PART ONE - Part 04

When they heard the roar of the trucks, Donka along with the other women ran to the road and blocked it with hopes of slowing down

the trucks. Those in the trucks screamed and those on the ground screamed right back. They were all shouting names and the multitude of voices mixed together. Those on the trucks threw leaflets into the crowd which caused people to scramble away from the road and scatter, looking for them in the grass, in cracks, behind rocks and in the ditches. Again some leaflets brought joy to the people, while others brought them great pain. The people spoke to each other but very briefly, just a few words, enough to exchange news of what had happened to whom in what village...

Whose heart could endure?

Donka left the crowd and with arms raised above her head walked towards the trucks signaling them to stop. Begging she asked the people if they knew her son Krste and described him as having curly black hair and a high forehead... And even though there were no answers she kept walking beside the trucks stumbling, crouching and praying.

The road was boiling with people whispering in quiet voices. Every day, from dawn to dusk, men, women and children searched the road and went through every blade of dried grass, every thorn bush and every crack and ditch along the road, looking for leaflets. Some found joy and others found dreadful news in the rolled up leaflets. One of the women found a leaflet in the dried grass. She unfolded it and called out loud:

“This is for Donka from the village...!” someone yelled.

“I’m Donka!” yelled Donka and ran towards the woman. “I’m Donka! I’m Donka! Give it to me!” she continued yelling...

Donka’s hands and face trembled. She sat down, spread her apron on her lap, and unrolled the leaflet. There was something written on it but she couldn’t read it. She had never learned how to read. There was a man looking for leaflets through the bushes close to her so she asked him to read it for her. These were the words written on it:

“Mother I am alive and well, your son Risto!”

That was all that was written.

These few words brought happiness to Donka’s wrenched and pained heart. They were words of joy, she was most fortunate...

10

On the large bulletin board, set up next to the large military tent, near which was the main kitchen with four cauldrons under which the fire was never extinguished, Iani, who was in charge of the administration in the camp, with a piece of coal completed writing the words:

“Fifty volunteers are needed”

“They are to immediately report to the administration”

Crowds of men gathered around in front of the board wondering what was written on it and what it might mean. There were only a few who could read and those who couldn’t stood there in stunned silence, wondering what the message was all about, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders with uncertainty and doubt while returning to their tents.

They knew what the word “volunteer” meant. Not because the word was familiar to them but because that word, like so many other words, had ruined their lives and moved the earth from under them...

The times, even though the people were far away from home, even though the war was over, were still unsafe and turbulent, people were talking, saying that something was being “secretly cooked” and some were ready to again run to the forests, mountains and hills.

“This doesn’t sound good to me,” whispered Lazo to his neighbour.

“Volunteers?! It sounds to me like they want to send us back to the mountains, to die. What do you think? What’s your take on all this?”

“May God protect us from evil... it is bad...” whispered Boris with a tone of fear in his voice. He then spat to the side, crossed himself and hurriedly left for his tent.

Iani, the person who was in charge of the administration was anxious to get his volunteers. He kept looking around hoping that someone would come to him. As he looked around the camp he saw a number of men laying in the shade of the tall poplar tree having a lively conversation. He saw one of them flapping his arms in the air, which Iani took to mean that he had found some volunteers for him.

The same message appeared on the board the next day. Men passing by looked at the board and hurriedly left to be as far as possible from Iani’s sight.

In the evening when the line was growing in front of the cauldrons, Iani pulled several men to the side and, in a whispering voice, said:

“A large ship from Russia has arrived at the port of Durres and has brought a lot of wheat for us. We have no one to unload it. That’s why we need the volunteers. Do any of you want to do this?”

“Wheat? They brought us wheat!!!” the men were heard saying. “Wheat, you say? For us? Hey, people, what are we waiting for... Come on, don’t wait, let’s go! How many volunteers do you need?”

“I need about fifty for now...” replied Iani and happily opened his notebook.

The news of a Russian ship, carrying Russian wheat, quickly flooded the entire camp. Men began to line up in front of Iani. It was a long line. Iani only wrote down fifty names and stopped.

Two trucks came to the camp during the dark of night and stopped at the side of the road.

Iani ordered the men to climb aboard and squeeze together. The drivers then covered them up with dirty tarpaulins. And even though they were assured that they were going to unload wheat from a Russian ship, they had doubts about this being true. They were

overcome by feelings that somehow they were being tricked and sent to a new battleground?

