EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

Beaten down by time and splashed by the blue of the great salt water, the houses in Solun began to slowly disappear. After expressing their gratitude for the many years of standing, they suddenly began to fall victim to the construction machinery, being replaced by huge modern buildings fit for a big city which wanted to imprint its mark on the world as a metropolis. A dozen buildings located in Bariatia disappeared overnight including the entire boarding complex and Café “Macedonia”. Stavre Nakovski looked for Urania Papaioannou’s one storey old house in vain. The red lantern stopped hanging over the large wooden door the same day the big student demonstrations broke out. Stavre did not find the house or the boarding house “Macedonia”, which was a landmark in Solun for centuries. He wandered the streets but the feeling of a man who hides a terrible thing from other people did not leave him. He had been expelled and banned from returning to his country by the monarch and by the new people in the Athens government.

The new buildings and the broad and colourful squares distracted him, but he continued to think of the time he had spent there twenty years ago. It was as though the clock that kept him alive had stopped. The feeling did not leave him even after the arrival of the new government which proclaimed freedom and democracy. Stavre, however, doubted everything, he saw past that and everything else that threatened him and the little piece of freedom he had. He tried to show a friendly face to all who passed him by on the street leading to the seafront. He often blamed himself. Reason told him to walk with his head held up high and not to be afraid. The new government, after all, was democratic! Had he not fought for democracy? But, at the same time, the new government did not recognize the rights of the Macedonian people. This gave Stavre a solid reason not to trust it. He sat on a bench at the seafront. He watched the wavy salt water flow back and forth. He remembered the days he had spent in Edi Kule prison without bread and water.

He met none of the people who he had fought with in the new war, nor any of those who he had fought with against Hitler’s army.

“Maybe they are still rotting in prison...” he thought to himself. “Those who fled to Albania should certainly be healthy and alive...?

I have to go to Kostaneria one more time...” he thought but was afraid of Milkiadis Tsakondas. “He will hand me over to the police and then I will have to spend a long time in prison...” he convinced himself.

2. One time he went over to the village. He sat on the hill all day and watched the villagers make their way on the dusty village street. He saw his house. It was as he had left it. It was as though no one had put a foot in it for twenty years. There seemed to be a crack on one place in the roof. Perhaps it was a hole, he could not tell for sure from the distance. He concluded it was a hole, a big hole allowing rainwater to leak inside. From that he figured that the inside of the house probably smelled like rotten fruit.

3. He looked away from the waves of the White Water (Aegean Sea). He left the bench and walked among the city residents. He found himself at the train station. He arrived in Periklisis at noon the next day. His son Peno greeted him. His son was now a grown man. That day was his twentieth birthday.

“Sometime you will have to take me with you to Solun. I feel like I know that city from your stories. I have a great desire to walk on its streets... I also want to visit Kostaneria,” he said.

“In time, my son! There is plenty of time for that,” replied Stavre.

Peno was an adult and tortured by his desire to understand his past but he did not have the burden that tormented Stavre. He was a strong man and felt he could crush stones with his bare hands, which made him feel brave. He spent his days in the old house weaving bushels and baskets. Sometimes he worked late into the night unable to stop. He wanted to be very rich. Some unknown force drew him like a magnet with promises of making him a landowner. He did not pay too much attention to Stavre’s headaches, even though they forced him to take a greater responsibility in their business. He enjoyed the work. It was a pleasure working. He took pride in managing the thirty workers from dawn to dusk weaving baskets. The workers were afraid of him. He was stern but his voice was

calm and composed. Every infraction was punishable by ducking of some pay. Stavre Nakovski was not happy to see Peno enter into politics. He got angry at him. He begged him not to jump into the fire. But he never told him that he had sacrificed his own youth in the bloody wars. He tried hard to dissuade him, even though secretly he admired his clarity and that he had found purpose in life. Stavre always waited at the door, with a cigarette in his mouth, for him to return from a meeting with the Socialists. Stavre and Peno did not discuss much. Stavre stayed at home and often went to bed, justifying that he had a headache. He went to the bed in which Ksantina Periklis Nakovska waited for him with open eyes. Stavre, however, did not pay much attention to her wrinkled body, her greying hair, her thinning lips and her dark eyes, eagerly waiting for him to say a sweet word. She often stayed with eyes open until morning. Then, being tired, she slept through the day. She avoided going to bed for several days. Ksantina had lost her fervour which burned his soul when they went to bed. Stavre Nakovski had fallen into a new realm. He constantly thought of the past. He wanted to go back in time. Watching his son made him even more determined to go back in time. He stopped dissuading him from his politics. He left the company to his son and became distant from Ksantina and her daughters. Aliki often teased him when they came to visit him and cuddled her children, two little girls, in her lap. The last two times she came over she concluded that something strange was happening with Stavre.

