THE AUTHOR - Part 05

and if I hurried I should be able to catch up to them in Sofia. Unfortunately I was delayed for a couple of days at the NOF Main Board because my co-workers were experiencing some problems that had arisen in the local organizations after the departure of my colleagues. The membership wondered why we were leaving and there were all sorts of speculations arising from that. My job was to persuade people that everything was okay and that our main emphasis at the moment was to help the front by all possible means. Comrade Marika Elkova informed me that all was well with AFZH and the women running it. AFZH elected board members Mahi Pilaeva and Malina Markovska had already left for the Congress. I just want to mention here that Mahi Pilaeva was AFZH Secretary, Lerin Region and member of the Board. Malina Markovska was member of the Board and member of NOO, Lerin Region. Most of Malina’s family was involved in the struggle. Her son Pando was a fighter and Giorgi was then living in Canada. Her daughter Arhonda was a DAG lieutenant in the officer’s school when she was killed. Her two sons are currently living in Skopje. Malina died in Skopje a few years ago. During the International Congress in Budapest Malina represented the Macedonian woman. She was dressed in a Macedonian folk costume. Representing DAG were DAG officers Afrodita and Mahi. Afrodita was from the village Gorentsi, Kostur Region. She died in Tashkent. Mahi Pilaeva was from the village Ekshisu, Lerin Region. She was in Czechoslovakia, in Brio as an immigrant and from there she moved to Athens because her husband was Greek. She came to Skopje twice to visit me. She died in Skopje. After my meeting with my colleagues in the village Zhelevo, I said goodbye to my friends and comrades Koichev and Kochev, as well as to my friend Mincho whom I had not seen for a long time. I also informed him, in some detail, about the NOF situation after his departure. He was surprised by what had happened and was upset with me for allowing it to happen and for not intervening. I told him that he knew very well what kind of influences there were in NOF and assured him that things would be better this way. Before I left he warned me: “Watch where you’re going and with whom you are going.” He was right because he was more experienced than me. Mincho also gave me some documents to leave with my mother in Bitola for safe keeping. A delegation of PDEG from the All-Greek Women’s Democratic Union and from AFZH were also selected at the founding meeting on October 23, 1948 in the village Rudari Prespa, to represent the women of Greece at the International Congress in Budapest at the same time as the leadership was elected. Located in the village Rudari at that time

was the so-called “embeda” where all important newcomers from other republics were settled and mobilized for handling weapons and from there they were dispatched to the DAG units. With help from “Iafka” I arrived in Bitola at night and met with my mother. From Bitola I then traveled to Skopje. While Ipsilandis remained in Skopje waiting to go to a different destination, the next night I left for Sofia via Strumitsa and Petrich where I was to meet up with our delegation. While traveling through Yugoslavia we were escorted by Macedonian Security Service personnel and while traveling through Bulgaria we were handled by the Bulgarian Security Service. When I arrived at the “Iafka” office in Petrich I was received by a young Macedonian man named Iani. All the “Iafka’s”, or “Giafka’s” as they were called by the Greeks, belonged to the CPG. In Petrich I was placed in a house that belonged to a Macedonian family. The next night I left for Sofia. In Sofia too I was received by our “Iafka” when I met up with members of our delegation. In Sofia we were joined by my friend Keti from Solun, who came through Belasitsa. The person responsible for “Iafka” there was Shapera. In Sofia we were placed with families of the Central Committee members of the Communist Party of Bulgaria. Rita and I were placed in Neda Todorova’s flat; she was Minister of Health in the People's Republic of Bulgaria. There we could wear civilian clothes. We were given Bulgarian passports and other necessary documents for travel by train to Bucharest. The name in my passport was Stoina Stoianova. After a few days rest in the enjoyable first class train, we arrived in Bucharest on November 28, 1948. Our delegation was made up of eleven AFZH members. From the Macedonian side we were (1) Vera Nikolovska, AFZH Secretary for Aegean Macedonia and member of the leadership of the newly formed PDEG Delegation. (2) Antula Liaku, DAG Lieutenant (later captain), a native of the village Gorentsi, Kostur Region. She died in Tashkent. (3) Mahi Pilaeva, AFZH Secretary for Lerin Region, a native of the village Ekshisu, Sorovich Region. (4) Malina Markova from the village Zhelevo, Lerin Region, member of the NOO, Lerin District. From the Greek side there were: (5) Rula Kukulu, PDEG President and consort to Zahariadis, (6) Domna Ioanidu, member of the PDEG leadership and wife of Iani Ioanidu, (7) Rita, member of the leadership, (8) Keti, member of the leadership, an illegal worker, (9) another Keti, DAG Captain (later Major), doctor by profession and wife to Hristoforo Gizidi responsible for “Iafka” in Budapest and who received us at the train station and (10) Marika, DAG Partisan from the un-armed brigade of fighters who came from Thessaly. In Bucharest we were joined by (11) Hrisa Hadzhivasiliu, well known CPG political worker, member of

