The Great Decline – Chapter 4

The Great Decline – Chapter 4

A fire was burning in the middle of the church. Piles of split wood and fence posts taken from the closest village yards were being burned. The flames were burning high, licking and caressing the dry wood, twisting and turning, slowing down and igniting with a sudden ferocity, eating away at the wood and once in a while spitting out swarms of sparks. With a muffled scream one of the burning poles twisted and fell into the burning coals and slowly turned into coal itself. Frozen, wet, they put their hands in front of them to bring them closer to the fire. Thick smoke caused their eyes to tear. Those sitting close to the fire adjusted themselves and pulled their feet back as they got hot. They were feeling the heat of the flames and the glowing hot coals on their cold faces, beaten by the wind and the cold. Those sitting close to the fire unbuttoned their overcoats and began to yawn with wide open mouths. The heat made them sleepy and standing above them others put their hands out, pushing their way closer to the fire.

A young woman, who some said belonged to the Women’s Anti-Fascist Front (AFZH) leadership and others said she was a commissar, excitedly stirred the fire with a prong and said:

“Comrades, fighters, please allow others to come closer to the fire and warm themselves. Move over and make a circle…” She then moved closer to the fire, whose warmth and flames created a slight glow on her face. She unbuttoned her coat, took it off and placed it over her shoulders. She then poked at the fire with the poker and while breathing out slowly said: “So many coals… so many coals… enough to roast… if only we had some potatoes or…”

“Chestnuts... this bed of coals is good for roasting chestnuts...” someone said.

“Yes, chestnuts...,” she replied, “how could I have forgotten that chestnuts grow in this village…?” She then looked around, spotted the detachment commander, waved her hand at him and, in a commanding voice, yelled out: “Commander, order someone to go and fetch some potatoes or chestnuts...”

With a grimacing look the commander asked her:

“From whose house should I take them? We are waiting for the people to bring us bread, and now you decide to look for an appetizer? My fighters know what it means to bring something and the difficulties it creates...”

But before the commander had a chance to finish his sentence she interrupted him and said: “You are the commander, right? So then please do command!” And then she laughed out loud.

“My job is to command fighters in battle, not to follow up on someone’s whims about chestnuts!” replied the commander loudly, with a raised tone of voice that echoed all throughout the church. He then laid half his overcoat under him on the floor, covered himself with the other half and soon fell asleep.

The woman commissar, as if nothing had happened, sat more comfortably and said: “Yes. And there are people who don’t know a joke....”

She quickly realized that she had insulted the commander. The moment she realized this she wanted to get up and ask him for forgiveness, but she didn’t have the will to do it in the presence of so many fighters. She reminded herself to do it the next day or perhaps tonight under different circumstances. She had realized that she had overstepped her position but she did not know what to do. It was not something that could be dismissed and the longer it lasted unresolved the worse it became for everyone. All the people around the fire and those behind them who were waiting their turn to come close to the fire to warm up felt the tension and were looking at each other in silence. They liked and respected their commander. They were accustomed to his strong voice, his strict rules, and his vision for details while carrying out his orders. His harsh sentences were easily and quickly forgotten. They loved him because he was always with them during long marches and marched on foot alongside them, personally checking the road. He was always the first to step into the cold water and to encourage the marauders. He always gave his horse to those who needed it the most to load the weapons and heavy backpacks filled with bullets and hand grenades which they

ordinarily carried on their backs. They liked him because he never, at least not until now, separated his portion from the common cauldron.

As if it were nothing, she said: “There are people who don’t like jokes...”

It was evident that she was trying to soften the blow but the silence continued, except for the occasional spit and quiet curse. The smoke became thick as the men added more wood onto the fire, some wet and green. It seemed like the smoke covered the quiet, the silence and the contempt. The smoke unfortunately did not take these things with it as it left for the sky through the hole in the church roof that substituted for a chimney. It seemed like the silence and the contempt remained with the people and grew like moss; it did not hurt, but underneath it all there was something sickly, hidden...

