The Great Decline – Chapter 9 - Part 01

The Great Decline – Chapter 9

At the end of the presentation the political commissar took out a dirty, shabby piece of paper, folded in four, from his officer’s briefcase and said:

“Comrade fighters! Now I will read you a very interesting letter which will explain the amount of support the people are giving our struggle. I will begin...” he said and then he coughed, looked at the people sitting in front of him and began reading:

“We, the residents of village German, members of our organizations NOF and AFZH, are gathered together here for a festive rally and are sending you our warmest greetings... Our thoughts are always with you. We are doing as much as we can here, behind the scenes, to help you and we are all behind you in this struggle.

You need to fight bravely. Fulfill General Markos’s every command with your hearts and bring the final destruction of the Monarcho-Fascist beast. Turn every shrub and every stone in Gramos into a grave for the Monarcho-Fascist hordes. Ruin all Anglo-American imperialist plans of enslavement and stop them from attaining victory...”

“Screw them...” yelled Iani. “Some jackass wrote that letter... It seems to me that someone had to have a bit of education to write such a letter. I ask you… And you tell me who in German is educated enough to write a letter like this. They are all uneducated farmers who can’t read and write and most don’t even speak Greek! …Maybe they just signed it…”

“SILENCE!!!” yelled the political commissar. “Don’t interrupt… No comments... Shame on you! Silence,” he said! “Can’t you see? Can’t you feel how inspiring this letter is coming from the fighting spirit of the people and from the leadership of our Party, headed by the great son of the Greek and Slav-Macedonian nation, comrade Zahariadis? Right? That is a fact, comrades...”

“Long live comrade Zahariadis!” yelled someone in the back row.

“Now I will go back to reading the letter and you… you make sure you remember every inspiring word... Understand?” said the political commissar and resumed reading:

“Gramos will become a symbol of our people’s liberation struggle. We, your relatives, parents, wives and sons, offer you, the fighters of DAG, our help with honour, as an expression of our modest appreciation for what you are doing…”

“And of course… comrade political commissar!” Iani echoed again. “The letter is truly moving. But please read it slowly and pause between words so that we, the illiterate here, can better understand the deep and profound meaning that our comrade villagers in German put together for us... Continue, please, and put a little more feeling in your voice...”

The political commissar had never before encountered, in any other unit, a “comedian” such as this person. He tensed up, got red in the face and angrily yelled out: “The person who thinks that way, comrades, it seems to me is insane… But fear not, we will evaluate him at our Headquarters to see if I am right or not… I will resume reading the letter now, so please do not interrupt me… Be quiet now! Let us continue… Where was I?”

“You were at ‘…appreciation for what you are doing’…” replied Mita.

“Ah, yes... In appreciation we are sending you the following assistance: 9 heads of large livestock, 156 heads of livestock; 136.5 oki of wool; 134.1 oki of cheese, 8 pieces of gold; 25.1 oki of butter, 54.15 oki of pork fat, 218.3 oki of grain; 936.1 oki of beans; l47 pairs of socks, 32 bags, 20 metres of woven fabric, 310 eggs, 46 chickens, 22 shirts; 3 dresses...”

Someone in the back was giggling. Iani whispered something to the guy standing next to him: “The dresses must surely be for the political commissar… Did you also notice how accurately the villagers of German measured the weights on a hand-held weighing scale?”

“My God… I could cry from being so excited...” said the guy sarcastically. “Yes! I noticed… how could I have not noticed? Not only in oki but in tenths and even one hundredths of an oka… Weighed on a hand-held balance… Wow… But I did not hear anything about anyone giving goats or a sheep? Did you?”

“I didn’t hear anything about that either... Maybe they did donate goats and sheep for the struggle and wrote those numbers in a different letter... Be patient, we will see,” replied Iani.

“Maybe they donated the goats and sheep much earlier... That’s what someone from my village said. They were donated last fall...” replied the guy.

“SILENCE!” shouted the political commissar. “Stop laughing at the donations and be serious…” he added and resumed reading: “12 vests; 8 pairs of pants, 2 scarves, 4 towels, 9 pairs of panties...”

“Male or female?” someone in the back yelled out and the entire gathering burst into laughter.

“Silence! Silence! Silence! Or I will send you all on report! Silence! Let me finish reading the letter…” yelled the political commissar and resumed reading: “10 oki of tobacco; 361 thousand drachmas; 264 bee hives.

Responsible for NOF and AFZH 1. Mihail Gogarov 2. Sofia Gakova.”

