ЦВЕЌЕ (FLOWER) - Part 01

ЦВЕЌЕ (FLOWER)

Планинско, пролетно цвеќе, (Mountain, spring flower,) со горски солзи и топла крв вадено, (soaked with mountain tears and warm blood,) растеше силно, немаше уште расцутено. (growing fast, but not blossomed.)

Го играше ветрот во ноќите, (Played the wind at night,) топло го бацуваше сонцето, (warmly kissed the sun,) весело се смееше цвеќето, (happily laughed the flower,) гледајќи високо во небото, (looking high in the sky,) играјќи весело лисјата, (playing happily in the leaves,) ги поздравуваше цвеќата, (greeting the flowers,) што растеа долу во полето, (growing down the valley,) така весело леташе времето. (so happily the time flew.)

Но едно мајско, росно утро, (But one May, dewy morning,) поган црвец, барајќи си храна, (a twisted worm, looking for food,) без жалост, со апетит и радост, (without sorrow, but with appetite and delight,) го зграпчи право во срцето, (gripped it in the heart,) се потресе цвеќето. (frightening the flower.)

Не обрна внимание тогаш, (Did not pay attention then,) затоа не осети болка, (that’s why it felt no pain,) и пак весело ги играше лисјата, (and again cheerfully played the leaves,) шепотејќи со ветрот во ноќите. (whispering to the wind in the nights.)

Но малата срцева рана, (But the small heart wound,) со времето голема стана, (with time became great,) црвецот ја испогана, таа оживеа, (the worm befouled it, it cut its life,) увбавото горско цвеќе пожолте и свена, (the beautiful mountain flower yellowed and faded,) ја наведна настрана главата, (it turned its head to the side,) и ја навали – на копривата. (and leaned against - the stinging nettle.)

Ох, смртно ја избоде раната, (Oh, mortally the wound was stabbed,) крвави солзи ја натопија земјата, (bloody tears soaked the earth,) не сакајќи цвеќето, (unwillingly the flower,) ја повади копривата. (nourished the stinging nettle.)

И други таму растеа коприви, (Other stinging nettles there grew,) темни, погани, горделиви. (dark, twisted, proud.)

Убавото планинско цвеќе, (Beautiful mountain flower,) без пријатен планински ветар, (without the pleasant mountain wind,) без слатка утринска роса, (without the sweet morning dew,) без светлина и топло сонце, (without light and the warm sun,) стана жртва на темнина, (became a victim of darkness,) немоќно своите убијци да ги храни. (unable to heal its wounds.)

Така, убавата, бујна младост, (As such, the beautiful, exuberant youth,) предвремено згасна, (was prematurely extinguished,) од думанската подлост. (by the dust of decay.)

МоЛеТјур (MoLeTjur) 1. V. 1951 (1. V. 1951)

Facing Poplazarov and Hadzhiianov

Two months later I was called in for “sledstvie” by my interrogator, in the presence of translator Aristotelis Papunidis. He asked me how I was doing and what the deal was with the blood. “It was the same as before, I bled from my nose on my pillow. The guard saw the blood and called for help. A couple of doctors came and gave me medical aid. But before doing that they asked me why I wanted commit suicide. I explained that I often got nose bleeds, about which you already knew. I told them to verify this with you. Perhaps (I instinctively smiled and said) in my early days here I was contemplating committing suicide, but now I am comfortable here in this luxurious place and suicide is the furthest thing from my mind.” The interrogator stared at me for a long time without asking anything except if I had cigarettes and if I was getting books to read. I told him that I had been out of my cell only one time when Pogrebnjak wanted to know how I was doing and gave me a couple of packs of “Rocket” brand cigarettes. The interrogator then gave me a pack “Kazbek” brand cigarettes, this was a larger pack. This was also the first time that I had seen this kind of cigarette. Interrogator Nikitin had nothing more to ask and let me return to my cell early with the following parting words for me to think about: “Again, think about your offensive activities.” I was then taken back to cell 86. Unfortunately Nikitin’s last words put me in a bit of doubt. A few days later I was again called to “sledstvie”. This time the interrogator asked me how I knew Poplazarov and Hadzhijanov. I told him everything. “I have known Poplazarov since 1943; he was a teacher, a pre-war revolutionary and a communist. He led a Partisan group that fought against the Fascist counter-bands and after SNOF was formed in Kostur Region, he became a member of the SNOF Secretariat responsible for publishing the SNOF ‘Slavjanomakedonski Glas’ newspaper. He fell in disrepute with the CPG in May 1944 and after the liberation in August 1944 he joined the Macedonian “Goche” Battalion and transferred with it to Yugoslavia. We finished Party school in Skopje together along with Urania and others. In December 1946 he was appointed NOF District Board Secretary of Lerin Region. At that time I was secretary of the NOF Sorovich-Kailar Regions. I knew him well until we were put in jail,” I concluded. Nikitin listened to me carefully, as always, when I spoke and after I was done he said: “We don’t need his biography, just tell me what connections he had with OZNA.” I did not answer right away. I thought about it for a while and came to the conclusion that surely they must have collected information on

