Chapter seven – Secret way to the “fratricidal Cemetery” in Strashilovo

Chapter seven – Secret way to the “fratricidal Cemetery” in Strashilovo

The day before the “Golema Bogoroditsa” (Great Virgin Mother) holiday, waves of warm air and ghostly silence caused anxiety, anger and restlessness in the souls of the people who stood there and waited for twenty minutes for Krsto Krapov to arrive. Krsto was going to take us to the “fratricidal cemetery”, but when he arrived he said: “The place there is wilderness. No one has maintained it for half a century. The trees have overgrown and everything has changed; there is not even a path now. But I will take you there because I want to visit the bones of my brother.” Krsto’s mouth was dry and he had trouble speaking, especially about the horrible things that he was about to tell us...

Mount Vicho is an untamed wilderness with its beautiful sharp peak, dense forests covered with tall beech trees and with its many water springs. Kostur can be seen from its peak which, from this distance, looks like it is resting in a hand. The Lerin fields can also be seen from there. Many Macedonian freedom fighters and their enemies have died here during the Ilinden era and during the 1940’s fighting to protect their homeland. The place is littered with the bones of the bravest Macedonian heroes.

“Only the bravest climbed Vicho and only they were capable of meeting the bears and wolves face to face,” said Krapov.

We were moving like tired horses. When we passed through open spaces the sun relentlessly beat down on our heads and backs. Our pace was strange too as we felt like our feet were bound with rusty iron chains. We walked on top of sharp rocks all covered in green grass and moss. And all the while we felt like we were surrounded by blood-thirsty beasts lurking around us in the thick forest.

The place has gone wild, everything has changed and now fear rules the land... Our concern for our past has brought us here, a half a century later. Our need to be here has given us the courage to overcome our fears…

We stood there agape in the pious silence while we looked around long and hard at everything and listened to the various noises in the wild...

With a sad look on our faces we passed by dead villages that had once thrived. We walked over the old paths, now overgrown with grass and brush, and avoid stepping on the rubble. Taking pictures are now the only sounds made that disturb the peace. We took photographs of the ruined houses with open doors and broken windows. Often we were startled by birds flying out of the ruins, landing on the tall trees and curiously looking down on us.

The fruit trees, whatever was left of them, have already lost their fruit. The over-ripe fruit had fallen off the trees onto the dry grass where it was rotting. Every one of us took photographs to record this historic occasion and to show our friends back home...

“The people who lived under the Mountains in Vicho, Kukuli, Rundzel, and as far as the eyes can see, are now gone and no one knows where they are. All we know is that they are not here, they are gone forever…” said Krapov and cried out: “People! We are here! This is the great “fratricidal cemetery”! Buried here are the bones of our fathers and brothers!”

I looked at Krapov and thought to myself: “Thank God! We finally arrived! We finally found the place described in a blood-stained letter a half a century ago!”

As soon as we arrived Krapov sought out the special trees and looked for signs written on them that identified the exact spot of the cemetery. Enjoying the aroma of Zdravets (geraniums) and lavender made my eyes shine and made me feel like I was falling in love for the second time with my native land. I walked around feeling nostalgic and remembering the aroma and colours of flowers, which reminded me of my deceased mother whose garden was full of roses.

We walked for about five to six hours, listening to Krapov narrate detailed segments of our tragic history, testifying to the “fratricide” that took place in this dark forest.

When the sky became red and the golden rays of the rising sun in the pure blue sky sparkled in the far east, a white winged bird peacefully and serenely took to flight. It seemed like the old bird wanted to welcome us in this beautiful green and peaceful valley full of aromatic scents. The bird flew towards the mountain peak and disappeared in the clear blue sky. The peaceful silence slowly crept along the paths of dawn. It was a unique moment for all of us, which felt like our hearts were tied to every moment, to every sight of nature.

Unfortunately those feelings were short and fleeting and we were quickly reminded why we were here. That’s when we began to feel the turmoil, the darkness of Satan inside us, the heavy bells of Hades ringing inside of our heads.

As we approached the entrance of the cemetery, we felt like lightning had struck the ground, a huge underground tomb opened up and swallowed the sky with its flaming tongue. Along the way the ground was sloping and covered with large intertwined roots sticking out of the barren soil. Awestruck by the sight we took many quiet, gentle and unsure steps, strangely creeping towards the great “fratricidal cemetery”.