Even though they were all silent and said nothing to each other, they were all thinking the same thoughts and had the same suspicions, which were ruthlessly gnawing at them and keeping them awake.

The men could see street lights flashing above the trucks as they drove along a road and stopped in front of a wide iron gate that was blocking the entrance to the port. An armed guard came out of the watchtower, checked the drivers with his flashlight and asked them who was in charge. He then returned to the watchtower and spoke to someone on the telephone. After that he gave the signal to raise the ramp. There, about one hundred metres from the entrance, was a black figure with two tall stacks from which thick patches of black smoke rose high in the air and disappeared into the darkness. The two trucks stopped in front of the ship.

Iani ordered the men to get off the trucks and said: “What you are looking at is the Russian ship that needs to be unloaded, so climb up those stairs, don’t be afraid, and the people inside will explain to you what needs to be done.”

They could only work at night. They loaded full bags of wheat in a large net and signaled the crane operator to lift them off the ship and lower them onto the trucks. In the short time the crane was operated, the men took breaks to clean the chaff and dust off the grain and eat it raw. They took a handful of grain from their pockets, blew on it to remove the chaff and dust, and ate it. Before leaving the ship they all filled every pocket they had and tied their coat and shirt sleeves and their pant legs and filled them with wheat too.

Tired but content the men sat in front of their tents all over the camp and watched their little pots filled with wheat, sitting on stones, boil over a small fire. Women squatting all around them kept blowing on the fire to boost it. Thick black smoke rose like a swarm of black flies, swirled in clumps and grew and shrank stinging their eyes. With their grimy hands they wiped their tears and watched the fire burn hoping that the wheat would boil faster. Some didn’t have the patience and ate the wheat before it was fully boiled. Whatever was

left they took with them to eat later. Some women took handfuls of raw wheat and rolled it in their head kerchiefs for later, to boil it and give it to the people during the religious holidays just like they had at home in the village. At home they used to add sugar, sliced apples, raisins, colourful candies, walnuts, almonds, baked chickpeas, hazelnuts and other sorts of nuts. But here they would have to go from tent to tent to dispense it as it was...

“Take some, eat some, it’s good for the soul...” they would say just like they had at church in the village. “Take some for the souls of those who fell in battle, for the souls of those who we lost in the mountains, on the hills, on the islands and on the road that led to the desolate camps...”

“Take some people... take a bite for the souls...”

With the fingers of his left hand, Dedo Tode took a little of the wheat, closed his eyes, gave a silent prayer and said may God bless the souls of the living and the dead. His words were sad and filled with pain. His voice was bitter and full of despair and grief...

Dedo Tode then crossed himself three times and said “God have mercy on the souls of the dead and comfort the souls of the living.” He then left and headed for his tent, taking with him his unfinished prayer glued to his lips and fixed in his eyes.

During the holidays every tent became a place of prayer and every person prayed in silence, hoping and wishing for less pain and for better times ahead.

In this way many souls in the tents were soothed with that Russian wheat boiled over small fires burning between two stones...

Those who had some of the wheat even had blessings for Russia. Some were heard whispering: “May God bless Russia… May God bless the Russian soil which grew the wheat. May God bless the Russian people who harvested it and in their hearts felt that we should have it. May God bless the Russian farmers who plowed the fields, sowed and reaped the wheat and sent it to us on their ship...”

With prayers on their lips and with many questions on their minds as to what had happened to the wheat that the men from their camp were unloading from the Russian ship for weeks, they lined up in front of the administration shack every day at noon to receive a dry slice of cornbread brought to them by two cargo trucks, each carrying a dozen or so large casserole tins.

About a week later the same trucks arrived at the camp, stopped in front of the administration shack and unloaded bushels of loafs of bread made and baked in the city bakery. They weren’t large loaves of bread the kind the people were used to, they were more like large buns the size of a young person’s two fists. There was more rye in them than wheat. The buns would have been delicious on their own if they’d had a bit more salt in them. Each bun was cut in half and given to two people. The bread tasted delicious when it was dipped in salt and water and chewed together with raw onions. For some it was enough but not for all. Some didn’t eat it all and saved some for a rainy day - for tomorrow or for the day after tomorrow. In pieces, even in crumbs, they wrapped it in their long sleeve shirts and hid it deep down in their bags... They saved it for another day... They feared the future and had no idea what it was going to bring. They felt that part of that, mostly rye, unsalted dry bread should be saved. Let it dry; let it turn hard like stone, but save it for tomorrow or for the day after tomorrow. No one knows what’s going to happen tomorrow, the bread might be gone, it might be late arriving, or there might not be another Russian ship bringing wheat.