him by now so I said: “I suspect he had. During the NOF and DAG period all of us who stayed in Yugoslavia had to report to Internal Affairs, as I told you earlier. The Ministry of the Interior of Macedonia-Yugoslavia was responsible for us and the Greek “Iafka” in Skopje, Strumitsa, Nish and Belgrade cooperated with OZNA and the assistance they received came through OZNA. Hence, the entire CPG leadership was connected with OZNA.” “Does that mean Poplazarov had contacts with OZNA?” He asked again and then said: “If we take you to face him would you still say this? He would not admit to it himself. Why does he not want to admit to it?” he said. “These were normal official contacts, why would he not want to admit to them?” I replied. This is where we finished the interrogation. At the next day’s interrogation Nikitin asked me how I knew Tashko Hadzhiianov so I told him everything I knew about him as well. I said: “I met Tashko for the first time in December 1944 when he came to Bitola to the First Macedonian Shock Brigade consisting of all Macedonian fighters from Greece. Tashko came from a revolutionary family. He was a leader in the NOMS youth Organization. His fiancée was killed in Gramos during the Monarcho-Fascist great offensive supported by U.S. aircraft. She was killed by a napalm bomb. Tashko’s father was shot in Athens by the Germans. Tashko and I were arrested by the CPG in Albania and brought here.” The interrogator asked me if Tashko had ties to OZNA so I told him the same thing that I had told him about Poplazarov. And then I said that I was curious as to why Poplazarov would not admit to something that really happened? “Verochka, will you ask him this yourself during the confrontation?” he asked. “Why not, I will ask him!” I replied. “I will be pleased to be given the opportunity to see both Poplazarov and Hadzhiianov as they are in the same situation as I am, but I still find it strange why they did not want to admit to their ties to OZNA. OZNA, after all, was concerned about our movement and about the Monarcho-Fascists and the Anglo-Americans and gave us assistance to fight back against them,” I concluded. A few days later I came face to face with Poplazarov and Hadzhiianov. I told them what I had told the interrogator and then signed the protocols. The confrontation was a miserable experience. Why hide the truth? There was no problem with us in NOF having links with OZNA because OZNA was helping us. The entire CPG leadership was well aware of that and of the contacts we maintained at an even higher level. The CPG leadership had constant contact with the CPY leadership. In any case I was glad to have seen both Poplazarov and Hadzhiianov and to know that they were both alive, although

looking very exhausted. I did not know what else they had said, but not admitting to any links to OZNA was plain stupid.

Cell 46 in Butirka

For a while I was not taken to “sledstvie.” Then one night the door of my cell opened and the guard said: “Vazmi” and take everything with you. I collected my overcoat and my green army blanket and left the books I was given to read on the table. I had finished my cigarettes so there was nothing else for me to take. So I left the ground floor cell 86 in the left wing of Lefortovskaja tjurma. Here, in this cell, I had no “extra food” as I had every third day in cell 105. From my cell they loaded me onto a “voronok” and after a long night’s “ride” through the Moscow streets, by Red Square... Heavy doors were opened. The NKVD agents searched me and then shoved me in cell number 46 in the left wing of a wide tiled hallway. My new cell seemed more “comfortable”. It was small, square, had no window, but was brighter; it did not have the black walls and dark floor like my former cells, but the “furniture” was similar. The food consisted of “kipjatok,” fish soup, borshch, shchi, kasha, but a different kind of kasha “grechiha,” a little bit but tasty. Your body gets used to it, even if it’s in small amounts. This is how it was during the first days of November 1951. I came to this realization when several days later they brought me a plate of borshch and rice kasha, even better food. This meant that this was the day of the “October Revolution.” The next day it was back to kasha “grechiha,” which was nutritious and delicious (many people in the USSR ate this food and it is popular to this day). This food is now even sold in the stores in Macedonia. A couple of days after my arrival, the person responsible for that part of the prison cells opened the door to my cell and, while holding a clipboard in his hand, handed me a pencil and asked me to sign on the dotted line. He explained that I was going to receive 13 rubles but not in real money; for that amount I could buy anything I wanted from the canteen, through him of course. Without thinking I immediately uttered the words “soap” and “comb.” He said you can order as many things as you want that have a total value of 13 rubles, so I ordered sugar, toothpaste and a toothbrush. The next day I received my order and I had 3.5 rubles left. With those I ordered some candy. I received my candy the next day. What is this?! I thought. This was indeed a surprise! Are they going to give me money like this every month, I wondered as I rejoiced at the idea like a child? I had been in Butirskaja tjurma for about eight months. Here I did not have the privilege of walking for five minutes during interrogation as I had in the other prison. I was taken to the shower room once every fifteen days. Here however I purchased good soap and was able to wash my long hair properly. My hair had grown very long in prison and I had

