From Sokrat Shyti
Part ten
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 “Nata fantazmë” (Tirana 2014). His novels: “PËRTEJ MISTERIT”, “MES TUNDIMIT DHE VORBULLËS”, “GËRRYERJET E MAKTHIT”, “HIJA E TURPIT DHE E VDEKJES”, “KOLONELI KRYEDHJAK”, “SHPRESAT E NËMURA”, “PËSHTJELLIMET E FATIT” I, II, “MBIJETESA NË KASOLLEN E LOPËS”, as well as other works, all novels ranging from 350 to 550 pages, are in manuscript form waiting to be published. The dreams and initial excitement of the young novelist, returning from studies abroad full of energy and love for art and literature, were cut short early on by the brutal edge of communist dictatorship.
Who is Sokrat Shyti?
Having returned from studies at Moscow State University, right after the rupture 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 later arrested and subsequently executed by the communist regime. Besides the radio, Sokrati, at the age of 21, if we may imagine, had passionate literary interests at that time. He wrote his first novel “Madam doktoresha” and was on the verge of publication, but… alas! Right after the arrest of his friends, to fill the cup, a brother of his, a painter, fled abroad.
Sokrat was arrested in September 1963, and in November of that year, he was sent into internment (together with his mother and younger sister) to a location between Ardenica and Kolonje in Lushnja. For 27 consecutive years, the family lived in a livestock shed made of reeds, without windows, while Sokrat was subjected to forced labor. During these 27 years, he was legally obligated to report three times a day to the regional authority. He had no right to move from the place of internment and was deprived of any kind of documentation, etc. In these conditions, among a livestock shed, he gave birth and raised his children. It was precisely from this event, or rather a very long history of persecution, that he was inspired to write the book “Survival in the Livestock Shed”!
Agron Tufa
Continued from the previous issue
EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK, “SURVIVAL IN THE COW SHED”
–“I don’t know how many times my neighbor mentions your cherished care in conversation…” my mother Kade interjected, wanting to thank the priest on behalf of Mrs. Ana.
-“The prayers for the two souls, father and son, can be made inside the Church, the house of God, from where our wishes begin towards the Heavenly Kingdom,” the priest emphasized wisely, knowing that wailing with piercing cries shakes the brain and heart, causing other believers distress.
Kadea whispered to Mother Ana’s ear to listen to the priest’s advice, to hold back and not to break into mourning by recounting the sufferings of the past, as such cries would make the hair stand on end and rip the soul apart with the force of pain.
-“Today, don’t think about yourself, but about your son!…” she cautioned her, trying to touch the most sensitive point. “You must keep in mind that if you start lamenting with words, the boy will burst into tears, at the risk of fainting. Never forget for a moment the last wishes of your husband. Remember how he told you before his soul left him: Keep Socrati safe from shocks! That’s why let’s go greet both father and son and step inside the church. We’ll stay there for a while, calm ourselves, and leave without worry, clear-minded. Because unlike the other women and mothers who have their husbands and children here, someone is always taking care of the two graves.”
Mother cast a blurry glance towards me to check my state. And after a few minutes, she decided to hold back her prominent crying. After touching the gravestone a few times and kissing the photographs, she stood up, holding onto my arm. We set off silently toward the Church. The priest was pleased that he was able to lead the wife of the first psalmist away from the grieving wailing, convinced that within the deep silence of eternity, she would calm down. He felt quite satisfied that he could successfully fulfill the Church’s primary aim for every believer!
In the high-domed space of the church, a soothing sensation enveloped me. Because everyone gets the impression that within this environment roam the spirits of the permanent inhabitants lying beneath the gravestones. Only they have the right to enter and exit freely, as they are curious to hear the murmurs of prayers if someone mentions their forgotten names. It is whispered that some spirits know the language of the icons. Therefore, when they pass close to them, they ask what prayers and messages the devoted believers leave before kissing their hands and foreheads.
“Their main focus is on the Chief Apostle, Jesus Christ, the only one who was conceived in the womb of an earthly mother by the Holy Spirit, to bear and give birth to the Son of God, who would perform unheard-of miracles. After being martyred on the wooden cross, nailed by the executioners of Satan, and after the most fantastic and astonishing miracle, the unseen Resurrection from the empty grave (God would not leave His Only Son to the traitors), world history was divided for the first time into two parts, laying the foundation for the immortal work of the Chief Apostle of humanity.
The new era was called Christianity. The years and centuries began their new numbering from God’s greatest proof: the Birth, death, and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. And thus, human life would continue to flow.
If Mukja hadn’t whispered in my ear, ‘What do you say, shall we get up to leave since the driver is waiting for us in the car?’ perhaps my mind would have continued to be entangled with more complicated thoughts related to Christianity and religious beliefs. I turned my head towards my mother to see what she was doing at that moment, waiting for her to look my way and give me some sign. Mother Kade, always attentive, immediately caught my gaze and whispered something to Ana. After a while, they both stood up and made the sign of the cross.