“Don’t pay attention to him. He is joking,” said Ksantina.

Even though Stavre was not her real father she loved him very much. She decided not to tease him any more. Even Poliksena learned to be careful of how she behaved towards him.

4. One day, without telling anybody, Stavre Nakovski left and went to Solun. He was drawn by some unknown force that he could not explain, even though he wanted to detach himself and get rid of the chains which pulled him to the city, he still went there. Again he hoped it would return him back to twenty years ago. Perhaps it was more than twenty years ago? No account of the time was taken.

He stayed at the “Mediterranean” hotel which brought him back to the time he had gone there the first time. It was scary what happened then which he did not want repeated or cared to remember. He sat in the hotel summer garden and drank his double coffee and soda water. He was not happy with the strangers walking by and was hoping to see someone he recognized. The waiter brought him another cup of coffee in a porcelain cup and went away to serve the girl sitting three tables away from him.

5. Out of the blue, Stavre Nakovski suddenly decided to go and visit Kostaneria. He was willing to risk his little piece of freedom for a short visit. The next day he was off and came face to face with Milkiadis Tsakondas, his wife Evridika and their two daughters who were accompanying them. They were coming straight for him. If he could he would have avoided them but it was too late. He took a deep breath and listened to his heart pound loudly as he anxiously waited for them to come to him. God, he was hoping he would never meet Milkiadis...

He decided to go towards them, determined to pass them by bravely. He did not succeed. Milkiadis’s eyes were glued on him and a moment later Stavre noticed him poke Evridika on the side with his finger. She looked up and looked at Stavre with a curious but tame look which brought him back in time… to twenty years ago. But the man they came over to see did not look anything like the man they knew who had pardoned her husband. Time had taken its toll on that man. He no longer had the playful eyes, luxuriant hair, proper nose and full lips. He was only a shadow of the young man who had a full glow for which all the women went crazy. A warped white-haired man with a grey beard, a grizzled exhausted face full of wrinkles, stood before her. His black suit with his two rows of tabs, white shirt, tie with a cherry-red line in the middle, black semi-cylindrical hat and a silver chain that sprang from the side of his coat pocket and hung on the opening of the collar, only completed the picture of a young and handsome man gifted with natural elegant movements. But this man was not that man.

“Yes, that’s him, no doubt about it. It’s Stavre Nakovski,” muttered Evridika. “A man with a soft heart and immeasurable courage,” she added.

Stavre Nakovski stopped. Evridika smiled gently at him.

“Welcome Mr. Stavre! Welcome home!” she said and a tear slipped down her cheek.

Stavre Nakovski looked confused. He extended his hand.

“Good day,” he said quietly, and nodded to greet the girls. He pulled back his hand.

“Good day Stavre!” said Milkiadis.

Stavre Nakovski was silent. He looked away somewhere in the distance.

“Welcome home!” he muttered with some uncertainty.

Stavre Nakovski looked at Evredika. Her eyes begged him to come to terms with Milkiadis.

“I can’t turn a blind eye. He did me a lot of harm,” he thought, nodded at the girls and passed them by.

Evridika took the girls by the hand and stepped away. Milkiadis stood there staring at the dirt road, confused. Moments later he slowly followed Evridika and her children.

6. Stavre Nakovski walked down the same dusty road he had walked over many years ago and imagined seeing the houses, the people and things he had seen twenty years ago… maybe thirty or more years ago... Everything was mixed up in his mind. For a moment he felt like he heard something and got weak at the knees… he staggered. The soil gave away and his mind entered a clean white space. His eyes were closed and it seemed to him the earth had turned upside down. He felt nothing for a few moments. The tear that ran down his

cheek brought him back from the dead. He recovered from his ailment and when he felt better he went straight to his house. The outside was overgrown with weeds. He was overwhelmed. He remembered the hole in the roof. He went inside. The rooms were filled with cobwebs covering the beds with the colourful embroidered rugs. Everything was layered with a thick layer of dust. The few mice living there were scared away by the knock of his shoes entering the house. He paced around. The silence terrified him. His presence drove away the creatures that lived there.