Perhaps somewhere in the cemetery there will be something written to indicate whose bones are buried where or at least who is buried here. Everyone went on a search looking here and there, slowing down and asking questions, trying to identify to whom the bones belonged; father, grandfather, brother, uncle, cousin, friend, villager… calling out the name and then moving on to the next grave hoping to find what they are looking for. Some looked up towards the sky and stared at the blue. Then, suddenly, we heard an insidious scary giggle coming from high above and wondered: “What could it be? What was happening? Perhaps the assassins were up there puling on the strings of our destiny?”

We all heard the giggling sound and looked up. We then heard a voice saying: “The bones are yours but the mountains are now ours!”

We all rushed out of the wooded area and found ourselves in front of a stone avalanche…

As the stones passed us by we felt the freshness of the air, we all felt sweat run down our necks, but our attention was focused towards the Strashilov Vir locality.

When we arrived at the old branchless tree we could not help but stare at the shiny moon that was so shiny, its golden rays were reflecting on the water in Strashilov Vir locality, which further verified that we were indeed in the right cemetery.

The next thing we did after that was trample over the thick ferns and tall mountain grass. We were all intoxicated by the aroma emanating from the crushed ferns. After that we each left to pursue our own personal quest. At that point Krapov approached me and said: “Under us lie the bones of our fathers and brothers...”

For some reason we felt compelled to whisper or keep silent, perhaps because we were afraid. Then, after coughing out loud, one person said: “This is the scariest place at night because wild beasts lurk in the thick ferns and we have invaded their territory. Perhaps this is God’s will that we too die here like our fathers…”

Krapov, at that point, turned towards the mountain and said: “The people who lived under the mountain peaks Vicho, Kukuli and Rundzel were caught between the gunfire coming from both the tops and bottoms of the mountains. The ELAS fighters were firing from the top while the Kostur freedom fighters were firing from the bottom.

At that time the people in these villages were on constant alert, every day dashing here and there trying to do their chores while yelling and crying. Their cries, pleas and curses were heard in heaven, especially after their homes were burned to ashes and they, who survived this calamity, were forced to leave their ancestral land forever. Everyone who lived here in war time had a story. Unfortunately, with every passing year, more and more of those who fled have died and their stories died with them.

Krapov suddenly looked strange, like a poor shepherd who had lost his flock. He then wiped his tears and continued:

“The bloodiest drama took place here in this meadow,” he said. “The Macedonian freedom fighters were murdered right here. Special fighters from the ranks of ELAS were selected to gather and liquidate the Macedonian freedom fighters who had already left the Macedonian rebel bands and had joined ELAS. They were murdered with daggers. The ELAS fighters responsible for liquidating them had orders not to shoot them. They were ordered to take them alive and slaughter them like lambs, one by one. They did that here in this meadow… committed their sins to achieve their dreams and to destroy ours… This is where the lights went out for our Kostur heroes and protectors of our homeland and identity… here is where they fell in silence, which no one now remembers. Let this day be a day of recollection, of tribute to our fathers and brothers whose blood was spilled here half a century ago…” said Krapov with watery eyes and then went silent.

I remained silent that entire night! I was dumbfounded by Krapov’s testimony and by the cold night air which extracted the heat from my body, leaving me trembling. Everything looked pale under the light of the moon.

Everything was silent now in this new-found cemetery. Not like the days when it was our fate for our cemeteries to multiply, a time when our bones were crushed every day of our lives.

I remained alone and to my own thoughts the rest of the night until morning. I took the opportunity to reflect on many things. My only desire was to still remain alone and from the looks of the others, I was sure everyone felt the same way. The break of dawn drew my eyes to the heavens and I watched the sky slowly change colours until it eventually turned blue. Another furtive giggle came from the heights above, followed by the words: “You have left your dead un-avenged and forgotten.”

What will historians write about this? I thought. Nothing!

I got up and walked around as if someone invisible was guiding me. I wondered who was laughing at us.

Perhaps it was one of the assassins looking down on us, pulling the strings of our fate? Maybe I imagined it… maybe we all imagined it because we were feeling burdened by the search for the bones of our fathers and brothers?

As I stood there, my blood boiling and seeing stars, I got the feeling that I was caught in a time vortex and was opening wounds...

I remembered this night, between the covers of night and day, and all day and night I thought about history and arrived at the closed steel gates. I was looking for traces of my father’s footprints but I did not find them... They had been covered up a long time ago, washed away by the rain of bullets.

It is night now. The moon is dim and we are all alone, even though we are all together. No one speaks, no one understands and no one remembers. All the bones are here without the likeness or the form of human skeletons.

