Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Kolio Shurdov, Giorgi’s closest neighbour, was taken to Kostur during an attack on the village by a unit of royal troops. After the village was surrounded by the royalists, a patrol led by the village kmet (head) arrested Kolio. The kmet himself pointed him out. Kolio was then turned over to the police who accused him of committing crimes against the state and according to a report Kolio’s guilt was not a small matter. His father had fought in the Macedonian Ilinden uprising in 1903, in 1924 he refused to leave when he was expelled to Bulgaria, he was accused of being an autonomist, in 1936 his son Iane did not want to enroll in the Metaxa fascist youth organization EON (Greek Organization of Youth). These are some of the reasons why Kolio was sent to the prison camps in Aegina. Not to mention that during the December events in Athens he was a platoon commander when he fought against General Scobey’s English Expeditionary Corps units and against the royalists. Then, towards the end of 1946, he was one of the first partisans to leave for the mountains. The indictment also charged him with not learning to speak Greek. In all this time that Macedonia was under Greek rule, Kolio Shurdov did not learn to speak Greek and he did not want to be called Kolios Sourdos, only Kolio Shurdov. The police chief was stunned by all this and quite naively asked: “Why are you bothered so much by an ‘s’ at the beginning and end of your last name?”

Kolio persistently kept silent because he knew that no matter what answers he gave it would be wrong for them and his guilt would increase. This had happened to him before. This was not his first sentence or his first beating. Previously he had been beaten in the mouth and cursed because he wanted to be called Kolio and not Kolios. Parousis, the investigative judge, refused to accept that or the idea that it was an insult for Kolio to be called “Kolios” against his will.

The judge opened Kolio’s file and said: “It is written here that you, Kolios, have been wearing a Greek uniform for six years and that you have participated in the Asia Minor campaign… All those six years you were in the service of Greece and for that many years you

have been fighting under the shadow of the sacred Greek flag… is that right?”

Kolio kept his mouth shut and said nothing. Once in a while he raised his thick and dense eyebrows and held onto his side, which hurt a lot from yesterday’s beating. His entire lifetime he had been in pain but so far he had survived. Unfortunately only those who have suffered the same fate can understand his pain. Only those who have been in his position can understand his sorrow, grief, bitterness, the hoarseness in his voice and the look in his eyes.

Parousis took out another folder with papers, opened it and read: “We are bringing our complaints against various hostile authorities in Greece...” Parousis stopped reading, swallowed and, after a momentary pause, said: “Nonsense!” He then skipped a few lines and continued: “In 1912 we went from Turkish to Greek rule. In 1915 we, together with the Greeks, went to shed our blood in Doiran and Belasitsa and stayed there until 1918. After that the Greek state took us east to Asia Minor where many of us died. We also died in the Albanian mountains in 1940 while fighting the Italians for Greece and Greece cracked down on us and forbade us from speaking our Macedonian language. And now they are still penalizing us for speaking our Macedonian language. When the Italians came they had no problem with us speaking Macedonian. When the Germans came they too had no problem with us speaking our Macedonian language. When the Greeks rose up to fight against the Italians and Germans we did too and together we drove them out. When the Greeks came back, the Greek government again forbade us from speaking Macedonian but refused to punish the Madzhiri for robbing us and looting our homes. Then, when we tried to defend ourselves with farm tools and sticks, they sent the gendarmerie to beat us for whole days and nights...” concluded Parousis and stopped reading.

After a short pause he turned to Kolio and said: “I am not going to read any more but I will tell you this, Kolios; there is another piece of paper here that says that you wrote all this. And you know something, Kolios, a person can be charged for just thinking of such things let alone sitting down and writing them. And you wonder why the state is finding you guilty with loads of crimes and why you

are an enemy of the state! Hey, Kolios, Kolios, you are a thick-headed idiot!”

The police chief pressed a button under the desk in his office and a young policeman opened the door and came in.

“Take the old man away!” ordered the police chief.

After Kolio left the police chief said: “They went over my head with their complaints. And what did these Slavo-phones think they would accomplish by lodging such complaints?”

“Are you asking me, Chief?” asked Parousis.