the Politburo and wife to Petro Ruse, Minister of External Affairs in the Provisional Government. Hrisa was also a member of the Secretariat of the International Democratic Federation of Women. Hrisa and I were very close. I liked her very much, because for me she was a model revolutionary woman, courageous and very capable in her role in the communist movement in Greece. She knew that I was Macedonian and had no problem with that, but for some unknown reason, at least to me, Zahariadis did not like her. As I found out later she became ill and died in Romania. When we arrived in Budapest we were taken to the “Geller” hotel on the left bank of the Danube River, one of the most luxurious hotels in Budapest. Here we were received and accompanied for the entire Congress by the leaders of the Hungarian Women’s Organization. After we settled in we dressed in our military uniforms. The Second International Congress of PDOG (International Federation of Democratic Women) began on December 1st and lasted until December 6th, 1948. It was held in the grandiose Hungarian Parliament Building. President of the Women’s Federation was Madam Cotton from France. Honorary President was Dolores Ibaruri la Pasionaria. Unfortunately she did not attend the congress, I don’t know why. Secretary of the Women’s Federation was Marie Vaian Kuturie also from France. Vice President was Nina Popova from the Soviet Union. Our delegation was given instructions by Zahariadis to maintain the same good relations with all the delegations because we were at war. Our participation in the Congress was to affirm our struggle against the Anglo-Americans imperialists and expose their involvement in aiding the Monarcho-Fascist regime in Athens. That is why when the Congress welcomed Mitra Mitrovich, President of the Yugoslav delegation, our delegation applauded her with hand clapping. Immediately after the break, the Soviet delegation sent us a note to which we responded that we were in a state of war and that Yugoslavia was a supporter of our struggle and therefore we could not act any differently. Mitra Mitrovich in the meantime asked the PDOG Secretariat to hold a leadership meeting. From our side the meeting was attended by Rula Kukulu, Domna Ioanidi who spoke French well and by me. Mitra Mitrovich, heading the Yugoslav delegation, submitted a protest to the Congress because the building in which the Congress was held did not fly the Yugoslav flag. This was done, Mitrovich exclaimed, knowing full well that Yugoslav women participated en masse in the struggle against fascism and hundreds of thousands of them had become its victims. I happened to sit next to Mitrovich, who smoked a lot and was very nervous about this injustice, while Nina Popova sat opposite her.

There was a sharp dialogue between Mitrovich and Popova but, like the other delegations, we supported Mitrovich. The next day the Yugoslav flag was erected on the building and was flying among the other flags. We were again scolded by our Soviet friends for supporting the Yugoslav delegation on the flag matter but our position remained unchanged. To decide who was doing what during the Congress, our delegation held a meeting in one of the “Geller” hotel rooms and it was decided that as PDEG President, Rula Kukulu would speak during the opening ceremonies on behalf of the women of Greece. It was also decided that I would speak in Parliament Square at the rally that was to be held in honour of the Congress. Rita and I were delegated to writing the speeches. I asked Rula if I could speak in Macedonian but she said no. Rita on the other hand made corrections to my speech which, on the advice of Antula Liaku, I had to accept. Antula warned me in Sofia to be careful around Rita. She said: “Vera, Rita was sent to follow you around, watch your movements, how you behave and to listen to what you say to other people.” I am very grateful to Antula for her advice and honesty. She was a brave young woman. Rula did her part in greeting the delegation and welcoming the Congress on behalf of the women of Greece. There were cheers, applause and much support for our delegation and for our struggle. Rula in her speech explained the situation of the women in Greece and how they were affected by the terror carried out in the occupied territories. She explained why the children had to be evacuated to Eastern European countries and how the Anglo-Americans were helping the Monarcho-Fascists in Athens. During the break a man and a woman approached me and asked me if I recognized them. When I said no, they told me that they knew me from a meeting I had had with them on the Greek side of Mount Kaimakchalan. I did remember having the meeting with them in the village Gorno Rodovo. At this point the interrogator stopped me from talking. He made a motion with his hand and two NKVD agents appeared and led me to my cell. After that I did not go to interrogation for several days. I wondered why he was not asking for me. My confession about the Budapest Congress was my spiritual outpouring even though I was constantly humiliated and insulted by him. And why would he want to see me again when I had given him every detail of what had happened? I wanted to be interrogated because it gave me a chance to talk; I hated the silence in my cell. Smoking the cigarettes I was given in honour of Women’s International Day did give me some relief even though they were of the lowest quality.