“That is all. And shame on those of you who were laughing. And not only that. I remember every one of you, and even now I see you laughing and making fun. Rest assured proper disciplinary measures will be taken against you, perhaps even severe measures.

Thank you comrade fighters. All to arms and everything for victory!” concluded the political commissar, turning around and disappearing into the thick forest.

Iani spat to the side and said: “And what did those people in that village leave for themselves? And he, this political commissar character, behaved as if he was not a soldier… Briefcase in hand and hopping from unit to unit… That louse should have remained here with us for a while… Screw him!”

“It’s good for nothing people like him that makes us all look bad. It’s good that he left it, was beginning to stink around here...” said the guy.

“Yes, the idiot comes here to read a letter like that and he thinks it will bring us happiness… He thinks he is Santa Claus… Screw him!” replied Iani.

“Yes, Santa Claus… gifts… but not from himself but from our villagers. They have been going around the villages and robbing them since the beginning… Last year, I think it was November or the beginning of December, we were sent to separate some sheep and goats from the herds. A little woman approached me and asked me: ‘My son, what does it say here?’

‘What is it?’ I asked.

She showed me a piece of paper with some writing on it, pointed at it and said: ‘One of your people gave a piece of paper like this to everyone whose sheep and goats they took…’

‘Let me see,’ I said. The writing on the paper was Greek. It said ‘Apodiksi’ meaning ‘confirmation’ and below it read: ‘We confirm that the holder of this confirmation has voluntarily provided five sheep and three goats for the needs of the people’s revolution. After the revolution achieves victory and after the establishment of a people’s democratic government, the National Government will pay everything back.’ That’s all it said. I gave her back the piece of paper. She looked at me, pointed at the paper again with her finger and said: ‘Seriously my son, can you read? Please tell me what does it say?’

I didn’t know what else to tell her so I said: ‘I am sorry, I can’t read Greek… I am not educated…’ She looked at me like I was some

kind of thief and actually felt sorry for me and said: ‘That’s okay, my son… that’s okay… Perhaps when freedom comes someone who can read will come, someone more educated who will also understand what it says on the paper, and not only to pillage…’

‘And you, dear aunty,’ I said, ‘wait over there on the hill. Wait for someone more educated to pass by and ask him to read your letter for you… Wait for someone more educated to come by’...” said the guy standing next to Iani.

“Why did you have to be such a shithead, eh???” Iani interrupted angrily.

And at that very moment Kolio’s voice was heard yelling: “Eh, Traiko, what work awaits us…”

“What? We won’t sleep all night because we have to carry a few logs?” said Traiko.

“I am not talking about that,” replied Kolio.

“What are you talking about then?” asked Traiko.

Kolio took the binoculars, handed them to Traiko and said: “From here to Gorisha, everything is in your palm, here, have a look… Do you see it?”

“What am I supposed to see?” asked Traiko.

“Down, a little further down, look down. Look at the villages…” replied Kolio.

“What villages? All I see is ruins...” said Traiko.

“Well, that’s exactly what I am talking about… that’s what awaits us... ruins… Start from the left. Kalevishta... Do you see it? Go further… right, to your right... That’s Novo Selo, after that is Krchishta and on the other side is Labanitsa… look to the right… that’s Kosinets, then D’mbeni, beyond that is Dolno Papratsko, over there is Zhelegozhe, Chuka, Grache, Sveta Ana, Lubovo, Ezerets…

Not to mention the rest… They are all demolished; burned to ashes...” replied Kolio, pausing and then said: “And how many more will they burn tomorrow?”

“And?” asked Traiko.

“And they will be coming after us next,” replied Kolio.

“Us?” asked Traiko.

“Yes, Traiko, us... up here in the bunkers and trenches… we have no idea what awaits us,” replied Kolio.

“Do you think they will be coming up here… after us now?” asked Traiko.

“I am not talking about now, I am talking about when the war escalates and even after the war ends. Imagine how many more houses they will destroy before the war is over and how will we hold them back when they come up here after us. Where are we going to get our food from when all the villages are destroyed? Where are we going to get the fighters to continue the struggle, to replace us, when we are dead and gone? And if we do manage to win the war, how are we going to rebuild our homes and villages… with what? One pair of hands?! Are we going to employ someone educated in architecture to draw up some plans on a blank piece of paper and from that we will rebuild our homes? We will rebuild them with a hammer and a trowel,” said Kolio, taking a deep breath and continuing: “How are we going to rebuild our homes with a hammer and a trowel, eh? Are we going to create the miracle of the century? I suppose the stones you work with your hammer, Traiko, will be perfect blocks and will glitter and glow in the dark… And what will that house be called? The house of life and love... filled with joy… and children will be running from one end to the other... eh? Oh, Traiko, Traiko… We have no clue what awaits us!”

