The Great Decline – Chapter 2

The Great Decline – Chapter 2

Giorgievitsa leaned on her elbow and listened. She got out of bed and looked out her tiny window. It was still dark outside but it was slowly turning grey. The knocking now became stronger and repetitive. She returned to bed and woke her husband.

“Giorgi get up, get up, someone is knocking at the front gate,” she whispered loudly.

Giorgi quickly dressed and went down to the yard. He stood behind the locked gate and, without asking who it was, raised the lever and opened it. Two armed, young men were standing there and behind them stood Kuze.

“Are you Giorgi? Giorgi Petkovski?” one of the young men asked.

“Yes!” Giorgi replied “What do you want?”

“Yes, he is, he is…” exclaimed Kuze, moving to the side.

“Come with us,” said the same young man.

“Where?” asked Giorgi.

“You will find out…” said the same man.

In the church, next to the front door were three women and a man from Giorgi’s village. Seated near the altar were twenty men and a woman. Giorgi did not know any of them. An hour later a man with dirty boots, wearing an officer’s uniform arrived. He had an officer’s belt around his waist, a firearm on one hip and on the other hip hung a large wallet. He pulled out a notebook from his wallet and, one by one, wrote down the names, year and place of birth, father and mother’s name and what properties each individual owned.

“And now I will tell you why you are here,” the officer said. “Your sons and daughters abandoned our struggle and went to the enemy. They deserted. This is a punishable act. If they are caught they will be shot under martial law. We also have a law that allows us to confiscate properties of deserters. All properties including their house and belongings… And not only that, we will take you where we take people who have to answer for the acts of their sons and daughters. We will hear all your answers and explanations there. Let’s go.”

Giorgi froze. And all the time, all day and night while they were traveling, the same question kept turning in his mind. Every time he thought about it he was surprised and dismayed: How could that possibly be? His son Vasil was one of the first people to take a gun and join the Partisans. How could he have possibly deserted to the enemy, of all things? Giorgi found it hard to believe. No, it can’t be, it must be a lie, someone is trying to slander us and do us harm, he thought to himself.

When the column left the village, Kuze, without knocking on the gate, entered Giorgi’s house. There was no one in the large room. Kuze, with both hands, grabbed the big, heavy woolen red blanket, raised it up, put it down, measured it with his eyes and then smoothed the creases with his hands. After that he lifted the lid off a large box and put it down in the corner. The box was full of clothes. He turned and shouted:

“Giorgievitsa, hey Giorgievitsa…”

“What?!” a voice was heard replying from another room.

Kuze went out on the porch and said: “Come Giorgievitsa, come here so that I can tell you something.”

Giorgievitsa asked him to come in.

“Sit down Kuze…” Giorgievitsa said and asked: “Now what have you got to tell me?”

“Well Giorgievitsa, it is not easy for me to tell you this. You know that they took Giorgi this morning…” he replied.

“What? Who took my Giorgi? Tell me Kuze!” she demanded to know.

“You know, they. They, from the People’s government. Him and some others from the surrounding villages were taken,” replied Kuze.

“Why Kuze, why and where did they take him…” she pleaded with him.

“Well Giorgievitsa, how can I tell you… I don’t know how true this is, but word is your Vasil escaped and deserted and the People’s government found out and…” replied Kuze.

“What?!” Giorgievitsa loudly interrupted while grabbing her head with both hands. “Our Vasil deserted? Impossible! What mouth would want to dishonour and do such harm to my son, ha?” she blurted out.

“And,” Kuze continued, “those at the top said that they had proof and with that it was established that he was an enemy of the people and for that reason the People’s government took Giorgi to the People’s prison in Prespa...”

“What!!! My Vasil an enemy of the people? Kuze you do know that the entire village youth gathered in this house and that my Vasil taught them…” said Giorgievitsa.

“Yes, yes… that I do know…” interrupted Kuze, adding, “He taught them about Macedonia… About a free Macedonia, as opposed to saying that our Party...” replied Kuze.

