TESTAMENT

TESTAMENT

It was announced at that time that the Aegeans would be moved. I saw people running around collecting and packing their things… This is what life was like in those days… up to this day.

They never cared for us... you never knew when they were going to throw you out like a stray dog…

My father was a hard man, but thank God I fulfilled his promise, may he rest in peace... Our people in the long term never knew where life was going to take them. Sometimes things may have seemed simple but turned out to be difficult. God, it is so difficult to abandon stores full of grain and to only take what you can carry and then run and not know where you are running… Then, when you lose your will, when you tire… you realize your left your home… you lost your home… and it is no longer yours. Blessed are the people who did not leave their homes. My God, I thought, why are we so crazy to be running away from our blessed soil… And then I try to convince myself that it was because of “the circumstances”… That’s what my father Dimo used to tell me.

In the old days we used to whitewash our rooms around Petrovden (St. Peter’s day). The smell of lime caused our nostrils to open wide open. The strong smell of lime reminded me of the old festive times. I felt like dressing up in something festive and eating something good… like roasted lamb… like my father used to say… It has been our tradition for generations to roast lamb, he would say. It would have been nice to drink some fresh milk too. Milk is thick and tasty in the spring… The dinner table would be covered with a colorful tablecloth and placed on it would be warm zelniks… spreading an irresistible aroma all through the dining room. Your mouth would water for buttermilk… We waited patiently salivating for the pitcher to go by so that we could have a drink of refreshing fresh buttermilk... “We have all kinds of good food…” my mother used to say, so eat up boys! The women were always busy during these festive times preparing the food, cooking it, serving it, washing the dishes… And they always seemed to be happy doing all that work… And no matter how much food we ate my father would still say:

“eat, eat more!” And when I looked at him he was either smiling… looking serious… or talking…

My mother was standing on the veranda looking towards the village Dolno Lozharsko and began to yell: “Fire, fire, people... everything is burning…” We heard gunshots… there were people running everywhere… many people. The old dog began to bark… My father trusted the old dog. He put down the clay plate and ordered everyone to get dressed, pick up something in their hands and go up the hill. In the meantime he gathered the cattle and followed us. And so we fled towards the Purdovi fields, up towards Mount Kilindreska, over Filin Kamen and ended up in Soluna spring. We hid ourselves in the thick beech tree grove. The cattle arrived and, after grazing for a short while, went to sleep. Only the dogs and us stayed up. Other people from the village followed us. As we sat there waiting for the night to pass, we listened to the old people talking… One old woman said: “It was the same during the Ottoman occupation… Every time we were attacked we ran up here to hide…” History is repeating itself… these are unholy times… The children ate bread and water… evil hung over them… Perhaps it was this evil that drove us to cross the border… people fleeing with their livestock. “My God, what are we doing?!” I thought to myself. My father, looking sad, looked at me and said: “Son, I am coming with you… Just decide which way you want to go… down the hill… or across the border…” But honestly, I don’t remember any of this… I only remember that my mind was empty at that time… grey empty space...

One day I was salivating for some cool buttermilk, the next day here we were passing through Mariovo… going… and going… and going… but where? Then I thought: “God, blessed are those people who remained at home…” Well, I have to share this blame with my father because he was the one that suggested we run... There was no road to be seen anywhere in this desolate place where we found ourselves and it was getting dark. We spent the night in Topolchani. That’s when I heard people saying that they would be sending us north...

We heard a train whistle and people began to line up in front of these dilapidated, black train cars. We kept staring at them. We had

never seen a train car or a train for that matter. Only the old people who had been abroad talked about them, these “French miracles” as they called them, which they had seen during their travels. So now, here they were in front of our eyes.

It was almost evening. They started cramming people into these train cars and left the livestock outside. The animals looked uneasy. The sheep kept bleating, looking at their owners as they were leaving. The dogs took the separation the hardest. “If our cattle die, we too will die because we cannot stand to be without each other…” said my father.