to braid it to keep it under control. The comb, which I purchased from the canteen, was small but had big teeth, it was easier to use than the small toothed comb that I owned. I economized on my soap and candy so that they would last me longer. My thinking that they would give us money like this every month was wrong. At one point I had forgotten where I was. But I always looked forward to having a bit of candy to keep me sane. I was also happy that things were much cleaner in this prison. Here I was rarely visited by doctors, only when they came to inspect us for lice. After the customary greeting when I was called in for interrogation and after taking my place in the corner of the room, the interrogator asked me about my health and how I was feeling. He then complimented me on how “good” I looked. I thought this was unusual but I thanked him for asking and for the compliment anyway. He then asked: “Verochka, where did you get the mirror to have combed your hair so well?” I told him in the same tone of voice: “Didn’t you know that I was receiving double the “pajok?” He was not amused with my “smart” comment, so he asked me again: “I am asking you a serious question, tell me where did you get the mirror?” I again jokingly said: “I brought it with me but your people, after so many searches, were unable to find it.” I then paused for a second and said: “It is one of yours.” Looking somewhat puzzled Nikitin then asked: “How is it one of ours?” Nikitin was really interested in finding out where I had gotten the mirror, because mirrors were not allowed in the prison and would have been confiscated during the searches. They did full body searches so there was no way of hiding a mirror. Both he and Aristotelis, the translator, were intrigued. Aristotelis insisted in Greek that I tell him how I had gotten the mirror, and in Greek I told him that they gave it to me here. At the end I said: “I don’t need a mirror to see myself, I use my pot and even my teaspoon to fix my hair. I don’t have a mirror!” I concluded. About that Nikitin himself wanted to be reassured so he went and got a teapot and saw for himself that indeed “they had given me the mirror.” The interrogator then gave me a pack of “Prima” brand cigarettes. This was the first time that he had given me “Prima” and said that we were now in another prison and that I still needed to think about my “acts of treachery” and that the next day I would be again called for interrogation.

Defamatory statements made against me by my comrades

The interrogations in Butirka were conducted mostly during the day and not during the night like in Lefortovska tjurma. It seems that every prison had its own rules. Besides that I sensed a change in the interrogator’s attitude towards me. It may have been due to my transfer to this prison or due to other factors unknown to me. But my thinking was that they had moved me to this prison to extend my stay. This soon became clear to me. A few days later I was again summoned to interrogation to some underground rooms, or perhaps it seemed to me that way because most of the stairs we took to get there went down and all the hallways we passed through were illuminated by lights. When I arrived in the room the three of us, the interrogator, translator and I, took our familiar places. Nikitin pulled out a small photograph from his briefcase and came over to me to ask me if I knew the person in the picture. The photograph was a small picture like the ones made for passports. It was E.K.K. I felt shivers all over my body when I saw her and became very worried as to what might have happened to her. Regarding the question of how I knew her, I told interrogator Nikitin everything. “This is E.K.K.,” I said. “She is from my native village D’mbeni. We were neighbours and members of the same Youth and Party cell. She was a Partisan (I mentioned the functions she had performed). She and I were close friends.” “Good,” he said. “Now we will start writing the protocol.” After that he gave me a written statement to read written by E.K.K. in Tashkent. I read it but I could not believe that E.K.K., my best friend from childhood, could give such statements full of lies and slander about me. She wrote about how I had worked to break up DAG, that I was an agitator among the fighters to lead them to desert and leave for Yugoslavia and so may other lies. Of course, I categorically rejected her testimony. All her statements were false I told the interrogator. “On Zahariadis’s personal approval I transferred her mother to Yugoslavia, to Bitola, because our village was burned down to the ground by the Monarcho-Fascists and all the elderly and disabled people, about 90 of them, men and women, left for the Yugoslav border through Prespa. Now her mother lives with my mother in the same room on 6 ‘Mirche Atsev’ Street, in the house belonging to our countryman Zhivko Delev,” I explained. Nikitin then said: “For her false statements, by our laws, she will get two years jail time.” Then he showed me her signed statement which at the bottom right, beside her signature, gave a warning that false statements were punishable by two years imprisonment. I told the interrogator: “Bring