“I am asking you and myself!” replied the chief with a bitter tone of voice. “It was our luck,” he continued, “that Greece lost the war with Turkey. We should be raising a monument of appreciation to Ataturk and then we should be blowing it up as a sign of hatred for the shame the Greeks suffered because of those savages. Oh, my dear sir, if it wasn’t for those who came here from Asia Minor, more precisely those that the Turks drove out of Turkey,” the chief raised his fist, “we would have had to deal with these peasants... They, sir, the Madzhiri, those kicked out of Turkey, homeless and uprooted from their homes are creating new homes and sprouting new roots here. If it was not for them we would have remained on our bare rocks and would have celebrated the likes of Melas, Petropoulakos and other captains and former revelers. And do you think that my boys and I would go out and insult them by asking them why they robbed the Slavo-phone villages and investigate who raped the Slavo-phone women? What these people are doing, as far as I am concerned, is justice… I personally support that. Don’t get me wrong, I did not put them up to this. I am convinced they know what they are doing. It is simple: they only want to get back here what they lost in Asia Minor…”

“Yes, yes, I understand, all this is done with the blessing of the Greek authorities, especially the police,” replied Parousis with a sarcastic tone of voice.

“You can think what you like, Sir. I think for us and for the Greek state and its ideals for a Greater Greece, the Madzhiri from Asia Minor are more useful to us than the Slavo-phones who have good properties and fertile soil,” replied the chief who was then interrupted by Parousis who said: “The supporters of Greater Greece and...” but before he was able to complete his sentence he was interrupted by the chief who said: “Please don’t interrupt me, Sir, allow me to finish my sentence. All I am saying is that for them, for the Madzhiri, this is a chance to make up for their losses…”

The chief was again interrupted by Parousis who said: “By plundering?!...”

“I am not interested by what means they use,” replied the chief, “all I am saying, as a Greek and as a police officer, is that I am responsible for achieving some aims. This is the most important thing for me… and for you, Sir…”

Someone was knocking on the door. A moment later the same young police officer entered the office.

“Chief, Sir, Captain Peter Rogers is here to see you,” said the young police officer.

“He is back again… his mother’s… he is like a flea jumping here, jumping there, jumping everywhere. Let him in...” replied the chief.

Even before entering the room the English captain yelled out: “Hello Chief.”

The chief wanted to respond to him in English but refrained because, according to the spirit of his upbringing, he did not tolerate the English, but in his service as a police chief he had been instructed by his superiors, in Athens and in Solun, to be polite to his English ally and patron.

“My deepest respects, Captain, Sir… please sit down... Something to drink?” replied the chief.

“No!” the captain replied indifferently and sat in the armchair. “Am I interrupting something, gentlemen?” the captain asked in Greek. “Please, continue your conversation if, of course, it is not secret… I would be interested to hear what you are discussing…” concluded the captain.

“No, Sir, you are not interrupting anything,” replied the chief. “You are not interrupting anything at all. And we would be happy to share our thoughts with you.”

The chief then turned to Parousis and continued: “I will repeat, Sir, the most important thing for me is to achieve my objectives…”

“By plunder?” Parousis again asked.

“By plunder and by any other means possible, all that can be done to move them out, to push them out, to uproot them and make them have nothing to do with Greece; to erase everything about them, everything physical and spiritual. Their minds need to be molded to feel Greek. We need to instill in their children our sense of grandeur and dignity so that they can think the way we think and do what we do. Time is on our side...”

“Not right now, dear Sir…” the Englishman weighed in. “Not right now.”

The chief reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case, then came close to the captain, opened it and said: “Cigarette, captain?”

“No, thanks.” said the Englishman and looked at him. The chief had a strange and insulting smile on his face.

The Englishman also did not fail to notice the engraved German eagle, the swastika and the inscription “For great success” under the chief’s cigarette box. The chief quickly closed his box and put it back into the inner pocket of his short coat.

“Gentlemen, I feel that our conversation is very interesting but I am a busy man and unfortunately I must go. I hope you don’t mind?” said the captain with a slight smile on his face.

“You mean turn them into janissaries?” Parousis yelled after the Englishman had left.

“Everything is acceptable for greater Greece!” exclaimed the chief.

