THE VISIT

THE VISIT

Eftim Kamenkovski was in charge of the agitation and propaganda department and worked with a committee when, one day, he had a reception. Eftim was a man in his forties; a little bold with a pleasant exterior and moderate in manners, although some felt he had traces of a saloon upbringing, something from our end of the world. Eftim used big academic words in his conversations to give the impression that he was engaged in some actions that were targeting the daily press. But most importantly, he was important among the people, a trusted cadre and no one was able to accuse him of anything, challenge him, or oppose him.

When he found out that I was the son of the legendary, late commissar he showed interest in me and wanted to know me better.

I loved Eftim immensely from the moment he told me that he was a fellow co-fighter and fought together with my father. Twenty-five years had passed and no one had told me the truth about the Revolution, about “our” Revolution. He also told me that he wanted to see Major Gavril, if I wanted to go with him. But he was not sure where the Major lived.

A few days later before I boarded his luxury car, he teasingly said:

“I know exactly where the Major lives.”

On Eftim’s advice I bought a bottle of Russian vodka and he brought some snacks. The Major obviously did not know we were coming so when we arrived at the meadow, Eftim ran towards him, gave him a hug and congratulated him on his award. I was left behind waiting to be introduced.

The Major looked confused.

“I was afraid we would not be able to find you,” said Eftim to the Major.

Still confused Major Gavril then turned to me.

I stood there feeling uncomfortable and said nothing… I just gave him a firm handshake. He, on the other hand, gave me a hug and a kiss.

At that very moment I saw Eftim wipe his cheek.

After the Major let go of me he said: “So, you are the son of my commissar, eh?”

“Yes!” I replied.

The Major was surprised by our visit. I could see that in him. Eftim continued to torment him, bringing things up and skirting around. Finally when the Major remembered something he said:

“Oh, so you are one of those guys... who…” and lowered his thick eyebrows.

Eftim quickly and skillfully interrupted him and said: “Yes, yes...”

But from the expression on his face I could see that Eftim was trying to hide something. But the Major still wanted to seek clarification, so he smiled…

“You seem very cheerful today. I am glad!” he said to Eftim and then invited us to go inside the cottage, which to me looked like it was leaning slightly. The room where he took us in the basement was tiny. It had a low cracked ceiling and was stained with insect droppings. There were flies everywhere; on the walls, on the floor… crawling, flying, making buzzing sounds...

The Major folded up an old shirt and angrily waved it at the flies on the wall. They flew off sluggishly towards the ceiling and towards the opposite wall. Eftim looked at me and smiled slyly.

“This is the Major’s cabinet…” he said.

We sat on the three sides of a table that was pushed against the wall.

The chairs creaked as if they were being rocked by children. The table was covered with a hard polyvinyl cover and cutlery was set in one spot, where the Major sat.

The smell of mold partially overpowered the cologne Eftim wore, which tormented my nose in the car. I noticed several dust covered books lying in a corner, pinned under a plank. One who dealt with such books could immediately recognize them as Marxist literature.

The Major got up and busied himself around the room putting things away, as if embarrassed by the mess.

He brought out three shot glasses and filled them with vodka. The shot glasses were cracked and had dark burned, blurry stains in the bottom. There were insect droppings all around the outside.

The Major sat down next to us and smiled, first looking at Eftim and then at me.

“Congratulations Major!” said Eftim in a toast.

“Congratulations Major!” I repeated the toast.

The Major looked at us curiously, as if not understanding why we were congratulating him. He then swallowed the last drop of his vodka. Eftim shook his head… the vodka was too strong for his taste. He then said: “Russian style, right?”

The Major shook his head “yes” and then said:

“When we first arrived in Russia I drank a wine glass full of this stuff. When Colonel Vasili Konovalov offered it to me he toasted: ‘To Stalin’. When I saw that he drank the entire glass I did the same. I wanted to let him know that I was with him all the way... After that, for nearly three days, Russia spun all around me…” he said and laughed out loud. “Did you ever drink a wine glass full of vodka?” he asked.

We both shook our heads and said “No”.

It was hot that day. Sweat poured down our faces. The Major took off his shirt exposing his sleeveless undershirt. He had a badly crushed and atrophied arm. His entire muscle near the shoulder was missing.

Who knows why during such moments a person’s thoughts would return to the past? Memories become fresh. Eftim accidentally touched on something which prompted the Major to pull a yellowed old notebook from his old wooden trunk.

“This will correctly tell us everything…” said the Major. “It is a diary of our battalion”.

The Major first read out the names of the dead and then stood upright to pay them homage. He then leafed through the old pages. The ink was faded. He stopped on a page and looked at me with moistened eyes.

“Your father was killed on May 15, 1948!” he said with a crackling voice.

