From Sokrat Shyti
Part Forty-Six
Memorie.al / The writer Sokrat Shyti is the “great unknown” who for several years 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, mainly the voluminous novel “The Ghost Night” (Tirana 2014). The novels: “BEYOND MYSTERY,” “BETWEEN TEMPTATION AND WHIRLPOOL,” “THE DIGGING OF NIGHTMARES,” “THE SHADOW OF SHAME AND DEATH,” “COLONEL MAIN HAND,” “THE FADING HOPES,” “THE TWISTS OF FATE” I, II, “SURVIVAL IN THE COWSHED,” as well as other works, all novels with 350 – 550 pages, are in manuscripts waiting to be published. The dreams and initial enthusiasm of the young novelist, returning from studies abroad full of energy and love for art and literature, were cut short early by the harsh blade of communist dictatorship.
Who is Sokrat Shyti?
Having returned from studies at the State University of Moscow right after the rupture of Albanian-Soviet relations in 1960, Sokrat Shyti worked in “Radio-diffusion” (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. Besides the radio, 21-year-old Sokrat had passionate literary interests at that time. He wrote his first novel “Madam Doctor” and was on the verge of publication, but… alas! Shortly after the arrest of his friends, to fill the cup, one of his brothers, a painter, escaped abroad.
Sokrat was arrested in September 1963, and in November of that year, he was interned along with his family (his mother and little sister) in a place between Ardenica and Kolonje of Lushnje. For 27 consecutive years, the family lived in a cowshed made of reeds, without windows, while Sokrat was subjected to forced labor. During those 27 years, he was legally obliged 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 documents, etc. In these conditions, amid a cowshed, he gave birth to and raised his children. Precisely from this event, or more accurately a very long story of persecution, he based his writing of the book “Survival in the Cowshed”!
Agron Tufa
Continued from the previous issue
EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK “SURVIVAL IN THE COWSHED”
– “Even if this weren’t the reason, your departure, soldier, the engagement should happen as soon as possible, considering the oppositions and frictions. Both parties are interested in successfully formalizing the relationship of the in-laws, according to traditions and customs, and within our possibilities. Regarding this, I have a request for you that I want you to fulfill without any regrets: knowing that your uncle, whom you love dearly, eagerly awaited the happy moment of his nephew’s engagement, the gifts for the engagement are a present from me! So, forget about the notions of debt or loan.
In my family, thank God, we are well-off, except for the wife, whom we have tasked with the role of a walking ambassador, since she speaks several foreign languages…,” he said, bursting into laughter. – “Vangjia teases me from time to time: Dad! Why did your eye get stuck on Mom?!
And I reply: Besides her great beauty, she won me over with her special intelligence! Where could you find a girl with higher education and such a bright mind at that time, like your mother!”
– “And what does Mom do?” I asked.
– “She works as a cook in the party course. Do you know how it happened? One day, I took her with me when I went to the party course to see how food supply was going. The conversation with the course director took place in the kitchen, and her curious interest in how they prepare the dishes caught the attention of the chief cook. In the midst of the conversation, it turned out that there was a need for a cook’s assistant, and she seized the opportunity to ask: can you take me? They looked me straight in the eye, as if caught in the act, as if scolding me for not having expressed this request earlier.
And without prolonging it, the head said: from tomorrow, you are employed as a kitchen assistant here. She was overjoyed by this invitation: she was flying with happiness! On the way, I scolded her for being hasty, as she had already worked enough her whole life. But she replied: aren’t you glad that I was given the opportunity to rest my ears?…
I laughed and kissed him on the forehead. Thus, he suddenly found himself employed…! And to continue the conversation from where we left off: forget about the words debt or loan!” – he reiterated. – “Everything needed for the engagement ceremony will be ready, including the costs of the lunch. I don’t want to hear any more words about this topic!” – he didn’t allow me to disagree.
My sister shows me her wisdom and maturity as a noble woman in the letter she sent me. But especially, I was struck by the deep thoughts that she expressed for the first time in three years. Only a sister with pride and dignity, like your mother, can tell her brother her past worries and experiences without complaining. Never during these three difficult years did she send me a request for help…!”
– “Because she knows that generous-hearted people don’t need to be provoked,” I added, embracing him. “Therefore, both of you, sister and brother, are spiritually bound by the blessing of God! Mother is absolutely right when she expresses herself this way about your love.”
