By Sokrat Shyti
Part Six
Memorie.al / The writer Sokrat Shyti is the “great unknown” who, for several years, has revealed the tip of the iceberg of his literary creativity. I say this based on the limited number 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,” “THE HEADLESS COLONEL,” “THE WITHERED HOPES,” “THE CONFUSIONS OF FATE” I & II, “SURVIVAL IN THE COW SHED,” as well as other works, all are novels ranging from 350 to 550 pages and are in manuscript form, waiting to be published. The dreams and the first enthusiasm of the young novelist, returning full of energy and love for art and literature from studies abroad, were cut short early by the harsh blade of the communist dictatorship.
Who is Sokrat Shyti?
Returning from studies at Moscow State University, shortly after the interruption 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, 21-year-old Sokrat had passionate literary interests at that time. He wrote his first novel “Madam Doctor” and was on the verge of publishing it, but… alas! Right after the arrest of his friends, to make matters worse, a brother of his, who was a painter, fled abroad.
Sokrat was arrested in September 1963, and in November of that year, he and his family (his mother and younger sister) were interned in a location between Ardenica and Kolonje of Lushnje. For 27 consecutive years, the family lived in a cow shed made of reeds, without windows, while Sokrat was subjected to forced labor. During those 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 all documents, etc. In these conditions, amidst a cow shed, he gave birth to and raised his children. This very event, or more precisely a very long story of persecution, was the basis for him to write the book “Survival in the Cow Shed”!
Agron Tufa
Continued from the previous issue
EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK, “SURVIVAL IN THE COW SHED”
“As soon as the passengers’ entrance began, get on board with the large mountain woman and find a place in the space in front of the last row, let her sit on top of the bags, on those that won’t be damaged by weight, since the seats are all taken. And tell her not to worry, you’ll drop her off where she needs to go. Meanwhile, you will sit here on top of the engine cover…” he said! I don’t know why this time the city of my birth, where I spent my childhood, seemed distant and unwelcoming to me?!
Even though during these two years that I lived in the northern city, its external appearance had not undergone significant changes, I felt a sense of coldness and a lack of desire to spend three months here during the summer holidays. Perhaps this emptiness was created by the barrenness of the enticing charm of my childhood years, which had strongly tied us to family, neighborhood, and the city.
Most of my friends were not here; they had scattered to other cities to attend secondary school. As for the children of the past, who had now replaced us, I didn’t keep any memorable recollections. Because even when we were attending the seven-year school, the generation behind us seemed shallow in thought and sluggish in action compared to us, even though they were two or three years older. Generally, I noticed a delayed development in reasoning; they seemed more like children than their age and took impulsive actions, showing no signs of maturity.
And the differences between us deepened over time; instead of signs of softening, it was the opposite: while we were restrained in our relationships with each other, knowing how to clearly define the boundaries of friendship without causing irritation or anger, they reacted just as they had before, getting angry over trivial matters, using very light expressions, as light as a feather, which caused meaningless cracks of arrogance due to a lack of responsibility.
In this way, a knife-like division was created in reasoning and maturity between two very close age groups, even though the living conditions were the same, as poverty sat firmly in our families and would keep us suppressed for a long time under its hellish pressure. On the street, I did not meet any acquaintances from my neighborhood to ask indirectly or directly how my parents were doing. But in fact, I did not want to confront anyone because I feared someone’s affirmation, and I felt that I would not be able to endure hearing a bitter, surprising announcement; before they finished their story, I would burst into tears.
Overwhelmed by this stressful state, my shirt weighed heavily on me, as the pressure of troubling gnawings was becoming increasingly eroding; for two days they had begun to torment me from within, to the point that I could not endure further blows. Nevertheless, I encouraged myself that I needed to gather my thoughts, because no matter how shaken I was and however much I experienced the pain, what had happened could not be undone. Therefore, the only way to ease the distress was to strengthen my courage, keeping in mind the main observation that I must comfort my mother above all, the most wounded in our family.
Suddenly, the left hand that held the suitcase was fully freed from the load it carried, and at that moment someone hugged me from behind. Then they stepped in front of me, wanting to see me better and enjoy the sight of me so close. I was stunned for a few seconds when my eyes caught the military uniform of the sergeant, because among our relatives and in society, we had no non-commissioned officers. “You have every right to be surprised since you see me in a military uniform for the first time,” he spoke with his fatherly smile. “No matter how much a person’s exterior changes, the voice and laughter remain eternal, and these two traits are enough to determine identity,” I replied, embracing him.