“The hell with your Party Kuze! My Vasil is made into an enemy of the state and my Giorgi is in jail! How quickly you idiots forget that I already sacrificed two of my sons for your freedom! You already forgot!” shouted Giorgievitsa.

“Giorgievitsa please don’t shout. Someone will hear you and do you even more harm. I can understand your pain... There is no one that can understand it better than me. And it hurts me too. I don’t believe

it either... But let me tell you this, the properties of all those who left, I mean deserted, will be confiscated by the People’s government. Everything! Including their house and furnishings! I came to tell you this so that you can hide, hide something, before they come. And if you have something valuable, such as money or gold, jewelry, anything worth looting, blankets, plates, spoons, give them to me and I will safeguard them for you... And when all of this is over and Giorgi returns alive and well, I swear to God, I will return everything to you. They will not touch me because, as you know, I am a member of the Village Board ... Hurry Giorgievitsa, gather everything I asked you for and give it to me to keep it for you... That’s all I had to tell you. And don’t tell anyone about this. From the depths of my heart I want to help you and preserve your valuables... I will come back this evening after dark. I heard that tomorrow they will come and do an inventory and will take everything...” concluded Kuze, then slowly straightened himself, made a sad expression on his face, sighed deeply and went outside. He then turned and said: “It is best that you go away and stay with some relatives in Kosinets or Smrdesh while this is going on. The further away from their eyes, the better for you. Stay healthy and well and think about what I said...”

Kuze showed up at dusk knocked on the door and without being invited entered the house.

“So, what have you decided Giorgievitsa?” he asked. “If you think you don’t need my help then I will go,” he said. “They already emptied Labro’s house. They even dug under the foundations and in the yard. They thought there might be something hidden there. Tomorrow they will come here...”

“To be honest, Kuze, I find it hard to decide without Giorgi. Without him here I can give you some things but only in front of a witness,” replied Giorgievitsa.

“A witness? And who would you trust in these bleak times? Don’t you think my word is good enough? My oath before God is not sufficient? Do whatever you have to do, because they might be here tonight,” said Kuze.

Kuze’s eyes were darting from place to place like that of a hungry pig, his arms were crossed and he constantly thought and sighed. Giorgievitsa looked at his face and said:

“Kuze, kneel before the icon of the Virgin Mary and swear that everything I give you in confidence you will return to me,” requested Giorgievitsa.

Kuze got up, went in front of the icon, knelt down on his knees, crossed himself three times and said:

“Dear gracious Virgin Mary, I stand before you and swear to you that I will return to Giorgievitsa everything she entrusts to me. If I don’t, may I become blind, mute and lame and remain that way... Amen...”

Giorgievitsa went down to the cellar and came back with a small wooden box. She crossed herself and lit the small oil lamp in front of the icon.

“Here Kuze, I am giving you this before God and the Virgin Mary...” she said, opened the box and took inventory of what was inside. She counted one hundred and twenty-two Turkish gold coins, seventy-eight gold napoleons, three gold bracelets, three gold necklaces, four silver belt buckles, a silver belt and six gold rings... “Come back later to take three woolen and one plaid blanket... Here, let me put the gold back in the box. Hide it well and when the bad passes, bring it back...”

“Don’t worry, Giorgievitsa. It shall be done like I swore before God and before the Virgin Mary...” replied Kuze, leaving in a hurry.

Giorgievitsa could not sleep all night. Her thoughts were with Giorgi’s fate and she had great doubts about Kuze’s sincerity. She got up at dawn and started pacing all through the house, thinking and thinking, talking to herself and whispering that she had made a terrible mistake.

“Yes!” she said, “I made a terrible mistake. I am going to get my things back…” She went down to the yard, unlocked the front gate

and, before she had a chance to step outside, saw five armed men and Lazo and Kuze among them.