What was my connection to the Central Intelligence Service?

“Today Vera Nikolovskaja will tell us about her connection to the Central Intelligence Service,” the interrogator said after I was called in from a long period of being absent. In the beginning I did not understand the question. It was a strange question so I did not answer. The interrogator became very angry and with a raised tone of voice began to yell at me calling me “zvoloch, agent, traitor etc.” “I have no connection to the Central Intelligence Service,” I said. “So don’t waste your insults on me!” “Then explain to me how you know those English people that you told us about the other time? By what other means did you know them?” he asked and then said: “We know how you people ‘podrevnuju rabotu’ (worked) against the CPG and DAG together with Tito to betray the struggle.” At that moment it became clear to me what the problem was. I started to quickly gather my thoughts and remember under what circumstances I had met Peter Farst and his wife. The interrogator signaled with his hand and a woman of uncertain age entered the office looking very comfortable. She sat on a chair in the middle of the table. One of the NKVD agents brought her a typewriter. After he left another NKVD agent, an officer, came in and introduced himself as Major Pantaleev. He explained to me that the protocol would now be typed and I would have to sign both the questions and my answers. By now I was very familiar with the beginning of their protocols. First it would be general questions like when my father went to Canada. No matter how many times I gave them my answers, the same questions persisted as if they had already forgotten my answers. “My father, together with Lazo Trpovski, went to Canada in 1928 to seek work and to avoid persecution from the Greek government. Lazo Trpovski, a well-known revolutionary and Communist from my village, at one time lived in the Soviet Union. He along with six other people was killed on April 9, 1943 in a place called Imeri in Kozheni Region in present day Greece,” I answered. “Why did your father not return with Lazo Trpovski?” he asked. “I don’t know!” I answered. “I did not know my father, I was less that three years old when he left for Canada.” “Did you have any contact with your father during the war?” he asked. “I corresponded with him up until 1940,” I said. “After 1940 I did not correspond with him because of the war, but in 1947 when my mother moved to Bitola she started writing him letters. Through my mother he sent me a pair of binoculars, a ‘Kodak’ camera and a gold watch. The bottom of the watch was engraved with the words: “To Vera from your father.” He had also sent me some minor things. When