(It was the first time I saw Mother Kade make the sign of the cross, without any hesitation, and stay in the Church for so long without being disturbed! I felt pleased that we, Albanians, have mutual understanding towards each other and different beliefs! At that moment, I was struck by national pride: we are the first and only ones on the face of the earth to demonstrate to all the peoples of the world, through our example, the most important gift of the mind that human feelings – respect, dignity, and love – should always take precedence over any religious belief!
From this perspective, it seemed quite strange to me that cultured peoples, like the Germans and English, often express monstrous hatred between the two branches of Christianity, Catholic and Protestant, even to the point of violence! I didn’t understand why this animosity arises and why this hostility continues to grow, when both sides adhere to the teachings of Christ!
If my father were alive, I would turn to him for clarification, just as I did whenever complex thoughts came to my mind. My father did not mind when he heard profound questions from me. On the contrary, he was pleased to hear these from his son, still a young child, and he didn’t hesitate to provide the appropriate explanations.
The premature separation of my father from our family was a great loss for my mother and all his children. Especially in my heart and mind, a painful void was created that no one else could fill, as I would not find throughout my life a second person with comprehensive culture, who mastered several significant foreign languages, who could nurture me with supreme love and extraordinary paternal care!”
When the “jeep” arrived at the place we had set off from, we all got out. Mukja thanked the driver for the service rendered on behalf of the family, adding that he was now free and could continue according to his work plan. Meanwhile, we walked along the cobbled road towards the house to drink our mourning coffee.
-“I met the director of the ‘Model’ school yesterday, who delighted me with the news of your employment for these 2-3 months!… Did you go and knock on his office? Or did he call you himself?” he asked with considerable curiosity.
-“The idea of temporary employment came to me after our first meeting, after you described the bitter event of my father’s death. But without meeting my mother and analyzing the issue myself, I couldn’t express it to anyone else, no matter how close they were,” I replied, so that my concerned neighbor would not take it as a lack of trust that I hadn’t opened up to him about this.
-“How good it was for you to think of seeking the help of the school director!” said Mukja.
At first, my mother was taken aback when I told her about my visit to the school. Then, after thinking for a moment, she suspected that perhaps the director of the Gymnasium had given me a letter for the director of this local school, as a response to the official letter from two months ago when he informed him about the bitter event in our family. But later, when I explained the details of the meeting and our entire conversation, she was shocked and astonished!
-“What a fortunate coincidence, and it seems this matter has settled!” said Mukja happily. “In truth, no one else could fulfill this duty as accurately and beautifully as you!”
-“That’s exactly what the director thought when I expressed my doubts about whether this job is coveted by others. He dismissed this thought and explained to me in detail, until I was convinced, why my objections were unacceptable. He was right. The next day, I started working.”
-“So quickly?! Surely, it’s tiring work,” he emphasized.
-“What worries me more is the concentrated care and strained attention not to make even the slightest mistake, rather than the physical fatigue,” I replied.
When we entered the house, Mukja and I went straight to the kitchen to prepare the coffees so that our two mothers could continue their conversation together. After a while, I heard footsteps in the corridor. I stepped out of the kitchen to see who had come. I was surprised: it was the two priests from the Great Church, Father Petro and Father Konstantin! Apparently, the prayer at the Church of Golem must have notified them of our visit, and they thought it was a suitable time to offer me their condolences since I wasn’t present at the memorial service that was held specifically at the Church of Golem to honor the first psalmist, by order of the Bishop of Berat. I respectfully kissed their hands, and they felt pleased as they embraced me and kissed my forehead.
“We came today mainly for you, as we have blessed your esteemed home and family when the coffin with the body of the deceased was taken out, and the devoted believers, along with friends, lovingly accompanied him to his final resting place,” said Father Petro, kissing me again on the forehead.
“Now you have grown and become quite a young man!” added Father Konstantin. “I remember several years ago when you used to come to Church with your mother and sit in the front pew, next to your esteemed father, who with his resonant voice warmed us all. I remember that after the mass, when we would gather somewhere to relax, we often discussed the future, the children. It was at that moment that your esteemed father found the opportunity to express his pleasure – that his little son was starting to show signs of premature maturity! And this pleased him more than anything else.”
“Please, come inside!” I invited the esteemed priests, my face flushed with the joy of this sweet memory.
Our two mothers had risen to their feet and were bowing their heads in anticipation of the blessings, having recognized their voices. They felt honored by this visit, especially Mother Ana, who felt as if her husband were still among them, perhaps in the hospital or some other place for treatment, and that they were bringing news or inquiring about the health of the first psalmist. They respectfully kissed the extended hands of the priests’ blessings. After all settled in the seats, my mother felt it was her duty to express her gratitude for this visit.
“You, Your Grace, are not only the leaders of our Great Church, but also close friends of my husband. He served with you body and soul for a lifetime at every mass!” she noted proudly.
“The promise that your esteemed husband left you with his own words before he departed this world and took his last breath, he told us during recent conversations when asthma was weighing heavily upon him and he felt death approaching,” emphasized Father Konstantin with his gentle voice.
