COLLECTOR OF CRABS

COLLECTOR OF CRABS

Krsto Bilchurovski couldn’t care less where he was from dawn to dusk. One morning, at the crack of dawn, he was patrolling the river turning cold stones looking for crabs. He was a master at catching crabs.

That day he had caught a lot of crabs. He filled his entire basket with those creatures. Krste was happy with his rich hunt that day.

His legs were blue, filled with blood, seeming like all his blood had gone below his knees.

Of course he was catching those crabs because that was important to him...

“That’s enough for today,” he said to himself while glancing down the coast looking for the travelers who had already arrived and were taking their place under the thick shadows of the trees. It was getting hot in the city. The newspapers said it was going to be a hot summer and the sun was going to emit a lot of ultraviolet rays, harmful to humans, so the people were fleeing the city and looking for shade... But Krste Bilchurovski knew nothing about this because for him it was the same thing everyday… simply hunt crabs…

When he returned to the tall willow where he had left his things, he noticed a family had taken his spot in the shade without knowing that this spot was already occupied. But the things Krsto left gave no indication that this particular spot was taken. He had only left his shoes and a bag in which he carried his everyday cutlery.

When Krste Bilchurovski came out of the river and headed for his things he ran into a woman wearing a fashionable bathing suit and said to himself: “My luck having to run into her…” Her husband Trpo heard this and sat up on his elbows to have a better look at the man approaching his wife.

Krste Bilchurovski kept going towards them, giving the impression that he was brazenly invading their privacy.

The woman cried out: “Do I need to be upset here too...?”

Trpo got up and took a defensive position in an attempt to stop Krste from entering the shade because this particular spot, according to Trpo, today belonged to him and his wife. But Krste Bilchurovski freely kept walking towards them like he owned the place. According to Krste it was on a first come first served basis and he was here first. This was his place and he was aiming to grill his crabs right here...

Krste kept walking silently and when he arrived near Trpo he suddenly greeted him with a melancholic tone of voice and said:

“This is where I sit...”

“Just here?” asked Trpo.

“Yes. I have my things here…” replied Krste as he looked around the old willow tree trunk.

Trpo’s wife kept staring at Trpo with a measured stare. Trpo flinched.

“Are you looking for a shirt and shoes?” asked Trpo.

“Yes!” said Krste, “Yes I am!”

“Here, here they are, I have them,” said Trpo pointing at the blackberry bush where they were tossed. Trpo then went to get them, apologizing that his wife had tossed them there.

“I thought they were discarded items, left here by someone who did not want them…” explained the wife while covering her comfortably smooth and plump body with a towel.

“Here you go…” said Trpo holding onto the items with two fingers as if he was holding something that was very disgusting.

Trpo’s wife winked at Trpo as if to say: “Get rid of him!”

Krste Bilchurovski sat down and calmly began to tighten the shoe laces on his shoes and then tossed his shirt over his sweaty body.

Krsto then glanced toward the basket and noted that several of his crabs had come out and were angrily running away.

Krsto instinctively yelled out: “I will kill you!” One crab was running towards Trpo’s wife and approaching a spot where the sun doesn’t shine. She jumped startled. Angry, Trpo wanted to toss both Krsto and his crabs out of there because he had come here to rest and not to be upset by some homeless person, or by a crab!

“I eat these creatures madam but I see you are afraid of them!” said Krsto to Trpo’s wife.

One by one Krsto killed all the crabs by gently tapping them with a not very thick rod.

“Trpo, we should move…” said Trpo’s wife with an angrly tone of voice as she stared at Krsto Bilchurovski.

“No, please stay madam! I will go. I will go to prepare the crabs…” said Krsto apologetically and then turned to Trpo and asked: “Are you Trpo Dunimaglovski?”

Trpo stood there and, as his anger began to melt away from the incident with the crab, he smiled and showed his scarce teeth. At that moment Krste knew it was him.

“And who are you?” asked Trpo.

“I? Hmm, as you can see... I am a collector of crabs...” said Krste.

“Don’t joke around with me… Who are you?” asked Trpo with a serious tone of voice, not paying attention to his wife who was snarling like a horned viper.

“Try and remember Comrade Trpo!” replied Krste.