I was arrested in Albania all those things were taken away from me by Pirakli Mirovigli. Similarly he took my gold ring with my initials which my mother had given me, 17 gold coins that belonged to AFZH, a little briefcase full of documents belonging to the Kostur NOO District Board and my ‘Walter’ side arm.” So I repeat who knows which way things would go from what I had already told him but here I specifically pointed him to the next case. “I made contact with my father by letter in the summer of 1946 through some Vlachs who were staying with their flocks at Vicho,” I said and continued. “Their leader was called Triiandafilis, he was from Karditsa, Thessaly. I sent my father a letter via Lerin asking him to send us money for our needs, at the Vlach’s address. My father must have got the letter because he sent $700 to the address I specified. With the money we bought shoes. Actually the Vlach bought them for us Partisan women because at the time we worked behind the scenes under very difficult conditions. Our work was considered illegal since we had no free territories and NOF consisted only of small groups of activists.” “How were you acquainted with the Vlach to have such confidence in him?” the interrogator asked. “In April 1946 I had a terrible backache, I was unable to move and felt like I was paralyzed. Panaiot Karadzhov from my village, who at the time was head of NOMS in Kostur Region, carried me on his shoulder. My friends wanted to take me to Yugoslavia for treatment, but how could I go when I was immobile? Lazar Poplazarov, Secretary of the Lerin District Board of NOF and my friends then decided to take me to the Vlachs and left me there until my situation improved.” “There were many families of Vlachs. They lived in huts. But in order to accept me they wanted us to give them guns and ammunition to defend themselves from wolves and bears. Otherwise they would have to ask the Monarcho-Fascists for those weapons. They said they needed the weapons because Vicho was infested with wolves and bears and they were afraid that they would harm their flocks. Lazo agreed to give them arms and said: “Make sure nothing happens to her and good luck to you.” My friends then left me with the Vlachs and took the road to Bigla towards the village Trsie. At the time the villages around Vicho were still occupied by the Monarcho-Fascists. The family I was left with had a girl about my age. Her name was Anastasia. During the time of ELAS she had served in the ranks as a nurse. When she saw me in my condition she immediately placed a couple of cut “veduzi” (I had to explain what they were) on my back which pulled all my clotted blood away. After that I felt relieved and was able to stand up. I stayed with the Vlachs for fifteen days. I waited for my friends to return but they didn’t. One day a unit of about thirty Monarcho-Fascists showed

up at the dairy asking the Vlachs if they had seen any Partisans passing by. The man in charge told them that he had not seen any. With the Monarcho-Fascists was a young Macedonian man from the village Bapchor whom I recognized. His name was Giorgi. He had been with our Brigade in Bitola but he deserted.” “When the Vlachs saw the Monarcho-Fascists coming from the distance they dressed me in Vlach clothes, put a thick Vlach scarf on my head and covered me up with a goatskin quilt (lozhnik). Giorgi the deserter asked: “Who is that lying there?” And was about to uncover me. The Vlach leader told him that I was one of his girls and warned him not to uncover me because I was sick with a fever and that I was covered up to break into a sweat so that I could recover from my cold. It was my lucky day. Giorgi took his advice and decided not to uncover me, otherwise I would have been killed on the spot because he knew who I was. During my stay with these good people they fed me the best food that they had which consisted of butter, young cheese and fresh milk with salt. In place of water I drank skim milk and whey. Up until then I had drunk my milk with sugar, so initially I found it difficult to drink it with salt, but I gradually became used to it and it was delicious. Salt tends to dilute the thick sheep’s milk and makes it more palatable and flavourful. After I recovered, fifteen days later, the Vlach leader would not allow me to leave for the village Trsie alone, so he asked one of his shepherds to take me. During the night I met up with my friends in Trsie. We gave the Vlach shepherd two guns and ammunition to take back and he left. To this day I cannot forget those good people, especially Anastasia and her brother Tanasaki, whose father wanted me to be his wife. Actually, the entire family and community were good to me and I will never forget their kindness. I tried many times to remember their address in Thessaly but to this day I could not. They were so kind that in the fall when they were leaving for Thessaly, they sent me knitted sweaters and socks and containers full of cheese and butter for Vangel Koichev, who at the time was suffering from a stomach ulcer. With the $700 I received from my father we bought shoes and everything else that we needed for the Partisans and the remaining amount we distributed among our friends to buy whatever they needed. Since then I had no other correspondence with my father, in other words, there is no link that may be of interest to you,” I concluded. “What other relatives do you have in Canada and in America?” the interrogator asked. “I have an uncle, my father’s brother in Detroit. His name is Naum Balev and another uncle named Naum Mangov-Dimitrov. He is my mother’s brother and lives in Gary Indiana,” I replied. “Aha!” said both the interrogator and interpreter. I, on the other

