WELCOME TO THE KOLHOZ NEW LIFE - Part 06

Everyone sat around the table - Mara, Mitre, Done, Slavka. All together parents and children... They didn’t have many relatives. Some died during the war and the rest were broken up and living somewhere in other countries.

There was silence.

Everyone was thinking of places and things far away from the Ukrainian hata.

Mara took the large pan with the food from the sofra and went out to the yard. She grabbed a handful, threw it on the ground and said something like she used to say on her balcony back home on Christmas Eve. She made sure she said for the Lord, for her husband, for her children, for everyone’s good health, for the livestock, for the fields, the meadows, the vineyards and for the harvest...

They sat around the low table, just like they had years ago when they were celebrating holidays back home and ate their food thinking of a bygone era...

Mara brought the gium, full of wine made from black currants, from the adjoining room. Mitre filled everyone’s glasses, raised his and, with a trembling voice and tearful eyes, said:

“To our good health and for many years...” He wanted to say something more but he lost his voice.

Mara stroked his trembling hand and shaking her finger at him said:

“Don’t fall apart on me now, here in front of the children... Have another drink and you will be fine.”

To change the subject and lighten the mood, Done said:

“I see you brought the gium here, mother.”

She remembered him as a child filling the gium with water from the spring more than once. He drank from it many times to quench his thirst.

Mara looked at the gium from top to bottom, caressed it and quietly whispered:

“I did, son, I did…” and she too lost her voice. She quickly took off her black head kerchief and covered her face with it. She wept silently with shoulders shaking.

The guim was the oldest object on the table. It was even older than Mitre. Mitre stared at it with sad eyes and wondered:

Will this old gium, whose age he doesn’t know and the key that hangs around Mara’s neck on a silk rope be the only legacy of the many things he inherited from his ancestors, which he will leave for his children…? What will he leave behind from his home except this gium and the key?

The next day Mitre sat between Done and Slavka and started a conversation. He said:

“What are you going to do when you finish school?”

“We should get together somewhere, father,” replied Done.

“Where?” asked Mitre.

“Many Macedonians are thinking of moving to Macedonia, Skopje, Bitola, Kumanovo, Tetovo. Where they have relatives or where the state will find a place for them. That’s what I think. Only there can we take refuge, father,” replied Done.

“What do you think about going home, to our place?” asked Mitre.

“Our place, father, is no longer our place. The Vlachs settled there. There is nothing left of us there. They even removed the stones, not only from the collapsed walls, but also from the foundations and built their houses with them... Greece doesn’t want us... it doesn’t want us... Maybe it will want us if it needs us to spill more blood...” replied Done.

“My dear son, who wants us?” interrupted Mara and added: “Is there anyone who wants us?”

“For the time being let it be like I said, father. After a year or so Slavka and I will finish our studies and then we will meet again and decide. Until then you stay here...” replied Done.

“And you, daughter, what do you say?” asked Mitre.

“I agree with Done, father...” replied Slavka.

Before they left for school Mara said to them:

“And don’t rush into planning any weddings. We will do them together in our tradition... Two drums and nine pipes... Just like we used to do them back home...”

Mitre and Mara, as well as all others like them, didn’t have this country in their hearts. They didn’t feel it was theirs even though they had laboured with sweat for years to rebuild the abandoned and plundered Ukrainian hatas; to repair the straw roofs and smoke stacks and to toil in the great green valley surrounded by green hills and pine forests. They didn’t feel it was theirs even though they’d brought human voices, crying and laughing of children and a school bell. Everything they did was accompanied by a lot of pain, sorrow and longing for their own homes which they had abandoned far, far away from here... They constantly prayed to God on the small icons they’d found scattered in the storm from where they collected them, cleaned them and hung them in their hatas. They felt terrible seeing the church bell abandoned, still lying in the brook covered by thorn trees... They didn’t feel this country was theirs even though they plowed, planted and harvested the wheatfields, potato, cabbage and beet fields. They did, however, enjoy watching the golden wheat ripple in waves on windy days. They enjoyed watching the sheep scattered on the hills and listened to the sound of the bells they carried around their necks. They enjoyed looking after their cows in the plains and in their houses and with their milk they made bureks and zelniks with onions and leeks roasted under a saach. They often baked pogachi and ate the hot bread on both hot and cold days. They also enjoyed the aroma of roasting pork rinds. They were similar but not the same as those at home.

* * *

Done and Slavka, as well as hundreds of other Kostur, Lerin and Voden Region villagers in Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Romania, Yugoslavia and the Soviet Union, completed their education. With their degrees and diplomas in hand they took to the stormy waters of life with widely opened sails. But, even as engineers, doctors, architects, economists, historians, teachers, professors, writers, many with master’s degrees and doctorates, they and their parents found no open borders on the road to their place of birth.

They remained on the road of no return forever, searching for a new homeland...

THIS IS HOW IT WAS...