Anyway, we left our animals outside and boarded one of the train cars. Everyone sat or stood wherever they felt like it. There was no order. The doors closed… The inside was dark… We saw no light for a long time. We found each other by sound and feel. The children were already asleep. Once in a while we saw some light coming in through the cracks in the car as we passed through stations. My father was trying to boost our courage by telling us that our first order of business was to conquer our fear. That’s what he said even though he had no idea where they were taking us. We waited for dawn to arrive and for them to open the doors. I listened to the various voices in the dark… some of the comments were frightening. At one point my father said: “Who knows where we are going to leave our bones...” We dragged my grandmother Meglena into the car and left her lying down in the corner. She was a sickly little woman, drained of her energy and constantly coughing. She was a tiny woman. She wore pig skin moccasins and all kinds of old-fashioned clothes. She put on a lot of clothing before we left… including several of her favourite head kerchiefs… the very colourful ones of course. Her face was wrinkled and tanned dark brown. She died in the train car, in the corner where we left her. They took her at the station with out us having performed any kind of ceremony.

My father took my grandmother’s passing the hardest. I could see that he was hurting. He stood there moping in silence… The water that we brought with us became like urine, most of the jugs by now were empty and we used them as pillows to put our heads on when we slept. But who could sleep…? How can one sleep under these

circumstances? The noise from the train aggravated the situation even further, I have never been on a train before never mind being on one for days on end… traveling on a road I could see. Without knowing where we were going and what was going to happen to us, our minds were left to wonder… and think of the worst. I didn’t know what to do… cry or sing… But like the old people were saying “these are evil times” and no one would want to hear you sing or cry. The burning question in my mind was: “Why are they taking us so far away…?” We all cried in silence during those long nights... The priest was also there. He was a handsome and clever man… but he too did not know where they were taking us… and so he prayed: “Dear God is Macedonia that big that it takes so many days to get to our destination?” One time he said: “Oh my God, my dear God, are they taking us to some camps like they did the Jews…?”

Led by the priest’s wife we all repeated the prayer: “Dear God, we are innocent people… we carry Christ in our soul…”

The priest’s assistant, Mr. Durdubak, a strong man, was very helpful during these trying times. He took a positive spin on all this and told us that this was “God’s will” and better times would follow. We just had to be patient and enduring. And thank God, the days and nights passed easier for us.

My father occasionally said: “Our cattle are now gone… they are burning with thirst...” My mother lay there sad, curled up like a raindrop…

The train cars soon began to stink of shit and piss… We are living creatures and we needed to relieve ourselves… Some people had serious bowel problems and could not hold out for too long. There were no provisions made for us in the cars… Once we reached a station and they opened the doors the older ones ran out and let their streams go around the cars like dogs. Both men and women... We then happily jumped on the cars… Our thoughts still gnawing at us… where are they taking us and what are they going to do with us… Deep bad thoughts kept entering our minds like the deep roots of a fig tree.

The roots of a fig tree are not only deep but strong. Some say they are so strong they can hold up an entire house.

From time to time the priest came along and blessed everyone. In spite of his great optimism he too now began to suspect something was not right… he became concerned. The word out there was that we just passed through Belgrade and were headed north. Everyone speculated as to where they were taking us. Some even voiced their opinions. Some were saying they may be taking us to camps because there were such things… Some were speculating that they were taking us to Great Russia… where our ancestors came from… Mitse Purda, with his tiny, clever little blinking eyes, seeming like he was cursing all of Macedonia and its entire leadership for allowing them to uproot us from our homeland, like we were not Macedonian sons, was swearing and cursing something awful… words that are not fit to repeat… But then in the blush of dawn Mr. Durdubak, with his rosy cheeks, stepped up and said: “People, they are dropping us off right here…” There were sighs of relief in the whispering voices saying: “Thank God!” Then we heard the doors open...

There was open space all around us… The wind was blowing something awful… We grabbed our few things that we brought with us from Pozharsko and, like a flock of bleating sheep, set off for Giakovo from Sombor. “Our luck… to leave our bones in this desolate place…” I heard my father muttering. Voivodina was flat like a pan, it lacked the mountains, like Mount Kilindera, we had back home in Pozharsko. When you were thirsty you always thought of the Soluna cool spring on Mount Kilindera. But a person never knows where life will take him. The first year in Giakovo my little Sofia died… she was almost two years old.