hand, enjoyed telling them what they wanted to know because their questions made me remember good things about my family. I know what they wanted to hear and I could see where they were going with their questions but they were not going to get lies from me for their purposes because the people in my family were not that kind of people, especially my Uncle Naum Mangov or Numo as we called him. Now I too began to play their game. I started telling them great details about the names I mentioned, but frankly, I told them the truth the way it really was. My aim was to bog them down with details, to extend the interrogation, to make it more pleasant just the way it was today here in this “warm” prison atmosphere. “What does your Uncle Naum Balev do for a living?” the interrogator asked. “He is a plumber,” I replied. “Where does he live?” he asked. “In Detroit,” I replied. “What family does he have?” he asked. “He has a wife and three children,” I replied. “What are the names of his wife and children?” he asked. “His wife’s name is Sofia. She is from our village D’mbeni. His children’s names are Marianti, Andon and Panaiot,” I replied. “Do you have contact with your Uncle Naum Mangov and his family?” he asked. “No I don’t, but my mother does,” I said. “What does your uncle do?” he asked. “He used to work somewhere for Interpol. I met him for the first time in 1935 when he was sent to Europe from his job. He used the opportunity to come to the village D’mbeni and visit his family. After that he went to Bulgaria. His wife now lives in Varna and his son Lambro left to study medicine in France and Belgium. He could have studied medicine in Sofia. As far as I know my uncle is now Captain in the Chicago or Gary Indiana police force. You can verify this information with your Embassy in the United States,” I concluded. “Oh, is that so?” said the interrogator. “Yes that is how it is, just the way I said it,” I replied. He again asked what my connection with my uncle was. “I have no connection and I had no connection with him. I don’t even know if my mother still corresponds with him,” I replied. I then explained to him in detail of our Macedonian situation after the arrival of the Greek government in Macedonia after 1912-1913 and why so many Macedonians had to go to work in America and Australia while their families, wives, children and parents had to stay in the village and work on their own properties. For the Christmas and Easter holidays, I explained, the men would send their families a cheque for one hundred dollars. They would also send fifty dollars over the summer to purchase necessities for living. After some years of earning, the men would return to their village and re-join their families. This is how it was with my father and my two uncles and with all the Macedonian men that went to pechalba. But when the situation

worsened in Greece some began to take their families with them. That was the case with my two uncles. They provocatively questioned me regarding what I had previously said; i.e. if I knew any other Americans or Englishmen. I replied that in 1944 I saw a man named Evans, an English officer, a Captain, who was at the 28th Regiment of ELAS. I also saw him on April 12, 1944 in my village D’mbeni when he attended the SNOF Second Conference. He attended the Conference as an ally with other English Party delegates but I never had any meeting or conversation with him. Suddenly the interrogator asked me if I wanted to smoke a cigarette. When I said yes, he gave me a whole pack of “Prima” cigarettes. The box was red. Until then he had only given me “Boks” and “Roketa” papiroshki, the lowest quality cigarettes. I lit a cigarette or two in my cell just to pass my time and I made little chicks from the butts. One time when I lined up all my little chicks on the table the duty officer came in and asked: “What are those?” I said: “They are Marko’s Partisans.” Then with one sweep of his hand he gathered them all and threw them in the toilet bowl. He then said: “Eto nelzja delat”. I was relieved after I got my “Prima” cigarettes and said to myself, I can now go to my cell and think about my relationships with the Central Intelligence Service, for which I am sure they will want to interrogate me again. When they brought me to my cell I was very pleased because during the interrogation I could express myself loudly towards my loved ones. I felt empowered by it. I wanted to play their game so that I could play them for a change, not just them playing me, because now it became even clearer to me what their game was. They wanted me to criticize Yugoslavia and Tito for turning towards the capitalist camp but they were not going to succeed!

Interview given at Kaimakchalan

The next day they again took me for interrogation. The interrogation was typed. The first question asked was: “What is your connection to the Central Intelligence Service?” Without feeling any pressure, I began to tell them how I had come into contact with the English journalist Peter Farst and his wife and a Yugoslav journalist during the winter, in late January or early February 1947, at Mount Kaimakchalan in the village Gorno Rodovo. I said: “We the workers, working behind the scenes, were up in the mountains with the NOF “Iafka.” A courier came from the village and said that three strangers had come to the village and wanted to talk to the Partisans. Four of us decided to go and investigate. The four were Vangel Shamardanov-Ilindenski (Organizational Secretary of Voden Region, afterwards Organizational Secretary of the NOF District Board, later killed), Lena Stoikova-Mirka (AFZH Secretary for Voden Region), Giorgi Janchev-Slobodan and myself.” “By the time we got there the strangers had been accommodated by NOF personnel in a house in the middle of the village that belonged to Maria, an AFZH Secretary. We came down to the village armed with machine guns. When we entered the house the strangers stood up and raised their hands in the air. We motioned them with our hands to sit down. The man and woman introduced themselves and told us that they were journalists. The other one said that he was a Yugoslav journalist. I don’t know his name because he did not tell us who he was. The first man said that he was an English journalist and the woman he was with was his wife. Giorgi Janchev spoke a bit of English and so did the Yugoslav journalist. The two of them translated for us.” “We asked them what they wanted from us. First they said that they wanted to make contact with the Partisans but the Greek Monarcho-Fascist authorities would not allow it so they left their car in Sobotsko and secretly headed towards Mount Kaimakchalan in hopes of meeting some Partisans in one of the villages. They told us that they wanted an interview. We told them that we would give them an interview under one condition; they needed to promise that they would publish exactly what we told them. Otherwise they could go back where they had come from. They promised that they would publish everything word for word. Peter Farst convinced us that he was a member of the Communist Party of England. His wife however was not because she wanted to know more about the communist cause and witness our struggle with her own eyes before she made her commitment. She wanted to know who we were fighting against and why, and what kind of weapons we were using and the kind of freedom we were seeking.”