-“When did you wear a military uniform?” – “After completing my compulsory military service, a family friend advised me to work as a warehouseman in a military unit here in our district. Since this good opportunity came up, as besides the base salary I would receive free clothing and some other benefits, I immediately accepted. You know how tight our finances have been. Life must be faced as it presents itself.” – “But the military uniform suits you,” I added. – “I understand you say that jokingly,” he interjected with his fatherly smile. – “I’m not talking about the external appearance, but because the uniform distinguishes you from the other members of our group. It’s no coincidence we called you Commander!”
-“Back then it had its charm. And to be honest, I felt good when you addressed me as: comrade commander! But ‘sergeant’ sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me,” he emphasized without interrupting his laughter. – “However, since I accepted to be the shepherd in this pasture, I have to enjoy its produce. Now I have a request: let’s go have a coffee, sit down and chat comfortably, as we have grown up together. Mother Kadea loved you and loves you more than me, who am her son. Our two families during the time of the War were like one family. Do you remember how my Kadea would grab my hat when the bombings would start, and we would run to the mouth of the river…? Do you remember?”
Even though I was three years old, I remember how she would engulf me and cover me with her body as I struggled to breathe, so I would say: “Slow down, you’re suffocating me, mother Kade!” This complaint stayed in my memory, along with the terrifying, bone-chilling roar of the bombers flying over our heads. Mukja burst out laughing at my way of speaking, just like a three-year-old child, especially when I used the verb “sype” instead of “më shtype”! – “That time is never forgotten. Mother Anë, Kadea, and aunt Nurisha were like compassionate sisters: they shared the loaf of bread, the troubles, and the hardships!”
-“Our fathers also respected each other a lot! – I added with satisfaction as we reached the club in the town square. As soon as we settled at a table by the large window, we ordered two coffees. Mukja threw me a deep glance and continued the thought he had started: – “Our parents were men of their word and honor; it was a pleasure when they took the sand out of their mouths! But your esteemed father stood out among the others because he possessed a wonderful gift that nobody else had: he never grew tired or bored of doing good deeds! Everyone says: there isn’t a second man in our circle with such a noble soul as uncle Thanasi!
Because he fed the lonely beggars of the city, clothed them, and housed them for months! It was truly a miracle when we saw how much care he showed for poor Kalie, Vasil of Ana, Pilon who was enslaved filling water for a piece of bread, the unfortunate Varvara! And whenever the opportunity arose, he took care not to make fun of Ali, Hysni, and Mahm’ut, accompanying this request with a wise explanation that they were victims of natural mental deficiencies and madness.
As a believer with a well-rounded culture, he convinced anyone that good behavior towards others beautifies and ennobles a person, the only being with consciousness. Animals have bodies and brains, the two main parts of our organism, but not a mind. Precisely the mind, which radiates from the brain, distinguishes us significantly not only from the animal world but also creates enmities between one another, determining the individuality of each. Therefore, your father’s thoughts are engraved in the memory of our generation. You, his children, are extremely fortunate to have had such a knowledgeable and enlightened benefactor as a father! It is regrettable that it rarely happens what makes us feel proud: for the state and society to value the brilliant mind as much as it deserves!
“Which other man in our circle, from the generation of our parents, has graduated from Zosimea High School in Janina with a gold medal?! When I found out from my father, I was left breathless! Even when he emigrated to America, alongside very hard work, he continued his studies at the University of Pennsylvania. It is unfortunate that he could not apply this knowledge for the benefit of society! You might ask: where? At least as a professor in a school, starting from the lowest level, the seven-year school. Wise men in Albania, who master foreign languages as much as the fingers of two hands, are very rare, extraordinarily rare…!” – Mukja emphasized with tears in his eyes.
For the first time, I heard the “commander” of our childhood group speak at such length and with extraordinary affection about my father. Even when the occasion arose to highlight the merits of our parents, especially our fathers, I do not remember him mentioning or listing so many virtues, calling him at this moment a wonderful benefactor of the city and an erudite left in complete neglect by the state and society! I certainly felt proud to be his son! But in this chance encounter with my close neighbor, it seemed strange to me that he began the conversation directly with a desire to express thoughts and evaluations about my father, without the slightest interest in my academic progress, starting with the common question: “Are you continuing your success in high school, like here? Have you shown your skills there?” And only after the third question: “You are following in the footsteps of your erudite father,” could it naturally lead to the rare values of my father if during the conversation a specific feature was mentioned as a concrete example, like his charity!