Mara’s hand trembled as she took her half of the bun. She didn’t look at it or admire it the way she used to admire the bread she made at home. When she pulled the bread out of her oven, with her flat wooden shovel, she held each loaf with both hands, blew the dust and ashes off them and then pressed them against her chest to feel their warmth. Now, holding the bread in her palm she felt no warmth. The warmth she had felt in the large loaves she made at home wasn’t there. While holding the hard rye bread in her hand, she imagined that she was holding a round bun, the kind they used to bake in the fireplace, the kind of dark bun they made of bran to feed their sheep dog.

Sitting in front of their tent, Mitre and Mara ate only one half of their portions of bread. They broke small pieces, dipped them in salt and silently in deep thought chewed them very slowly, held them on their palate for a long time and then swallowed them slowly together with their tears and pain… The other half of their portion, along with all the crumbs that Mara collected from her lap, she carefully wrapped in a white towel and placed them under her straw pillow, next to her bag and gium... Let it stay there for later, for tomorrow…”

Lazo, who was gathering berries at the top of the hill, ran down and yelled:

“I saw ships, big ships...”

People ran, followed him and watched the big ships out at sea bellowing black smoke from their chimneys, which flowed behind them over the sea.

Two large ships docked at the port of Durres at the end of the month. A day later another ship, a bigger white ship, docked in the same port. People could clearly see them from the top of the hill and many stayed there for hours watching them smoking. As they watched the ships they wondered what kind of goodies they had brought this time. Surely they must have brought more grain for making bread. Perhaps milk for the babies, or maybe warm clothes, bedding and covers?

Some old people were heard praying and saying: “God bless Russia…” while staring at the clouds of smoke rising from the chimneys of those big ships...

Baba Petra prayed the most while crossing herself and whispering words of gratitude:

“May God bless the Russian king and give him good health and a long life...”

“Don’t say that, Baba Petra,” interrupted Dedo Tode. “Russia doesn’t have a king...”

“Be quiet! As if you know whether or not there’s a king in Russia. There is, I’m sure of it. And he is a great king. Russia can’t be Russia without a king. You should know that!” replied Baba Petra angrily and, after crossing herself three times, said: “God bless the Russian king... Thank you for the grain you sent us to make our bread and for not forgetting us…” She then turned to Dedo Tode and angrily taunted him saying:

“Look at you! You think there is no king in Russia. I say there is... Russia can’t be Russia without a king. I’m telling you this so you will know it...”

Two days after the big white ship arrived Iani wrote another message on the bulletin board. With his black charcoal he wrote:

“More than one hundred volunteers are needed”

A crowd of men gathered in front of the administration shack. Those who could read, read the message out loud for those who couldn’t. This time the men had no concerns, no doubts and there were no quiet and secret questions as to whether volunteering was a good or bad thing. When Iani asked for volunteers this time, they were sure they would be needed to unload the wheat and who knows what else from those ships. They mumbled to each other that it was a good idea to volunteer. This time no one doubted the message and no one turned their back on Iani or the administration. Those who signed up were anxious to get going...

They were all curious and had high expectations. Some guessed that the ships were bringing them warm clothes, shoes, hats, coats, bread, cheese… As they lay in their beds waiting to be called they thought of the many things they needed which the ships could be bringing them. And as time passed, in their minds, they invented more and more things the big ships might be bringing…

Some of the wives of the volunteers told their husbands, “Go ahead, go line up, don’t wait for them to call you. Go now and unload all the goodies from the Russian ships…”

Two days later the hundreds of volunteers were picked up during the night by trucks and dropped off on the dock in front of the ships.

There were piles of wooden planks in the harbour yard, three to four feet long, and long wooden beams with the bark stripped off them. There were also boxes full of nails, hammers and saws.

The volunteers were divided into groups and given saws, hammers and nails. They climbed onto the ships on broken down stepladders.

There was no wheat in the bowels of the ships. They were empty and terribly dark. The men were asked to carry the wooden beams and planks deep down to the lowest levels and lay them on the floor. They were to lay the planks side by side on top of the beams and nail them down.