her here to meet with me and say all those things to my face.” He said: “That I can’t do!” Her address was: “12 Zhil-gorodok, Tashkent.” When I looked at the address, I forgot about my closest friend’s damning remarks and all I could think about was that the DAG units might be here in the USSR, close to us. Knowing this gave me a morale boost. So, we might not be alone in the Soviet Union. That for me was a great discovery which my interrogator made possible by letting me take a peek at E.K.K.s damning testimony. I signed the protocol armed with high spirits and encouragement. No matter how much the lies and slanders weighed on me, knowing that the fighters were alive gave me some relief in my hopeless situation. But at the same time I could find no words to describe how it felt to be betrayed by my closest friends. I want to mention here that E.K.K.’s brother at that time worked at DAG General Headquarters. He had asked me to go with him to visit Zahariadis regarding moving his mother to Bitola. After Zahariadis had approved, I did that for him. At that time DAG General Headquarters and the Central Committee were located in the village Vineni, near Lake Prespa. And after all I had done for them; E.K.K. gave me many days of grief with the interrogator. E.K.K.’s slanders, as I said, did have some benefit. I found out that the DAG units might be here and that we the arrested were not alone. The week after the interrogation, the interrogator showed me another picture and said: "Verochka, you should know this person, and well.” I looked at the photo; it was Dimitar Shalaputov-Micho from the village Zhupanishta, Kostur Region. I knew him from ELAS. He was much older than me but we had worked together behind the scenes in Kostur Region. I said to the interrogator: “I know him very well.” He then asked me to give him some details about him. He said: “Read the statement that he made about you first,” and then he gave me a piece of paper. I read through it and what can I tell you! Without a grain of conscience this man, Dimitar Shalaputov Micho, had dragged me through the mud. He had accused me of killing communists during ELAS and DAG, of organizing defections and of committing all kinds of treachery. The statement was full of lies. He made slanderous accusations against me beyond an honest man’s capacity. He accused me of killing the Communists, Stamko and his daughter in the village Gabresh in Kostur Region. The accusations were so revolting I jumped out of my chair, leaped forward towards the interrogator and in a loud voice said: “Bring that man here so that I can tell him to his face that these are treacherous lies and fabrications of his own imagination. First, I did not know Stamko and his daughter. As far as I knew they were not communists or I would have known about them. Dimitar Shalaputov himself, for no reason at all, took those people from their home and

