The Great Decline – Chapter 6 - Part 03

She tilted her head and placed it on the butt of her rifle and slowly she closed her eyes and went to sleep. This, however, was not just an ordinary night’s sleep but an eternal sleep that would last forever and make up for all the nights she had missed while marching in the rain and snow, marching in the heat and during the long vigils in anticipation of battle. This was a sleep that would satisfy her desire to sleep for all the nights she missed sleeping and not only for herself but also for her friends who craved to sleep but couldn’t… There was another big bang down by the brook which again woke her up but only for a moment. She then shook again and could barely hold her rifle with her frozen fingers. She felt like her legs had disappeared and her knees were touching something, but what she could not tell. She turned her head slowly and in that very moment it seemed to her that something or someone was making the snow squeak.

“Hhhhhalltttt” she said and it seemed to her that she yelled “halt” at the top of her voice. She felt like her teeth were tied together and her mouth was clamped shut. She tried to move but in the process she dropped her rifle. She tried to balance herself but her legs refused to hold her up and she fell down. She stretched out her arm in an attempt to grab something and brace herself but she could not bend her knees. She made several attempts to roll, to turn, to grab onto something, to kneel, to stand up, but with every movement she became weaker and felt darkness all around her. The earth was pulling her down, her throat was shutting and she felt like she was choking. She somehow remembered that she must breathe deeply through her nose, not panic, not be afraid, to relax, to rub her shoulders with something hard and not forget to move her hands and feet non-stop. She did all those things and managed to compose herself. She continued to breathe deeply. She pulled in her right leg then her left leg. She then turned and stood on her knees. She grabbed her rifle, leaned on it, stood up and took one, two, three wobbling steps.

Tsilka slowly stumbled her way back to her original position from where she could better view her surroundings. To stop herself from

falling asleep she decided to count the trees sticking out of the snow to the left of her. When she counted thirty, it seemed to her that that particular tree shook and separated itself from the others. It was decorated with white snow, had a slender build, was very tall and its branches were nicely arranged and pointing downwards like a long white robe with numerous small sparkling lights, so beautiful they were blinding… Then the tree started coming towards her… Tsilka watched the tree take steps, light steps, standing upright, slender, tall, moving quietly, without a sound, balanced and dignified. It looked like a bride dancing the “bridle” or the “Bairacheto” dance, sure-footed, dignified, balanced and sober. It bent over her with ease, extended its hand and slowly pulled her out of the snow. They set off holding hands. Step by step they walked one beside the other over the soft snow, leaving no trace behind them. The wind disappeared before them and something moved the snow in front of them making a wide snow-free path. She felt like they were walking on a thick soft carpet as soft was dewy green grass. Suddenly her village appeared before her. The houses were painted white and from their chimney grey smoke rose high above them.

A red rooster, sitting on a fence was spreading its wings, opening its beak wide but making no sound. Tsilka’s dog, Belka, ran over to her, squirmed, jumped, barked and then ran in front of them and disappeared. Belka too made no sound… They walked down the narrow village lane and before turning towards her grandfather’s house she saw her mother and grandmother sitting side by side on the balcony. Behind them, just for a moment, she saw her grandfather Krsto sit upright. At that moment Tsilka ran and after crossing the threshold of her yard, she noticed that the tall fairy dressed in white, which accompanied her this far, was no longer with her. Her mother, grandmother and grandfather were smiling but none of them left the balcony to greet her. They stood on the balcony, watching her, extending their arms out, inviting her to come up. Tsilka watched herself move slowly, in slow motion, walking up the stairs, taking each step and momentarily stopping to make sure it could hold her weight, moving closer to her loved ones with each step. But before she could reach them, they turned their backs and went inside the house. Tsilka ran after them but as soon as they crossed the door they disappeared… Tsilka ran into the guest room. The big bed was covered with red woolen blankets. A fire

was burning in the fireplace. Her grandfather Krsto was sitting in front of it, cross legged, and lighting his tobacco pipe. He took a couple of puffs and slowly released its fragrant aroma into the air. Tsilka’s grandmother came in and left a freshly baked loaf of bread on the table. Her mother brought sweet liquid refreshments and set them on the same table. Tsilka loosened her belt, unbuttoned her coat and sat at the table. She then broke a chunk of bread from the fresh loaf and dipped it into the sweet liquid. The room was warm and full of pleasant aromas of ripe apples and quinces. Her grandmother prepared her spindle and began to spin her white thread.

Tsilka’s mother threw a thread of black yarn over her neck and began to knit. The dry wood in the fireplace was by now ablaze and beaming warmth and soft light throughout the entire room. Golden sparks exploded out of the fire, filling the room with light… They were so beautiful ... Tsilka thought. And that thought gave birth to another thought. The same thought. She thought of exploding sparks again and again until the entire space in her mind was filled with little sparkling stars… there was silence... A beautiful silence… In fact there had never been any sound since she met the tall fairy disguised as a tree…

Tsilka collected all the bread crumbs off the table, bound them in her dirty handkerchief and shoved the handkerchief deep into her military coat pocket. Her mother got up, gently grabbed her by her underarm, as if not wanting to awaken her, lifted her up and gently laid her down on the big bed whose pillow smelled of fresh apples, pears and quinces and whose covers smelled of freshly baked bread just taken out of the oven. She expected the bedsprings to squeak but in her mind all she could hear were bombshells exploding… She lifted her eyelids open. Her grandfather was watching her with a wide smile on his face. She closed her eyelids again, they were much too heavy for her to keep them open. Then suddenly she opened them again but only momentarily. It seemed to her that she had not removed her dirty military boots before going to bed. She tried to move, to get out of bed, but something was holding her back, something had nailed her to the bed. A heavy sigh tore out of her chest. She wanted to open her eyes but felt like someone had tied stones on her eyelids.