“It is not exactly like that!” retorted Parousis. “Only one old song, a few words spoken in their language, even the sound of a word, a legend or a story once heard, one sad song… are all sufficient to awaken them again... for them to become a volcano, a fury, a whirlwind... Like they are now in the mountains… And what is this now in the mountains? And what did Metaxas do with their young? Many people thought and believed that they could turn them into Greeks with threats and with what not… They thought by making them wear the EON blue uniforms or by sending them to fight the Italians and Mussolini in the Albanian mountains, they could turn them into Greeks, but they failed. They changed their minds, even the ones in the EON ranks. They later hung new symbols on their hats...”

“Maybe it was like that,” agreed the chief, “but many dire mistakes were also made. Here is an example of a mistake that the Greeks made. If we Greeks had not migrated and stayed here on our lands like the Germans have done today, we would have been one of the greatest nations on earth.”

Parousis laughed but did not say a word.

“Why are you laughing, Sir, I will prove it you,” the chief interjected and continued. “In the fifth century BC the number of Greeks was around twenty million. With an increase of about one and a half percent, today their number would have been four hundred and ninety million. That’s one hell of a number, eh?!”

“Since I was a young man, my dear chief, everywhere I went and everyone I met tried to poison me with this Greater Greece stench. Now you are doing it... What you are telling me is that you want a

homeland that works against the world and not a world that works with our homeland...”

“Okay, okay!” retorted the chief. “If we were such a nation we would have been masters everywhere, not only here, in this dried up world of ours…”

Parousis turned towards the little window and looked outside. A moment later he saw an English sergeant come out of the store on the opposite side of the street. Without turning his head Parousis said: “Chief, look outside, over there in front of the store. Like you said, they are now the masters of our dried up world. Today, by the will of our King, a Greek general is expected to stand at attention in front of this half-drunken English sergeant.”

The police chief went to the window and stood there for a long time, watching the English sergeant. When he disappeared from view, the chief cursed him in German.

The same evening sitting in a café, Rogers, speaking to Parousis, said: “I cannot stand braggarts like the police chief. And to think that he was educated in Berlin where he completed his police academy?”

“No, I did not know that,” Parousis quietly replied.

“Don’t be naïve. You knew that! How could you not know? I told you myself a while ago. He was a Gestapo collaborator...” said Rogers.

The next day Peter Rogers came to the Chief’s office early in the morning and asked: “Will you be trying the old man? Please go and ask Parousis.”

When Parousis arrived Rogers said to him mockingly: “Parousis, what the hell does this old man know? Listen to me; what you all need to understand is one basic thing! You need to get all these people to go to the mountains... Think about it...”

“So that we can wage war against them with two or three poorly armed battalions?” interrupted Parousis.

“Yes, today battalions… tomorrow divisions and corps! The weapons are on their way. The ships have already left the ports,” replied Rogers.

“Yes of course Captain! I have heard that our government has already thanked the government of His Royal Majesty and that the American ships loaded with weapons will soon be arriving in Piraeus,” confirmed Parousis.

“Our Montgomery, Sir,” said Rogers while walking towards the window, “was once asked what he thought of the personal characteristics of officers and their capabilities. He identified four types and recommended they be arranged as follows: the talented and industrious be placed in the first row, the wise and diligent be placed in the second row, the smart and lazy in the third row and the stupid and diligent in the fourth row... And when we asked which group or category was most dangerous when placed in positions of responsibility, he said ‘the stupid and diligent’.”

Rogers turned around. Thick smoke came out of his mouth when he exhaled after taking a long puff from his tobacco pipe. He took the pipe out of his mouth and, after knocking on the top of the desk with it, said: “So, my dear Chief, according to my assessment, you fall into the last category. You are stupid but diligent. You are stupid because,” at that very moment Rogers noticed the chief’s angry face so he raised his index finger to show the chief that he was not finished talking and continued with the same tone of voice, “you do not think, you act automatically, like an ordinary soldier who only hears orders and performs them unconditionally. You are diligent because you are stupid… Who works as much as you?”

The chief rose from his chair and, while leaning with both hands on his desk, said: “Sir, you just crossed the borders of what is allowed…”

“What is allowed?” Rogers interrupted sharply, cutting off the chief and continued: “I know perfectly well what is allowed that’s why I

am here. Well, look,” Rogers pointed to a newspaper he had taken out of his pocket, “right here it says that we should expel the Slavo-phones from here and send them back to where they came from... Why expel them, why not let them leave on their own?”