“Lord God!” he said and crossed himself and with a heavy heart moved to the other room. The door almost collapsed when he opened it. Dust covered his black suit and cobwebs hung on his hat. A large chunk of mortar broke off from the ceiling and fell on the floor. It picked up a lot of dust and splinters flew in all directions. He looked at the ceiling curiously and concluded that there was no danger of more stuff falling off it. He sat on the double bed covered with all sorts of junk and a thick layer of dust. He pushed the junk aside with his thin fingers and tried to wipe the dust off the bed. His eyes became wet as he remembered the hazy days of his childhood and the games he played here. He became all excited but was afraid his heart could not take the excitement. He thought of the twins and in his mind they pointed to Evangelia Gasparova. It seemed like he was looking into their eyes. His mind was blurred. He just wanted to die. He was glad that this was happening in his own home. He lay on his bed ready to close his eyes forever. A while later he calmed down, got up, wiped his tears with his white velvet handkerchief and left the house. A little later he found himself in Stefanos’s store. Stefanos recognized him immediately. Stavre was looking old. Time had taken its toll on him and he looked like an old man ready to hit the grave. They did not hug. There were no smiles. They just shook hands quietly and Stavre sat at a table. The Asia Minor colonist offered him a glass of rakia and they toasted.

“To your return!” said the Asia Minor colonist and drank the rakia.

Stavre Nakovski took a sip and put his glass on the table.

Referring to the rakia, Stavre said: “It’s hot enough to make you angry…”

They sat there silently staring at each other wildly. Stavre drank the rakia and left the store. He sluggishly walked down the street. He arrived at the church and stood there. He felt darkness overcome him as he tried hard not to remember the evil that took place there. Unfortunately he was unable to control his thoughts and they quickly overtook him and carried him to the past. Several children ran out of the school building and disappeared in the distance. An old man ran after them. Stavre’s heart rate began to rise. He forced himself to slow it down but he couldn’t. The man came closer to him. Stavre did not recognize him. It was the teacher Ioannidis Karahopoulos. He sighed deeply and his body felt relieved as if a mountain had dropped off his back. He turned and quickly walked away. He left and disappeared into the forest. He was in a hurry. He arrived in Solun in the evening and went back to the “Mediterranean” hotel where the staff was courteous and smiled often. The hotel was almost empty. The weather was nice. He sat in the summer garden and enjoyed the aroma of the oleanders. He drank his coffee and tried to gather his thoughts.

7. The aroma of the oleanders in the summer garden of hotel “Mediterranean” brought Stavre back to Solun several more times. He always sat at the same table. One time while sitting alone...

8. A man a few years older than him came over to his table. He was wearing a single-breasted grey suit with a buffed vest and a glittering gold chain hung from his vest pocket. In the dim light Stavre assumed it was holding a pocket watch. The man smiled a friendly smile and extended his trembling hand.

“You really don’t recognize me?” the man said.

Stavre looked long and hard at the man’s swollen face shaking his head suspiciously. Then there was a smile on his face. “Pondilaki! You are alive! Please sit down!” he said quietly in his hoarse voice and adjusted a chair for him to sit on.

“Not here. I will take you to another place,” replied Pondilaki.

9. Pondilaki took Stavre to a little bistro near the coast. They went inside. It was dim but in the dark his eyes made out Manoli Strezovski. He was sitting with a middle-aged woman. She was wearing a round hat with a number of distasteful colourful flowers pinned to it made of fabric. Manoli jumped off his chair. They embraced and sat down.

“This is our friend Sofia,” said Manoli, “she worked at one time at the boarding house ‘Macedonia’. We had a nice time together.”

Stavre Nakovski looked at her and smiled. Sofia stretched a smile on her thinning lips and gently tapped Pondilaki on the shoulder.

“This is Stavre Nakovski. Our old friend,” said Pondilaki. “The only one we are missing to be complete is Foti Steriov. To have a new Café ‘Macedonia’ or something like that...”

“Where is Foti Steriov, what happened to him?” asked Manoli looking at Sofia Geleva.

“From what I know Foti disappeared before the war. We will have to ask Urania Papaioannou, she may know,” replied Sofia Geleva.