threw them into a hole located on the mountain above the village Gabresh. After that he robbed their house. Bring him here and I will tell him all of this to his face!” God, a person can be capable of inventing anything; it is so inhuman and criminal! I was so upset, both the interrogator and interpreter came over to calm me down. The interrogator then said: “Don’t worry about the accusations that they made against you, you just tell your side of the story.” And I said: “Unfortunately you do not believe me, you believe them! That is why I want a ‘confrontation’ with him.” He then said: “Well, that’s not possible!” “Then how will you get to the truth,” I asked, “if the Soviet Party believes these lies?” I then said to myself: ‘What kind of Party is this anyway?’ At the time I did not know that thousands of Soviet people had been killed and imprisoned in the Gulag based on such lies. Dimitar Shalapunov-Micho’s filthy statement caused me a lot of grief for the next few days until I signed the protocol after which the interrogator gave me a pack of “Kazbek” cigarettes to ease my torment. For the next two or three months, I don’t remember exactly how long, at every interrogation the interrogator showed me a new photograph of my former comrades in arms and party affiliates, who invented the worst slanders against all of us to prove their loyalty to the CPG and to the SKP(b). They gave damning testimony against all the imprisoned NOF and DAG leaders thinking that we would never survive to see or read their filthy signed statements. The procedure followed by the interrogator was always the same. He showed me a picture and asked me whether and how I knew the person in the picture and then gave me their statement to read. Then it was up to me to prove my innocence. Included in the group of people who gave invented libelous statements against me were Risto Evangelu, Zizo Delevski, Giorgi Paikov and many others who I will reveal later. Risto Evangelu was from the village Aposkep, Kostur Region. In his statement he had written that I gave the communist flag, made of red silk, to the AFZH ladies to make underwear for themselves. What I gave the women was not a flag but a few meters of red silk material which was donated to us by the delegation of the Macedonian Association of Sofia during the NOF Second Congress held on March 25th, 1949 in the village Nivitsi, Prespa Region. The delegation was headed by President Risto Kalaidziev. We could not use the silk then but after DAG’s capitulation, in Elbasan Camp, Albania, I decided to give each AFZH woman a small piece to use as a scarf around her neck. We made six scarves in total. And that is all that I told the interrogator. “One of those scarves was mine, which your people confiscated from me when I first

arrived in Ljubljanka prison. Your people took it from me along with all my other possessions during a search in the prison box,” I said. Then I signed the protocol with the interrogator’s questions and my answers. During the coming weeks in the fall of 1951, I was interrogated in a similar manner as before responding to testimonies made by my “comrades” who, without conscience, had made false and defamatory accusations against me. A similar statement with similar content was also made by Zizo Delevski from the village Dobrolishta, Kostur Region. Zizo had also worked behind the scenes for the CPG and NOF and was a loyal pawn of the CPG since his Akronavplion prison days. Otherwise he was a simple man. He did not have the capacity to be promoted up the hierarchical ladder past district official. And whatever he achieved was mainly due to his sycophant ways. By making defamatory statements against those of us who were imprisoned, he was given another opportunity to prove his loyalty to the CPG and to the SKP(b). Because of such “merits” he received a pension from the USSR and when he went back to Skopje he continued his old practice, supported by those like him who deserted our Movement in Aegean Macedonia. Giorgi Peikov, a resident of the village Nestram, Kostur Region, was a pre-war Communist and supporter of the CPG. To prove himself loyal to the CPG and to the Party he gave false, defamatory statements without a grain of conscience and human dignity. All of those that I mentioned who gave abominable statements against me, asked me to testify for them when I arrived in Skopje in 1956, to establish their status as fighters. They did this without knowing that I already knew about their false statements and defamatory remarks. When they came to me asking for my help I told them to their faces: “You gave the NKDV false and defamatory statements against me in hopes that they would execute me. But now here I am alive. Now you’re asking me for help to solve your problems? You are incapable of working yet you want to receive a pension?” When I said this to their faces and quoted parts of what they had said in their damning statements, they tilted their heads down and claimed that they were forced to testify against me. By nature my late husband Mincho and I were not the kind of people to hold grudges. Even after the miserable way that they had treated us, wishing us death, I gave them a second chance to live and testified on their behalf regarding their involvement in the Second World War and in the Greek Civil War. As an old friend, Dimitar Shalaputov-Micho, who lived in Plodvid, Bulgaria, came to see us and be our guest. He had given damning testimony against my husband Mincho with many details involving me.