The chief opened his eyes widely and then closed them again. He did this several times and then asked: “Leave on their own?! How do you figure that, Captain?”

“Look here… How can I prove this to you? I told you that you are industrious but you do not think. Why? Because you are convinced that others will think for you. And you do not want to think. A person who does not think is stupid. It makes sense, right? Don’t sweat it chief, I am not asking you to give me an answer. I myself am clever enough to know how you are going to answer my question. But do you understand why it is better that they leave on their own? You don’t understand, do you? You Greeks went up against them like the Turkish Bashibuzuks (irregular army). You harassed them, persecuted them, arrested them, beat them... and then you don’t want them to go to mountains and to the forests. Why? Let them go. And take your time, don’t rush to end the war as soon as possible. Yes, it’s a war, Sir, and you need to realize that. It’s a war even if it’s a bunch of bandits with guns, as your newspapers and radio calls them. Let the war last, let it continue... And don’t try and stop them from going into the mountains and forests...”

“Yes, but,” interrupted the chief, “the mountains and forests are so vast...”

“Today they are vast… tomorrow they won’t be…” replied Rogers.

“Do you think they will be defeated?” asked the chief.

“Sure. They have no chance. Those who instigated the war know how it is going to end, but they are not here, they are far away. Of course Greece alone cannot think about such things. Others have thought and are still thinking for Greece... Well, my good chief, for now it’s good that you remember that Greece belongs to the Greeks. Greece belongs to the West and the West will think and decide what happens to Greece. Today someone else is scolded and still Greece

cries... But, well, I really overreacted... Sir ... But don’t forget why I am here!”

This was a bitter pill for the captain but he remained calm and cool, even though something in him was boiling. He then calmly said: “See those mountains up there? Push them to go there and don’t send them to the islands where you must feed them. Make them go there. In a year or two this little war will achieve great results. Now let the old man go. He is useless to us. He is incapable of doing anything, no matter who or what he is. Take my advice.”

The chief took a puff from his cigarette and, after exhaling, said: “Yes… I will let him go not because of your advice but because that’s what I want. But before I let him go, I will force him to sign a declaration of loyalty. That way if he survives the war and is still alive he will always be mine to hold by the throat.”

The chief put down his cigarette and pressed the button under his desk. When the duty policeman entered he ordered him to bring the old man to him.

“Do you want to go home?” the chief said to Kolio just as he entered the office. “I am wondering if you want to go home?” repeated the chief.

Kolio was holding his chin and blood was running down between his fingers. “Look at the poor man, he can’t even talk,” murmured the captain in a slow voice. “You beat them too much. This is not something our journalists would appreciate, even less the American journalists.”

The chief wrote something on a piece of paper, looked at Kolio, pointed to it and asked him to sign it. Kolio, in broken Greek said: “I am not signing anything. I have served the Greek state for many years. My ancestors served the Turks and they were never asked to commit to such shame like the kind the Greek state requires of me. I will not sign!”

The captain laughed out loud and said: “All the waters in the world were ours when we had subjects just like him. Right Chief?!”

“Get lost you bastard!” the chief yelled at Kolio and slapped him on the head.

“Are your nerves shattered Chief?” Rogers asked tauntingly. “Light yourself a cigarette. It’s soothing. Or better still, take a shot of cognac…” said Rogers and, after a short pause, continued. “We have more respect for our elderly.”

“For who, for the Irish?” the chief asked sarcastically.

“Sometimes even for the Irish. Why not? When a man knows how to act smartly. Parousis will be ecstatic when he finds out how you handled the prisoner. Did you not realize that from the discussions we had here yesterday that he is somewhat sympathetic to the Communists?”

From the days he was a young man, Peter Rogers had been a snitch and a provocateur. He spied for many years and instigated mutual hatred and slaughter between the people in India, Afghanistan and Egypt and during the war. As an English spy and adviser to Greece, he instigated the Greeks to fight one another. While they were killing each other he, with nails well-cleaned and cut short, a smoothly shaven face, trimmed moustache and with a smile on his face, reaped the fruits of his denunciations. He was an Englishman, born in a small town in southern England, had good manners and Byzantine methods: slander, lies, sowing discord, poison. He did not tolerate beatings and the use of knives.