Chapter 21

Chapter 21

In early May the fourteen and fifteen year old boys and girls, the ones that had been mobilized last fall, returned from Gramos. Many people were delighted to see them return, which put the spark of life back in the village. Joy appeared on people’s faces, although barely visible, especially with the prospect that the other children who had left a month ago might also return. Every day more and more people began to look towards the hill, towards Sveti Ilia, hoping, praying and often climbing up the hill to have a better look. Every moment of every day it seemed to them that the children were on their way home and God help us if they arrived and there was no one home to see them, to greet them, to run to them and call them at the top of the voice and to release the joy of seeing them returned!

But instead of hearing the expected, something unexpected was heard. After May first all of the children would be going to the countries. The man who came and brought this piece of news said that the children would go only as far as Bitola and as soon as the fighting was over, they would immediately return.

“This,” he explained, “you will have to do yourselves. You must take your children to Prespa yourselves. The little ones, the ones under two yeas old that were left behind earlier and the infants need to be taken personally by their own mothers… so that the children will not cry on the way. It will be easier that way… The older children, those who were recruited and returned from Gramos, they will be going there to attend school… There is no need to prepare much for them to take with them. Once they cross the border they will be given everything they need…”

Mialitsa, the old woman who had tried to send her orphaned infant grandson before, spoke up. She asked: “Will you take my grandchild?”

“We are taking all the children, Grandma,” the man replied.

In those days there were increasing fears that the government army was going to escalate the conflict against DAG. Military airplanes, flying from Rupishta and Kozhani, were constantly circling over the

villages and battles fought in the surrounding hills were taking place more frequently and lasting longer.

On Thursday May first, during the night, mothers and children left their villages. The ones from the Kostur Region gathered in Breznitsa, Rula and Zhelevo. They spent the night there and the next day walked to the border at Markova Noga. Giorgi, walking beside Mialitsa, was guiding Kuze’s mule loaded with two baskets carrying little children.

A man wearing a leather jacket and carrying a notebook in his hand passed by and took down the names and surnames of the women. He then said: “Take your children there and then return here. If they are crying make sure they are looked after and after you put then to sleep leave. They will take them right away. Have confidence and don’t worry… don’t be afraid.”

Mialitsa, in the meantime, grabbed one of the older children by the arm and asked: “What is your name, my child?”

“Tashko, Grandma,” he replied.

“May Grandma ask you something?” she asked. “Can Grandma count on you to take this little boy over there…” she pointed with her head towards the road that went to Markova Noga. “You see the man over there? He said they will be waiting for you there and will immediately take care of the little ones... Please I beg you, take him. Here is some bread for him to eat so that he won’t cry. Look how Grandma is feeding him.” Mialitsa broke off a piece of bread, chewed it, turned it into a ball and shoved it into the child’s mouth. “See? This is how you can feed him and he will not cry! Here. Take his bag too, take it. Grandma has put covers and diapers for him. He is not that young… He is eight months old... he is a big boy... Here, take him and carry him... Ah, I must not forget. What was your name again?” she asked.

“Tashko...” he replied.

“God bless you Tashko, son...” said Mialitsa.

The mothers spent the night in Medovo, German and Shtrkovo. The next day they were split into groups. Some were sent to work in kitchens and ovens, others to carry wounded from the battlefields. One group was sent to dig trenches and carry logs and stones to build bunkers.

“And you…” a man carrying a pistol on his hip and a leather handbag over his shoulder yelled at Giorgi. “What are you waiting for? Take your mule to Rudari and there they will tell you what to do. Move!”

Only Ianovitsa returned to the village... When she came home her neighbour came over to her house and gave her the bad news; Iane had been killed. After she cried for him, she took the cradle from the corner, cleaned it, wrapped it in a blanket and took it up and put it in the attic.