“I can’t...” replied Trpo.

“I am Bilchurot...” replied Krste.

“Is that you Krsto!?” asked Trpo staring at him in silence, thinking to himself:

“No, it can’t be! This man must be joking with me. Krsto, would not allow himself to become like this. He never would allow himself… He, he was a handsome man… a neat man. It is impossible for him to have just earned and to own only this basket and the torn clothes on his back. Bilchurovski was a brave and dignified man... He would not allow himself to become like this...”

Krsto kept watching the man struggling, trying to make sense of the situation but was unable to answer: “Yes” or “no” to Trpo’s question.

Finally Krsto spoke up and proudly said: “Yes I am! I am Krsto Bilchurovski!”

Trpo looked confused. He looked at his wife. Krsto lifted up his trouser leg and showed him the deep scar. Trpo again looked confused and stunned. Krsto’s blue leg looked like it was gushing blood.

Finally Trpo said: “Yes, you are Krsto! Indeed you are! Corporal Bilchurovski – Bilchurot. Please sit down… sit down Krsto”. He then turned to his wife and said: “Magda come and meet the man, he is my comrade. He was a brave and good fighter.”

Magda greeted Krsto, then glanced at Trpo with a cold clandestine look and said: “And you my husband, you must be half crossed like Krsto. Now, after so many years... a comrade…?”

Trpo sat down first, then Krsto. They looked at each other, both looking sheepish. Trpo was experiencing hot and cold chills up and down his back.

“You Trpo, you saved yourself. You did not come back to our lands... And you did okay, right? Because, well… look at me. A

man sometimes has no value… Nobody needs me…I am worth shit. You need to choose a path in life to follow that will not bother people. But here I am, today I accidentally ran into you… and took your shade. Now you can’t rest. I disturbed you, forgive me...” said Krsto looking like he wanted to stand up.

“Forgive me… I must go… Please rest…” said Krsto, but before he was finished speaking Trpo interrupted him and said:

“Here, have a drink! Stay a while!” and handed him a shot glass full with rakia (alcoholic drink).

Krsto, holding the glass looked a bit confused. He had almost forgotten the tradition of toasting. After a short pause he raised his glass and said: “To the past!”

Trpo raised his glass and said: “Nazdravie!” (To good health.)

“So, where have you been spending your time?” asked Trpo and continued. “What have you done with your life? Do you have a family? I see you have been hunting crabs. Preparing crabs is a specialty. They are nutritious food… they give you strength and big muscles…”

Krsto kept looking at Trpo while swallowing the last drops of his rakia. In the last few years Krsto wanted to be alone. He did not want anyone to remind him of his past… of his suffering… because his feelings had long ago abandoned him.

But in front of him now stood a comrade and, as much as he wanted to hide his past, he had to answer him.

“I stumbled through life…” he said. “When a person spreads his life all over the place he cannot put it back together again. His past will hang over him like a used rag and follow him around… there is nothing he can do... and no one will trust him or believe him that this piece of life is his or not…”

Trpo could feel his sorrow but he did not say anything, he only topped his glass with rakia.

“You are lucky,” said Krsto. “I am happy Trpo that you are doing okay and that you look good. Are you some kind of nobleman?” asked Krsto.

“Something like that...” replied Trpo.

“That’s very good! You get that way when someone recognizes you in life,” said Krsto and continued:

“You don’t know how much I don’t want to look back to those… to those cursed years… But it seems you, Trpo, you want to know, right? Let me say that I am all alone and don’t know why I am being punished in life so much.

Maybe I should have followed the path you took, but that path took almost everyone from our end… save a few... I those days I was very angry at you and called you a deserter. Forgive me Trpo…

But now I see that you are looking good and things have worked out for you... You were able to see further into the distance than us who stayed home… we, the blind ones, wanted to remain loyal to the revolution… and to the people... That’s how it was…” concluded Krsto.

“To the People…? Please Krsto…!” replied Trpo.

“Well, that’s the way it was then…” said Krsto in a quiet tone of voice and continued:

“But let me say that I am glad you did leave Trpo, you saved yourself from the worst. You avoided the despairing experiences we went through. Those who remained in the struggle, well... After we were defeated I was sent with the disabled to Poland.