“We are from the People’s government,” said one of them. “We are here, in the presence of Village Board witnesses, Comrades Kuze and Lazo, to confiscate your house and other properties as penalty for the desertion of your son Vasil...”

They arrived in Drenovo at midnight. They locked them in a room full of people. There was straw on the floor. Giorgi was tired from walking all day and lay down, but he could not sleep. He could not get his doubts out of his mind. He did not believe that his son was a deserter. How could he be a deserter when he was a volunteer and took great initiatives and many risks? He was the one who had taught the village youth many things and made them aware of the movement, the struggle and encouraged many to go to the mountains and fight for their freedom, for Macedonia’s freedom, and now they tell me he deserted? Not to mention that Vasil was a link between us here and those Macedonians who came from free Macedonia to help us. And now they tell me he has fled? I don’t think so! Unfortunately what Vasil did was common knowledge among the village spies and informers, who hid in Kostur when the first shot was fired by the Partisans. And God knows what they told the enemy there.

It was dawn. The sun was shining from Bela Voda, bathing Drenovo in light. Both lakes were visible from the small window, which Giorgi had just opened, and beyond them were many mountains. The door of the room opened and two older men left a pot and a small basket with dark bread at the threshold.

“It’s the same old rye bread without salt. Come people, dip in and eat. It’s free, courtesy of the People’s government,” said one of the men and spat to the side.

Half an hour later Giorgi was taken for questioning.

“Sit down!” said a man, with a tone of command, dressed in a military uniform while pointing to a chair. “I am your interrogator,” he said in Greek, “and I will work with you until the whole matter

that brought you here is cleared. What is your given name, surname, father and mother’s names, date and place of birth?” the interrogator asked while looking at his notebook.

Giorgi answered his questions while staring at the blood spray on the wall. It made him shudder. As he stared at the blood it seemed to him like it was dripping.

“Do you know why you’re here?” asked the interrogator.

“No!” answered Giorgi.

“You will soon know!” replied the interrogator, continuing. “All those people that were brought here were parents of deserters. You are a parent of a deserter. What is the name of your son?”

“Vasil,” replied Giorgi.

To which unit was he assigned and where is he serving?” asked the interrogator.

“I don’t know. No one told me anything about that. One time I was told that it was a secret and that I should not be asking about that. So, I did not ask,” replied Giorgi.

“And that’s the way it should be…” remarked the interrogator in a calmer tone of voice, handing Giorgi a piece of paper and asking him to sign it.

“What is this?” asked Giorgi.

“Read it and sign it!” ordered the interrogator.

“Sorry, but I can’t read that well. I hardly know the Greek alphabet...” remarked Giorgi.

“What!!!” the interrogator suddenly interrupted Giorgi and continued. “It has been thirty years since Macedonia was liberated by Greece and that has not been enough time for you to learn to read?”

“I can read but only the Latin script,” replied Giorgi.

“What? asked the interrogator.

“I said I can read Latin letters. I came back here from America nine years ago at the eve of the war with Italy. I studied at night school in America. I worked for a company whose owner was Italian and he did not want illiterate workers working for him. All who worked for his company were obliged to learn to read. I never did go to Greek school, sorry...” replied Giorgi.

“Okay then. It doesn’t matter. Sign anyway...” instructed the interrogator.

“First you have to tell me what it says…” requested Giorgi.

The interrogator got up, approached Giorgi from behind, grabbed him by the back of his head and smashed his face on the table. He then pulled his head up, turned him toward him and hit him between the eyes with his fist. Before Giorgi had a chance to recover, the interrogator hit him on the neck, on the back and in the stomach. Giorgi got up on his feet and tried to defend himself by putting his arms up but it was in vain. He fell down. The interrogator returned to his place. Giorgi came to, slowly stood up and straightened himself. Blood was gushing from his nose and cut lip. He wiped the blood with his hand, and then moved his lower jaw sideways a few time and spat two teeth into his hand...

