By Reshat KRIPA
Part Four
Memorie.al / Arbëri were sitting in his corner in the hall, waiting for the arrival of the plane that would take him to another world, and he meditated. He meditated and dreamed of the path full of nettles and thorns through which his life had passed. He remembered the worries that had accompanied him for years. He had many passions. He wanted to become a lawyer, a journalist, a doctor, an engineer, an artist, a writer, or anything else that might be possible. But fate had condemned him to fail to reach any of his dreamed-of peaks. He encountered disappointment at every step of his life.
Continued from the previous issue
The History Class
The history hour. The professor was explaining the topic of the Conference of Labinot in September 1943. His lecture continued: “With the arrival of the Nazi invaders, the entire reaction (reactionary forces) united around them. Quislings of various molds now hoped that with the help of the German army, they would destroy the National Liberation War of the Albanian people. They played a double game, on one hand collaborating with the German occupation forces, and on the other, maintaining ties with the English military missions, which, in turn, tried to keep alive the counter-revolutionary forces and movements in Albania. The Second National Liberation Conference was convened by the decision of the Albanian Communist Party. It marked an important stage in deepening the revolutionary process of the war, in the political unity of the Albanian people around the National Liberation Front, in expanding the armed struggle against the German invaders and the gangs that served them.”
Arbëri was lost in his own world. He listened to the professor’s explanation and words and phrases like; quislings, traitors, National Liberation Front, and others echoed in his ears. Before his eyes appeared the figure of his father, whom his mother had told him had sided with the nationalists. His figure appeared, and he thought: What position had his father held? His mother had told him he had gone out to fight the invaders, but the history taught in school spoke otherwise. Which one should he believe his mother or the history taught in school? What was the truth? His conscience told him that his father was a freedom fighter, but according to the professor’s explanation, it was the opposite.
The professor noticed that he was lost in thought and addressed him:
“Arbër, are you here?”
Arbëri heard his name and looked up;
“Yes, Professor!” – he said unconsciously.
“Tell me, what did I explain so far?”
Arbëri was caught off guard and did not know what to say. He was silent. The professor, who knew him as an excellent student, did not bother him further. Three days later. History class again. The professor entered the classroom, and after calling the roll, he called out:
“Arbër, to the blackboard!”
Arbëri got up and headed for the blackboard. He thought the professor had called him up to test how much he had learned, based on the incident of the previous class. So, he began to lecture. The professor was surprised by the fluency of his speech.
“Sit down, ten,” he said when he finished.
Arbëri sat down and plunged into daydreaming again. How would his father have reacted if he were alive and had heard this? Would he accept such a lecture? It felt like a large, heavy hammer was hitting his head.
“Why, why is it this way?” – he asked himself.
This question worried him more, and even sparked a sense of distrust in his conscience. He decided to discuss it with his mother. In the evening, he explained what had happened.
“Listen, my son! Today we live in a difficult world where one doesn’t know where to find oneself, so you must find the right path to move forward. You must think before you act. You must always be careful not to stumble and fall. One thing you must keep in mind, above all, is to remain human.”
Arbëri got up and went to bed. He spent that night filled with various dreams, where above all, the figure of his father appeared, whispering to him:
“Follow my path, son!”
Meeting Blerina
As usual that afternoon, Arbëri and Petriti, after taking a few turns on the city boulevard, decided to sit in the nearby park to rest. They sat on one of its benches. Across from them, on another bench, a girl sat in silence. She sat as if frozen, with her eyes fixed on the sky. She was lost in the world of dreams, so much so that she did not notice their presence. In her eyes, the boys noticed traces of tears.
“Girl, what is bothering you?” – Arbëri spoke, approaching her.
She raised her head and was staring. She did not speak. Arbëri understood that she was not in this world. He repeated the question. The girl recovered. She stood up and started to walk away like a sleepwalker.
“Wait! – Arbëri spoke. – What sorrow is bothering you? Have your parents punished you? Has the teacher punished you?”
The girl stopped.
“We are your brothers,” Petriti added.
Strangely, the girl felt that these two boys were speaking to her with sincerity. She turned back.
“I had a beautiful dream,” she began. “I believed it would last forever. But it didn’t happen that way. The Sword of Damocles cut it in half.”
“And then?” – Both young men spoke in unison.
“Then? It faded away, and nothing was left for me but to cry. You revived me, and for that, I thank you. Now forgive me, I want to leave. Don’t ask me anymore.”