I lived there for four years and five months. I worked in a disability cooperative. Then they moved us to Hungary at the discretion of the refugee board. I lived there for three years and seven months. And as you can see these are wholesome slices of my life… that no one believes are true...”

Krsto paused for a moment, sighed and continued: “You know that my wife stayed behind, at home, on our lands and there was no seeing her again... I had a child, a son who was sent to Czechoslovakia as a refugee. I decided to go and stay with him. I lived there for four years and nine months. And then my life took a turn for the worst...”

Krsto stopped talking. He was overwhelmed with emotion. Tears began to run down his cheeks. He continued: “I was destroyed...” he said and again became very emotional. He composed himself and continued:

“When things loosened up, I decided to come here. My wife wrote me and asked me to go back home, to my place of birth, because she did not want to leave our home. But I couldn’t go back after we were defeated because you know of the oath we took when we went to fight for our freedom and for the freedom of our lands... My own pride tormented me for a long time. Now I have no wife… So, Trpo, I came here.

It’s great to be here, I am glad to see that this country is ours... Being a foreigner on foreign shores made my soul burst. Being here and thinking deep thoughts, calms me down...” concluded Krsto.

“And how is your life now, Krsto, is it okay?” asked Trpo.

“Well, it is okay, Trpo…” replied Krsto, looking at his basket and continued:

“And you Trpo where do you work? Are you one of those people who make decisions…?” he asked.

“No, no, Krsto, I am a pensioner. I get a veteran’s pension. Now I am writing my memoirs,” replied Trpo.

Krsto looked confused. “Did I hear you right? You are writing your memoirs? And here I am living like a crab in clear water… I am completely confused… None of this makes any sense to me...” said Krsto.

“I want you to know Krsto,” said Trpo, “that I have devoted a few sentences to you in my memoirs because, you know, I know you as a courageous person, I remember you from Bigla and what you did there...” said Trpo, paused for a moment and asked: “Are you getting a pension, Krsto?”

“No… No I am not…” replied Krsto dryly.

“You aren’t? Why not?” asked Trpo.

“I don’t know... that’s how things turn out sometimes, I guess...” replied Krsto.

“The Poles told me that I needed to have at least five years of continuous active service in Poland in order to qualify for a pension. I tried the same in Czechoslovakia and they too said the same thing. The Hungarians did not even reply to my inquiries,” added Krsto.

Krsto paused, thought for a moment and said: “As for a veteran’s pension… Well I need to prove that I was a fighter... I lost contact with those who know me and I don’t know where they are. But all in all I am trying to forget all that… get it out of my mind… because it is painful for me to remember things from my past…”

“Are you working somewhere?” asked Trpo.

“Yes, I look after the animals of several owners. There is also one person from our part… He has a large vineyard with a cottage on it. This year I did a good job digging his vineyard. He said: ‘Bravo fellow countryman, nice work...’ He also threw a few extra coins, but I did not tell him who I was and where I was from... I recognized he was one of us from the way he talked… I believe he was down there with us in the beginning,” replied Krsto.

“He was with us? Who might he be? Mitre the lawyer? No. The historian...? Ah, yes I know who he is!” said Trpo. “He is the person who had a constant spleen pain... I ran into him here. He came here before I did...”

“Yes! Yes he is the one!” confirmed Krsto and then said: “You should see him now...

He comes over to the vineyard and greets me from the corner of the lot asking me how I am doing. Then he says things like ‘You need to dig deeper’, and ‘be careful you don’t damage the vines’. And a little woman he has there... Beautiful, educated people...”

Krsto suddenly stopped talking and remained silent with a blank look on his face...

“We should move…” said Trpo’s wife.

“No, no, no need to. You can stay in this beautiful shade, I will go…” said Krsto.

He then took his basket, said goodbye and went to cook his crabs.

“You know Magda, this Krsto was a great fighter down there,” said Trpo to his wife.

“He looks like he was never baptized…” she said and then turned to Trpo and said: “Was that conversation with him really necessary? You will make me explode from your stupid past! How many times have I told you not to talk to people like that? Who needs that kind of past? Here is your precious Krsto, a living history in the flesh!”