Iani, who was listening to the two men with indifference, suddenly came alive and said: “What do I see and hear here? Are you both mad? Have you both gone mad? Come, come, brothers… Do you think I will work after the war? Do you think this is why I am

running up and down these God forsaken mountains… so that I can work after the war? Do you think I have endured the rain, cold, snow and wind so that I can work? Oh, come, come now, you think that is what communism is all about? Do you think communism…”

“We will all be going to the same cauldron…” interrupted Kolio. “Isn’t that what comrade Vera was telling us last winter? We will be going to the same cauldron just like we do now…”

“Hey…” a sleepy voice was heard saying, “if they only bring the cauldron… then all day I will be there, pacing around it… Hey, when I hear the word ‘cauldron’ something in here jumps up,” said the sleepy man, pointing to his stomach. “I think there is no more beautiful word than the word ‘cauldron’. Imagine: a cauldron full of beans... Is there anything better, eh?”

“You again! You and your cauldron! Find something else to think about. Go back to sleep and stop thinking about that damn cauldron...” replied Iani.

Kolio waited until all the conversations were over and then resumed voicing his thoughts: “We will all be going to the same cauldron, just like we are doing now. In your communism, for example, Iani, the laziest people will be the first to stand in line. We had such a person in our village, his name was Lazo. He always walked around with his jacket over his shoulder. One day when I was working in the yard, he came over and said: ‘When communism comes, I am telling you, I swear to God, no one will have to work. Everything will be done by machines…’ I said to him: ‘Isn’t it a little premature for you, Lazo, to be thinking about that now?’ He said: ‘You shouldn’t be talking like that because if the Party Secretary heard you, he would think of you as a reactionary and against such ideas… You should know that… You should also know,’ Lazo offered his free advice, ‘that in communism it is not going to be like you think… you get what you work for… In communism everyone will get whatever they want… and more…’ I then asked him: ‘Why is it like that?’ And he said: ‘Because if it was any other way no one would want communism… Who would be crazy and stupid enough to want to work hard and get so little for it? In communism it will be the other way around; work a little, get a lot.’ Then I asked: ‘Don’t

you have to prepare for that?’ And he said: ‘I, if you care to know, have been preparing for communism all my life. I think about it all the time. I wait and watch for it to arrive here every day. I pray to God for it to arrive here as soon as possible. I watch how other people work and I think all the time about communism. I ask myself: When, oh when will that communism get here so that we, the poor people, can live like normal people and eat at a rich table?’ I said to him: ‘You, Lazo, and everyone who thinks the same way as you, even in communism will be poor and in rags. Unfortunately even we who work hard and have things, the bread earners who earn our bread with our sweat, plough, pitchfork and sickle will become like you; poor and in tatters. That will be the downside…’ He said: “In communism, I am not going to care at all about you and those who have things. You had things all your life, it’s about time you learn to do without and see how it feels. And if you do any differently, then we will put you in your place; to chisel stone for mansions… I want you to know, Kolio, that’s not the way to talk to the Party Secretary, like the way you talk to me. By doing so, you show how much against communism you are.’ And who do you suppose the Party Secretary in our village was; none other than Comrade Lazo himself; the biggest and laziest dreamer in our village. And you, Iani,” Kolio looked at Iani, “are you like Lazo from my village? Look at yourself… You are not going to work after the war is over??? Think very carefully because someone like Lazo will think for you…”

Iani smiled a sly smile, tapped his temple with his finger and said: “Hey, think… think… Did you forget what our political commissar said to us a few days ago and what comrade Zahariadis said to him? Are you now contradicting what comrade Zahariadis said? Eh, Kolio, Kolio… if you don’t trust comrade Zahariadis then you don’t trust the Party or the struggle. Is that the way it is? What… now you have nothing to say, eh?”

“And how can you be sure of that…” remarked Kolio.

“Oh, Kolio, Kolio... Iani is right,” said Argir. “If that’s what was said high above, then that’s exactly what’s going to happen… And you can be sure of that… If Zahariadis said it, then it will happen. He is an intelligent and wise man and he can be trusted, right? Don’t

think of the villagers, think of the Party and the Party is Zahariadis. Isn’t that what the political commissar said? Zahariadis is a smart man and can be trusted… by all of us, right? We will all follow his lead.”