She walked away, followed by the astonished gazes of the two young men. Two months passed. Arbëri was returning home from a meeting he had with Petriti. At a street intersection, the enigmatic girl from the park appeared before him. Both stopped and stared at each other. Arbëri was the first to break the silence:
“Do you remember…?”
She did not let him continue but replied:
“Of course, how could I not remember?”
“Then let’s introduce ourselves, Arbër Dauti.”
“Blerina Spaho.”
They shook hands, and Arbëri invited her for a treat at a nearby bar. She accepted. They sat down. He ordered two ice creams. Blerina spoke first:
“Allow me to thank you once more for the words you spoke that day. You woke me up from the lethargy I had fallen into.”
“I don’t want to force you,” he replied in the same manner, “but, if you find it reasonable, can you tell me what lethargy you fell into?”
Blerina thought for a few moments. Strangely, this boy inspired confidence in her.
“I don’t know if I have the right to, but my premonition pushes me to believe that I am dealing with a noble and reasonable boy. This feeling arose in me the moment I met you. So, I will tell you my unfortunate truth,” she said and continued; – “Forgive me if it sounds like boasting. I am an excellent student. I fell in love with a classmate of mine. He was a poet. He constantly composed verses which he recited to me. That’s how he stole my heart. I am only fifteen years old. I imagined myself as a Juliet of my country. I believed in eternal love. But I was disappointed.
I had the wrong direction. The boy I had a relationship with wanted to use me as a toy in his hands. I thought he would also be a Romeo, but time showed that he was not. One day I saw him flirting with another girl. I was extremely shocked. I ran away and stayed on the park bench where you found me. I started crying. I cried silently. I don’t know how long it lasted, but I returned to this world only when you spoke to me.”
She was speaking, but Arbëri’s mind had flown away. Who was this girl who, at such a young age, had this kind of logic?!
“Blerina,” he spoke, “who are the good parents who raised a girl with such logic?”
“I am the only daughter of a pair of intellectuals. My father was the teacher Hektor, and my mother, the teacher Irma.”
Arbëri had known both of them; his father had even taught him mathematics, and his mother was a literature teacher. They were well-known figures throughout the city.
“I didn’t know my father – he began to talk about himself – I was raised and educated by my mother.”
He was about to tell her that his mother had been a literature teacher, but he held himself back. How could he explain the reason why she was now working as a laborer in the agricultural enterprise? He walked her to the gate of her house. She invited him to visit to meet her parents, but he refused, claiming he had an appointment. They greeted each other and parted. Arbëri took the road home, but only one name thundered in his mind: Blerina.
Blerina was immersed in daydreaming. She dreamed of her life. The first time, she had missed the mark. Why? Was it her age? Maybe. But love has no age. It enters your soul without you realizing it, slowly, and one day it bursts out suddenly. That’s what happened to her with her first love. She was a dreamy type. Since childhood, she had eagerly read various books, even those that were not for her age. At thirteen, she had read Romeo and Juliet, The Bridge of Sighs, Tristan and Isolde, and other books on these themes. That’s why she had jumped in with all the power of her soul, thinking of an eternal love, but the world she lived in was different from that of the novels. She lived in a world where love, for the majority of people, had turned into a toy for momentary amusement or other gains.
A proverb says that time fixes everything. Her heart began to beat strongly again. Since the first two meetings, she met Arbëri almost every two or three days. In this boy, she had found a true friend, a boy with a special character. She was now in her second year of high school, while Arbëri was a senior. A year had passed since their first meeting, and it seemed to her that she had before her a person worthy of being her life partner.
Thus, the feeling of love began to nest in her heart again. She tried to restrain it, thinking that perhaps Arbëri did not see her that way. An inner duel was taking place in her soul. In the evenings, she stayed awake for hours before falling asleep. One day, when she was lost in her dreams, Arbëri whispered: “Blerina, I love you!”
A shiver ran through her body. Hot tears began to stream from her eyes. She couldn’t speak. “I love you, Blerina – Arbëri repeated. – Do you wish to bind the fates of our lives together?”
She still didn’t speak, but instead of words, her eyes spoke, her tears spoke. Arbëri pulled her close to him. They looked into each other’s eyes. Finally, their lips met. It was the first kiss of their love. There, they swore that they would remain faithful to each other until eternity, no matter what happened and regardless of the circumstances. Thus, their lives were tied with an unbreakable knot that could hardly be severed.
- “Arbër, what tied us so strongly? What force acted upon us?” – Blerina asked.
- “The force of true love, that love which knows no obstacles in its path. I want to tell you something special, many obstacles may come up in the path of life, but I am convinced that we will overcome them.”