When we confronted him as to why he had done this against us, he said that if he hadn’t he would have suffered a lot. At the time he figured that we were already dead anyway. “If we were already dead, what need would they have for your testimony? Another thing, if you hadn’t given such damning testimony you would have suffered, but did you ever think how we would have faired and how we did fair with the testimony you gave? Didn’t you care?” I asked him before leaving. He left perturbed. A joint statement was given by Nikola Boikov, a doctor from the village Zhupanishta, Kostur Region, Atso Ivanovski from the town Rupishta, Kostur Region and Atanas Angelovski-Garefi from the village Lobanitsa. They told the truth that I had helped one of them join the Organization in 1943. The interrogator only showed me their photographs, he did not show me the statement, so I don’t know what they had said. A defamatory statement against me was also given by Kosta Hrisafov, from the village Banitsa, Lerin Region, who at the time was living in Bulgaria. When he came to Skopje he asked me to verify his participation in DAG. It was interesting to note that all of the people who came to me or to my husband for help, who had testified against us, did not know that we already knew what they had done. They acted as if there was nothing wrong. When I asked Hrisafov why he had testified against me, he was ashamed and claimed that he had been under pressure from the Party. Pando Vaina from the village Srebreno, Sorovich Region, about whom I gave some details earlier, was DAG commander of the 18th Brigade when I was assistant to Kaki, the political commissar. Here I want to mention that Pando Vaina had written a recommendation for me to be decorated for demonstrating courage and to be promoted to the rank of Captain in DAG for my successes demonstrated in the battle for Lerin. Then he went and gave a damning statement against me. When the interrogator showed me his picture and when I read his statement I said: “I never believed that a Communist could be such a liar.” When the Organization “Ilinden” was disbanded, Pando Vaina did not have the courage to come to Skopje, Macedonia so he went to Bulgaria where he finished military school and was promoted to General in the Bulgarian Army. While visiting Bulgaria with my husband Mincho I made many attempts to meet with him, but because he knew that we knew what he had done, he avoided us. But we did meet with Stavro Kochev who had moved from Poland to Sofia, where he later died. Stavro was a member of the NOF Secretariat and the transformed “Ilinden” Organization. We greeted him like a friend and

talked about the mistakes made and about the manipulations of our “comrades” and “friends”. While Pando Vaina refused to come to Skopje, his father-in-law came and paid us a visit. He wanted to know what our opinion of Pando Vaina was and if we were okay with the filthy testimonies he had made against us. So it would appear that even those closest to him were judging him. We sent our greetings to Pando via his father-in-law. We also sent him a message that we had personally read his damning testimony and lies while we were in Butirka prison in Moscow. He should be ashamed of his rank as General because he had received that rank at our expense and at the expense of the fighters and people that he had sent to jail with his false testimony. We on the other hand, remained honest and loyal to our cause, throughout the war, in prison and now that we were free. I did not see a statement against me from Kaki, the Commissar of the 18th Brigade, under whom I served as an assistant. For years he used to visit Romania. One time he came to Skopje to visit his cousins and asked to see me, but for some reason they did not bring him to us. He wanted to move to Skopje permanently but internal affairs did not approve his request. He later went to Solun but was not on good terms with the CPG. Another person who gave damning testimony against me was Lefteris Katsakos, a Greek from the town Karditsa. Before the war he had been a policeman and later joined the CPG as an active participant. When I met him in 1945-1946 he was CPG Secretary of Lerin Region. He used to put a lot of obstacles in front of NOF in the Lerin Region local village organizations. We spent a lot of time and meetings with him before the CPG recognized NOF. During the 1970’s he sent me a letter from Tashkent asking me to arrange a guaranteed visit for him to Skopje, Macedonia. He must have found out that Mincho and I had made such arrangements for all kinds of people, including those who had made defamatory statements against us during the interrogations in Moscow. He used his mother to get to me because I was friends with her. But Lefteris Katsakos knew me “very well” from the arguing we had done over NOF, but did not think that I knew about the damning statement that he had given against me or perhaps he was hoping that I had never read his statements. As a communist in a high position he sure stuck a knife deep into my back. But Mincho and I decided to send him a letter of guarantee anyway. He came with his wife Roxana, a physician, a surgeon and both were guests in my home. His wife Roxana was from the town Negush. She joined the Partisans when her home town was invaded. She advanced her education in Tashkent and upgraded her specialization. We showed them a lot of respect, but during one of our conversations I asked Lefteris: “Why did you make