“Enough bumping your gums…” yelled Traiko.

Iani adjusted himself, leaned forward and said: “You can do whatever you want, I, on the other hand, after the war, will sit in front of the village tavern and drink rakia and eat salad one day, the next day I will drink wine and eat roasted chicken and I will look into the distance, into the mountains and will reminisce about the long, sleepless nights I spent there and that’s when I will have a nap. That’s when I will sleep to make up for all the nights I went sleepless… Then when I wake up I will watch you idiots break and chisel stones and build houses and palaces… In other words, I will take a long, long rest to make up for the sweat and blood that I spilled for the struggle against the Anglo-American imperialists and the domestic traitors. Just the way comrade Zahariadis described it. And if that’s the way comrade Zahariadis described it, that’s the way it’s going to be, because if you were to do any differently, then you would not be with Zahariadis, which also means that you would not be with the Party. And if you are not with them then you are a traitor to our anti-imperialist and people’s liberation struggle...”

“Iani, listen to Kolio, he knows what he is talking about. Why are you deluding yourself with this and with that? You are acting like that Lazo, Kolio described. Not that Lazo has any thoughts of his own, but because someone else is putting them in his head. Someone sold him a dream and that’s what he now dreams. He doesn’t think for himself. He should be satisfied that he has a head on his shoulders, but what’s in it? Only he knows who is putting things in it…” Mita said angrily. “And you, it looks to me like you are a lot more like Lazo than you care to admit, right? Look at yourself… you will be taking naps… Let us survive this war first and then we will see...” concluded Mita.

Iani did not respond to Mita’s criticism and decided to resume his ranting at the point where he had been interrupted:

“And you, with hammers and trowels in hand, will then be anti-Party elements because you ignored what comrade Zahariadis said. That’s what I will do and you, the ignoramuses, can go to the villages with your hammers and trowels… I can’t wait for the war to end, once it’s over I will marry and then lie under the thick shade of the plane tree and my young bride, equipped with a large fan made of leaves, will keep me cool and keep the flies away… And for the fun of it, once in a while, I will read, write and sing a little song:

My bird sings early in the morning And awakens my young bride...

That’s the way it’s going to be... I will lie around, do you understand, under the thick shade of the plane tree and she, my young bride, early in the morning will be awakened by the birds; nightingales, flying from branch to branch. She then will chase the flies away all day long... When darkness falls and the full moon rises in the sky, we will roll in the freshly cut green grass and make children. That’s right; children who will live in the houses you build...” concluded Iani.

“And who is going to feed those children, Iani, when all you do is lie under the deep shade of the plane tree in the village?” Mita asked mockingly.

“Who? They of course… the working class people who today sit around in city cafés. If they don’t want to fight today, they will have to work tomorrow… That’s the way it is… And you ignoramuses, I told you, I swear to you, you might as well put on your aprons and pick up your hammers and trowels, you will be going to the villages and you will be chiseling stone and building houses... And also know this, you, today, the heroes of Kopanche, Sveti Ilia, Gorusha and Krusha, tomorrow when you go out to build, know that your sweat will be measured by loyal, village Party people like Lazo. And I’m telling you, I know people like you and I know of people like that Lazo of yours and that is why I am telling you this now...” replied Iani.

“Good grief, Iani… not the same song… over and over again?” said Argir. “You poor deluded Iani, trying to patronize us with some big ideas and empty words...”

“I… am?” snapped Iani angrily.

Argir turned his head towards him, looked into his eyes and, in a tone of voice that was sure to start a quarrel, said: “Yes you… who else… Do you think it was my aunt?”

“Okay, okay… That’s enough…” Mita weighed in. “All we need now is to start a fight between us. Enough, Argir! Very clever of you...”

“Leave him be!” snapped Iani. “Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

“Go on! Now that you have started… hit us again, but not with those big words,” responded Argir.

“You all know that I was enlisted into the brigade, right? Well, after we fought with the Albanian Balisti, they brought us outside of Gostivar...” said Iani.

“Where is that?” interrupted Traiko.

“In Vardar Macedonia… You don’t know that?” snapped Argir.

“There the brigade was disbanded. Then, like many others, they invited me to command and, after a long inquiry, they told me: ‘You, comrade, you can join OZNA (military police) or UDBA (security services). It’s your choice...” said Iani.