In these words, Arbëri saw the situation of his family. His father had closed his eyes prematurely. His mother, a distinguished teacher who, strangely, for reasons he couldn’t grasp, had turned into a school cleaner and later a laborer in the agricultural enterprise, while his beloved was the daughter of two prominent teachers whom the city spoke highly of. This dilemma gnawed at him from within, and he couldn’t help but express it to the girl with whom he wanted to be linked for life.
“Blerina,” he said, “I want to tell you something, as I don’t want you to find out from others and become a cause for any misunderstanding between us.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know if we are compatible as families together. You belong to an intellectual family, while my mother is a simple laborer in an agricultural enterprise.”
He was about to tell her that his father had been a well-known lawyer and that his mother, too, had once been a famous teacher, but he didn’t dare. This would open a chapter he didn’t want to think about.
“And then?” – Blerina asked.
“Then? Is there any incompatibility that might hinder us?”
“You fool! Has this prevented your mother from raising and educating a wonderful son who excels in school and in life? Has this prevented my parents from raising and educating a girl with high principles for life?! If you can, answer me.”
Arbëri couldn’t find the words to answer. He embraced her and began to kiss her with a fervent passion he hadn’t experienced before.
“Forgive me!” – he said.
She melted into his embrace.
The Graduation Ceremony
The last day of high school also arrived. The graduation ceremony was held in the grand hall of Hotel “Turizmi.” Teachers, parents, and other honored guests participated. Among them, some high personalities. Arbëri was alone. His mother, Afërdita, couldn’t attend a ceremony held in the school where she had once taught. She feared a confrontation with someone. Such an action would be an insult to her, and her son agreed with her.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” he told his mother. “I will know how to protect the family’s pride.”
“Be careful, son,” she replied, “Don’t give them a reason for anything.”
“No, Mom, don’t worry!”
And, after kissing her, he left for school. In the courtyard, he met Andrea, Elvira, and Petriti.
“Didn’t your Mom come?” – Elvira asked.
Arbëri didn’t answer. The school principal opened the ceremony. He first spoke about the care shown by the party for the schools and compared the achievements with the country are bourgeois past. He spoke about the progress this school had made over the years, always emphasizing the new educational reform being implemented in the country. He also spoke about the invaluable help given by the great friends of the great socialist state, the People’s Republic of China, for Albanian education in general and for their school in particular. The principal had been to the People’s Republic of China the previous year, leading a delegation of the city’s high schools, where he had also received the promise of great aid. After him, the First Secretary of the Party took the floor and, after greeting all the participants, emphasized the good work done by the teachers in educating the new generation. His praises were emphatically attributed to the school principal, calling him an example of the “New Socialist Man” being raised in our country.
The awarding of gold medals for excellent students began. There were five graduates who deserved this medal. Among them were Arbëri and Petriti. The school principal began calling the names of the winning students and handing them the medals. They thanked him and promised to become capable cadres to advance socialist society. Arbëri waited for his name to be called. In the report cards of all four years, only the grade “10” was seen, followed by the note; “Very Good.” But this did not happen.
The official ceremony ended, and everyone sat at tables to enjoy a cocktail laid out in their honor. The orchestra began to play dance music. Couples stood up one after the other. Only Arbëri remained seated at his table. Petriti whispered quietly:
“Why are you sitting here as if your ships have sunk? Get up and show the others who you are!”
He did not reply. A classmate approached him and invited him to dance. Arbëri refused, claiming he had a headache. She understood the reason and left. The graduates began to whisper quietly. Everyone knew his results. He continued to sit silently in the corner where he was seated. The school principal, to overturn this situation, intervened quickly and proposed that, according to desire, someone should recite a poem, tell an anecdote, or other things of this kind. To set an example, he started himself with one.
Then others continued. After every anecdote or recitation, spontaneous applause thundered in the hall. The situation changed. Arbëri got the idea that he had to do something; he had to counter this discrimination. But how? He pondered. Suddenly, he remembered the poem; “Ultima Verba” by Victor Hugo. He stood up and asked to recite a poem too. Silence covered his words. No one spoke. He began to recite. When he reached the last stanza, he raised his voice higher:
“If a thousand remain, I will remain myself,
And if a hundred they become, I will not budge from there,
I will be the tenth, if ten remain,
And if only one remains, I will be he!”
Only a few rare claps were heard, but they faded quickly. Arbëri sat down at the table again but did not stay long. He got up and headed for the entrance. Petriti followed him. When they reached the corridor, he asked him: Memorie.al
Continues in the next issue