My father Dimo was always complaining. I don’t know what was eating him inside… He used to say to me: “Conquer your fear son and you will live longer…”

Nine days after little Sofia’s burial, the cross from her grave was gone. The people collected all the wooden crosses from the various graves and burned them to keep warm. It was very cold there. I kept that in mind. When my father died, in place of a wooden cross, I placed a cement post on his grave, the kind that was used on the

curb of the road. I stuck it deep into the soil at the head of his grave to make sure I did not lose it. I did the same with little Sofia’s grave.

The war was long over in our country when, in the 1950’s, we heard that they would again be moving the Aegeans… And sure enough we again boarded those decrepit train cars and headed for Shtip to a place called “Trite Cheshmi” (Three fountains). “Good God,” I thought to myself, “if this is true then we will at least be on Macedonian soil…” but I didn’t say anything to anyone. I couldn’t sleep all that night. Everything reminded me of my father and the time we had spent together. He was a serious man, a man of his word. I grew up with him. He taught me everything about Pozharsko… about every field, about every brook, about every piece of space… what it was called and its history. And now I felt tingly all over… like something was crawling all over me. I spent my time crying and grieving for him and for my little Sofia. My wife was concerned for me and said: “Sleep Petre… it’s almost morning…” I said to her: “I can’t sleep, I am too excited…” She too was not right. She was all excited about the great life we were going to have together… and now this… these unholy times have destroyed our love… But Mara does not hold it against me… she still respects me as her husband.

I got a feeling that made me unsure about this move. Perhaps I should have stayed where I was… But what choice was I given? I tried to sleep again. The moment I closed my eyes my father appeared… in my dreams. I was in tears again… thinking of my father and of my little girl. Life is like a flower… at the end all you have is dried grass. “Nobody knows the weight of another’s burden…” my father used to say. It’s simple, this is the kind of people we are, a bad dog ambushes us and we run like a herd of sheep… without experience… living only in the present… stuck in some Aegean habitat. I decided to keep my thoughts to myself and not put them to words, not because I didn’t believe the bad times would pass quickly, even in the 1950’s the times were just as bad, but because of what might happen… Like people used to say: “Be careful even when crossing a shallow river…”

The trip was long and arduous… painful. It is difficult to wipe out the mark created during the travels of a refugee… everyone, over the shadow, looks into your soul.

Ristoitsa Mankina has become the guardian of the cemetery. She is still there, on site. She feeds on the food and bread left behind by the women who honour the dead. This is where she buried her husband. “Where am I supposed to go in these murky times…” she said to me. Meglena was squeezing her bags in her arms… she was afraid of me. I asked her for a shovel or a hoe… Ristoitsa Mankina carefully passed me a shovel and said: “Petre, there are no markers on the graves here so be careful where you dig… don’t unearth some half decomposed voivodinets (a person from Voivodina)… what are we going to do then…” I felt sad thinking of our destiny, which brought us here to this desolation. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I have a marker on my father and on my daughter’s graves and I know exactly where they are. I have placed large markers on their graves and they have not been moved.” Dawn was slowly creeping in and a new day was breaking through. I dug both graves and removed the bones… Ristoitsa filled her apron with them and cried all the time she was helping me. “We are all one family…” she said. I thought to myself: “God give me the strength not to cry today while I am digging…” I kept tossing soil in front of Ristoitsa’s feet and with it my father’s skull. She picked up the skull and caressed it. She then began to cry out loud, yelling, her fear seemed to have disappeared… she looked relieved… I grabbed the skeleton, whatever was left intact, and broke it up into its bony parts so that I could carry it easier. The road was long, it was a foreign country and the wind was blowing wildly…

I don’t know whether I said goodbye to Ristoitsa or not. I left alone and in a hurry. I left the grave open. I thought to myself: “Okay Petre, now run through the cornfields. Run through the mud… it’s safer that way. I ran through the rows of corn stalks like a wild animal… some sort of strong unseen force was pushing me. The sun was up and I had this awful feeling that someone might see me and think I was stealing corn. “It’s best I get to the road…” I thought to myself. My feet were sinking into the mud and I was getting very tired. With some difficulty I got out of the cornfield. My feet were covered in thick mud and the bags in my hands squeaked with every

step I took, like they were full of snails. The bones were rubbing against one another… I arrived at the station. There were so many passengers I could not understand how they were all going to fit in that train. I made my way to a car. I got close to a door and jumped on. I felt uneasy. What if a guard wanders in and asks me to open the bags? I thought it’s best if I go into the washroom and lock myself in.