“I did not want to join either, so they told me: ‘The enemy, comrade, has not yet been destroyed, we need to destroy him first. We must destroy him’…

I changed my mind. Why not I thought to myself? This is precisely why I picked up a gun, to fight against the enemy. If command wants me, it means I am needed. Okay, if there is still an enemy,

then on to combat we go. They swapped my khaki military for a policeman’s black uniform. Almost all of us, simple soldiers, commanders and commissars from the disbanded Aegean Brigade, were recruited into the various forces to fight against our enemy. Some were recruited into the army, some into OZNA, some into UDBA and some into the people’s governing councils... In other words, we were all working for the people’s government and fighting against an internal and an external enemy. Some received brand new beautiful uniforms and boots and as such we were all given a role to play; some served, some squealed and spied, some collected testimony and others inflicted punishments. In other words, the people from our brigade were in control of security. Those who were principal players continued to be principal players and boasted about it; especially about being Aegeans. This naturally put off many people from Vardar and we became a divided people. So, we became Aegeans and Vardarians and between us were Vlachs, Gypsies, Serbs and Albanians. And in them all were had enemies to be hunted down.

Initially they sent me to Tetovo. I guarded Greek communists in the barracks, Greeks who had fled Greece to avoid persecution by the Greek government. There were many of them, almost all ELAS officers. At one point there were two hundred of them. The barracks were filled. One night we loaded them onto a train and sent them to Bulkesh. They settled them there…” said Iani.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, what are you saying? Those idiots we call ‘Bulkiotes’ you are saying they are the ones?” interrupted Kolio.

“Yes, they are. They got their name from a village called Bulkesh. Bulkesh, if you want to know, is a very nice village in Banat, near the Romanian border. Three years ago Germans used to live there. The Yugoslav government expelled them; from both Vojvodina and Banat. In their place there, and in other villages like Gakovo, they settled Greek refugees from Macedonia, particularly from the Lerin and Voden Region villages. In Bulkesh the Greeks opened a large agricultural cooperative, a middle school, a high school and even had their own government and currency. They had a militia and a printing house where they printed newspapers and books. Almost

everyone who was an ELAS fighter was educated and made into a political commissar. In a word, Bulkesh became a small Greek state inside Communist Yugoslavia.

I went with the refuges all the way to Bulkesh. When I was there, they told me that Zahariadis and Markos visited this place many times. I did not see them there myself. After that they sent me to a new assignment in Oteshevo. This place was near Lake Prespa. I was sent there in the name of the people to guard our enemies. And I, on behalf of the people, guarded our enemies well, making sure that they worked hard breaking and chiseling stones. I measured their work with the point of a needle, making sure the stones fit perfectly on top of one another… And, as our commander used to say: ‘The stones must be air-tight.’ These were stones cut by the hands of our enemies which were used to build villas for government people. They were called ‘Yugoslavia’, ‘Sytjeska’ and were names from over... First to be built was the hotel “Yugoslavia”. In fact this was a resort for the Macedonian communist party. I did not go inside but found out it had 12 rooms, a large meeting room and a kitchen.

Twelve people from the Politburo worked, ate and slept here. These government people came to Oteshevo in limousines. The entire place and roads leading to it were cleared of bushes and shrubbery supposedly to prevent the enemy from sneaking up on the people’s government. The enemy of the people was kept out of the place by vigilantes like me and by barbed wire. In fact the whole place around the fine villas was surrounded by a couple of metres high woven wire with two or three rows of barbed wire tied on top of it. Nothing could pass by it. Besides, it was forbidden even for shepherds and cowherders from the sorrounding villages to get near the place, especially near the fence.

The government people living and working inside the fenced villas spent their weekends and holidays on the beaches and shores of Lake Prespa. They drank cool beer, which their women servants kept in nets deep inside the lake. They ate lamb which their servants roasted on rotisseries over burning coals. Women from the surrounding villages kneaded and baked zelniks, bureks and mazniks for them. Women wearing folk dresses sang folk songs for

them… Their voices could be heard for miles… all the way to Galichitsa... They had musicians from Bitola play for them… everything was done to keep the people’s government happy…

The women (wives and girlfriends) of those in the people’s government were plumper, fatter and had bigger butts and breasts than the village women. They had big bellies and wide hips. I swear to you, they just sat there under umbrellas, ate and grew fatter and larger... They kept their faces out of the sun so that their skin did not darken. But they sure ate; sinking their gold teeth into the succulent freshly roasted meat that they were served by their servants… and constantly picked at their teeth with their fingers…

And I, guarding them, paced left, right, left, right… from one end of the wire fence to the other... marching along with my German shmaizer hanging over my shoulder, looking here and there, looking for God forbid, some enemy that might sneak up on them and upset their tranquility.