“When we free ourselves,” she broke the silence with a tone of voice belonging to a commissar giving a lecture, “fellow fighters, we will build homes of culture in every village to replace every church. The churches, whose time has passed, were only built to keep people ignorant, uncultured and illiterate. This is how the rich, the bourgeoisie wanted things to be. This is how, fellow fighters, the Anglo-American imperialists, the most evil people of today, want things to be and that is why we are fighting to eradicate that evil… I say... What was that word I used? Oh, yes… culture… Like I said, we will build many homes of culture where our people can go to learn…” She suddenly stopped talking and stared at the altar. She half closed her right eye and silently measured from top to bottom, approximating the height, then turned to those that stood in the way and in a commanding voice said: “Hey, you, move out of the away a little, you are blocking my view!” waving her hand gesturing for them to move. “Here… I am here…” she again yelled out loud. “I am here wondering and asking you why, for example, can this church not be a house of culture, eh? Well, almost everything we need is here. We will remove the altar and take it outside... Then we will have a place for a stage. Up there,” she looked up over the altar again measuring with her eyes, “we will take the icons down and we will toss them into the compost heap of history.... And in their place we will put pictures of our beloved leaders Zahariadis, Stalin, Tito,

Dimitrov and all the others who are part of the international proletariat...”

“What did you say?” someone interrupted. “What is he to you, what did you call him?”

“P r o l e t a r i a t!” she replied spelling out the entire word. “First, allow me to finish what I started telling you and then I will explain to you what ‘proletariat’ is and I am sure you, who interrupted me, will have no clue what I am talking about...” She stopped talking for a moment then returned to where she was interrupted:

“Side by side, like the way the big and small icons are lined up today… one beside the other,” she pointed with her hand, “from one end of the altar to the other”. She adjusted herself, threw a couple of thick sticks of wood into the fire, looked into the faces of the others sitting around her and asked: “Did you all understand or did you not?” Expecting no answer she continued: “I saw something like this in a village in Bitola. Picture beside picture.” She raised her hand, pointed at the left side of the altar and slowly waved it towards the right and with a smile on her face she said: “There will be a picture of Tito with a cigarette in one hand and a handgun in the other, it will be a large picture covering that entire area…” pointing with one hand while bumping her hip with the other. “There, to the left of that, will be a picture of Lenin, with his arm raised, showing the proletariat the way to their bright and happy future. To the right of that, there will be a picture of the great Stalin with his great big mustache looking like he is telling the Anglo-Americans, ‘hey, you, over there, don’t you dare trifle with my friends, Markos’s Partisans, because I will hang you all on a single noose…’ And with his slightly closed but very wise eyes, he looks far ahead into the future of communism... Photograph beside photograph. Under those photographs, like the little icons, there will be pictures of Kardeli, Rankovich and of course Lazo... What can I tell you... an entire iconostasis... Oh, your soul will feel so complete and your heart so full of happiness when you think of how it will be when our freedom comes... And that’s what we will do.” She paused for a moment, looked up and then said:

“We will put a large speaker on the bell tower which, from that height, will transmit the sound from our radio to the entire village. The voice of our beloved leader and the words and music of our revolutionary songs will be heard everywhere… This is what I saw in the Bitola village which I mentioned to you earlier... We will have new holidays. Not Sveti Nikola, Sveti Ilia, or Sveti Pavle. We will create new saints and new holidays. In place of Petrovden, for example, we will celebrate the day of the commissars, because we started this, as of today we will have a day of the Commissars...”

“Okay, stop playing games with us. Is this some kind of prank?” someone piped up.

“No prank! We will have a day...” she replied.

“Yes, a day of…” someone else interrupted.

“Yes, a day of the shepherds!” loudly interrupted the man who wanted to know what a ‘proletariat’ was.