He took the letter from his inner jacket pocket.
– “Although this letter belongs to me, you have the right to read it, as you are a journalist and a son of hardships. Both mother and son have experienced some of the most anxious shocks without complaining to each other. Your resilience shows nobility!
I feel proud to have a sister named Ana and a nephew like you! Now I’ll leave you for just a few minutes, as I need to tend to my own affairs. During this time, you can calmly read your mother’s letter, assured it will make a big impression and remain in your memory…” – he said, getting to his feet. And after kissing me on the forehead, he left with a smile.
After reading the letter, I was enveloped by a special feeling because it extraordinarily described the inner strength, maturity, and dual wisdom of my mother and sister, rich in experience and divine compassion! I was amazed by the style of the letter, the transitions, and the flow of thoughts that naturally attached themselves to the central reasoning!
Upon rereading, my appreciation went further: the letter took the form of a powerful pamphlet, courageously and intelligently striking at the gnawing weaknesses of this society, whenever they appear as revengeful injustices against honest people, without having committed any wrongdoing or crime. At the core of this letter served the thought: truth may be submerged, but it is never drowned.
But quite naturally, this all-encompassing thought is elaborated from the perspective of the believer: The Heavenly Kingdom governs the entire Universe, including our planet. The occasional skirmishes between good and evil are nothing but the relentless battle between dark, devilish forces and the divine calls of God, which continuously tries to find various forms and ways to enlighten troubled minds beset by wickedness, with the aim of saving us from temptations.
Because this is the only way to explain, according to my mother, why such incredible fortune came into our family, why it was achieved without any interference or decision from the Government above, such that the first secretary of the Party Committee of the district issued the decisive order to remove the terrible shackles of slavery, while the walls of revenge still surround us on all sides!
This fact served as undeniable proof, to demonstrate and verify that the forces of justice are present and do not completely vanish even when the fiercest terror reigns. Despite the explanation and reasoning from the believer that miracles are performed only by the Creator of the Universe, it cannot be denied that these are indeed tangible and perceivable by people, as we were experiencing something like this.
The miracle that unexpectedly appeared in our family after the horrific chaos proved and confirmed that even in our state, with satanic ferocity, where fear has entered people’s bones, numerous rare phenomena exist, quite astonishing from certain individuals, who with courage and bravery raise their voices against the murderous cynicism of the vampiric power!
Thus, in this horrendously harsh political climate, the support from the first secretary of the Party Committee and the defense of a declassified family seemed incredibly unbelievable, (especially given that our family should never have been punished for its recognized merits during the National Liberation War, for the extraordinary assistance it provided in liberating the country from foreign invaders).
The short-sighted and the mean-spirited were grieved and darkened that the miraculous turnabout in our family occurred as a magical intertwining of a European vision from a liberal leader and the calling of the inner voice of consciousness from the Heavenly Kingdom, as a reward for our long patience during these three years of torment.
Through quite a clear explanation, my mother managed to convince my communist brother that in the mire of the situation, she had no qualms about the watchful eyes of roaming spies! So I asked my uncle with curiosity: where does the confidence of non-incrimination come from? He immediately responded with a smile: The locals of Berat have never changed their faith through generations, not even during the time of Turkey. Therefore, the Christian families here have a stable foundation; they do not betray one another.
“They differ from the Orthodox peasants. You must have noticed this yourself during these three years living here,” he added. His observation was completely accurate. It was precisely this feeling that I had in mind when I set a task for myself not to exchange thoughts with the local inhabitants of Ardenica and Kolonje, excluding our kind-hearted neighbor, the tireless Shaja, and her diligent son, Neli.
At that very moment, while I was lost in conjectures and memories of the past, the door of the room opened: my wonderful uncle appeared in the frame with several dishes in his hands, which he skillfully placed on the table like a professional, and then went to the buffet to fetch a bottle of wine. After a short while, the steward appeared, burdened with more dishes.
“Is there a special occasion?” I asked my uncle when the steward left. “Are you expecting high authorities, since you have prepared such exquisite food?”
“There is no one more important to me than my nephew,” said my uncle. “Today, it feels like all of Berat is blessing me: ‘Naun! May this day be a thousand times for your nephew!’”