such damning statements against me?” Like the others, he said he was “forced to do it”. But at the same time he did not believe that the NKVD would actually use his real name in the interrogations or that the NKVD would allow me to read his statement. He stayed in Skopje for a while and visited with many people that he knew. He only said positive things about us after our visit and criticized the CPG for its role in what had happened in Tashkent. After a year or so Lefteris, with his wife, daughter and son, returned to Greece. He now lives in Athens but since then has not made contact with us. A statement, without a photograph, from an older man named Koraveshov from the village Smrdesh, Kostur Region was read to me. In his statement he had the most praise for me. He testified that he did not know me as an agent or the way others referred to me, he simply knew me as a person who often visited his village, spoke at meetings, urged people to organize and got Partisans to enlist and fight like Macedonians against the fascists. He said it was not true that I conducted “disruptive” activities in the CPG, NOF, AFZH and DAG Organizations. The interrogator told me that there were other such testimonies but he did not read any more to me. After reading each statement I asked the interrogator, if those people were in the USSR, in Tashkent, “Why don’t you take me there and if I am guilty then sue me in their presence.” And as usual he would say: “That’s not possible!” “How then will you get the truth about who I am and what I am?” I would ask. Each interrogation, conducted during the day or at night, lasted about 5 to 6 hours, depending on the questions asked and my answers given. After the protocol was read back to me if I agreed with everything I would sign it. As time passed, it felt like both the interrogator and the translator were more “polite” to me. Nikitin no longer yelled at me like he had in 1950 and he did not insult me by calling me “zvoloch”, “agent”, etc., especially after he returned from Tashkent and after I was moved to Butirka Prison. One time he asked me if I wanted to be in a cell with others. I thought he might want to pair me up with a provocateur so I said: “I am used to being alone and reading the books you give me in Russian and by foreign authors translated into Russian. They help me refine my language. But… I wouldn’t mind being placed in the same cell as my husband,” I added. He laughed. I laughed too. He then said: “That’s not possible!” In one of the confrontations in the prison, they had brought Pavle Rakovski, Urania Pirovska Iurukova and Paskal Mitrevski. I categorically denied everything they said and labeled their stories as lies and inventions aimed at ruining my character. I said to their faces

that what they were saying was coming from their own imagination. When I came face to face with Urania and when I said to her that what she was saying was a fabrication and her aim was to save her own skin, she began to cry. They immediately took her away and said to me: “Why are you upsetting them like this?” I said: “Because they deserve it!” I don’t know by whom or why they were forced to testify against me. After a month or two they moved me from cell 46 to cell 446, left wing. At least that’s how it seemed to me because I went on stairs. The new cell was smaller but “equipped” the same. Yet here it seemed a bit better. It was like a “hotel room”. I cannot count how many false statements were made against me by my closest comrades at the most critical time of the war. How could people change so quickly!? I was raised to be honest, to trust people, to help people, but now I too began to change. I concluded that no one could be trusted because there was anger and fear in people and some people were simply sycophants and informers.

Condemned to eight years for unproven crimes

I was locked up like a beast in solitary confinement for nearly three years without proof of being guilty of anything. I measured and re-measured the cells I was in by moving back and forth from one corner to another so that I wouldn’t forget how to walk. I am grateful to the “authorities” for allowing me to read. They brought me fiction books in Russian, written by Russian and foreign authors and translated into Russian. That was good because reading allowed me to pass my time and gave me moments of freedom; to forget my troubles. I also acquired some knowledge and a better understanding of the Russian language. In particular I admired Tolstoy. While reading his book I sometimes missed the signal for bed time getting the guards upset with me. One afternoon the duty officer told me to get ready for my shower. It was usually every 15 days. On March 8 they again showed the journal from the Second International Congress of Democratic Women that took place in Budapest from December 1 to 6, 1948. On the way to the shower room, when we were going down the stairs, one of my escorts said: “Vi Grkinja” because she had seen me in the journal with the Greek delegation. I said to her I am not Greek, I am Macedonian. Then she said: “Ja vam smatrala v kartine.” After several days had passed I was called in for interrogation. Besides Nikitin and Papunidis there was another person, in civilian clothes. He brought his chair close to mine. He looked to me like he was a high ranking official in the NKVD, KGB and MTV hierarchy. Around this time the ministry was changing. In a gentle voice the stranger asked: “Kazbeg?” “Da,” I said and he handed me a packet of “Kazbeg” brand cigarettes. I pulled a cigarette out and he lit it for me. Three hundred thoughts were spinning through my head as I wondered what this was all about! “Verochka, what pushed you to take this road?” the stranger politely asked. “This road? What other choice was there for me during the Fascist occupation except to fight against Fascism. As Macedonians under the Greek thumb we were constantly harassed by the Greek reactionary regimes, including being prohibited from speaking our native language. Then came the German, Italian and Bulgarian occupiers followed by the Anglo-American intervention. We took the road to fight against the occupiers and their servants in order to liberate ourselves,” I said. Then he asked me for a second time: “Are you Macedonian?” When I said “yes” I also told him how we as Macedonians had lived in Greece. I also answered his question: “Why did you join with Tito?” God knows how many times I had spoken about this with Nikitin. The