“Why not?” she replied. “We will also celebrate all the trades but not the saints. Oh, only if you knew! We will create a new society and of course we will have new practices. We will destroy everything old with all its features and the oldest of them all are the churches. We will create one nation. And that nation will be called the ‘proletariat’. There will be no Macedonians...”

“Well, that suits me fine. The Macedonians must go! To too many people, they are a thorn on the backside…” someone in the back yelled out but no one could see his face.

“This is not just about the Macedonians,” she hastened to explain. “There will be no Turks, no Bulgarians, no Serbs...”

“Will there be Greek?” asked someone from behind the darkness.

The woman turned to see who had asked that question and after a short silence she continued:

“We will all be ‘proletariat’, not nations! The proletariat will rule over their proletariat dictatorship.... The proletariat from all countries, like Marx said...”

“Who?” someone interrupted.

“Well, you know, Marx... The person who invented and taught communism...” she replied.

“What??? And here I thought Zahariadis was our teacher!? That’s what our commissar told us only a few days ago!!!” interrupted another man.

“Zahariadis? Of course he is our teacher and also our leader... When all the proletariat unites, there will be no nations and states and no limits. If you want to go to Russia, for example, then you can go to Russia … No problem…” she replied.

“So what will happen if everyone goes where ever they feel like going? How far will this go?” asked a man standing next to her.

“In communism…” she replied, and before she had a chance to finish her sentence the man who wanted to know what ‘proletariat’ was loudly interrupted and said: “Forget about traveling all over the world and explain to me what ‘proletariat’ is!”

“Proletariat?” she asked.

“Yes, proletariat!” replied the man.

“Proletariat are those people who only have their own two hands...” she explained.

“Only their own two hands? And you want me to remain with only my two hands? No! No, thank you, my dear! You mean to tell me no fields, no sheep, no goats, no oxen, no cows? No thank you, I am better off being a villager...” he replied.

“What’s so precious about your goats? They too will disappear. There will be no goats. Goats are harmful to the forests. There in

Bitola they told me that goats were harmful to the forests so they passed laws to get rid of them, so they slaughtered all the goats,” she explained.

“Goats?” he asked with astonishment.

“Yes, goats…” she replied.

“That’s a darn shame... goats are such peaceful, beautiful and charming animals and now you are telling me they slaughtered them all? You are telling me they adopted such laws? It seems to me that those people who adopted these laws must be very irresponsible people! The goats? Did you hear that people? They slaughtered all the goats!!! What a darn shame!!!” said the man with disgust and spit into the fire.

The woman then turned to the others and said: “This is the soul of a peasant, comrade fighters. Peasants do not understand the revolution, no matter how many times you explain it to them, they will still talk about oxen, sheep and fields and... now let me tell you that after our victory there will be no peasants, all of us will belong to the proletariat with two strong hands to work for the greater good of communism...”

“So, we will stop being peasants?” someone asked.

“Well, yes!” she replied.

“We will all be proletariat with only two hands? another man asked.

“And it will be so great!” she replied

“People, people!!! I want no part of this! I don’t want to associate with such people... Just two hands? Really? Where, my dear, have you seen such a place, eh?” he asked.

The woman stopped talking, but only for a moment. She then opened her eyes wide open and, while making a wide circle with her hand, shouted: “All of Russia is like that… you…” and without having her sentence finished she shouted even louder: “All of Russia

is like that!!! Russia! Do you understand??? Russia, the first socialist country in the world is proletariat!!! And do you know how big Russia is? There is nothing here to compare it to… and there is nothing more to explain… and if Russia, this great big socialist country is like that, why can’t we be, eh? Do you understand or not? It is the same in Yugoslavia… there is even a song sung about it. Let me see, how does it go? Aha! America and England will be proletariat countries… Everything… everywhere and everyone will belong to the proletariat.”

“Russia can be what it wants to be.... What I don’t understand is why we have to be like Russia?” replied the man.

“What is there to understand? That’s what comrade Marx said, you simple ignorant peasant!” yelled the woman.