“But I don’t have a birthday…” I added, excitedly.
“For me, today surpasses several times the celebration of a birthday!” he stressed with a look of tenderness. “Because today you have come without shackles, and when you return, you will not be put back into the cowshed! Is there greater joy…?! Therefore, we will celebrate.”
I barely held back the tears and sobs that rose in my throat. Memories flooded back of the extraordinary care from my childhood, when he would come here specifically to nourish me with the tastiest delicacies. Then he would take me up to his room for me to rest in the refreshing breeze from the river.
The table was filled with so many dishes that four people could eat with abundance: soup with greens, seafood salad, lamb breast stuffed with walnuts, almonds, and spices, grilled sea bass with potatoes and green salad as a side. Finally, there was a pleasant dessert and various fruits! (I was sure that my uncle had prepared all of these with the experience he gained in his early youth when he worked for several years in the luxurious restaurant “Internacional,” as a waiter and cook).
“I had saved this bottle of old wine and kept it locked in the buffet, waiting for this moment of a wonderful turnabout…” my uncle said as he filled the glasses.
“The first toast belongs to this blessing: may this joyful turn continue until your return to Tirana!”
– “As your sister and our mother say: may this blessing reach God’s ears!” – I replied, clinking my glass.
– “Are you a pessimist, do you not believe?” – he asked with a worried look.
– “Optimism and pessimism do not come randomly without a real basis. Hence, our ancestors say: everything flows in its own bed, because no matter how hard you try, you cannot overpower the current.”
– “Is this your own misconception, or has someone warned you?” – my uncle added, shaken.
– “The suspicion leads to this. But I don’t know of any instance where I exchanged harsh words with anyone. I have worked at the radio and conducted myself well without causing any friction. Nevertheless, doubt remains. According to my reasoning, intervention with malicious intent must have surely come from the Writers’ Union.
The fact that a 21-year-old boy writes a novel at this age, and publicly expresses the enthusiasm of the General Secretary of the Union before it is even published—two factors that would make my name known—have undoubtedly gnawed at someone’s career ambitions, and they have begun weaving intrigues against me. The most suitable occasion to set the trap was my brother’s escape. A more camouflaged form of punishment was found, with time acting like an endless numerical sequence, alongside the cowshed. So, no matter how much the punishment may be softened in the future, there will still be no talk of returning to Tirana!”
– “Nonetheless, hopes should not be lost, because you never know how events will unfold…” – said my uncle, raising his glass. – “But even if it were to happen this way, you shouldn’t fall into despair, because with the passage of time, you have the right to request a transfer as high-ranking personnel. You never know when fortunes may change,” he reiterated.
– “Surely, you feel regret that paths and opportunities for literature are closing off. But this regret is manageable when you consider the vital interests of the family you will soon create. You will see that the many troubles of the family will consume you, and you won’t have time to worry about your current desires.”
– “You are right,” I said with a sigh. “Just remembering the overwhelming workload in education…” – “You think the work in education is overwhelming?” he asked.
– “The overload has nothing to do with education, but with me. Surprisingly, until now I have been followed by unfortunate circumstances, starting from my right to study for a field that doesn’t exist after finishing the seven-year school. Or when after completing high school, I was given a field that I didn’t desire! Even when I started working at the radio, I wasn’t filled with inspiration! Meanwhile, these three years here, it’s like I’ve been cursed in the ditches of the channels, with a barrel of oil on my arm! It’s as if I have the bristles of a pig! I foresee that in the army, they will employ all sorts of methods to gnaw at my pride, in addition to the efforts to produce two rugs a day! Then when I return from the army, the longest period of torment will begin: dealing with three weekly norms!”
– “Did they set that as a condition to bring you into education?” – my uncle asked, concerned.
– “First, it’s a condition to test my abilities. Secondly, they use it as a trap to catch me in their snare, so that I give in and say: Thank you for your trust! But I cannot handle this burden! This response is enough for them to go to the first secretary, explaining: we openly presented the request and the need for a teacher who masters the natural sciences and can handle the double load for the same salary, but this one couldn’t carry it. Then we will seek another teacher.”