She woke up. She got up. She grabbed her mother by the hand and the two went to the next room. It was warm there. Four boxes were stacked against the wall. Boxes belonging to a bride. Tsilka took them down and removed their covers. From the first box she pulled out a number of dresses. She unfolded the first one, stood in front of the mirror and measured it against her body. She did the same with the others. On the first day of her wedding her friends would wear these dresses. This one, the green one, she would give to Maria ... Maria, Maria, who was Maria? She thought. Ah, Maria, Maria… poor Maria… a mine exploded in Kopanche and broke her legs. I heard they had to cut them off at the Elbasan hospital... How is she going to dance at her wedding without legs? This one, the yellow dress will be fitting for Tsana… Tsana? Ah, yes, she was captured by the government soldiers. She was badly raped. Would she come out in public and dance at her wedding… in her shame? This one, the dress with the flowers, she would give to Dina. Dina... they were together in the same unit. Poor Dina, she was a machine gunner but they still had not issued her military pants. She was still wearing the same dress she had brought from home. It was shabby and in need of much mending…

One by one, Tsilka folded the dresses and put them back in the box. The last dress she looked at she remembered she had promised to Lina. When the girls had gathered together to examine Tsilka’s dowry, Tsilka had said to Lina: “You will look your best in this dress and I want you to be the first to lead the ‘Bairacheto’ dance wearing it.” Lina? Oh, that Lina, how she begged me to save her. She was wounded in the hip and both her legs were broken. We were walking under a cloud of flying bullets and grenades. We were all ducking to save our own necks when we heard her screaming from behind. We felt sick and were terribly frightened. It tore us apart to have to listen to her crying, begging voice. Where is she now? Is she alive?

Tsilka opened the second box. It too contained dresses. This one, the red one, would be for Kotsa. Oh, poor Kotsa, why couldn’t she run a little faster? Why did they have to shoot her out in the open? We did not even hear her fall... She fell and never got up again… This one, the green dress with the wide collar. This one Tsilka had

promised to Sofka... Sofka? Yes, Sofka who we buried at St. Ilia church. She was killed during our first battle. She had a tiny bleeding hole in her forehead but the entire back of her head was missing… it had dispersed...

Tsilka was now folding all the dresses and for each dress she folded she remembered the young lady who did not wear it or who had no wedding of her own. They were all out there somewhere now… Lying dead in a ditch… under a beech tree… in a river… or crippled and laying in a hospital somewhere. They were freezing in a trench, on a long march or on guard… And why would they need wedding dresses? What they needed was what Command had promised them and had not delivered… What they needed were shoes, socks, pants, sweaters and winter coats… They were tired of laying on the cold earth. They were tired of walking in the mud, in rain and in snow with torn boots and barefoot... Their shoes were full of holes, their sweaters worn and eaten by moths. Their coats were riddled with bullet holes… stripped off the backs of the dead who no longer needed them. Their blankets were worn thin and loaded with lice…

Suddenly there was a thundering crash up above. Tsilka turned and looked. Some trees had lost their branches from the cold and from the weight of the snow. A whole pile of snow had dislodged and was rolling downhill, passing through more trees. It was an avalanche and was growing larger as it dislodged more and more snow on its way downhill. Tsilka stared at it and to her it seemed like the trees were white fairies being mowed down by balls of snow and they bent, lay down and were trampled by the snow. A cloud of snow formed over them, blowing, twisting and thundering, pushing its way downhill until it finally disappeared down the gorge. There was silence again, no noise, just silence...

Tsilka was back in the guest room at her grandfather’s house watching the flames in the fireplace come alive. Her grandmother put the spindle down, picked up a lit stick from the fireplace and with it she lit the little oil lamp in front of the icon of the Virgin Mary. She crossed herself and then prayed. Tsilka sat at the table, broke another chunk of bread from the loaf and began to pluck at it, pulling smaller pieces out of it. She whispered: “This one is for Velika, this one is for Mita, this one is for Zoia, this one is for Argir,

this one is for Antonis, this one is for Panaiotis... And all this while, non-stop, ants were crawling up and down her legs on her shoulders and on her cheeks. She raised her hand to rub her head, to drive the dream away, but her eyelids were too heavy...

Tsilka’s mother came closer and sat beside her. Tsilka wanted to grab her and embrace her, but even that she could not manage. She was so close yet so far… far away vanishing into the whiteness of the room. She stared at the room. It seemed to her that it was getting bigger and brighter, expanding into infinity. The sight frightened her so she closed her eyes and stuck her head under the white covers and wondered why the covers were so white and so cold. She wondered why she could not realize that she was dreaming a dream and that someone was slapping her, shaking her, turning her over and undressing her in a desperate attempt to awaken her… She would not awaken…

“Strip her down and cover her body with snow!” was the last order given by the commissar.