A Bed for the Wretched – Chapter 16

A Bed for the Wretched – Chapter 16

A trembling, quiet, sad and pious song could be heard coming out from one of the cabins in the horse stables: “Tsrnei goro, tsrnei sestro, (Blackened forest, blackened sister), Zaedno da tsrneeme… (Let us blacken together…). The sound came out strong and then faded away like it was passing through the leaves of a dense forest. It climbed and fell, deep then shallow with harmonies leaping out and fading, so sad, so lonely and so full of tears… “Tvoite lisia, goro sestro, (Your leaves, forest sister), Pak ke ti se vratat, (Will again return), A moita mladost, goro sestro, (But my youth, my forest sister), Nema da se vrati… (Will never return…). A gust of wind that blew just then carried the song all throughout the barracks, the horse stables and beyond. Rarely anyone sang in Prenies. The only songs we heard here were those coming out of the speakers, coming from somewhere far away. The songs were broken, crackling like they were scraping the mountain peaks and whirling in the valleys, dried by the winds and sounding somewhat sinister, because after the speakers went silent all you heard was crying in the barracks and in the horse stables: “Tvoite lisia, goro sestro, (Your leaves, forest sister), Pak ke ti se vratat, (Will again return), These songs are especially touching for the wretched here in Prenies, which reminds them of their pain and sorrow and of all the people they had lost. The tenor would raise the last word and then stop singing, but only for a brief moment, for only a heartbeat, so that the sound can flutter in the wind and the chest can be filled with new air. A moita mladost, goro sestro, (But my youth, my forest sister), Nema da se vrati… (Will never return…). The sound is transmitted and the song spreads deep and wide bringing sadness to the hearts and minds of those listening to it. There are deep and long sighs surfacing from inside the barracks and horse stables. The pain comes in waves sparing no one, not even the elderly men holding the lit cigarettes between their fingers, sitting on the doorstep, looking at the starry sky... There is momentary silence, long enough to hear the sighs, long enough for the tenor to fill his lungs with air before the words: “Nema da se vrati…” (Will never return…) are sung. There was passionate longing in those words for the youth lost in the rocks, in the hills, in the gullies, in the brooks, in the caves, in the forests and in the Macedonian snow. Passionate longing came out and could be heard in the hoarse and hungry throats of the wretched.

The night smelled of dust lifted before sunset when the trucks drove by and the people ran behind them. The air was still but seemed like it was filled with the yelling, screaming and crying that went on earlier. Fresh dew was starting to form in tiny droplets on the trampled, dried grass and on the cobblestones. There, beyond the river, a nocturnal bird took flight. The screeching of flying bats could be heard coming from the narrow alleyways between barracks. The moon was full. And, unlike down here in Prenies where the atmosphere was full of sorrow, pain and bitterness, the sky above Prenies was clear and serene. And the song, sometimes close, sometimes far, sometimes deep and sometimes trembling, sometimes un-harmonious and intermittent, was scattered in the silent murky night, appearing and disappearing, a constant reminder of time lost, of time stolen, of spilled blood and of dark times...