The interrogation was over. They took Giorgi back to the room. Two elderly men were sitting on the straw near a basket. They got up and helped him sit down.

“How did it go?” one of them asked.

“Can’t you see?” replied Giorgi.

“We can see! We went through the same thing...” replied the same man.

“Yes…” the other man said in a protracted tone of voice. “I have been to their dry Greek islands and to their Greek prisons and I am familiar with their tactics. I have eaten more Greek fists than I have eaten bread and water. They beat us alright, they beat us to pulp, may God help us… Then they told us that they were our government... Indeed…” the man then crossed himself and again said: “May God help us all…”

“Where are the others?” asked Giorgi.

“At work. They took them to the mountains to dig tunnels. They will be building warehouses…” the first man replied.

“And you, why are you not at work?” asked Giorgi.

“We? We are recovering from our beating…” said the older man, lifting his shirt. His back was black and blue. He then he lifted his pant legs. His legs were black and blue. “And you can imagine what my ass is like...” he said.

Giorgi sat beside the two men and silently mentioned a conversation he had recently had with his nearest neighbour, Dedo (grandfather) Kiro. They sat on the table across from one another, sipping red wine and discussed the new People’s government. After lighting a cigarette with a glowing coal from the fireplace, Dedo Kiro asked:

“What do you think? What will the new government be like? Who will lead it? Kuze or Lazo? They will be representing the People’s government. We respected the former government because we were afraid of it. Will the new government punish, order, judge and condemn like the old one? And you know something Giorgi, do you know that it will hurt even more if you get beaten by the government of your choice? Because first it will be a great insult to you since you fought and did your best to put it in power. You bled for it, you gave it your last crumb of bread and you allowed its representatives to sleep in your bed… Now imagine being slapped on the face and cursed in the worst way by the very same people you put in power…”

“Well, it would appear that governments change but their tactics don’t… Maybe Dedo Kiro was trying to tell me something…” concluded Giorgi.

A week later the same interrogator told Giorgi: “We investigated your son’s case. He served in the Yanoulis brigade and we understand he fought bravely in the battle for Grevena, demonstrated great courage and was promoted to sergeant. Congratulations. He is now in command of a platoon. You are free to leave. Here is your pass… The guilty party who misinformed us about this you will find among the people in your village. Go home now…”

Without looking back, Giorgi left the prison and headed for home. On his way he was stopped at a checkpoint in Prevol.

“Where to, Sir?” asked an armed young man.

“I am going home, son,” replied Giorgi.

“Pass please,” asked the guard.

Giorgi put his hand in his breast pocket, pulled out a piece of paper and gave it to the guard.

“Good! Thank you…” said the guard and then asked: “Who beat you? Who did you have a fight with? Your face and nose are like…”

“I did not have a fight,” replied Giorgi, “I was beaten…”

“Ah, in Drenovo, I understand, they picked your brains eh?” remarked the guard.

Giorgi did not answer. He kept silent.

“Which way to Breznitsa, right or left?” Giorgi asked.

“Right, only right. And protect that little piece of paper like you protect your eyes. If you lose it you will again find yourself in

Drenovo or in a ditch somewhere. These are trying times and you can easily lose your head; be warned,” advised the guard.

Giorgi left and took the road to Breznitsa. It was busy with traveling horses, mules and cattle. Young fifteen and sixteen year old boys and girls and very old men and women were guiding the livestock. All the young boys and girls were short. Giorgi just remembered. They did not mobilize the young, short girls and boys, they said they were too small and should be left for a while to grow before they took them. The column was long and moved slowly. Several armed men appeared along the way and took three horses and two mules. Some minutes later they came back with the animals loaded with crates. Giorgi joined the column to avoid being stopped by the patrols. A couple of kilometres down the road, the column stopped in an oak forest just outside of Smrdesh. The column leader, sporting a shmaizer over his shoulder, ordered everyone to stay put. Giorgi wanted to continue on his way but figured it was too risky and that it was safer to stay with the column. At dusk the column leader gave orders to begin moving again. It was getting dark fast. Thunder was heard coming from Mali Madi. Machine gun bursts were also heard in the distance. Giorgi, walking along with the column, could not believe that he was free to go home. Who from his village could have done this to him was the new question circling in his mind. His thoughts took him back in his younger years, to another world. He tripped and stumbled and lost his train of thought. The column began to turn right. Giorgi stopped walking and waited on the dusty road until the last loaded animal went past him. He remained there for a while and listened to the various sounds. A church bell was ringing in the distance. It was an ominous sound. Many thoughts were going through Giorgi’s mind as to why the bell was ringing in the dark of night.

