permit to the city of Berat, issued by the Ministry of Interior that same day, when the officer handed me the permit for Tirana, knowing well that she would surely give advice regarding this trip.
– “Don’t let my words seem excessive. Even though I know them, it won’t hurt to repeat them. Because we are on the brink of a positive turn for our family, and we must comply with government orders. I mean the duration of your stay in Berat. I’m not saying to go and return within a day, as in Tirana. Because no matter how much you insist, there is work and trials at the House of Culture, your uncle will not let you go. He is eagerly waiting for you…!”
– “As for the duration of my stay, you need not worry, as I have the right to stay as needed within three months, legally supported by the permit from the Ministry of Interior…” And to calm her, I read it to her word for word once again.
– “Other instructions, besides hugging and kissing you with much longing on my behalf, I do not have. You are capable with your words and thoughts, and you weigh your words before uttering them. To your highness and my Fatos, you should take a packet of coffee and a pack of cigarettes, as old age is more pleased by the care shown than the gifts given. Even though I had that in mind myself, you did well to remind me!” – I said, kissing her hands.
– “I will give you all the little savings I’ve managed to gather over these three years. I know that you are careful with money, and you don’t waste a coin. But our ancestors taught us: when you set out on a journey, take more with you than you need, as you never know what might happen; only money can get you out of any mess…” – she said, handing me a sealed envelope.
– “But you are here?!…” I asked, shocked. – “Even though you are at your daughter’s house and have plenty to eat, a certain amount of money is needed for every necessity.”
– “To put it plainly, I will tell Retë and Stavri that Sokrati will leave tomorrow for Berat, as Nauni is burning with longing, which is the truth. We take advantage of the fact that we are here in Lushnja at the most suitable time to make a visit. That’s it. We will not mention a word about the request for the loan that we need for buying gifts. Because my relationship with Nauni is like that of sister and brother; we have been there for each other in every difficulty, and completely different with my stepsister, the elder daughter. Between me and my brother, we have always had relations like those, which are rarely found in the world: we have never exchanged heated words or hasty thoughts! Nor has it ever come to us quarreling.
The Almighty, when He took our mother, Sofia, to the Heavenly Kingdom, left us orphaned, me at three years old, and my brother, blessed us to love each other for eternity! There is no holier and more precious blessing than this. Very rarely do children in the world have the fortune to be directly baptized by God with the holy blessing. The same blessing was given to Kalija when she came into our home, instructing her: to love orphans just as you would your own children! She has a pure heart. You can roam around the world, and you won’t find another woman like Kalija, who, although a stepmother, loves us with the heart of a caring mother! That’s why all of you, my children, were amazed when you learned that our Fatua was not my true mother!
Because you didn’t believe it was true when you saw her extraordinary care for both of us, brother and sister. Especially, you were really impressed when we talked to each other with mutual respect, never raising our voices or getting nervous! Now that you have grown and have the right maturity, you know the answer to the question of why this wonderful exception happens: God has blessed us!
It seems that our mother and your grandmother, Sofia, as a woman with a pure heart, was destined to go to the Heavenly Kingdom. But before God took her into His Kingdom, she gave us two infants the holy blessing of divine love. These thoughts, no matter how much they may seem to non-believers as products of fantasy, actually testify that the soul sees and hears much more than the eyes and ears. You, as a writer, not only should accept this sooner than others, but you also have the duty to describe it in your writings…!”
– “You are very right: a writer has the gift to hear and understand the language of the heart, and to appreciate the words when they come from a mother’s soul!” – I said, embracing her.
– “Now give me permission to leave, as the bus to Berat departs in half an hour…! Or do you have any other message that you forgot?”
– “I expressed the main ones. Go, my son, go! And may your path be good!” – she wished. – “But let me see how you are dressed one more time, as you know that in Berat, they make a fuss over appearances!”… – she added with a scrutinizing look.
– “Well, I’m not dressing like a groom today because the women and girls from Berat are curious…” – I replied with a smile.
– “You shine like a star even in the simplest clothes!” – said my mother with a satisfied sigh. – “That’s why don’t take this out of the inner pocket of your jacket!”… – she emphasized by handing me a clove of garlic. – “Also, keep the envelope with money here. Only take out what you need for the journey. Go now!”
To cut to the chase, I headed toward the Ministry of Interior. As I passed the iron gate, I saw the officer from the internment and expulsion department and approached to greet him.
– “Are you going to your fiancée?” – he asked me with a smile, walking with me.
– “Today I have a longer journey,” – I replied.
– “To Kolonje?” – he added.
– “The junction to the road to Kolonje…”!
– “Ah, I see: you are headed to Berat, to your uncle! Well then, may your path be smooth! Did I give you the travel permit? Stay as long as you want; you have freedom of action within the rules and laws, just like all other citizens…” – he emphasized as we reached the intersection with the main road, where he turned right, toward the bridge of the stream.
I hurried my steps to reach the bus in time. Fortunately, there were two free seats. Before I sat down, I glanced at the faces of the travelers, hoping to see someone I knew. I noticed a handsome man with long, neatly combed hair and a side part, dressed in a gray suit and a white shirt, who fixed his gaze on me like a hawk and accompanied me with that look until I reached my seat. Then, as he didn’t have complete certainty in his memory, he came over to ask me. I was pleased and was immediately ready to introduce myself, mentioning my name and surname:
– “We haven’t seen each other in ten years, Vangjel Basko! Aside from the fact that you’ve become a doctor, you still maintain a fresh appearance; you continue to be a handsome young man!”…
– “Can I sit here with you and we can travel together, since the place is free?” – he asked.