“Urania is dead... Time will bring Foti back like it did us. If he doesn’t show up then we will have to bury him,” said Stavre.

10. Pondilaki left the bistro late in the evening to take Sofia Geleva home. Manoli Strezovski wrote Evangelia Gasparova Nakovska’s address on a piece of paper and pushed it towards Stavre.

“She told me to give it to you when I found you. I don’t know if you are happy about this but those were my orders,” he said.

Stavre Nakovski looked at the piece of paper. He felt his chest rising from the strong beating of his heart. He thought of Evangelia Gasparova like she was someone from his distant past. The piece of paper brought him back to reality. He was feeling sick.

“Please, take me back to the hotel!” he said to Manoli and stood up.

They came out of the bistro and a clear and quiet breeze coming from the sea brought his breath back. They arrived at the hotel and stopped at the front door.

“I will see you tomorrow,” said Stavre and went up the stairs to his room. He went to bed but had difficulty falling asleep. He was at war with the piece of paper. A new front had opened up for him. The new war that appeared before him did not want him to kill. It demanded the opposite… love...

11. As time passed Stavre’s situation became even more disturbing for him. He did not know what to do and where to go. Should he go to Skopje and be with Evangelia Gasparova Nakovska and the twins about whom Manoli said nothing, or should he return to the Peloponnesus to the house he had built for himself and spent thirty-five years with Ksantina Periklis, his son Peno and his manufacturing business? He wanted to consult with Pondilaki but was embarrassed about starting such a conversation. However he decided…

“I will go to Skopje. That is my destiny. Time has played me and left me hanging in the air…” he thought to himself.

12. He calmly and slowly got off the train at the Skopje train station and quietly slid into a taxi. He handed the driver the piece of paper with the address.

“I know where it is. Don’t worry, I will take you to the house,” said the driver cheerfully and gave him back the piece of paper.

Stavre took it, put it in his wallet and put the wallet in his coat pocket.

“Are you Macedonian? I see you talk with Macedonian words!” said Stavre.

“And how should I be speaking? This is Macedonia and we speak Macedonian,” interjected the driver and looked at him strangely.

Stavre Nakovski smiled contentedly.

“In Periklisis the children were taught that beyond the border was Serbia,” he thought to himself and then he remembered the people who had brought him weapons during the war. “Maybe they are living in Skopje,” he thought to himself and was glad to be in Skopje.

The taxi crossed several streets and stopped in front of a high-rise building. Stavre paid the driver and got out of the car. He went inside the building and climbed up the stairs to the third floor. He rang the bell. An old woman appeared at the door. She was slightly bent forward but had the clear eyes that attracted Stavre like a magnet in the town between the great river and the high mountains. Even though she had a wrinkled face and her head was wrapped in a black head kerchief, he recognized her. He extended his hand. The strong smell of sarma (cabbage rolls) emanating from the kitchen distracted him. He saw tears in Evangelia’s eyes. He followed her to the living room. He sat on the armchair next to a rack full of books. He sighed deeply. He was silent. Evangelia wiped the tears from her eyes and sat opposite to him in the other armchair. She stood up.

“I will make some coffee,” she said with a trembling voice. She went into the kitchen and wept in anguish. The floor was wet with her tears. She did not have the strength to prepare the coffee. The poor woman shook and lingered around the stove trying hard not to fall on the floor. She wiped her tears and made the coffee. She put the cup on a colourful plastic tray and placed a small porcelain dish with quince jam near it and took the tray to the living room.

Stavre took the coffee and the sweet and put them on the small folding table. They were silent. As if fearing that the spoken word would destroy the long absence from their marriage. The strong aroma from the sarma cooking compelled them to move to the kitchen table. Evangelia placed a white tablecloth on the table and set it. They had no appetite and did not eat. They sat there quietly.

Evangelia stood up and left the kitchen. She came back and spoke, cutting the silence of uneasiness.

“I prepared a bed for you to rest. You must be tired from the trip,” she said. She led him into the bedroom and let him lie down. She returned to the kitchen and wept again.

13. Stavre Nakovski stayed with Evangelia four days. They spent most of the time in silence. He asked her how the children were doing.