Again, the men only worked during the night and were returned to the camp the next day before dawn. They came back to the camp with empty pockets and callused hands. There was no wheat in their pockets. The men were tired and sweaty. They all wondered why those big ships needed wooden floors. Everyone back in the camp was expecting them to bring back wheat, warm clothes, blankets… They kept asking where the wheat was but no one had any answers? Even the ships’ crews were silent on the whereabouts of the wheat. Then there was the question of why the ships needed wooden floors but all the men got was a shrugging of shoulders. Even the ones who knew what the floors were for wouldn’t tell. They simply said they didn’t know. The ships’ crews spoke unfamiliar words that sounded like “szybciej”, “быстро” (bistro) and “mai repede”, words which had no meaning for the men. They continued to work uninterrupted passing beams and planks down into the ships and laying and nailing them. The crew told them the floors must be strong and built well as they monitored their progress, not with a measuring tape but with footsteps. When they completed the lower floors they instructed the men to build more floors on top of them. Everything was measured by steps. They showed them how wide they wanted the distance between floors and the men built them.

The following are words the men heard that were unfamiliar to them:

“Szybciej!” – Polish, meaning faster.

“Быстро!” (bistro) – Russian, meaning faster.

“Mai repede!” – Romanian, meaning faster.

A few days later, when the second floor was built and checked to make sure it was solid enough to hold a lot of weight, a third floor was ordered and then a fourth...

Sometime before dawn when the work stopped the crew again spoke unfamiliar words.

The following are words the men heard:

“Gotowe!” – Polish, meaning ready, done.

“Готовый! (gotovi)” – Russian, meaning ready, done.

“Gata!” – Romanian, meaning ready, done.

“Ετοιµο!” (etimo) – Greek, meaning ready, done.

Even though the men didn’t understand the strange words, in time they understood what was meant by them. It was time to stop nailing. Their work for the day was done and it was time to move on. The last floor was nailed and there was no room for more floors. And so on and so on… The last man, the one who said “etimo”, looked at the floors, measured them by taking steps and wrote a bunch of numbers in his notebook. He again said “etimo” and then left. The workers had a hard time forgetting him and that word he used because it was spoken by the same man who they’d listened to at rallies, held in the middle of the day. They had listened to him when he was proclaiming victory in every battle the partisans fought. He never once said that the partisans had lost a battle. They listened to him when he asked them to give everything they had for victory. And they listened to him now while they were nailing down the floors...

Some thought to themselves and wondered: “For what purpose is the construction ‘etimo’ - what purpose will these floors serve on top of one another? Who were those people who spoke to them in unfamiliar languages and checked to see if the boards were nailed properly and if the floors were firm enough to support a lot of weight? And what did those names of the ships written with large capital letters, that none of the men could read, mean?” Some of the letters resembled the Greek alphabet which the men had learned in elementary school back in their villages. Most of the letters weren’t familiar to them. Someone said that Mitre, who had been to America for a long time, might know how to read them.

Mitre was working nailing boards on the lowest floor when he was summoned by some of the men to come out and read the letters written on the ships. Mitre looked at the letters and, instead of reading them, said those letters were probably the names of the ships. The names were “Kościuszko”, “Transylvania” and “Мичурин” (Michurin) but Mitre was unable to read them. He turned to the men and said:

“These letters are mixed, damn it. There is a letter from the Greek Alfavita (alphabet) and others I don’t know, they look like they come from some foreign language... That’s all I can tell you. Look for someone educated…”

Mitre was well traveled but not educated. He had spent four years in America where he worked side by side with Serbs, Czechs, Poles, Greeks, Bulgarians, Russians, Ukrainians, Chinese and others, breaking stones and wheeling them in a wooden wheelbarrow to a site where a rock bed was laid and rails were laid on top of it. There he poured more sweat and used more of his strength than he ever had in the thirty years of working in his own fields, gardens, vineyards, meadows and generally looking after his own property. There he also learned a few foreign words, and when he returned to his village he used them in his everyday village speech like beads on a string. He often repeated them at village meetings, in the village tavern, in front of the church and so on. To those around him he seemed like he’d become more clever, more educated since he’d returned from America. Mitre not only brought money but he also brought well-made suits which he wore when he went to church,

visiting his relatives and friends and to the market in Kostur and Rupishta. He brought back many other foreign words which no one knew what they meant. No one knew if they were used to ridicule, to spite, or for irony. He also used one of those awful and ugly swear words, which the English, French, German and other business owners and city administrators dumped on their workers.