As the conversation flowed, I no longer doubted that my neighbor was driven by a very powerful internal feeling to emphasize the extraordinary values of my father, a feeling that usually emerges when someone leaves this world, and naturally, the mourners twist the conversation around the rare virtues of the departed, as they would win over others with their wisdom and maturity, being noted for their self-restraint in the most extreme situations when nerves blaze due to the high heat of uncontrollable opposing discussions. And at the end of this statement, a generalizing evaluation was mentioned: “Very rarely do people meet who do not use curses in their vocabulary. One of those very rare individuals was the deceased!”
“But despite the previous opinion that the State and society paid very little attention and care to the values of people with such virtues, the residents of this city showed how much they loved and honored your father,” Mukja continued after wiping his tears with a handkerchief. – “The farewell to his final resting place was magnificent! Do you remember the endless procession when your wonderful brother, Llazari, died nine years ago?”
-“I have it all recorded in my memory, from the moment of his sudden death in his sleep, as I was sleeping with him…” – I spoke, quite shaken, imagining those horrifying scenes that replayed in my mind for weeks and months, sometimes in dreams and sometimes through my imagination.
-“Our city had never seen such a magnificent funeral as that of your brother: when the head of the procession arrived at the Church of Golem, the two kilometers of the street were filled with accompanying mourners because everyone wanted to express their sadness and love for the hearty boy, whose death took him stealthily at the dawn of youthful blossoming…! And the same magnificent funeral in scale was repeated nine years later for the father of this wonderful boy, your father, when death overcame him, taking away his only breath…!”
-“When did it happen?”… – I asked with a trembling voice. – “At the end of March. Those days brought a terribly bitter chill that his health could not withstand. He was in his last breaths. The doctors made every effort, but they could not prevent death! As soon as the news of his death spread, the collective of the tailoring workshop rose to their feet and formed a committee for the burial of Usta Thanas, just as it was fitting for this distinguished man with such rare virtues.”
-“But how did poor mother handle this blow?” – “Her mourning began and ended with the name of her dear son. Our hearts sank when we heard her address her son, who had been taken from us nine years ago. She spoke to him as if he were right there before her eyes! I can’t bear to describe her heartbreaking wailing at this moment. At first, she directed the question: ‘Why did you take your father close to you, my son?’
Then she responded to herself: ‘You took him because you wanted him by your side, since you felt lonely on the hilltop of Golem! All the pain of your father’s passing was poured out through the memory of your son, like a poplar that God took to His Kingdom to make him an angel. My mother and the other women did not cease to shed tears. They all remembered the terrible calamity of nine years ago when your brother lay down to sleep the eternal sleep, and no one could believe he would not wake up, even once, to comfort mother Anë, to tell her that the Lord would return him to her, as he could not endure the cries of a soul torn apart by grief!
At that honored moment, two revered priests, Father Petro and Father Kostandini, arrived at the house. They went straight into the room where the body of the deceased was, to perform the ceremony for the sanctification of the soul. All the women stood up, and the mourning was interrupted. The revered priests began to chant the psalms in a low voice, according to the liturgy, sprinkled the body and face of the deceased with blessed water, and prayed to God to grant him blessings, just as this devoted faithful deserves, who had served the church for years as the leading chanter, tirelessly attending to the believers of this city, conveying the precious messages of the Lord, into our hearts.
To honor his name and work, by the order of the Bishop of Berat and by the decision of the Holy Synod of our Church, today in the Church of Golem, where the burial of the deceased will take place, a farewell mass will be held. The coffin of our esteemed friend, whose counsel and wonderful benevolence to help the poor illuminated our path and kept us from falling into despair, will remain throughout the entire mass above the epitaph. This special honor is also done at the request of the Orthodox believers of the city, including the wishes of all residents of other faiths.”
“Therefore, in the environment of the Church of Golem, there will be present Orthodox, Muslims, Bektashis, and many others who loved and respected our dear Thanasi, who will remain in the city’s memory as a monument of progressive thought and a guiding light, giving society everything good from himself, without asking for any relief for the tireless service for the benefit of humanity!” After these words, the lid of the coffin was closed, and the undertaker, the head of the burial committee, signaled to the designated young men to carry it in their arms and place it in the bed of the vehicle, as the time for departure had come. A perfect organization…! Memorie.al
To be continued in the next issue
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