“Pandura, her husband and their children are in Toronto visiting Peno. They will be there for two months,” she replied and felt the emptiness all around her without Pandura standing next to her. And that was all. She took Stavre to the train station. They were silent. The train left. She returned to her house and felt the void that was created by his departure. She was sorry to let him go. She sat in the apartment alone and cried most of the time.

“Damn, I never asked him for his address. Perhaps he will come back again? He will come back again,” she cried loudly, and encouraged her tears to flow. “Flow,” she said, “flow damn it and fill Macedonia with brine, maybe then no one will want it.” She was unable to calm down. She could not sleep all night. The next day she received a telegram. It was sent from Solun. She rejoiced. She opened it. She read the text and turned pale. She wept.

“God forgive me! If I had held him here he would not have died. I am damned! I let the railway people find him dead on the train. Now they are calling me to go and bury him! It is as if they don’t know that I am not allowed to set foot in Solun or anywhere on the territory of that country! They chased me away many years ago! Let them bury him. Perhaps we are cursed by an unknown force. Oh God...” she said and re-read the telegram. She went into the living room, lay down on the sofa and cried ... “Why is time playing with us? Who sinned so much that we have to be chased away from home and to be filling the world with tears? Will we ever go home? To die on our native soil...”

14.

The railway people found Stavre Nakovski on the train. They looked for his address written in his passport and personal documents but could not find it. He was listed as a resident of Urania Papaioannou’s old house, which was then reported to the police. But they searched in vain because the house was torn down a long time ago. He was buried by the people from a funeral home at the expense of the state. No one came at his funeral. Pondilaki and Manoli Strezovski would have certainly worn black suits and would have laid a wreath on his grave, had they known. Not even Sofia Geleva heard about his death. His disappearance from the world of the living was not published anywhere. If it was someone would have placed a flower on his grave. He disappeared like he had never lived...

Iovan Parlapanov

(Bio-bibliographical note)

Iovan Parlapanov was born on January 12, 1948 in the village Marvintsi, Valandovo. He studied at the Faculty of Philology in Skopje (History of literature - the peoples of Yugoslavia). He dealt with literature for many years. He published prose articles in many newspapers and magazines including the titles “Mlad Borets”, “Trudbenik”, “Makedonia”, “Chetvrti Iul”, “Borba”, “Stremezh” and “Sovemenost”. His works were also translated into the various languages of Yugoslavia.

The author participated in numerous photo monographic exhibitions such as “NOV vo Makedonia 1941-1945”, “Februarskiot pohod”, “XIV Mladinska Brigada ‘Dimitar Vlahov’…” and multiple displays, features and promotional texts about NOV and the revolution.

He won first prize in the traditional general-Yugoslav competition for stories with themes from NOVJ for 1982, which is traditionally announced every year the SZBNOVJ “Chetvorti Iul” magazine in Belgrade.

The author is a representative of the poetry performance “Vrakianie nema” based on Risto G. Iachev’s verses performed on stage at Salon 19, 19 in the Skopje Centre for Culture and Information.

In 1983 he released the novel “Otade pekolot” published by IRO “Kultura” in Skopje. This was the first novel trilogy entitled “Pekolno vreme” dedicated to the struggle for existence, national and social freedom of the Macedonian people in Aegean (Greek occupied) Macedonia.

The novel “Smrt vo Solun” (Death in Solun) is his third novel of the trilogy “Pekolno vreme”.

Iovan Parlapanov has lived and worked in Skopje since 1953.

About the novel

In efforts to wrap up the story of the struggle for existence, national and social freedom of the Macedonian people from Aegean (Greek occupied) Macedonia, Iovan Parlapanov has painted a picture of the inhuman persecution perpetrated by the Greek state apparatus against the Macedonian and other progressive people in Greece, who aspired to step into the future encircled with human dignity. With precise chronology Iovan has used lush language and distinctive style in a documentary style structure, to introduce almost everything that took place on the territory of Aegean (Greek occupied) Macedonia during the war years. He gave us an opportunity through the events, fates and personalities to observe the genesis of evil that grew into genocide like none in the Balkans. Modestly and fabulously he places us in something more terrible than hell, something that only man could imagine... The novel is filled with all the political turmoil that took place in Greece during and after the war. Its main feature is the anti-war message to eradicate the horrors caused by human folly and greed with a single conclusion: no other people experience the tragedy of Macedonians from Aegean (Greek occupied) Macedonia, regardless in which geographical areas they live...

Branimir Stanoievich