“My dear woman, can I ask you another question?” asked the man.

“Well, go ahead… ask!” she replied.

“The proletariat, about which you boast so much that they have two strong hands and nothing more and that you say are great fighters, why are they not here amongst us? Are we all here simple ignorant villagers? Is there such a thing as a proletariat among us? If so, then let them stand up so that we can see them.” The man looked around for a moment and said: “Are there any? I don’t see any? There you are my dear woman there are none. Why is that?” he asked.

“First and foremost comrade Zahariadis said that a proletariat revolution in Greece has not yet begun... And... And stop suffocating me!” she yelled out.

“I did not mean to upset you, I was only wondering. And if that is the case why don’t you go looking for the proletariat to support your revolution? Why have you collected us simple ignorant peasants to do your bidding? You talked us into joining your revolution, you pointed your guns at us to force us to join, you fed us to the fleas, you made us bleed and sacrifice our lives for you, and now we are only simple ignorant peasants to you. In the meantime you have allowed the proletariat with two strong hands to stay home in the

cities and to spend their time in cafés and bars. And from us, the simple ignorant peasants, you have not only taken our bodies and souls, you have also taken our fields, our grains, our wine, our sheep, cattle, orchards, mills and everything else that you could lay your hands on… and still we are not good enough for you because we are not your ideal proletariat? Let me be the first to say that I do not belong in that group of people,” the man explained.

“Earlier didn’t I say that you would not understand? What you don’t understand is that after we win the war, the revolutionaries will implement the proletariat dictatorship and then...” she said without ending her sentence.

“Well, that too I don’t understand! Is the proletariat dictatorship something like the Metaxas dictatorship? Have you forgotten the Metaxas dictatorship? Have you forgotten the salted cod, the castor oil, the beatings and the reproach because we spoke our language? I don’t understand...” replied the man.

“What… you… what do you still not understand?” she asked with a frustrated tone of voice.

“Well, I don’t understand the proletariat dictatorship?!” he replied.

“What’s the rush? When we get there you will know it… you will experience it first hand. Stop being impatient… Wait! It will come even if you don’t understand it! When it comes then you will understand....” she advised.

She paused for a moment and continued with her commentary: “So, comrades, you have to be patient. We must win first. When we win, we will have only one holiday, the holiday of the proletariat. We will gather in the village square and listen to our leaders give speeches, we will call out slogans and we will sing revolutionary and proletariat songs. We will make the Anglo-American imperialists and their local lackeys shake in their boots. And, as I told you earlier, we will discard these church icons hanging above us…”

“That is not for me! I prefer to celebrate our old customs, passed on to us from generation to generation. These are our holidays, our symbols and our hallmark, which are different from those of others. I prefer celebrating with family and friends, with humour and happiness, with wine, appetizers, baked and broiled meat, sitting around our dining table and singing folk songs. Then I would like to go out and celebrate with my friends and neighbours and dance a few folk dances in the village square. Did you say that somewhere they did not celebrate holy holidays?”

“They, there, broke with faith. Now they celebrate the first of May, the holiday of the proletariat and the day when our leader was born. I want you to know that this is a very happy and joyful occasion. No one works during these days and everyone sings and celebrates. And when we, here, free ourselves, we too will celebrate. The first of May will be celebrated everywhere. The Party secretaries will come and give speeches, then together we will attend many rallies and go to Solun and even to Athens to hear Zahariadis who will speak about our new victories…” she replied.

“And who will work?” the same man asked.

“Don’t be daft man! Do you think we are here up in the mountains fighting against imperialism so that we can work? No! The proletariat will work and earn for us. They will set some money aside for us so that we don’t have to work. If we the fighters have to work then who will attend the meetings and rallies?” she explained.