– “If you are not accompanied and feel free to stay next to me, considering that you are now a doctor and have all-around acquaintances, being a Beratian for several generations…” – I replied, embracing him.
I had known Vangjeli since childhood. His house in Berat was almost next to the two-story building of my uncle Nauni. Usually, I spent the summer months with the boys from the ‘Vacuf’ neighborhood, peers of my two cousins, Robert and Kristaq, future football players in the first and second categories. Since I visited often, we became so close that this neighborhood of Berat felt like a continuation of my childhood.
We had many enjoyable times here: we went to the river to sunbathe and swim. We played ball in the mud. We ran and sang. (But some of these activities we did secretly, without Bert’s mother knowing. Otherwise, she would create a fuss, following us like a child, ruining our enjoyment. Therefore, to avoid her scrutiny, we were careful when we secluded ourselves somewhere.
But once, we suffered greatly as we were careless, precisely when we decided to swim with Bert at the rock, where the water was cleaner and deeper. At first, considering that she was spying on us, we stealthily left the house and headed toward the riverbank through a path among the grasses, where very few people could pass. We walked and constantly looked back.
We didn’t notice anything suspicious, as if someone was following us. We convinced ourselves that we would feel safe, that no one was spying on us, and therefore we would have a wonderful time that afternoon when the sun was blazing. Upon arriving at the designated spot, we undressed and hid our clothes under a bush. My cousin suggested that we remove our underwear as well, so that when we returned home, we wouldn’t have anything on our bodies, since we didn’t bring a second pair of pants. The water was wonderful. We began to joyfully race each other by swimming: when we reached the rock, we grabbed onto it with our hands, climbed up, and from there we dove in headfirst.
Unencumbered by the pleasure of swimming, it didn’t occur to us to look at the shore, as tranquility reigned all around: in the afternoon, after five o’clock, no one comes due to the remoteness, and since there’s almost a lack of sand. When the sun began to hide behind the Gorica mountain and the shadow fell over the river, we came out of the water and went to the bush where we had hidden our clothes. We were left stunned with astonishment: our clothes were not there!
“Surely someone had taken them! Berti put his hands like a horn in front of his mouth and called out to that ‘someone’ to end the game of hide-and-seek, convinced that one of our friends had played this trick on us since we hadn’t invited him to come along. However, the echo of his voice faded along the river bed; we didn’t see any shadow of a person approaching us. When we lost hope that someone would return our clothes, our thoughts naturally turned to the watcher, the mother, so he again put his hands like a horn before his mouth to plead:
– “We admit it: we made a serious mistake; punish us as you see fit! But we beg you, leave the clothes by the bush, so we can get dressed, as we cannot return home like this, naked!”…
We hoped not to see our mother or hear her voice full of insults and stinging remarks. But many minutes of silence passed. The dusk was descending over the valley. Anxiety overwhelmed us. Before it got dark, we plucked some bushes to cover the nakedness of the lower part of our bodies, tied them as best we could with strands of grass, and when the darkness replaced the twilight, we set off like fugitives along unmarked paths.
The most agonizing discomfort came when we arrived in the backyard of the house, as this was exactly where our mother had lain in wait for us. She spared no insult against us, starting from “good-for-nothing” and going as far as those that cannot be written!… It was exceedingly concerning for us that all her angry curses were pronounced in a loud voice so that people inside could hear and come out to see us as we were, completely degraded, just like wild African tribes!…
But in the end, when she got tired of pouring out her wrath and concluded that she had punished us as we deserved, she left the clothes by the faucet in the yard, along with a large towel for us to wash, dry, and then get dressed. After we dressed properly and combed our hair, we quietly climbed up the wooden stairs on our toes, trying to make as little noise as possible, with the thought of entering directly into the sleeping room, unaware that it was there that our wonderful uncle was waiting to calm us down. He embraced me with great love and told me not to worry or despair, as Tulit – the short name for Bert’s mother – when something strikes her mind, no man can stand in her way!”
– “Who knows how many times he has vowed to catch you in a trap. And in the end, he caught you!” he added with a slight laugh. – “It was dark; otherwise, I would have sent Vangjel to bring you other clothes, even though we didn’t know exactly where you were bathing. Tuli was raising her voice to the heavens for us to come outside. Two or three times, she was ready to come to your defense, but I held her back, telling her not to throw gasoline on the fire, as she would first have to deal with my wife…” – he added, laughing heartily. – “Because when Tuli gets fired up, she only stops when she gets tired…!”
That evening stayed in my imagination for a long time, as the greatest regret, causing me a pang of guilt for my thoughtless behavior. But especially it weighed heavily on me from my uncle and grandmother, as they both saw in me the epitome of perfection, the boy who never steps on rotting boards, and often mentioned during conversations that my behavior should be taken as a model for others. This unpleasant event became the reason that summer for me to leave Berat sooner than in previous years, despite the pleading prayers of my uncle and grandmother…!
My childhood friend from the ‘Vakuf’ neighborhood, Doctor Vangjeli, sat silently next to me so as not to stir up the swift memories of that beautiful time. Or perhaps he still hadn’t found a topic to discuss, as he found it difficult to ask me about the ordeal of my brother’s defection, which radically changed the fate of me and my family.
But for me, it mattered that he was quite polite and respectful in his actions; he came to see me and expressed the desire for us to stay close together like before. He fulfilled his social obligation properly. It was my duty to return the courtesy by asking about the progress of his career as a doctor. /Memorie.al
Continues in the next issue
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