stranger then said: “Verochka, don’t get upset I am only asking.” In my opinion, this man was one of Abakumov’s aides. Abakumov at the time was Minister of Internal Affairs of the USSR. I think his name was Anasimov, a decent gentleman. The days kept passing. They exchanged my books once every 15 days. Besides my shower there was nothing else for me to do. In this cell my window was bright like it was spring outside. One morning I heard a song from afar. That day they brought me a portion of rice. I figured that it was May 1st, 1952. Red Square was close to Butirka prison. Two days in a row I heard songs. I too sang in my cell. I sang Russian revolutionary songs that I had learned. I was not called to interrogation for a long time. One morning I was called but not to go to interrogation. They put me in the box. I figured that they were going to send me to another prison but why without my belongings!? The box door opened and a security officer, with papers in his hands, read me something. It was my sentence: “Prisoner Vera Nikolovskaja, aka Evdokia Baleva, you are charged with breaking the RSFSR “saveshtanie” criminal law, Article 58, paragraph 4, 6 and 11 and on this day, April 19, 1952 you are sentenced to 8 years imprisonment in the labour camps in Siberia.” I understood nothing of what he had read to me. And as I learned later in the Siberian camps from the Russian prisoners and from those from abroad, “saveshtanie” was a criminal offense for having committed unproven crimes. This way they could keep you in jail for life. That judgment followed me everywhere I went. At the end of May 1952 Evgeni Konstantinovich Nikitin came to visit me in my cell and politely asked how I was doing. I said that I was doing fine and asked him to explain to me what they had said in the box? He said that soon I would have to go to the labour camps in Siberia. He said that there were many prisoners there, some good people, and I would not be alone any more. He also told me not to be afraid. I had been through everything, what else could there be that would make me be afraid? They were people there too… The one thing that I kept thinking about though was “what kind of verdict was this without a court trial?” Nikitin gave me a pack of cigarettes and we said our goodbyes. We finally shook hands like true comrades after two and a half years of “antagonizing each other.” I was told that Kaplanova, the woman who shot and wounded Lenin, was in Butirka Prison sentenced to life but she worked in the prison library. Lenin himself requested that she not be put in solitary confinement. From what I heard from the inmates she gave birth to a son in the prison.

On the road to Siberia

One morning at the end of June 1952, the prison “Narjadchik” came into my cell, cell number 446, and gave me orders to: “Gather all my things!” I picked up all my tattered things and as usual, one guard in front and the other behind escorted me down the stairs and out the exit where they surrendered me to another group of guards. In front of the entrance was the “voronok.” Where would they take me now? I wondered. Would they take me to Siberia, like Nikitin told me? The “voronok” door opened. I sat on the empty seat and they closed the door. I listened as we drove off. The prison car kept moving through the streets of Moscow. The car stopped and the doors opened. I came out last. Several men stood by a fence with their backs turned to me. I saw Urania standing in front of me facing the fence wearing her DAG uniform which hung like a rag on her thin, weakened body. We looked at each other and without saying a single word, broke into hysterical laughter; a sign of our miserable situation. They took Urania first and escorted her onto the nearby train. They took me much later and put me in a compartment all alone. Of course it was a prison train secured with iron bars. I yelled out loud: “Urania, where are you?” She replied: “I am here beside you, but I am with many other women.” We traveled on the prison train for two or three days before arriving at Cheljabinsk. They unloaded the men first and then the women and took us to the “peresilka” in Cheljabinsk. They put Urania with a number of other women in a large room. They put me in a small room all by myself. They addressed me by both my names Vera Nikolovskaja and Evdokia Baleva. When the person took me to my room, all by myself, after all the other women had been taken to a different room, I asked: “Why are you separating me from the other woman, from my friend?” He said: "Because you are from the same place, so that you don’t attack each other, those were my orders.” I said: “Why would we attack each other? Put me with the other women and with Urania.” He thought for a moment and then said: “How long you stay with them depends on you. Take your things and go with them!” So after two and a half years in solitary confinement I too joined the many women. Urania said to me: “For the last several months, I had been in a cell with other women.” “And you?” she asked. I said: “No, I have been all alone all the time, I talked to myself and I sang songs in my cell so that I wouldn’t become mute.” From Cheljabinsk they again loaded us onto a train to continue our journey into the unknown but this time I was not alone. We arrived in the city Novosibirsk in the central “peresilka.” It was a big camp. We were allowed to walk through the camp and visit other prisoners from all