“It is the sound of death. Had someone died in the village?” Giorgi asked himself and began to walk faster. “Who of the villagers could have died?” he again asked himself, thinking out loud. He began to think of those older than him who were sick. “The bell is signaling death, surely it has to be someone from within the village because, so far, no death has been reported from the front and from the battlefields…” he again thought out loud. The bell began to beat more frequently. “Now it is signaling a funeral…” he thought to

himself out loud and quickened his pace. Even at this fast pace it seemed to him that he was not moving fast enough and that his feet were somehow nailed to the ground. His throat was dry and he was overwhelmed with concern. A mysterious fear began to overtake him. The bell continued to beat, its ringing resonating in the wind, sounding creepy in the dark. Then, suddenly a question popped into his mind: “Why have a burial at night?” A gust of wind blew and Giorgi smelled something burning. He said to himself: “It would appear that they bombed the village and burned it down.”

The sight of the burned and ruined houses at the entrance of the village, looking horrific in the pale moonlight, overwhelmed Giorgi with fear and horror. He began to feel weak in the knees and his chest began to hurt. An old woman came out of one of the burned houses crying and when she saw Giorgi she stopped and stood there frozen. She could hardly cry or speak. She looked withered and exhausted. She frantically moved her hands and pointed towards the cemetery. Giorgi left and picked up the pace. When he arrived at the cemetery, about ten steps away from the grave, his ears picked up the sound of the eighty year old pop (priest) Vasil’s hoarse voice. Giorgi only heard the words “may his soul rest in piece” and when he came close to the tomb he saw people bending forward, taking soil in their hands and throwing it into the open grave. The soil made a hollow sound as it fell on top of the casket. Giorgi removed his hat, gently pushed an old man standing in front of him, bent forward, grabbed a handful of soil and threw it on top of the casket. He stood up and while he was crossing himself he looked at the people standing around the grave. They looked awful, stone-faced from crying and sobbing. He heard crying and sobbing behind him. The old man who was closest to him, pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and hid his face with it. Giorgi turned his head and saw everyone staring at him. Old Pop Vasil approached him with a trembling step. He put his bony hands on Giorgi’s shoulder and with a broken voice said:

“Be strong my brother and son Giorgi...” but the priest could not finish what he wanted to say as he felt tightness in his throat. Giorgi felt his hair stand up and shivers run down his spine. He began to sweat a cold sweat and his legs could no longer hold him. Pop Vasil lifted his head up and, while feeling choked in the throat, in broken

words said: “Here, we at night, brother, are sending your wife away…” Giorgi broke down and his shoulders began to shake... All those gathered at the funeral began to cry. Giorgi covered his face with his hands. Tears began to flow between his fingers, emphasizing Giorgi’s wounds and scars from being beaten. He stood there motionless as if waiting for a lightning bolt to strike him from above. Next to his feet he stared at the open grave, looking like a dark, gaping mouth ready to swallow him. The priest gave a sign to those holding shovels. Giorgi heard the soil knocking on the casket as it fell down. He could neither cry nor utter a word. He put his face on the fresh pile of soil. The tiny, lit candles stuck in the soil flickered in the breeze, painting shades on Giorgi’s pale face. He hugged the grave in silence as if looking for Giorgievitsa’s soul so that he could tell her how difficult it would be without her, how unhappy and lonely life would be and how great was his pain.