The woman from AFZH (Anti-Fascist Front for Women) turned to the person sitting to her right and whispered: “Keep an eye on the guy who is asking all the questions. He will do a lot of damage if he is allowed to remain amongst the fighters…”

“You are saying that the icons will be discarded?” a voice from the crowd was heard asking. “Are we taking the people’s faith away from them? Is that right? Is this what the new government intends to do? Are we going to chase God out of the hearts of the people?”

The woman looked in the direction of where the voice was coming from and, without asking who was speaking, said: “The comrade,

shamefully, said that the new government will chase God out of the people’s hearts. But I, comrade fighters, want, here before you, to tell you what our leader comrade Zahariadis said about our faith. Comrade Zahariadis said that the faith of the people is… wait, what did he say? It’s on the tip of my tongue… He said that it was incense… not incense but something worse, much worse, my God, what was it? It was bad, a very bad thing…”

“It was that bad, eh?” someone interrupted but then she cut him off and said:

“Yes, that bad... it’s here on the tip of my tongue but I just can’t remember it because it was a big word and only great people say big words and our leader Zahariadis is a great person. How was it again? It’s on the tip my tongue…” she stuck her tongue out and pointed at it with her dirty finger. “Well, it’s here, just here...”

“Was it poppy?” someone asked.

“No, it wasn’t poppy! It was something else,” she replied.

“Was it tar?” someone else asked.

“Be quiet you! And watch what you say. Don’t mix Zahariadis with tar!” she snapped.

“Well, tar is made from poppies and from tar...” he explained.

“Dung...” someone else yelled out, interrupting the first man.

There was laughter amongst the people, which was then overridden by the woman’s threatening voice who said: “If I whack you one across the eyes, then you will understand dung. Look at this guy! Do you think comrade Zahariadis will say such a stupid village word? Shut up… you!” and then she spat into the fire.

“Hey, don’t get yourself into a fit. We in Voden Region do this regularly. We make a cut into a pine tree and allow the sap to drain. We then mix the fluid well and when it dries we turn it into dung,” explained another man.

“Is it opium?” asked another man laughingly.

“Opium!!! Yes that’s the word comrade Zahariadis used. Opium… Yes opium!” she said triumphantly, joyfully and with much pride. “Yes, it’s opium, opium, comrades...”

Then, after calming down a little from her excitement, she looked down and said: “I needed that, I needed some time to think about it and it came to me… Oh, I am so relieved... Opium... It was opium!” She then became excited again and repeated the word several more times as if wanting to remember it forever. She then looked up and continued with her address: “Well, fellow fighters that Opium! Opium is the religion of the people. That’s what comrade Zahariadis said… Yes…”

“Did Marx say that?” suspiciously asked another man sitting with his back to the sweltering fire. To many he sounded like he was the same man who revealed the word “opium” to the woman who tried so hard to find it.

“Be quiet, you! What Marx are you talking about? It was our Zahariadis about whom you understand nothing,” she snapped, paused for a moment and continued:

“Opium, comrades, is the faith of the people! For centuries our precious people have been poisoned by it and it has remained that way. By ejecting the icons from churches we will free ourselves from this poison... what was it called?”

“Opium!” many yelled out in unison.

“Yes, we will eject the opium!” she explained.

“You think the icons are opium and we will discard them?” a man asked.

“For sure! They are from our past. Just ordinary boards. We don’t need them. We will rebuild everything anew… Yes.... We are chatting here and forgot to feed the fire which is almost out. Go get

some wood from outside, come on, somebody? You, over there, yes you, go...” she ordered.

“Me? No, no no, I went earlier. Pick someone else. I just got myself warmed up… It’s really wicked out there and visibility is very poor. Perhaps you can burn some of the icons, as you said? replied the man.

“It is possible, it is possible. Everything is possible in the revolution. Toss that one, that one over there… the big one...” she ordered.

Mita stood up slowly, went to the altar then suddenly turned and with a quiet but stern sounding voice said: “Don’t you dare!”

“And who do you think you are, some sort of commander or bishop?” snapped the woman.