– “While you astonished them with your readiness, leaving them speechless with fingers in their mouths, forcing them to silence. Just as a good horse increases its worth, with this response, you reinforced the confidence in your abilities with the top Party leader, and automatically increased his continuous support, a vital necessity for you after being informed that you will live and work for a long time in the district of Lushnja, according to the explanation of the officer from the Internal Affairs Department…” – my uncle pointed out to encourage me. “The hotel manager told me that you were accompanying Doctor Vangjeli,” – he added to redirect my attention away from the sensitive topic of our conversation.
– “We made the journey together from Lushnja to here,” – I replied.
– “It seems you both had a good trip!” – my uncle said. “I believe you enjoyed talking to each other. Vangjeli is a gem of a young man, courteous, cultured, and well-composed as a doctor. He was clever enough that when you got off the bus, he brought you here to the most suitable address to find out where I am, because they inform me who is looking for me.”
At that moment, the door opened, and the hotel manager peeked in.
– “I apologize for interrupting the sweet conversation between uncle and nephew, but I am obliged!”…
– “What has happened?” – asked my uncle, concerned.
– “They are looking for you at the Reception House, the first secretary along with the chairman of the Executive Committee…”!
– “Are they expecting guests from Tirana with plumage?”… – added my uncle, getting up.
– “The Chairman of the Supreme Court has arrived. He is expected to dine there. That’s why the first secretary has sent his car…” – the manager emphasized.
– “Since it’s like this, I’ll take my nephew with me,” – said my uncle, signaling me to get up. “Where we’re going is a beautiful place; you won’t be bored. As long as we exchange thoughts with the manager of the Reception House and the cook, to determine what the esteemed guests would like, you can enjoy the pleasant sights,” – he addressed me. “With that, my duty ends. The set-up and service belong to the personnel of the Reception House. They are calling me to hear their thoughts instead of Papa Kristos…,” – my uncle laughed along with the manager. “I believe we won’t be delayed. Therefore, put the untouched dishes in the warm oven, as we might return to continue the interrupted lunch!” – he instructed the manager, exiting from the restaurant area.
– “I have this in mind,” – said the manager.
I immediately agreed to accompany him when the head from Tirana was mentioned, hoping that I might find myself face to face with the Chairman of the Supreme Court, the best opportunity to test his behavior and stance towards me, whether he would show gratitude or disregard for the service I provided several years ago when, despite the heavy workload at the Radio, I agreed to edit the book “Battalion Tomori,” which contained memories from the events of the war in the unit he commanded.
On the way, my uncle asked me in a whisper with interest if, as a journalist, I had happened to meet the Chairman. His face lit up when I told him we had spoken several times in his office while drinking coffee together, as he prepared the coffee himself with his personal espresso machine and didn’t like to waste time going to the clubs of high-ranking officials.
– “If you wish to meet him, I’ll tell his companion to mention your name. Or are you hesitant?” – my uncle whispered in my ear. – “I have no hesitation. But I don’t want the meeting to take place in the presence of the two district leaders, as it puts the chairman in a difficult position, and I feel constrained…” – I replied, also in a whisper.
– “I’ll handle this very simply,” – said my uncle with an absolute confidence that surprised me. The car stopped in the courtyard of the Reception House; a luxurious three-story villa surrounded by a wall. The chairman’s companion, a tall young man, asked my uncle for my identity, my name and surname, and why he had taken me with him, as per the rules, unauthorized individuals are not allowed in these cases.
My uncle took advantage of this remark and told the tall companion that my journalist nephew has a close acquaintance with the chairman.
– “I brought him with me since we were having lunch together in the restaurant, and they know each other personally,” – my uncle added with a smile. “If possible, please inform the chairman separately that a brief meeting can be held here in the courtyard. I think the chairman would be pleased to meet and exchange a few words with the Radio journalist, Sokrat Shyti…”!
– “Face of the first already,” – said the tall companion, casting a glance at me. “I remember he used to come often to the Supreme Court, and the Chairman welcomed him warmly in his office…! Alright, I’ll let him know,” – he added, and went towards the entrance door.
– “Should I stay with you?” – my uncle asked me.
– “It’s better if I’m alone,” – I said. “This way, I can speak freely.”
– “The work as a journalist has taken away the constraints that people feel when they have to meet powerful authorities!” – my uncle added, not noticing the signs of concern on my face. /Memorie.al
Continues in the next issue