I still felt uneasy. I began to talk to myself… speaking to my father… speaking to my girl… I heard a voice saying “tata – tak – tata - tuk”, the bones were talking to me. I heard the train whistle. The car was full of people. They were hungry and they needed to use the washroom. People kept knocking on the door but I held the door handle tightly in my hand. I heard them cursing and saying that now they had to go to another car to relieve themselves. It stunk in here, which caused me to gag… but there was nothing there to vomit, I had not eaten for days. It was best this way… that I was in here. I stayed in the washroom all through the day but decided to go out in the evening. I figured it was safe...

I shoved my way to the hallway and waited there like a lost dog, stinking of urine. I looked around… all the wooden seats were taken. People were sitting… slouching… sleeping… eyes looking sluggish, but not with malice. They all hung on tightly to their belongings. They looked for a moment and then went back to sleep in the pale light.

I thought now would be a good time for me to sit down... but where? I looked around. There was a man slouching over two seats. He was sleeping. He was snoring like a frog in a lily pond. I made my way there and squeezed in. The poor man must have been very tired, he did not notice me… He apologized for slouching when he woke up. He was a good-natured man. He cut some bacon, garlic and onions and handed me his flask of plum rakia to have a drink. He wanted me to have the first drink. “Have a gulp…” he said in a mild tone of voice. I took a drink but that damn rakia was very hot, a devil’s brew. It burned my insides. It would have been impolite not to have a drink… so I drank for both the living and for the dead. The man smiled at me and pushed some bacon and onions towards me. “Have some…” he said. I took some and sucked them in like a woman

stuffing a sausage through a funnel. I thought to myself: “God has provided for me and I am eating with such appetite...” We both had several more sips of rakia from the flask. Unfortunately my body was frail and the alcohol affected me… I slept until the next morning...

When I woke up I looked outside. I saw hills… our hills… it was like some secret had been uncovered and I was back home… Had I been sleeping all this time? I forced all the thoughts out of my mind and tried to focus… was fate deceiving me? Love is a tyrant; it pains you for a long time. It opens every crevice in your soul...

I will again mention my father. He once said to me: “Petre my son, do what you are obligated to do and don’t worry about other people’s affairs...” And with that I fulfilled my first duty, I overcame my fear.

Perhaps it was my hatred for having to bury my father in a foreign cemetery that made me conquer my fear... I remembered the station “Bakarno Gumno” because this is where they loaded us on the train and left our cattle outside mooing for us... I can still hear the cows mooing to this day.

It was a terrible and unholy time. I hung onto the bags of bones like a wolf, while burning of thirst. You don’t die from a little thirst, I convinced myself… while walking all night long trying to follow the path we took that brought us here. It was almost morning and from the top of the hill in Mrezhichko I could heard the rustling river water. I was close to our place but I was not sure where I had to come out. But as they say, love conquers all… I ran down the hill as fast as could to moisten my mouth. I had to crawl back at one place because it was so steep. Bitterness ate at my soul… “Please God don’t let me lose the bags…” I prayed. Finally, half conscious, I splashed my way into the river water… up to my knees… then up to my ass... I felt joy deep down in my heart… I felt alive again… I calmed down quickly, put down the bags and drank water to my heart’s content. I moistened my cracked lips and rinsed my eyes. I could now see perfectly… I sat there and wondered… in silence… without smiling… I stayed like that until dawn.

I opened my eyes wide. And what did I see - our mountain – Kilinderka… that’s what we called it. I felt a tingling sensation creep over me and shed a few tears for my little girl and for my father. When we were running away, leaving this place, we were all alive… and now? What is a life but a flower which will blossom and bear fruit for as long as its roots remain in the ground. I tensed my brain, thoughts quickly ran through my mind, and then I pulled up my sleeves and got the bones out. I first sorted my girl’s bones then my father’s. One by one I washed them and then placed them in head kerchiefs. I placed my girl’s bones in a white head kerchief and wrote Sofia Kirovakova on it. I then placed my father’s bones in a head kerchief that looked like our flag but without the lion, and wrote Dimo Kirovakov on it. I could have written other but I was not myself… I was in constant tears. The wind was blowing hard over the steep hill. It was howling over the tall pines. The trees moaned and crackled under its pressure. And I, walking among them, was approaching Mount Kilinderka, where I had to cross the border. “God give me strength to get to the forest…” I thought to myself as I climbed up with the bones in my hands. Then, out of nowhere, I heard footsteps. They sounded like they belonged to heavy, solid men. I looked away and saw a dog with its snout lifted pointing towards me. I was so close to my Pozharsko, only a few steps away and I would be at “Zhelezna Vrata” at the top of Mount Koziak, then through the tall beech trees, past the spring Soluna and I would be there. It was raining hard that night… and perhaps that’s what saved me. When they started running towards me, the dog became very aggressive and its body tensed. “Now what do I do?!” I thought to myself. I began to run downhill and they ran after me. I saw a large stone on my way. I pulled it out of the ground and let it roll down hill. And just as I took about ten steps, there to my left was a rotten tree trunk. I hid behind it and watched the men run past me chasing the noisy rock rolling downhill. I waited until there was some distance between us before I resumed my uphill journey. I crossed myself and thanked God for not letting them capture me. I passed over the Katrevi oak grove, towards Filin Kamen and saw a goat herder in the fields playing his flute. I then turned towards the “Sveti Giorgi” church and sat down to drink some water from the Bostanska spring.

The goat herder didn’t see me. He was too busy playing his flute and then left for the village. It was sunset. After he left I went to the cemetery. I quickly wandered from grave to grave and decided where to dig. I was going to dig on top of my grandfather’s grave. His name was Petre the Ilinden fighter, that’s what the villagers called him. I was named after him. As I sat on his grave I tried to remember our customs and what to do during the burial. My bitterness again overcame me. I shed more tears over them. I stood there with an axe in my hand deciding to break into the “Sveti Ivan” church and get some candles and oil to anoint the bones. I climbed up the bell tower and lay there like a beaten beast, protecting the bones under my head. The next morning I was awakened by the church bell. It was Petrovden (St. Peter’s day). I crossed myself for both the living and for the dead. I held the axe tightly in my hands as I climbed down from the bell tower. At the bottom of the stairs stood Lina Iacheva - Katreva. Lina was crossing herself and shaking all over. I said: “Lina…” wanting to know what was wrong with her. But when she heard my voice she fled inside the altar and peered through the cracks. Finally she recognized me… we are family… After that she told me everything… We waited until it was dark and Lina performed all the necessary rituals; she put oil on the bones, wine, incense, left the cross there over night and so on… She then lit candles for all the dead who she knew were dead. I piled the grave with a lot of soil, enough for two and felt like my life was once again in Pozharsko.

With a half-burned candle in her hand Lina crossed herself and began calling on the almighty… I remained with my axe in my hand... We have not seen each other for such a long time and yet we follow an unknown path in our lives. In Giakovo the guardian of the cemetery was Ristoitsa Mankina and in Pozharsko it was Lina Iachevo – Katreva… I don’t know who the guardians are in Australia and America… The men left their bones in the mountains and there are no men left to do the job...

My heels were blood-stained but still I thought about returning. When the ambers began to form ash I started looking towards the border.

Lina was sad when she told me to greet everyone, whoever I remembered between the living and the dead. After saying goodbye I left. The sky, like a bed cover made of a grey goat’s hair, covered Mount Kaimakchalan. I walked through the village with my axe in my hand, looking around like a wild cat… Waiting for the people to open the door for me… not knowing that the people were gone with the wind… blown to Giakovo or to Trite Cheshmi. I lifted my head and looked around. I looked at each house… I said nothing… I glanced at our house… It looked so beautiful in my own eyes… I was unable to see its deformities.

I thought of my father again as I began to climb up Mount Kilinderka. It was raining again, raining buckets. I decided to take shelter in the Durdubakova barn. I tried to sleep but still had difficulties. Looking at familiar places did ease my pain a little. I was very close to the dead zone… I was thinking of the artificial border placed here that divided our Pozharsko… our fields from our mountains. This was an imposed border put there when our old generation was young. Then the Greeks did their job well… they brought foreigners and gave them our houses and lands… They brought Madzhiri (Christian Turks from Asia Minor) from the Pontus and we, like frightened sheep, fled in the wind....

My heels were bleeding and I was hungry. I slowed down a little. I used the axe to brace myself. I remembered when we were running away from Pozharsko, my father brought two cans of meat with him … from UNRA… He gave them to me to hide. It was clear to me, clear as day, where I hid them. I went to the rock, stuck my hand in a hole and felt something strange wrapped around the can. Hastily I pulled my hand out and with the can I pulled out a snake. After that I did not feel like eating. The evil follows us everywhere… No one knows where and in what circumstances time and life will take you. Beware even of a shallow river.

My clothes were wet… drenched. I was walking slowly approaching the Papradnik border crossing. This is where they killed Giorgi Peichov and Stoian Grudev. A little further on is the Krivitsa pass. It doesn’t look like anyone is there… from either side. I crossed myself and prayed that no damn cursed bullet would reach me. But thank God for the strength he gave me, I picked up the pace and

jumped like a wounded beast. The only regret I have is that I didn’t stay long enough to enjoy my homeland. I was leaving like a bandit from a heist. I raised my head and looked back, O Lord my God, I felt like I was a living target. Perhaps I was… or perhaps I wasn’t. It seemed to me at that moment that I was. Finally I made it across the border. I heard them talking… yelling at each other… over me. I had the strangest feeling they could have killed me. All your life you struggle for your country… and for strangers to kill you… we are people too… what kind of country is this…? All the time we run with bloodied heels.

I rolled into the Tsrna River. It was ice cold. I looked into the distance. The valley was flat like a pancake.

I thought I should rest for a while. I was naked like a wild beast. My father used to say: “The secret of misery is in the will itself…” I cut a few leafy branches from the trees with my axe. I laid some on the ground, in a sunny spot, and covered myself with the rest. I was afraid of being discovered so I tossed some dried branches on top of the freshly cut ones.

I was in pain. My heels were sore. I wanted to sleep. I was feeling calm; perhaps because of the aroma emanating from the fresh leaves or perhaps because I had fulfilled my father’s wish. I fell asleep and began to dream. To this day I can’t explain my dream, not that it has an explanation. There were three men; I can still see them before my eyes. I know the middle one was “Sveti Ilia” (St. Elia) because he blessed me and gave me a wafer and then sprinkled me with something. The other two were as beautiful as angels. They just smiled at me and blessed me like I had done something important on earth and I deserved to be taken to heaven.

Then it was the migrants, the living, they were persecuting me, saying that I would be next; next for what? To this day I don’t know… Perhaps I would be next to leave my bones in Pozharsko…

We the people of Pozharsko wanted to be together but we were never all in one place. Our graves are scattered everywhere.

We always left someone somewhere. I always felt that “this might be the last place we settle” but in reality we continued to be moved and further separated from one another. And everywhere we went (were sent) we left someone behind… from old age… from sickness… from stubbornness… No one knows why they refused to run. God bless Ristoitsa Mankina in Giakovo and Lina Iacheva – Katreva in Pozharsko… together we cried a lot those nights…

* * *

NOTE: This story was based on a real case, as was told to me by Petre Kirovakov (transferor of bones), at his house in Bitola. This story was published in “Nova Makedonija” from February 2 to February 5, 1992 under the title “Poedinechnata tragedia kako opshta sudbina”.

POEM – Death of an old woman. This poem is dedicated to my grandmother Tsilka who died in Tashkent in 1957 at age 90.