“I am neither and I will not stand here and watch you desecrate the church!” replied Mita with the same tone of voice and adjusted her shmizer (automatic rifle). “If you have the guts then get off your butt and toss the icon into the fire… Do it!” Mita ordered.

“And, you, you are against this?!” replied the woman sounding scolded. “Okay, let it be that way… tomorrow we will review your demand and decide what to do about it… Well, now I will tell you how a red commissar in Russia dealt with those people who opposed him. I learned about this in Bitola from a documentary Russian film I watched. This is how it was done. Red Army fighters were sitting around a fire getting warm, much like we are doing here now. It was winter and winters in Russia are very cold. Then their commissar entered, frozen and covered with ice, and told those sitting around the fire: ‘Do you not see that those hanging from the walls are laughing and mocking you? Do you not see them all bearded with their eyes wide open staring and laughing at you? And do you know why they are laughing at you? They are laughing at you because you refuse to understand the revolution and because of your ignorance, you sit here freezing. Shame on you!’ The commissar then said: ‘Take down and toss one of the big icons in the fire so that I too can warm up.’ Then a Red Army fighter, young like you, took the largest icon down with his two, strong Red Army hands and tossed it

into the fire. The flames shot up high and warmed everyone... They were all happy...” she stopped talking and looked around to see what kind of impression she had made.

Two fighters sitting side by side some steps away from the fire, near the bishop’s throne, discussed developments in the current situation.

“What do you think, will they burn the icons?” the first man asked.

“No one will dare touch them while Mita is standing there in front of the altar,” replied the second man.

“A few days ago we spent the night in a church where we burned the altar and some of the church’s icons. In doing so, I felt like we burned part of the soul of our people. The simple, the poor, the sick, the ones with many children, the ones with no children, the crippled, the blind, they all collect coin after coin, depriving themselves of essentials, in order to set aside enough money to build a church. Building a church is expensive especially since they have to pay skilled workers to do the delicate work and artists to paint the icons. Then, after the church was built and consecrated, they all line up with lit candles, half afraid and with sober faces they prayed for relief to come from above, from God. They pray to be healed, to be healthy, to be happy, to be prosperous and then waited in hope that their prayers will be heard above and that their suffering will be alleviated, their pain will vanish and their diseases will heal. Then if their suffering ended, if they become healthy, happy and prosperous, they thank God for that… They thank God for births, for the water they drank, for the food they ate, for the rain… They said thank you Bogoroditse, Sveti Ilia, Sveti Nikola, Sveti Dimitria and stared at the faces of the icons and made silent gestures and promises and then they prayed to each of the icons and waited and hoped. Have you ever seen anyone pray to the Government in the way they pray in church? No! But do you know why? Because the government is only interested in taking from the people! It is greedy, cruel and uncaring towards the needs and desires of the people, especially towards the needs of the very young, the helpless and the poor and powerless. And now, we who have stood up to change the government and replace it with our government and power, are burning altars and icons; with them burning all hope for the meek and helpless… Go

ahead, warm yourself by the fire burning in the middle of the church and greedily look at the icons, not to pray, but to burn them in the fire, to destroy all hope for the weakest in our society, and we dare call ourselves the fighters of the people’s government. As I listened to this woman I thought to myself: Where did this corruption in her come from? Where does she get these wild and crazy thoughts? Toss the biggest icon into the fire, she says, and then expresses joy at the prospect because that’s what some people in some foreign country did... Have we gone completely out of our minds? It is none of our business what other countries do. Let them do whatever they want to do. But who is teaching our people to behave this way; to want to destroy our heritage, to want to act like ignorant barbarians and to want to dream pipe dreams. Are we now going to act like some crazed ignorant Russians from the far steppes? Are we going to burn everything from our past because they decided to? Have we gone mad? Where do you think the people from this village will go after we are gone? Do you think they will go to the people of our government? Where are they going to find these people from the government? All this time these so-called government people have been hiding themselves in the mountains and only passing through the villages at night so that they can stuff themselves with food and drink at the expense of the peasants. Only two or three people know about the government people, about the house in which they are placed, about the time when they come and go. Nobody else knows who they are or their schedules... the only thing that ordinary people know is that they have to feed them and keep them warm when they come to their homes… Our comrades from the government sure know how to hide… they hide like lone wolves and only move during the night. They hide, but do they hide from the people? Yes they do. They never trust those who feed them, who give them a warm place to stay, who give them water to drink, who wash their feet and who share the last piece of bread with them… Our people sense the wildness in them and will not willingly go to the government. But the people will come here… they will go to their churches and pray. They will pray warm prayers about hope… They will secretly pray about their sorrows and about their pains…” said the first man, pausing for a moment. It seemed like he was losing his voice. He looked around and then turned his eyes up and looked at the ceiling. Then he looked at the walls. As if for the first time, he noticed the icons above the altar. He stared at the saints standing