And those so-called ‘public enemies’ who actually built these villas with their bare hands, we had to move them away to a forest when the government people were there. People like me kept them there and regularly punished them... And here I was, the simplest of the simple, thinking to myself; am I a friend or an enemy? And who is my friend and who my enemy? The line was very fine and blurry at best…” concluded Iani.

“If you are an enemy of the people it is well-known what will happen to you... Up against the wall… bam… and in the ground. Isn’t that right, eh?” piped up Argir.

“Come; don’t be a fool, what do you know about the enemy of the people? Here, for example, is how the people’s government created enemies of the people. It passed a law to execute goats...” replied Iani.

“To execute what?” asked Argir.

“To execute goats, stupid…” replied Iani.

“Goats? Are there such stupid people who are against goats? Are there, eh? Well, are there? Oh, God in what rotten times we live… Why goats? Why goats? …Were they out of their minds?” asked Argir.

“Be patient Argir, let the man speak!” snapped Traiko.

“A man hid his goat in the cellar so that he could have milk for his children. You know, these are difficult times… his goat provided milk for his babies. And because this man hid his goat he became an enemy of the people. But before they took him away, they killed the goat in front of his starving children… They slaughtered the goat and sent him to Oteshevo. His punishment; breaking, chiseling and polishing stones… And I, the fool that I was, like you people here, who think the way you think, held my shmaizer pointed at his head, making him work like an ass, pushing him to swing a 12 kilo hammer all day long, refusing to allow him to look down towards the lakeshore, where the government people were having their fun.

On Sundays and holidays, like I said before, party secretaries, commanders, commissars, etc., all came out to the beach. They wore their epaulettes on their shoulders, as broad as my palm, and the golden stars on them glowed under the bright sun. And when I looked through the wire fence, I felt like I was looking at Cavaliers. Some even had curved legs. Not because they rode horses but because they were plowman and their legs were bent from having to constantly walk in two grooves while working.

For example, you ... all your life you have been a plowman. You have walked with one foot in one ditch and the other in an adjacent ditch. The fact that you walked with your legs apart, with your head bent forward and with your back curved, has left you with curved legs and slightly bent forward. In other words, if someone looked at you more carefully, your appearance would give you away. But, among these men, there wasn’t a single one who was straight. They were dressed in German and Bulgarian officer’s boots and in tailor made uniforms but their curves showed… They did not stand straight... If you want an example of this, take a good look at our squad’s political commissar...” concluded Iani.

“Leave the poor man alone,” said Kolio. “We know he is a hunchback because life dealt him a bad card. Before becoming a commissar the poor man was milking sheep...”

“Well, let’s take the commander of the second platoon, first company, for example. A true Cavalier, wouldn’t you say? asked Iani.

“If you want to know, he was a hired hand, a labourer, a helper, a workman from the day he remembers... He is a survivor…” said Kolio.

“Yes… but he is no more than that, right?” asked Iani.

“No he is not because together with me, Kolio, he took a bunker. They said he was a hero but they never said that he washed his underwear in the brook right after the battle. After that they sent him to some kind of leadership course and here he was, made him into a commissar in the second unit, first regiment... Or should I say deputy political commissar. They said in Bulkesh he completed some course, he learned what he learned and when he came back he was deputy commissar. For example, count how many words he could speak and you wouldn’t count more than just a dozen. Just listening to him; war, party, leader, imperialism, monarcho-fascism, capitalists, revolution and enemy agents... That’s all he talked about, he used no other words. It’s all crap and dirt... I can do the same but does that mean I can be a deputy political commissar? A political commissar must have some brains, right?” asked Kolio.

“It is true, if you look at him, you will see that he has curved legs. It is more noticeable when he runs,” said Iani.

“No! His legs are not curved, his boots are. One time, when someone jokingly said to him that the German boots they gave him were crooked, in a serious tone of voice he said: ‘Those damn Germans… they distorted their boots from walking, running, marching and stomping too much… Lucky me, I happened to get German boots’...” replied Kolio.