“We answered the English journalists’ questions in detail, especially those about us, the Macedonians. We told them who we were and what we wanted to achieve with our struggle and our NOF Organization. We told them that we were fighting against the December 1944 English intervention in Athens, against the Monarcho-Fascist terror and against the Monarcho-Fascists who until yesterday were slaves to the fascists. We also told them that we had been forced to take up arms because our allies lied to us and deceived us. When they asked what kinds of weapons we carried, we showed them what we had with us and told them how we had seized these weapons from our adversaries. We said that these weapons here are yours (meaning English), we took them from you, we took them from the imperialists; we don’t use Soviet weapons. We told them: “Go to the prisons and prison camps and interview the people there and you will find out that they are all ELAS Partisans, fighters who were fooled into surrendering their arms and after that they all ended up in jail. These people were the fighters who fought against fascism and liberated us all from the fascist occupiers; they are Communists, members of EPON and EAM, Macedonians and Greeks. We were also fighters of ELAS but we managed to slip out from the Monarcho-Fascists hands, grab whatever weapons we could get and head for the mountains. You the English and the Americans have pushed us into this fight.” “Peter’s wife asked me who I was, if I came from a poor family, if I was of immoral character and unwanted. She asked that because she had heard stories that only the poorest and immoral women, who were shunned by their families, joined the partisans. When I heard that I laughed because I too had heard those stories. I said that I was not those things, only those who spread such rumours were of immoral character. It was the Monarcho-Fascists who robbed people and raped women and girls all throughout Greece. I said: “Morality among our partisans here is of the highest level. There is no place for immorality in our ranks. We are children of the people and do not tolerate immorality. Those who are immoral are condemned to death. It is not true that only the poorest people join the Partisans. We here were also ELAS Partisans and most of us come from wealthy families. We become Partisans not because we are poor but to fight against injustice, against the humiliation of women. We fight for equal rights. We the Macedonians are fighting for our National rights because we are not recognized as a people, as a nation. Ever since Greece acquired our Macedonian territory during the Balkan Wars no Greek government has recognized us as a distinct Macedonian people. In fact some regimes, like the Metaxa regime, were downright cruel to us and punished us for speaking our native Macedonian language. Some Macedonians had