upright along the walls, their faces vibrating, reflecting the flames of the fire. One saint had a gleam of light in his eyes. In amazement the man whispered: “Look at that saint” and pointed with his head. “No matter how I move, no matter where I go, he looks me straight in the eyes. Look, is he looking at you the same way?” asked the first man.

“Yes, yes… he looks me straight in the eyes too! I will go further away... It’s the same. He does not move, he does not turn yet he continued to look me in the eye. He is looking at me right now as if he was alive! Look at the others, are they also looking,” said the second man.

“Yes, straight in the eye... They look like they are angry, ready to yell at us...” replied the first man.

“Do I think it’s a mirage? It is not a mirage. Look at them. They angrily look you straight in the eye. What’s their problem, eh?” asked the second man.

“They have no problem. I believe they were painted that way. The artist who painted them looked them straight in the eye and they looked at him the same way…” replied the first man.

“Brave man that artist!” said the second man. “Brave man… He must have been very brave to be able to stare them straight in the eyes. How old do you think these walls are?” asked the second man.

“If only the soot could speak, then we would know how old they are,” said the first man while shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders and raising his eyebrows in amazement and then said: “Bad, very bad…”

“What’s bad?” asked the second man.

The first man turned his head and with his eyes pointed at the woman who was speaking earlier. She was quiet now, sleeping. Her head was turned to the side and saliva was dripping from her mouth. Without taking his eyes off her the first man said: “When corrupt people enter the church... ordinary people begin to curse and the curses from ordinary people, they say, are the most damning. They

last for as long as the family line is alive and as long as its roots exist... down to the last living individual. The curses, they say, will live on and carry the evil for as long as the line lasts. The evil lives in the curse. Curses also continue to live in the memories of poor nations and haunt them for generations… bad memories of mistakes made are passed on from generation to generation so that such mistakes are never made again… they serve as lessons and warnings… we will be cursed for this, mark my words, we will be cursed by the people for doing this to them… we will be cursed…” he concluded.

Just a few steps away from the two men the fire was spreading, the coals were piling up and the flames were caressing the new layers of wood piled up on top of them. Occasionally sparks flew. The heat from the fire spread warmth all throughout the church. The fighters were loosening their belts and unbuttoning their overcoats. Those sitting close to the fire were removing their heavy garments. Those who were sufficiently warmed up lay sleeping on the stone floor of the church, covered with their old Italian and English overcoats. Those still cold sat by the fire with their backs turned to it. A man suddenly jumped to his feet and rubbed his shoulders. The smell of burned cloth proliferated all through the church. Mita, leaning on the doors of the altar, drifted in and out of sleep. The radiance of the fire, the shimmering of the bluish flame caressing the coals, the flashes of flames dancing around the burning wood and the sudden eruption of sparks flying in the air was the central focus of everyone’s attention. They all sat quietly as light broke away from the fire and spilled all around the church, making things fade in and out of twilight, emphasizing and hiding the wings of the angels and the cheeks of the saints. Someone brought two split logs and threw them into the fire. A cloud of sparks, like a swarm of bees, jumped out reaching all the way to the ceiling. The flames suddently jumped on the logs, walking on them and leaving dark scars wherever they touched. They danced all around until they completely surrounded the logs and held them in their grasp. And as the fire burned, someone else cast an icon on it, torn from the altar. For a moment the enire church went dark. The sharp smoke that rose caused many to tear. Flames danced under the icon working their way around it. The paint on top began to fry, darkening and changing the icon’s colour. Then small flames began to dance on top of the saint. The