“We often hear from grieving women why God takes the best of them into His Heavenly Kingdom and does not disturb the troublemakers and wrongdoers at all?!” interjected Father Petro into the conversation.
“First, we must distinguish between natural death and death due to illness. We label them all with one name, considering our common shelter, the earth. But in reality, each death has its own story, just like every living being. This is felt by the loved ones of those who depart from this world. Despite being provoked by almost the same pain, over the loss of a dear one, during the wailing they have different imaginations directly related to the cause of death. Our unforgettable friend, Thanasi, would not have left us, in this still young age, had asthma not appeared to him. Immediately following this assertion, the question arises: what caused this disease? And the answer comes: the difficult working conditions in the leather factory, when he was an immigrant, coupled with the living conditions.
“Therefore, a fundamental distinction must be made when it comes to thoughts about death: the good are not taken by God, as some believe, but are consumed from within by our society, which does not support them and does not create conditions according to their merits, even though they are always ready to perform acts of charity. On the contrary, the opposite happens: they are attacked, despised, isolated, ignored, their lives deteriorate and darken! This means that the death of good people does not come from God, but is provoked by satanic wickedness, to get rid of them. The duty of God’s shepherds is to pay the proper respects when they are escorted to their permanent home and to show the living how little goodness is valued in our world…!”
At that moment, Mukja brought the coffee cups on a carved wooden tray.
-“May his soul shine where he is, and may you have his spousal and paternal blessing!” my mother addressed both Father Petro and me before sipping the coffee.
-“May the prayers of the head of the family accompany you everywhere! Only by following his example do you express respect and love!” added Father Konstantin.
-“If the people living on this earth believe that there is only one God, regardless of the different religious beliefs, then they should unite and befriend each other rather than insult and hate one another as enemies!” emphasized Father Petro, placing his cup on the tray.
-“God constantly teaches us to be patient and restrained, keeping in mind the sufferings of the Only Son, who, until his last breath, repeated: Forgive, O Lord, for they do not know what they are doing!” reinforced the chief priest’s thought, Father Konstantin.
-“We struggle to pray, as much as the pain allows us…” my mother replied in a tired voice.
-“Honorable lady of our unforgettable psalmist and you, esteemed lady of Mr. Laze!” the Chief Priest addressed our two mothers. “When believers enter the Church, regardless of which faith they belong to, they make the sign of the cross and kiss the icons, because the cross symbolizes at every moment the Crucifixion of Jesus Christ, while the icons show who the most faithful believers of God were, before and after Christianity, those who have continuously explained to the ignorant crowd why human life gains meaning when illuminated by an infallible Guide.
Some think that this belief in faith is shaped and reinforced by repeating prayers. In truth, this is not enough. More importantly, and above all, everyone has the duty to cleanse their soul from temptations and to prepare themselves to serve the needy with dedication.”
“Therefore, we also feel proud that our unforgettable psalmist was endowed by God with charity! No believer in our circle, or in the entire district of Berat, where the Diocese extends, is mentioned for such charity. This high appreciation was expressed by His Grace, our Bishop, in the Holy Synod when he presented us with a rather bold thought.
He said: Whenever an extraordinary case appears that reflects the life of an ordinary person engaged in charitable activities, who is adored by all, the Holy Synod of our Autocephalous Orthodox Church should pay special attention and send real evaluations to the Patriarchate of Istanbul, so that his name is recognized and mentioned during the masses in the churches. If this thought is accepted and turned into guidance,” the bishop emphasized, “I would propose that the name of the first psalmist in the Church of Lushnja be inscribed in the golden book!”
At that moment, tears flowed from my eyes, and my chest filled with sobs! For the first time, I heard such a high appreciation for my father, expressed by the mouth of His Grace in the Holy Synod. According to this appreciation, my father is equated with the icons, as a sanctified figure. But unfortunately, according to the chief priest, our Church did not rise to the proper height. It is a similar negative phenomenon, as in politics and economics: Submission! Bowing the neck! Becoming a bridge to pass the deceptions and manipulations of the powerful! What a disgrace!… Until when will we so humbly demean ourselves?!…
The priests stood up to greet our two mothers, who, after hearing these words, appeared bewildered and dazed. But not only them. Father Petro’s bold speech shook all four of us to the depths of our consciousness with his sharp reasoning and unusual descriptions!
Mukja and I accompanied the blessings to the courtyard, thanking them for sharing the coffee of devotion with us and for their valuable assessments. But at that moment, I realized I had failed to mention something important, as I was overwhelmed with the emotions of this conversation: I forgot to express my primary gratitude for the service of escorting my father to his final resting place, especially for organizing the special mass and for covering all the burial expenses, along with the funeral lunch, which was handled by the Church’s fund, according to the instruction of His Grace, the Bishop of Berat.
When I expressed this concern to my neighbor, he reassured me by emphasizing that Mother Ana had thanked them on behalf of the family several times. “In addition to the numerous thanks from the believers and the working collective,” he added. Memorie.al
To be continued in the next issue
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