The work done on the ships “Kościuszko” and “Мичурин” (Michurin) lasted eight days. No work was done on the largest and most beautiful great white ship “Transylvania”, which at one time had belonged to the Romanian king. It wasn’t loaded...

When the men finished nailing and in the dark of night got off the ships, a man unfamiliar to them waited for them by the trucks. Before they got on the trucks, in a quiet yet harsh tone of voice he said to them:

“Keep your mouths shut! You aren’t to tell anyone what you were doing here! You understand?!” They said yes and agreed to keep their mouths shut and tell no one about what they were doing on those ships. At night the trucks brought the men back to the camp.

That night was dark, hazy, grimacing and fatal. It was a night of uncertainty... That night was uneasy and full of stormy thoughts like the waters of a swollen, murky river. That night threw anathema on those who marked time with words of hope. And as it turned out that night was full of deceit... It was:

A night of damnation...

A night of pain...

A night of curses...

A night of hopelessness...

Flashes of lightning were seen falling behind the mountain. One flash followed another and then thunder followed. Not once but many times. The open sky was cut by the constant lightning and thunder and rain poured out of it. The people stood in the open.

They watched the muddy water run down the slope. Some of the dirty water was absorbed by the dry parched soil and some evaporated in puffs of vapour.

No one was talking. Not a word to anyone.

The next morning the same administrators were back, who a while ago were in the camp taking down people’s names with promises that they would send them back to their villages. The people greeted them with a lot of coughing, crackling voices, threats, bewilderment, restlessness and anger. There was so much commotion in the crowd that the person speaking on the stage couldn’t be heard. Only the waving of his hands was visible but his voice couldn’t be heard. His voice was lost in the noise made by the crowd murmuring, cursing, swearing and shouting slurs expressing its anger and deepest pain. The crowd kept growing; men and women were gathering in front of the stage and getting angrier. Their voices became louder like an angry roaring storm. The people were so angry they thundered, stormed and threatened. Their shouts were spreading far and wide, creeping into the tents and echoing on the hills. Like a blazing fire anger engulfed everyone. It ignited the people and broke out and began to boil the silence. The voices of hearts and souls were roaring out loud. And as the crowd grew larger, the storm didn’t subside; it grew even larger and with it grew the bold anger of the deceived and humiliated refugees.

11

Dedo Tode didn’t lose hope. He wanted to spread his hope to everyone around him. He told the people not to lose hope. The trucks that had passed weren’t for them. “Our trucks haven’t come yet. Stay, don’t leave the road,” he said while sitting under the shade of the plum tree. He sat there all day long until late at night. He only got up and walked around briefly, enough to stretch his legs. He kept telling the people not to lose hope, “Those trucks that were meant for us were sent somewhere else. When they do that job they will surely come back and pick us up…” he used to say while he waited and waited. Then, at dusk, a long row of trucks arrived and stopped on the side of the road. Dedo Tode immediately jumped to his feet and with a steady and strong pace, ran to the camp shouting:

“People, people, the trucks are here! They have arrived! Get up; collect your belongings and come! People, the trucks are here, let’s go… let’s go home. Home, people, we want to go home, hurry, hurry, the trucks are waiting…!”

Crowds of people rushed to the road where the trucks stood parked with their lights and motors off. More and more people gathered, all overwhelmed by a single thought – their time had come to leave. They were eager and full of joy that, at long last, they would be going home.

“We have had enough! We want to go home!” yelled one of the old people with a tone of impatience in his voice, while he persistently urged the others to collect their belongings and get moving.

“Pick up your rags, we’re going home!” yelled Dedo Tode. “We’re going home. Move faster the trucks are waiting. Hurry, hurry, people...! The trucks are waiting to take us home. Those cursed bastards who brought us here have finally remembered us. Hurry up and pick up your things...”

They yelled and ran and the road and slope came alive with people.

“Back! Back! Wait! Stop!” yelled a tall man loudly. He was from the leadership.

“Wait for what?” someone in the crowd yelled back.

“The trucks are here for us? Right?!” yelled another voice from the crowd.

“Why should we wait? Didn’t we wait long enough?!” another voice protested.

“People, let’s go, the trucks are here for us...!” yelled another voice from the crowd.

“People, people, take it easy, there is no need for pushing. There will be room for everyone. No one will be left behind. There will be room for everyone, just move slowly, without pushing.

“Watch out you almost knocked my daughter down. Why are you cutting into the line? It has been decided that we are all leaving, no one will be left behind?

“Thank you God for listening to me and for answering my prayers. Let it be your glory up there in your high place from where you witnessed our torment...” said Baba Petra and crossed herself. “Please God look after us and protect us from further torment...” she continued while collecting her things...

“People! People! Make way for me to pass. I have a sick wife, make way, make way...” yelled someone from the back.

Another person standing in line got upset and yelled at someone: “Why are you pushing, can’t you see that we’re all in line waiting to get on?! Ignorant people.”

“Hey, you, you forgot your rug!” someone yelled.

“That’s okay, I don’t need it. I have a better one at home. Let it stay here. Some poor person might need it...” replied the person who had left his rug behind.

“You also forgot your hat...” said the first person.

“It can stay here too... I have four at home… That is if no one broke in and stole them. Let’s go, let’s go without rugs and hats...” replied the second person.

“Hurry up, get moving! Why are you constantly looking behind you?” said another person.

“I’m looking in case I forgot something...” replied the person looking back.

“Didn’t I tell you, the leadership wouldn’t forget us?” said Lazo loudly, praising. “Didn’t I tell you that he, the leader, wouldn’t forget the people and would continue to lead us to a bright future as he always told us…”

“Of course you did! We’ve been here for many days and nights and we not only haven’t seen him but we haven’t even seen his back...” replied another man.

“Towards a bright future, I tell you, towards a bright future… He will lead us to communism. Remember that…!” insisted Lazo.

“You, Lazo, all you have in your mouth is communism and more communism. But you are blind to the fact that you are wearing no pants and your ass is naked. Is your mind not working at all?” asked the first man.

“There is no need for my mind to work. I don’t need to think or worry and you shouldn’t have to either, we have the leaders to do that for me and for you... Do you understand?” replied Lazo.

The person from the leadership opened his briefcase and pulled out a large notebook. He opened it, looked into the crowd and loudly said:

“People! Oh people! Listen to me now. Arrange yourselves in groups by village. You will get on the truck when your village name is called... We don’t have the time to call you by name... I will call the name of your village ... and after that you will receive a number. You will then need to find the truck with that number and get on it. Do you understand? Now be quiet and listen...”

“What did you say?!” asked Dedo Tode with a grin on his face and perked his ear to hear the answer.

“He said that when our village name is called we are to climb onto the trucks...” someone replied.

“Well, didn’t I tell you that?!” said Dedo Tode, who couldn’t stop talking. “You see I told you they would take us straight to our villages... to our homes... not on foot but on trucks...”

When all the people were gathered in groups by village they were given a number with instructions to board the trucks on which the same number was written. So the people, the villages and trucks became numbers.

12

The person from the leadership took out the notebook from his briefcase and began the evacuation process.

Those from that and that village pick up your things and line up in front of the trucks.

“Are they all here?” he asked, counting, and recounting.

“Now get on the trucks!” he ordered.

The crossroad was empty.

The trucks drove at night and everyone thought that that was exactly what needed to be done. “Why expose ourselves to the locals, there might be someone among them who will inform the enemy of our return?” some thought. They all felt happy and rejoiced. They smiled at one another, wished each other good luck and hugged each other as if parting company. It was like they were returning home from a long vacation. Finally many sighed with relief thinking to themselves that the worst was over and they were going home. Their waiting, troubles, sleeping in the rain, in humidity and wind, in heat, in cold, in dirt, and not having a bath were finally over... This drive gave them hope and joy and wiped the shadow of hopelessness out of their faces.

But, in reality, there were only two people among them all who really knew where they were going, the person from the leadership and the lead driver.

Suddenly there were lights all around the road on which the trucks drove. They had entered a city. There were people walking in every direction going somewhere. The trucks crossed the main street, descended down the small slope and stopped in front of the big, iron

gate. Two men in military uniforms opened the wings of the gate and let the trucks in. Then they slowly drove down the large courtyard one behind the other…

“That’s good!” said Dedo Tode. “Make some space...” He then slammed both fists on the roof of the driver’s cab and yelled out: “Why are you going so slow?! Move it. Drive where the truck can go faster. Hell, if they continue to drive this slow I might as well get off and walk, I will get home faster on foot!”

Kiro, with his back leaning on Dedo Tode’s shoulder, was silent and thinking. His head was full of thoughts about his house. What shape would he find his house in? Would it still be standing or burned down to the ground? If it had been burned down he would have to rebuild it. If the walls were cracked he would have to strengthen them. If the foundations were healthy he would have to rebuild the entire house just like his grandfather did after the Ilinden Uprising when the house was burnt to the ground. He would build a new and more beautiful house on top of old foundations. That’s what he would do, he thought to himself...

He continued to think about his house, his flocks of sheep and cattle, his fields, garden, vineyard... and how he would again listen to the rooster announce the time early in the morning, how he would listen to the bleating of newly born lambs in the yard… surely there would be many things missing which he would have to replace. The only thing that gave him pain was the thought that not many of his relatives were still alive and those who were… how many of them would return? These were painful thoughts that haunted him, caused tears to run down his cheeks and his throat to constrict. They were thoughts he’d rather not think…

“Step on it! Step on the gas I said!” yelled Dedo Tode with all his might, tearing Kiro away from his thoughts. “Didn’t I tell you to go faster? Don’t make me get off and walk home... Do you hear me or are you deaf, huh?!”

Kiro tried again to reconnect with his thoughts of what he would do when he returned home...

But that joy and hope faded away when the truck entered the large yard through the wide open, ugly iron gate.

The great hope that had filled their hearts and souls when they had boarded the trucks that they thought were taking them home, froze when they saw the ships. Their cheers of returning home were gone.

Those who until yesterday vowed that the trucks were going to take them home were the first to realize that the ships weren’t going to sail on the waters leading home. There were no waters that they could sail that would take them to their villages, not even good roads, only difficult paths to walk on over treacherous hills and through valleys.

On their left they could see a large body of water. Someone said it was the sea. In it the people could see the reflection of the full moon looking like it was drowning in the great murky water. The waves caused the moon’s image to twist and oscillate.

The trucks stopped rolling and a voice was heard yelling: “Everyone off the trucks!” It was the same voice that had yelled at them to get on the trucks in Pegin. “We have arrived! Get off the trucks and line up. Stand side by side and climb one by one up these steps.”

People quickly began to line up in front of the stairs.

All able bodied people were asked to climb up the steep iron steps and hold on to the thick ropes which substituted for handrails. Those who were sick and couldn’t climb, including mothers with young children who they had to carry, were placed in baskets and hoisted up on the ships. With fear in their eyes and silence on the lips the people followed one another down the steep stairs and into the bowels of the ships, guided only by dim lights. Filled with fear and uncertainty they firmly held on to the thick ropes as they walked uneasily, being swayed from side to side by the waves that rocked the ships. Women wearing white coats were sprinkling them with a kind of white powder. Someone said it was medicine to kill the lice.

Unsteady on their feet and with great fear in their hearts, the people boarded the ships and made their way into the large dark rooms with

the floors covered by wooden planks. In the middle of each room was a long wooden table with wooden benches on both sides. Young women dressed in white coats brought baskets into the rooms from which they took out bread, plates, cups, pitchers full of some brown liquid, boiled potatoes and meat, and set them on the tables.

The people had never seen so much bread... Not since they had left home. They had their eyes glued to it.

They ate as much as they could and then looked for a place to rest and sleep. Dedo Tode and Kiro grabbed the last unoccupied corner at the far entrance of the room. After a long silence, Dedo Tode quietly and shyly said:

“You know, Kiro, when they put me in that basket and lifted me up above the water, I am embarrassed to say, I almost… but I didn’t… I endured... some of us endured and some of us didn’t... I am ashamed to tell you what... And you, you, I ask, how did you do, huh?”

Kiro was silent, lost somewhere deep in his thoughts.

The ship’s lights were turned off. It was dark. Everyone was quiet, only the heavy sighs broke the silence. There was a biting uncertainty on everyone’s mind. “Where are we? Why did they put us on ships? Where will they take us? Will they take us deep into the sea and unload us there?” These were the kinds of thoughts the people were thinking. There was no one to tell them what was happening, which gave them good reason to have negative thoughts and think of tragic scenarios. No one told them where they were going.