I was upset and barely able to pick up my shot glass. The Major kept looking at me but I was unable to look back at him. He had touched a sore spot… He topped my shot glass over the top.

“Moments like these call for a strong drink of vodka…” he said and continued: “I often think of your father. He was a man from whom I learned a lot. He used to say that life for us, the fighters, would be cruel after the revolution! And he was right…”

After leafing to the end of the diary the Major took out several photographs and documents and handed them to me. One photograph was of my father and the Major riding white horses in front of the battalion. Eftim vainly sifted through the photographs looking for a photo of himself. Looking at him the Major said:

“These are photographs of fighters only...”

When we were alone Eftim had told me many frightening stories, events that he participated in, during which he demonstrated much

courage, so I was under the impression that he was a fighter… some kind of strong fighter.

After that the Major got up and again chased the flies around the room. Several times he apologized for the mess and the way he lived. Eftim was not paying attention and quickly downed his vodka and began to greedily wolf down the snacks he had brought.

I went through the photographs one by one studying my father’s comrades in arms. The Major occasionally looked at me stealthily, under the eye. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable that we had found him this way… under these circumstances. He, it seems, had been forgotten by the people. Lost, he lived in freedom. Eftim and I now rediscovered him… and were disturbing his peace…

Eftim was a city official and was making good money. He had an orderly life and a luxury car about which he boasted constantly. He spoke of a high life and of moving up in society and that he was a member of the Union of Veterans. I believed everything he had told me.

I thought these were people of the past. Eftim was able to say: “We the fighters…” exciting my feelings and my respect for them.

I flipped through the diary pages looking for a page that might have information on my father. I encountered many names… names of various fighters, killed, praised, defected, and of spies and traitors. From this one could figure out the well being of the battalion, its strengths and weaknesses, battles won and lost and the dedication of its officers and soldiers. There was a section with names of fighters recommended for decoration. I looked there for Eftim’s name.

The Major kept topping up our shot glasses with vodka. Eftim, on the other hand, eagerly waited for the moment when he could show the Major his own awards.

Finally that moment materialized when Eftim said: “It’s a mockery that you are not happy with these…! Here they are; one for bravery and the other one for merit!” said Eftim as he handed the Major his two awards.

The Major took them and held them in his hands. He remained silent for a long time. I don’t know why but he did not congratulate Eftim. I thought the Major was cruel. Then, with obvious delight, he said:

“So, twenty-five years later, they are finally recognizing our contribution...”

Eftim took his medals back, and hung them on the left side of his chest. He then said:

“Come on Major, pin your medals on your chest and we will reminisce our past…”

“I don’t have any medals… We, the old fighters never received such things…” he said, which was a surprise to Eftim and me.

“You don’t have medals?! How is that even possible?! Some were given three medals...” piped up Eftim.

“Well, here is the irony…” replied the Major, seeming like he wanted to avoid this conversation, so he suggested we go outside to see the vineyard.

But Eftim did not want to drop the subject and wanted to understand why this was so.

So, we again sat down and the Major began explaining. He said:

“My friends, what can I tell you about that? For me it is a great pleasure to see that people are receiving awards. You Eftim, I don’t know how much you appreciated that time. But know that this day has its own heroes and I don’t want to get in the way.

I personally feel that everyone should give everything they have when it is needed. Perhaps I was a good commander then, but… since the revolution you have become an official. We don’t want anything from you. Your public however needs you, and I what? I was just a plain Major. Now, sometimes I turn my thoughts and think only of death.”

“I know that, Major, I know that! They treated you horribly, I understand that, it was a period of errors and corruption...” said Eftim.

After that they both went silent. I was the first to disrupt the silence. I poured the last drops of the vodka into their shot glasses and gave them to them. They both stood there with their heads bowed down.

A thought crosses my mind. If these people, I thought, are not introduced to the world, they will forever remain insignificant, both in life and in death.

We silently walked out of the cottage and stared at the vines lined up like soldiers in a parade in front of us. The Major, feeling satisfied, was expecting us to leave.

“I forgot to ask you,” said Eftim, “how is your wife Evdokia?” remembering how much she cavorted around the Major.

“I am sure she will be angry if she found out that they forgot me when they were handing out medals. She was a tough woman but after the revolution she changed. It was great to be an ordinary person, but ... when I came back from Tashkent she was playful and joyous. She had a lot of dreams for me which I barely fulfilled… I found a job in an ordinary shop...” replied the Major then sighed deeply.

“Our marriage was a sham... Perhaps the timing was all wrong... That’s how it felt... there are things in life that can’t be measured with any type of norms and rules, but lo and behold, time will tell what kind of person you are. She comes here when the grapes are ripe, looks at the loaded vines and says:

“You still know how to create some things for a woman to still want you...”