Hidden within the leaves of the thick old oak tree was the night bird screeching out long shrieks in its hoarse voice. The moon was making its way half way across the sky. The tops of the hills were turning ash grey. The stars in the sky were pale and sleepily winked at those watching them. The clouds in the eastern horizon looked grey like Pop Vasil’s ruffled grey beard and like Giorgi’s grey hair.

Giorgi coped with the pain of his wife’s death in Dedo Kiro’s house. Here he found a bed and a place on the dining room table. Only ruins of his house remained standing.

“Here”, Baba (grandmother) Kirevitsa told Giorgi, “is where the bomb fell and there is where we found her...” She crossed herself and lit a candle. “Here is where her soul was turning...” she said while pointing to the place where they found her dead body.

On the fortieth day of her death they went to the cemetery for a memorial service. Pop Vasil conducted the service. They all took a bite of the large loaf of bread that Baba Kirevitsa had baked just for this occasion and took a drink of wine in memory of the departed Giorgievitsa. They returned to their homes in the afternoon.

Dedo Kiro lit the oil lamp in front of the Virgin Mary’s icon and said aloud: “Rest in peace… Amen…”

Giorgi knelt down, took two candles from Kirevitsa, lit them, put them between two stones and quietly whispered: “With these, let me and our son light your way. He is still alive…”

They returned home and sat in front of the lit fireplace. There was a long silence. Kiro broke the silence and said:

“They are constantly on the move. At night there is a long string of loaded horses and mules. I hear voices speaking in the dark. They say next year, next spring, a great battle will take place in Gramos. That’s why there is so much traffic on the road. They say from out there, from Prespa, they transport weapons and ammunition...”

“Kiro, what happened to my horse?” asked Giorgi.

“Your horse? They took it the day after they took you. I heard that one of the high ranking partisans is riding it. They say that they had difficulty taming it. They took my horse too. Mito, the lame guy, told me that he saw it loaded with crates... It was doing runs between Prespa and Slimnitsa...” replied Kiro.

“Yes…” replied Girogi with a protracted sigh and then said: “Tomorrow Kiro I am going…”

“What did you say?” asked Kiro.

“I said I am leaving tomorrow. I will join the people who take the loaded horses to Gramos so that I can get there unnoticed. I will go there to see my son. They told me he is serving in the Yanoulis brigade, everyone there knows him. Once I get to Slimitsa I will inquire where the Yanoulis brigade is located. They say that the Yanoulis brigade can be found around the villages Ianoveni, Miroslavitsa, Tuhuli and the Vlach villages Aetomilitsa and Gramoshta. I will find him there…”

“Have they been messing with your head?” Kiro casually asked.

“No, I have decided on my own... And I am not turning back until I see him... I need to see him…” replied Giorgi.

The next day, at sunset, Giorgi picked up the bag with two loaves of bread, cheese and some onions that Kirevitsa had put together for him and went outside of the village. He knew where the column passed, he had been there several times before, and so he hid in wait. Just before midnight two men, armed with machine guns passed by and a short time later he could hear horse hooves stamping on the dusty road. The column began to arrive. He allowed about twenty loaded animals to pass by before he snuck into the column and grabbed the reigns of a horse. No one saw him in the dark.

The column passed by the village Kalevishta at dawn and by mid-morning it arrived in Pilikati. After a short break it crossed the narrow wooden bridge underneath which ran the muddy waters of the swollen Bistritsa River. The column stopped moving on the other side of the bridge. The people were told to wait there while other people took the loaded animals and hid them in the dense pine forest. A little while later, the animals were offloaded and returned. They took the same road back and by noon they arrived in Kalevishta. There they were assigned to various homes and were told to rest until evening. Giorgi and fifty men of his age were separated, taken to the school and told to wait there. Before sunset the column, following the same road, set off for Prespa.