“You people, why do you talk like that!? Why do you use hurtful words to describe your comrades? Isn’t it a shame? I say it is a shame. Whatever they are, they are, today they are fighters… Tomorrow, it is possible they will become important people, but today this is the kind of people the revolution breeds,” interjected Mita.

“You, over there, don’t be so smart. We know who we are. Here is what you will be good at... Make sure you don’t end up like our people ended up in the Asian campaign. My father, for example, went to Asia to drive the Turks out, not to help the Greeks create a Megali Elada (Greater Greece). But, as my father used to say: ‘All we did there was look after the horses the officers rode and wash dirty underwear’…” said Iani.

“My grandfather, the poor man, almost died in Asia. The officer he looked after was a major and a big womanizer, that’s what my grandfather told the men in my village. One day the major caught him talking to his mistress and for that he wanted to castrate him…” added another man.

Iani dropped his cigarette butt, stomped on it with his heel and resumed his narration:

“But, if you want to know, among the ploughmen there were also shapely men wearing officer’s overcoats and God, how they stood straight and tall!!! They wore their hats askew and they looked superb!!! Have you seen Postoli Graniti or Naso Garefi? Well, just like them... Tall and shapely!!! Even the mares they rode had an open eye for them… never mind the young ladies... Real men, not short screwballs like you...” said Iani looking at Kolio.

“Short screwballs like me eh?!” replied Kolio.

“Don’t let it bother you. Leave him alone… Let him tell his story!” interjected Mita.

“As I watched them I said to myself: ‘If in 1945 we had had an army and commanders like them, we would have screwed those who took

our country in 1913! The thought gave me pride, made me stick my chest out and scrambled my brain,” said Iani.

“Wow… This is like the song... Wait, how does it go? You know the one that was sung by the girls in that village in Bitola where we entered in 1944? Do you remember?” interjected Kolio.

Iani tilted his hat, leaned back on the rock, took a puff from his cigarette, exhaled a cloud of smoke and, with a hoarse voice, began to sing: “I am not amazed my dear mother...” and after that he asked Kolio: “Is this the one?”

“Yes… that’s the one…” replied Kolio and the two began to sing:

“I am not amazed, my dear mother, Of the many soldiers, My dear mother, Of the many soldiers!

But I am amazed, my dear mother, How the land can hold them, My dear mother, How the land can hold them!

“Ha-ha-ha...” Mockingly interjected the man whose grandfather had almost been castrated.

“What ha-ha-ha, you green and immature… so and so!” replied Iani with a raised tone of voice. “They were soldiers, a people’s army... that’s why it looked so big to the people. It was their army and it was numerous… they were so many fighters the people were amazed how the land could hold them… metaphorically… Look… Let me ask you something… Why didn’t the people sing such songs for other armies… for foreign armies, eh? You have nothing to say? You are silent because you don’t want to think... Perhaps there were not that many fighters; five or six partisans, but the people’s desire was great and their joy was even greater because, well, they had their own army...

Well, you green and immature… so and so, when people sing, the songs they sing stay with them a long time... like this rock here, like, like... the scriptures. I am telling you this so that you know! And I don’t want to hear you laugh again. Your laughter sounds like scorn and ridicule. I want you to know that there, in the Oteshevo prison, I guarded people who laughed at and made mockery of things, just like you did earlier... Do you understand? Remember this and never forget it. And those from our side (Aegeans) who joined OZNA and UDBA, collected personal information on all of us; who we were, where we came from, our political affiliations, where we served, where we have been, and learned more about us than we knew about ourselves…

After that, the people’s government allocated living space and found work for these refugees. They were then told that they could not move or relocate without permission... If they wanted to visit relatives or friends they had to inform the people’s authorities and get a pass. They were obliged to use the words “Death to fascism -freedom to the people” every time they greeted others, especially the authorities. They were obliged to carry this pass on them at all times… But there, in Oteshevo, we had three people who truly understood what freedom of movement meant... They left the place where they were living without permission and went further away than they were allowed to, so they quickly found themselves under my watch. One day they called them and me for a visit to the authorities. They who braved to venture outside of the permitted zone and me, responsible for keeping them inside the zone, were put in a room and we looked at each other suspiciously. They were dressed in rags and I in uniform, but without my shmaizer. The commander entered the room. He looking superb; clothes ironed perfectly, boots polished and wearing several belts; one on his waist and others on his shoulders.

After looking at us sternly for a moment he spoke up and said:

‘Do you know that out there in the Aegean part of Macedonia our people are spilling blood because of those damn Greeks and you sit here, especially you,’ he said to me, ‘sitting here reading the newspapers ‘Nova Makedonija’ and ‘Titov pioneer’ making a spectacle of yourself?’