They couldn’t fall asleep. They were full with heaps of suspicion and fear. It was scary and the unknown was making it worse. Underneath them, in the gloomy bowels of the dark ship, they felt the ship swaying, like some kind of blunt knocking beneath them, and this caused them unrest. The back and forth swinging swelled their bones with fear and uncertainty. Lying next to one another they held hands afraid of being thrown around in the ship. Overwhelmed by the unrest and uncertainty, they looked at the ship’s iron ceiling, staring at the little dim lights. The women prayed silently.

Somewhere in the middle of the ship a young child was crying. A male voice groaned loudly. It was a deep, loud and painful groan. A female voice crying, broke out in the dark...

A long, powerful and sad siren blew. It was like saying goodbye to the port. The ship began to move slowly, stirring the misty waters around it and breaking free from the mud it had sunk into while sitting at the dock. Inside it was carrying the refugees, invisible from the sky and cut off from the ground, all huddled in their beds in its gloomy bowels, frightened and silent. It was taking them on the road of no return...

In no time at all the ship carrying the people, with lost faith and hope, began to distance itself from the Albanian port of Durres. The noise from the ship’s engines overpowered all the crying, weeping and cursing. Only the words of anger and contempt spoken very loudly could be heard.

By now all hope of going home, carried from the slope in Pegin, had vanished.

They realized that they wouldn’t be going home, at least not by water. Their villages and homes were up in the hills and mountains. So, if not home then where were these ships taking them? That question preoccupied them immensely. During the day, looking at the water they wondered: “God, where did all this water come from? Will they take us closer to home or unload us in the middle of the sea?” This dreadful thought worried them and made them cling together. Their heads were filled with fear and their throats were very dry.

The sea became stormier the further the ships traveled. Even though the people on these ships had rarely heard the words ship and sea, and had never seen a ship or the sea, many remembered what the pechalbari (migrant workers) who returned home from abroad used to tell them. They would tell them that they went by ship over a large body of water. But that wasn’t all these people remembered. They also remembered the mothers, wives, fiancés and children of the pechalbari, crying and weeping as the said goodbye to their husbands, fathers, fiancés and sons. They then returned to their

empty houses and silent rooms and cried. They cried and wondered how their men were doing and cursed the pechalba (migrant work) for taking them away. They even sang sad songs cursing the pechalba and even their men for leaving and for leaving them alone. Now all of them were swearing and cursing those who took them from their homes and brought them here to these dark ships. They realized that those who were still in pechalba hadn’t given up hope of returning home. And someday they would. For them, the doors were always open. Their families were waiting and dreaming of their return.

Crouching in the bowels of the ship, many wondered if there would be anyone at home, waiting for them, dreaming of them and cursing the ship that took them into the unknown. Who would wait for them? Would there be anyone to tell those at home that the refugees would soon be returning and would there be anyone at home to wait for them?

As the ship cut the water it carried the people further away from shore on their way to the unknown. From the slits of the narrow windows covered by thick tarpaulins the people could see, just barely, a scratch of pale light emanating from the sun. One by one, they counted each sunset and when they reached twelve the ship traveling over the great waters found itself behind a dense and cold fog. So now those crouching in the ship’s bowels measured time by insomnia and restlessness, cursing and swearing and spewing words of anger and malice...

And there, on the slope near Pegin, they left carpets, rugs, broken plates, torn up sheets, forgotten giums, spoons, forks and many, many curses and tears. The once active camp on the slope was now empty and desolate. The cries of babies were no longer heard at the houses in Pegin close to the camp in which Albanian mothers gathered to help with warmth and nourishment. The mothers took their babies.

The winds blew the forgotten rags and other items left behind and scattered them all across the slope. Night and day the once active camp, overwhelmed by the great plight of the refugees, was now silent. There were no shouts, curses, or swearing. There was only

silence. There was no more crying and moaning. The local people in Pegin wondered and wondered: “What happened to the people? Where did they go…?”

There were no answers… Only silence...

Those who knew kept their mouths shut.

They kept quiet!

It wasn’t the right time to ask or tell.

It was the right time to keep quiet!

Zip your lips and keep things to yourself.

It was better this way… Their eyes saw nothing… Their ears heard nothing… Their mouths said nothing… The wiser ones in Pegin minded their own business and carried on with their lives and jobs...