I tried to remember my father’s smile as I sat on top of his grave, looking down at his bones. I thought of many things from our past, the joys and good times we had when I was a growing, young boy sitting on his lap. At the same time I am trying to quiet the tear in my right eye, about to drop on the palm bone of my father’s hand. I want to ask him: “Dear father, do you think of me? Do you remember how I was growing in your hands… or have you forgotten me because you were afraid and felt chills under your skin and twinkling fingers in the palms of your hands?! You know that your hand was the most trusted thing that protected me. I always looked for it... And in this black dawn I still persistently look for the shadow of your hand. Your hand for me has always been a faithful, fatherly shield.”

My words ran out. My mind went blank. Everything was mixed up, everything was wrong, it was the wrong time. And like the people of Kostur often said: “Where the hell did the Greeks come from?”

There was no answer, only silence and emptiness in this dark dawn. I felt sick deep down inside of me.

Morning was nearing, the new blood-red sun was about to be reborn in the east.

At that very moment, a child sitting in the lap of a young woman who had traveled there to visit the grave of her grandfather, who was a Macedonian freedom fighter, began to cry wanting to be breastfed and as its tear fell on the scattered bones it marked the beginning of fifty years of historic Macedonian destiny…

What will historians one day write about these people? Nothing! No one will even mention them. They will not be mentioned anywhere!

Suddenly there was a mighty roar. I was startled… I was overcome with fear… There was no doubt in my mind that a big bear was coming… This was bear country and the place where we were standing was its territory…

Krapov stood still and listened in silence. As I watched him I thought the reason we are filled with so much fear is because all this time he spoke about so many horrible and frightening things.

What other choice did he have? We needed to know what happened and he needed to let us know. Had he kept silent and told us nothing, the curse would have continued because no matter how terrible the truth is, it must be known and remembered. One cannot sleep over the bones of dead people and not know the truth about how they died, no matter how horrible. There are many frightening things that have happened about which people have written. Many frightening things have happened to these people, to our people, about whom we need to write. Even about the owner of the knife which he drowned in blood. It is impossible to forget the shining blade of the dagger that cut the throats and gouged the eyes and other parts of our ancestors, and more recently the throats of our brothers, who, one by one, waited their turn to be slaughtered like lambs while their comrades watched the executioner stain his hands with their blood. How can twisted faced Mite the butcher be forgotten, whose face became twisted and warped from his evil-doing, from playing with

his knife and cutting heads off as if he was harvesting ripe watermelons. How can we forget his fits of anger while stepping over the spilled blood of our brothers, fuming, engulfed in this great ideological fraud.

* * *

The war was raging all over… that’s how I remember it.

I don’t know what a researcher will write about us and all our people. Probably nothing! The people will probably not be mentioned anywhere!?

I remember when Kostur and Kostur Region smelled of death and when the Greek communists were offering us “Brotherhood and Unity”. That was not done in the interest of peace, but in the interest of power...

Everything was done in the name of the people. The ELAS fighters were full of egoism, hatred and lies and were ready to commit violence against the Macedonian freedom fighters. There was a lot of misconduct and fighting. Anything was possible! Morality and immorality!

ELAS from the left, with the “Brotherhood and Unity” integration project, continued to pit Macedonian against Macedonian. It was important for the Greeks that we be part of such a project… until we became strangers in our own country... Time has shown that Siantos (CPG) and Tempo’s (CPY/CPM) tricks worked and they were successful in pitting brother against brother.

Only the Macedonian freedom fighters were proud people and aware of our history, of our revolutionary struggles, of Ilinden, and had dedicated their lives in the defense of Kostur until they all died. They had no other homeland. The Macedonians who were outwitted by the communists, on the other hand, found themselves wandering around the world because, as it turned out, they were not “Greeks by genus”.

Krapov lit a cigarette and began to smoke it while talking without interruption. He was full of questions about our past, about our people who lived here and cultivated these lands; about the people who cut wood from these forests and grass from these meadows; about the shepherds who herded the sheep and sometimes laughed deep from their hearts when they were told how many of us now live abroad.

While visiting the “fratricidal cemetery” I found a yellowed piece of paper in my vest pocket and on it I wrote: “Why are we Macedonians, everyone against everyone?! Why are all against all?!”

We are people that equally feel pain. We cry and feel sad the same way. Today we found the cemetery and the bones of those who fought and died as brother fighting against brother, but have we learned everything? Half a century later we found the cemetery with their bones…

But, the people from those times are now gone. The people from these villages who dashed around every day yelling, cursing and crying are now all gone. The people whose voices and cries were heard in the heavens are gone. The people whose cries were heard while leaving their native lands, cursing while leaving their flaming homes burning left everything and, half a century later, have not returned.

Suddenly there was another mighty roar. I was again startled in the dark and there was no doubt in my mind that a big bear was approaching. This has been its territory and home for many years...