I looked at him and wondered: What’s wrong with this man? He was fine yesterday…

‘Shame on you!’ he said, standing up and lifting himself up on his tiptoes.

I thought to myself: You can lift yourself all you want; I am still taller than you!

‘Shame on you!’ he again said. ‘Our brothers down there are fighting a bloody war,’ pointing towards Mount Bela Voda. Bela Voda was located above the village German, and further over, further from Otesheko was Mount Lunser and Mount Barba,” said Iani and pointed in that direction with an open hand. “In the distance the mountains looked like you could hold them inside you palm…” he said.

“Then without asking him for permission I spoke up and said: ‘Why am I here, Commander?’ ‘You are here because you waste your time… You pace left, right, in front of our people’s enemies and wear down the leather on your boots for nothing. You receive three portions of bread daily for nothing… while there, in the Aegean part of Macedonia, our brothers…’ he suddenly yelled, stood up, came over towards me and I thought for sure he was going to hit me. But he turned around and then sat down.

As far as I knew, I had done nothing wrong, so why was this man treating me this way? His abrupt move angered me. I could not contain my anger so I hit the table with my fist. A jug full of water sitting on it jumped up, tilted and toppled over, spilling the water into the commander’s lap. He looked at me sternly with the eyes of a rabid dog, then leaned over and pushed a button. Two men entered the room looked at the commander and, without saying a word, grabbed me by the arms. The commander then stood up slowly, came closer and punched me several times all over my body. Then, after serving seven days in solitary confinement, they gave me a pair of wooden boots and a 12 kilo sledge hammer. Interestingly, the public enemies, who I had abused during my days as their guard, instead of hating my guts, felt sorry for me.

My punishment lasted a month. After that they sent me back to the line, gave me a long speech on how to behave, made an example of me in front of the others and then it was back to ‘left, right, left, right’, guarding the fence. One night I decided to do what I decided to do. I left my Shmaizer in my bedroom and beside it I left a piece of paper on which I wrote that I and so and so were leaving and going to our brothers who were bleeding. Then, early the next morning at dawn, we took the road to Albania. We spent the day in the woods near Stenie and crossed the border at night. We met up with our people in Nivitsi and now here I am... amongst you, alive and well.

Out here, while crushing lice between my thumbnails, I had a lot of time to think about what happened… So, let me tell you this… if we tomorrow, for a single goat, for a stupid laugh, like this idiot who was laughing earlier, send our people to break stones, eh, then… Then you, who will be building houses; for placing a single stone askew, or God forbid for making a crooked corner, or for allowing the sun to filter through a crack, then know this: you will be declared enemies of the people and you will be sent to break and chisel stones… And someone, say this guy or maybe that guy over there, will be put in charge of you and will be doing the ‘left, right’ while guarding you. I guarded the people’s enemies when I was in Oteshevo; on one side I guarded those who broke stones and on the other I guarded those who drank cool beer and sang:

Get up, get up, let’s get going, To Bitola we will go, Cool beer we will drink…

Beside the lake, under the shadows of the large white umbrellas, they drank cognac and wine. So I said to myself: ‘Oh, this must be what freedom is like?!’ As I watched them with their drinks in their hands and wooden clogs on their feet, I decided to flee their freedom and thought I would find my own freedom in the mountains. I thought I would find my freedom in the endless mountain chains; in the highest places under the sky; in the distance; in the green and wide forests; in the horizon as far as the eye can see… We were like eagles there, looking down from high above, our eyes full and

bellies empty... We tried to avoid death, hunger and lice. We lived day to day running from hill to brook and from brook to hill living on bread and cheese alone, yelling and swearing at each other while trying not to get shot and killed... Yes... That’s the kind of freedom we found in the mountains... And I am telling you right now that I will never touch a trowel or a hammer again. All I want to do now is rest. But what are they telling me? Now that I am here they are telling me that I will be a real hero if I fight with my last drop of blood… I will be a great hero if I die holding a rifle in my hand...” concluded Iani, silently staring into the distance.

In the long silence a cricket, rustling in the singed grass, began to shyly sing its song. It was barely audible. Iani broke the silence and in a voice that was almost not his own he said: “They all perished…”

When they realized that he was talking about yesterday’s battle no one attempted to intervene in his conversation, so they allowed him to continue to talk while they listened: