CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Rumena Returns from Canada

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Rumena Returns from Canada

“You are very beautiful. America helped you to become even more beautified. The shelters here made you age faster…” said Dobrin to Rumena.

It was six o’clock in the morning and Rumena was not there. Dobrin waited concerned. He thought perhaps the plane had been delayed. He then looked out the window in his room and saw her outside loaded with suitcases.

Rumena was strong in nature and had never abandoned her faith. Her eyes reflected her inner strength.

Her two-year absence from Dobrin, however, gave her some anxiety. But now she had forgotten everything, especially after she saw Dobrin open the door.

“Oh, thank God!” said Delian, their son.

“I am sorry, I am truly sorry…” replied Rumena. “But I did not know what else to do.”

“Good morning!” Rumena said to Dobrin who stood there motionless. His gentle face radiated kindness but he was debilitated by a serious illness. He went back to bed.

A little later Rumena went to Dobrin’s room. She said: “I am glad you liked the gifts, Dobrin…” and bent down to kiss him. She initially felt his anger on his lips but it was passing. His lips felt gentle to the touch. With their silent kiss it seemed like everything was forgiven.

“The belt is from my aunt Frosina’s late husband. The suit too is from him. As you can see it looks like it was never worn. My aunt Frosina said he was a good man, a great gentleman,” said Rumena.

In addition to her other fantasies, Rumena was now dreaming of wealth, even though she was well-aware of her domestic situation.

Her feelings for Dobrin were different and unusual, as if she had lost her desire to constantly attack him and to fight and win.

“Now at least, you don’t have to worry about clothes,” Rumena said to Dobrin.

“I brought even more clothes for everyone. The Americans are rich…” she said with enthusiasm like she was struck by some kind of good luck.

She got up and quickly got dressed. She was troubled and tormented by thoughts of Dobrin’s condition. She stood in front of the mirror and corrected her make-up. Dobrin was looking at her with a staring expression. Her face reflected honesty and fatigue. She was full of love and patience. He couldn’t help himself but say:

“You are very beautiful. America helped you to become even more beautified. The shelters here made you age faster…”

“I knew you would say that, my dear Dobrin…” replied Rumena, and turned towards him with her hair let down.

Rumena was now avoiding the usual quarrels she had had with Dobrin about his shortcomings with the authorities who refused to recognize his contributions. Now she smiled more often and was more kind to him. But her thoughts were still directed towards the future, often thinking what life would be like...

But now, after a lengthy denial, it was clear to her. Perhaps that was why Dobrin was sick, she thought. Her sad memories again brought out haunting thoughts and she began to feel the pain of their embittered life. Both Rumena and Dobrin were thinking the same thing; all that remained of their lives was roaming in shelters and argumentation.

“My God, the injustices truly make me sick! And I blamed you for this all this time...” said Rumena to Dobrin.

Sometimes Rumena stood there self-absorbed in her own thoughts and wandering imagination, waiting and hoping that times would

change. “Perhaps the time will come when there is justice and prosperity, at least for the young, for my Delian…” she thought to herself. Similar thoughts also ran through her head when she looked at Dobrin, now sick. “I hope Delian does not inherit our anathema…” she thought to herself.

In socialism, during their lives, parents only leave a stretched black-red thread for their children. People may ask themselves: “Who is that young man? Why are they not helping that boy? That young man comes from an anathematized family and no one has said anything good about him. You will be mistaken if you think differently. The fruit of the pear does not fall too far from the pear tree. The past does not lie.”

Slightly frightened and somewhat upset, Rumena wanted to forget things. She said to herself: “What a horrible thought that is! Should we even think that people will never change?” She shook her head and, in a low but sad tone of voice, said: “Only God has the power and strength. Let him do everything in his power to fix things…”

She no longer believed in anything. These were just empty phrases she had heard from other people from her past. She remembered them and spoke them like old worn out objects which she had discarded from her head.

For some reason she thought of people who cut their hair short, down to the skin, and then their skulls became sunburned and their eyebrows dense and dark just like the people who threatened the future.

She held a photo of Dobrin in her hand. Dobrin had sent her this photo from Taishot, a city in Siberia. He looked like one of those people. He was wearing a rough, grey coat. His boots were untied and he looked like a bag full of lice-ridden rags. He was an enemy of the revolutionary fatherland, an enemy of the people. He came out of the cold cells all re-educated and rehabilitated. She now loved and clutched that photo tight in her hand because it told the whole story about her husband.

She remembered the Party slogans that went something like this: “Send the suspicious types to the camps to carry out their sentences. No investigation is needed! No prosecution is necessary! Because it will lead us astray and will give them time to recover. The Party Secretary’s word is enough. The Secretaries are the sons of the Party...”

One morning Rumena stuck her face against the window glass and stared at the shelter for a long time.

Her heart was gripped by anxiety. She wanted to visit some old people she knew. She dressed herself in one of her aunt Frosina’s dresses, tied her hair in a bun, put a number of old-fashioned rings on her fingers and in her hands she held a large purse with a shiny buckle on it. On the way there she felt strange and uncertain. Part of the reason was her high heeled shoes. They made her look taller but also unstable on her feet. But, at the same time, gave her special charm, as if she was an older lady.

“What joy? What happiness?” said the first woman that met her on the way.

The perfume that emanated from her body filled the hallway and made the women envious as they inhaled the aroma of this American frankincense, like Henry Maruzelski’s wife had told her.

Each of the women she passed by wanted to invite her to her home. Rumena, however, was happy and glad to be invited to Lina Dinevichina’s home.

“You look beautiful, Rumena,” said Lina while pulling a hair off her dress.

“Well, America is America. What can we do? We are still drifters here. We will fight with these creatures here…” replied Rumena as she squashed a cockroach with her leather shoe.

“Why do you look so sad?” asked Rumena addressing Mitse Dinevichin. “You look like you lost a game of dominoes.”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that…” answered Mitse sounding like he was involved in some sort of partisan conspiracy.

“Okay, okay, tell Rumena what’s ailing you, she is one of us. Whatever it is you are hiding will come out sooner or later…” said Lina to her husband. Mitse adjusted himself and leaned forward, as if confessing to the Party. He then grabbed his chin and said:

“We experienced a schism between us. Now nobody is talking to anybody. We are deeply divided on the conceptual issue of constructing socialism.”

“I don’t understand why…” said Rumena. “I can’t believe it’s true!” she concluded wondering why.

“The people are becoming belligerent and don’t like each other. They are beginning to give up on the fundamental tenets of the labour movement. This was an unprecedented act. Do you want to know more?” asked Mitse.

“Yes,” answered Rumena curiously and continued. “It is nice to get rid of the craziness…”

“Good! Then I will tell you. But are you sure?” asked Mitse wondering if it was a good idea to tell her these things.

“My dear Mitse, if I was not sure I would have said so!” answered Rumena and then said: “Only yesterday Dobrin said to me:

‘Forgive me, Rumena, but it looks like I am obsessed with what you love. I spent my entire life filled with empty illusions about everything.’ This is what Dobrin said to me...” concluded Rumena.

“If that is so, why then are you not spitting in my face?” said Mitse indignantly.

“Well, that’s the way it is!” replied Rumena.

Mitse began to laugh out loud. “Why are you laughing so much if you are so unhappy?” asked his wife Lina.

“Am laughing because it will be much worse if they turn my soul upside down like they did to Alekso Shlipkovski,” replied Mitse.

Rumena became upset and began to curse.

“Control yourself, Rumena! No need to raise your voice!” ordered Mitse.

“You can do what you want! I don’t want to discuss this matter any longer…” said Rumena abruptly. “Why? Because you personally have a long-standing experience with the Party?” asked Mitse indignantly, considering it as one of the key issues.

“Well, you get nothing for it nor will anyone be guaranteed anything for it. It is like a forgotten love. But in love one usually has photographs and love letters. But in the case of the Party what do you have? The Party card?! And what will that buy you today? What can you get today from the interest of your membership?” asked Rumena laughing out loud.

“Why are you talking like that? You were happy to have seen America and now you spit on everything? You surprise me! It is very unusual for a revolutionary woman and a leader of the revolution to speak like this!” said Mitse.

“What are you trying to tell me? Do you still live in delusions or what…?” replied Rumena.

Rumena was not done with Mitse but at that very moment she thought of Dobrin and his condition, which made her sad. She could not find an answer for the thirty years or so of suffering. It was also hopeless arguing with people who had no understanding of what it was like to be on the other side of the receiving end.

“Do you know what is happening to all of us who are in the shelter? Surely you do not! Those who returned from Poland are all revisionists and believe in nothing. And those who returned from Romania are neither here nor there. Go ahead and build socialism with them. Czechoslovakia… they all fit best in self-government.

But what is amazing is that several of them who returned from Hungary keep to themselves and refuse to accept the Red Army’s intervention. Only we from Tashkent… we have a strong stand, we are unwavering internationalists. This is called loyalty not bullshit. Some see something of capitalism and change their minds… just like you...” said Mitse to Rumena with an angry tone of voice.

“You surprise me Mitse…” replied Rumena while stepping on another cockroach that crossed her path in front of her legs.

“You say I surprise you? What would you say if I told you that some of us are marked men…?” said Mitse.

“How and why are you marked, my good man?” asked Rumena curiously and indignantly.

“Just like that! When the Greek King came here for a visit, several of us were taken into custody. When Khrushchev came they did the same. Now, a month ago, King Haile Saile came here and the same was done. It would appear that any time a statesman comes here we get the same treatment...” explained Mitse, the teacher from Dolna Prespa.

Rumena burst out laughing and finally, with tears in her eyes, said:

“Look, you say are internationalists! But in America, Canada and Australia our people know nothing of such things. Only here we are nurturing the mind with such escapades…” said Rumena, but before she was finished Mitse interrupted her and said:

“Control yourself, Rumena! Don’t step on our ideals. There are many who negate our labour movement and socialism in our glorious history and we don’t need any more…” said Mitse in a firm tone of voice.

“That’s the way it is, my good man. It’s usually the victims who are the biggest believers. But did you ever wonder why? Think about it. How could you have been deceived if you were not a victim of deception? I am certain we have been deceived about this

revolution, and even more so by whom… and it is by their doing that we are here in these shelters wasting way. Do you see what is happening here?! They are a breed of internationalist snouts, strong and adapted to life… indestructible… and I know they follow us around everywhere. They get under our skin… drain our blood… and ruin our minds. Nothing can destroy them except if we all get out naked and burn these shelters down along with our destiny, because if we don’t do this we will suffer to death in them. Maybe then our minds will rest, there will be no one to spread the infection and we will all be healed...” replied Rumena.