their tongues cut off for speaking their mother tongue…” At this point the woman began to cry. She took her shoes and coat off and handed them to me. I declined by saying: “The people supply us with what we need; they give us what they have and what they can afford because they believe our struggle is just.” Peter then took his watch off and offered it to Vangel. Vangel too refused it. We refused to take any of the items that they offered us and told them that the greatest gift for us would be to report on our cause exactly the way it is. We then asked our hosts to serve our guests a meal and drinks. In parting they asked if they could take a photograph of us. We agreed. They took a group shot and then they took a picture of me and Lena.” “Several days after the reporters had left, our interview along with the photographs were published in several newspapers worldwide and in Greece. The people kept their word and published exactly what we told them. The same interview and pictures were also published in the Yugoslavian paper “Borba” (when I returned from the USSR, during a visit to Lena’s home I saw the photograph enlarged, framed and hanging in her living room).” I continued with my statements, exploring my memory from a few years back. I enjoyed telling details of my life because I was as pure as a tear drop and innocent of any wrong doing. Except for those meetings I had had with the few English people, I had absolutely no connections to the Central Intelligence Service or to any other western foreign services. They did not interrupt me and left me to speak as much as I wanted, so I continued: “In December 1948 in Budapest at the Second International Congress of Women I again met with Peter Farst and his wife. I did not recognize them. They of course recognized me and when we sat in the Congress Hall, they came over to me, hugged and kissed me. Peter’s wife said: “You know Vera I became a Communist because of you. I will write an article with the title ‘Again with Vera, two years later.’ And she really did write such an article. You can ask your own Nina Popova about that. Nina was there and was Vice-President of the International Organization of Women. She spoke to our delegation several times and even scolded us.” “After that I never saw Peter or his wife again. That was all the contacts I had with the English people. I have no more to tell you. You have embassies in England and Hungary and you can verify what I have already told you.” All three, Evgeny Konstantinovich Nikitin, Pandeleev and Aristotelis Papunidis simultaneously said: “We don’t need to know that, we need to know about your connections to the Central Intelligence Service.” “I have no such connection!” I replied. “Why

then did you drag us through all that, all these days? We need data!” demanded the interrogator. “You asked me what my connection was with the English people and I gave you all the details about my links with them,” I replied. “Well then, who was that Serb with the Englishman?” he asked. I said: “I don’t know who the Serb was. He never spoke or asked any questions, he just listened. I don’t know his name; all I know is that the interview was published in ‘Borba.’ I personally have not read the interview, I was told about it at the Greek ‘Iafka’ in Skopje.” They again said the same thing: “We are looking for something different. You need to help the Soviet Party clarify its relations with Tito. All you are telling us is lies!” I said: “I am telling you the truth and only the truth. I think that the Soviet Party should not be lied to. I cannot tell you things which I don’t know anything about.” The interrogator then said: “Take these cigarettes, go away and reconsider what you are going to say the next time.” They took me back to cell 105. I felt good about myself. So now, I thought, they are asking me to lie and make up stories about imaginary connections to foreign intelligence services in England and America. They want me to discredit Tito and Yugoslavia for the path they chose to take towards capitalism. Zahariadis said that “Tito was a traitor” and they are now looking for fabricated statements from me to back him up. God, why did I believe so much that the Soviet Union was a perfect society? Why did I believe that the people here would be perfect and honest and that they would help everyone out of the goodness of their hearts? God, how could I have possibly believed that Stalin could do no wrong? How many of our fighters died praising his name with their last dying breath? And now I, Vera, one who represents the faithful young girls who fought for the freedom of our people, am required to tell lies to help the Soviet Party fight against Tito, Kolishevski and Yugoslavia? God, my God what is the world coming to! This just blows my mind! I am glad and proud that I was not intimidated and that I stood, all this time, on the side of truth. But at the same time I am so disappointed with these Soviet officers of whom, until now, I had such high opinions. “What a damn shame!” I said to myself as I spit on the floor. After getting the signal to go to bed, for the first time in a long time I fell into a deep sleep to be awakened by the usual “Padjom” at six o’clock in the morning the next day.

I found out Mincho was here too

Before they took me out of the interrogation room, when I was signing the protocol I noticed the typist’s surname was Milosheva. She said to me: “Kakaa vi maladava, krasiva, machemu tak, kak I vash soprug haroshii i ochen krasivii.” I looked at her and said nothing. When she said “your husband” my body began to tremble and my heart began to race. This could have only meant that Mincho was here somewhere in these cells. The typist’s words were like a direct greeting from Mincho himself. I suspected they were all here. It almost seemed like the typist was bringing me a message from my Mincho telling me: “Vera hang on! Tell them only the truth and don’t be afraid! Be strong like when you were a fighter. We will break them, they will never break us!” That’s what Mincho used to say to me at Mount Paiak in December 1946, at Mount Kaimakchalan in 1947, at Mount Vicho in 1948 and at Mount Gramos in 1949 when we saw each other after long periods of being apart. That is why he dedicated a poem to me that he wrote from his heart in Vorkuta in 1954. He showed the poem to a Ukrainian poet; it was about our destiny. Mincho gave me the poem when we met at Potma after being apart for five and a half years. I would like to take this opportunity to share the poem with you.