canvas began to shrink and it suddenly burst into flame. A bundle of sparks exploded into the air and lit up the entire church, dancing their way down. It seemed like the warmth of the burning icon had placed everone in a trance… The place was silent.

The church door suddenly opened. A cloud of snow and wind followed the man who entered.

“Commander, where is the commander?” he asked.

“Over there in the altar,” someone pointed with his head. Just as the man was asking for him, the commander, adjusting his officer’s belt, came out of the altar.

“Comrade Commander! There is an urgent message for you!” the man said, removing his hat, tearing a piece of paper from inside it and handing it to him.

The commander turned the piece of paper towards the flame so that he could see what was written on it, raised his eyebrows and moved his lips. He then put the piece of paper in his officer’s briefcase and yelled out: “Attention everyone! Put out the fire, get out and line up!”

The squad formed a line in front of the church and the sergeant took attendance to make sure everyone was present and accounted for. After that the squad was ordered to march single file, walking one behind the other following the courier who knew his way around in the heavy snow.

The woman from AFZF, with her head wrapped in the high collar of her coat, knocked on Kuze’s door. There was a quiet rustle and then the door opened, but only a crack. Peering through the crack was Kuze with his messed-up hair.

“Ah, it’s you!” said Kuze without being surprised. “Come in, quickly come in… it sure is cold out there…”

Kuze lit a kerosene lamp, looked into the woman’s face and, with an apologetic voice, said: “I wish you could have come earlier, we

would have had dinner together. You also missed the baking of the big loafs of bread. Seven batches are being baked in seven different ovens… enough to feed an army,” said Kuze while showing her with his arms the size of a loaf.

She gave him a harsh stare, grabbed him by his double chin and, while squeezing every word, shook him and said: “You left my army hungry!”

“What? What? Hungry? Seven ovens…” he said unable to find the words to explain himself.

“The hell with your seven ovens! I said you left my army hungry! You never delivered the bread you were asked to deliver, now the fighters are gone, hungry, without food! They are gone, they left, don’t you understand!?” she said angrily.

“What? They left? Why did they leave without the bread?” replied Kuze, with an expression of great surprise and disappointment, and then ran to the window to look outside into the darkness. “Oh well, I guess they are gone. Now what am I going to do with all that bread? And you, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you with them?” asked Kuze.

“It’s not your business to know where I should be! My job does not take me to marches. Make sure that the bread is safeguarded. Tomorrow at dawn there will be other columns marching by here. Remember that!” she said and again grabbed him by his double chin, shook him, sternly looked him in the eyes and then, with her finger shaking in front of his nose, said: “You had better remember or else! Because if you don’t you will find yourself in the front with the next column! Now listen! You should immediately feed those passing by here tomorrow! And remember: always have bread on hand! Keep it in a safe place wherever you want but always have it on hand. If you don’t, I will personally kill you!” she yelled at him, pulled out her side arm from behind her belt and pointed it at his nose. “I will kill you like a rabid dog!” she said and put her pistol back into the holster. “Don’t disappoint me or else… I will kill you like a rabid dog!” she said again.

She again raised her high overcoat collar above her ears, stuffed her hands deep into her pockets, turned, kicked the door open with her army boot, went outside and, without saying another word, disappeared into frozen snow. And Kuze, standing at the door, when he was sure she had disappeared into the dark alley, hit his right elbow with his left hand and said: “Like hell you will kill me…”