Chapter 12

Chapter 12

It was a holiday morning and not a soul was out in the yard, not even in the village streets. There was only snow, a lot of snow, bending down the branches of the trees under its weight. The wind that blew wildly and howled in the windows and around the chimneys during the night had subsided. It was quiet and peaceful everywhere. The smoke from the chimneys was traveling straight up. Up until midnight the entire church was bright from the light of the many burning candles. The people were celebrating Christ’s birth but it was a quiet, silent celebration full of reflections, sighs and tears. Thoughts of those out in the snow and cold, of those who had not come home, not even for a visit, were circling around in the people’s minds. This was the first Christmas that no carols were sung; no people gathered together to spend the night in celebration, to tell happy stories of old and to sing festive songs. Even the children’s stories that the old people told were short. The people simply went silent.

They returned to their homes much earlier than usual that day, went to bed early but could not sleep. This was nothing new; it was a regular routine that they followed nowadays. Come home early, go to bed early but rarely sleep. They sat by the fireplace or by the wood stove for a while and stared at the fire, exchanged a few words just to show their presence and then continued with their heads down and eyes wide open, taking long and quiet sighs and shedding secret tears. They sat at home but their thoughts traveled along the roads, rivers and brooks and made their way through the layers of forests, beyond the hills and into the mountains... they wanted to be with their loved ones even in the worst of times.

For some a year had passed, for others half a year, three months, two months… since their loved ones were taken from them, handed a rifle and sent to fight. In all their thoughts a single question dominated: “Is he alive? Is she alive?” And their greatest desire was: “For their loved ones to return home alive!” They also had many other wishes especially for those currently fighting: To be protected from deadly bullets, to be healthy, to have dry socks and shoes, to have warm sweaters and hats to protect them from the wind, to be warm and not freeze and to have a backpack full of bread and a dish

full of hot home cooked meal. These and many others wishes were turned to hopes and prayers, quietly and sometimes secretly whispered in front of icons. They wished and hoped that their homes would once again be filled with the entire family and bring back the joys of living. A holiday is only a holiday when the entire family is together at home...

The dining table in Mitre’s house was never without people. But there was always one place left unoccupied and waiting. Those days, especially during the holidays, it was much more difficult at Giorgi’s place. Giorgi and Giorgevitsa were alone and of their three sons only one remained, Vasil, and he now had become their greatest living pain. They had heard nothing from him since he was taken… Giorgi and Giorgevitsa sat in silence facing one another and in their silence they were looking for Vasil, wondering who to ask, which way to go and how to find him. And they were not the only ones… You would be surprised how many like them there were out there…

Giorgi went to the window and stared at the curvy road leading to the water tap. The window fogged up from his breath. This reminded him of another sad time and brought back his old pain...

“Giorgi!” called Giorgevitsa timidly. “It will be ‘Vasilitsa’ (New Year’s Day) in a week. Go out and do what you can to clear the snow from the yard. At least clear a path… we will be receiving guests… to celebrate Vasil’s name...”

“Okay, okay… good idea…” replied Giorgi and sighed. “You do some baking and bring out some wine… from last year... Of course we will entertain guests… as always...” he added.

Giorgevitsa sighed and in her silent loneliness, deep down in her heart, all she wanted was for Vasil to be alive and well and to return home…

As the days passed more snow came down along with blizzards and snow drifts. But, as required by old customs, the couple was determined to celebrate ‘Vasilitsa’, the namesake of their son Vasil…

In Bisera’s house where there once was a houseful of people and much ruckus; there was now only one lit candle. The long table was set, as it always was, and on this day, on ‘Vasilitsa’, it was waiting. Ten chairs, ten plates… Placed in the middle were zelnik, burek, maznik, oriznik, poparnik… And added in each was something; a grain or two of wheat, rye, barley and corn so that the New Year will be fruitful and the barns will be full of grain, and the barrels will be full of wine. An oak leaf to bring good health and make the forests lush and wide, make the trees grow tall and green. A stalk of hay so that the meadows will be green and the yards full of sheep, and bleating lambs. A branch of dogwood so that all the people in this house, their relatives, friends and everyone will be healthy and free of diseases and their bodies will be as strong as the dogwood tree. Hidden somewhere inside one of the pans of pastries was a coin. The one who gets the pastry with the coin will be graced with good fortune... And finally, in the centre of the table rested a jug filled with wine for everyone to sample; to live a long healthy life together as a family under one roof…

Several big dry oak logs were simmering in the fireplace giving off mild heat and gently warming the house. Bisera tossed another log, a smaller one, which suddenly gave the fire more life. The flames began to dance around it creating shadows on the wall. This was an old fireplace which has kept this household warm and living for a long time. For as long as there was a fire and someone to add fuel to it and stoke it, this household would remain alive… was what was going through Bisera’s mind...

It was quiet outside. Snow was falling like pieces of torn cotton. A white layer was growing on the window sill and slowly overtaking the window. The north wind was howling in the chimney and clouds of smoke were filling the entire room. Bisera’s eyes were burning and quickly filling with tears. Bisera looked outside, her heart felt tight in the silence. Silence was her constant companion. She turned and looked at the table. This ‘Vasilitsa’, nine places were empty. Evil had touched this house and left much emptiness. Bisera felt bitter and crossed her arms. She looked at each chair and each plate with loving eyes. She then looked at the bounty on her table and her eyes filled with tears. Life in this house was unfurling through her...

The evil came last year and took three persons when the dogwood trees were flowering. They said they had seen them in the snows of Gramos, the three were charging during an attack at night. They said two of them were left there forever... When they were digging the vineyards they said that the owner would not be sending his greetings because a bullet took him down and now he is decomposing somewhere in the beechwood forest under the Prekopanska plain. They arrested the daughter-in-law about three months ago and locked her up in Kostur. The father-in-law passed on in January and the mother-in-law on Mitrovden. There is no letter or word from the oldest son, who is surviving his second year in the Aegean island prisons. No letters are coming out from there. The second born, a daughter, who at age eighteen was taken, armed and sent to fight, lies wounded in Korcha. From last ‘Vasiltsa’ to this one, the house has been empty...

Bisera was looking at the plates and hugging the table with her looks. It seemed to her that everyone was there and that she was hugging them and warming them with her sighs... Bisera got up, quietly went closer to the fireplace and added more wood to the fire. She again looked through the window. The snow had covered the path and the footsteps left behind by people passing by. She turned around and stood by the table exactly where her husband sat. She turned her eyes towards the icon which, who knows for how long as been hanging in that corner. She sat down and watched the oil lamp flame dance and sway back and forth creating moving shadows on the wall and a great big shadow of her. Two women; Bisera sitting in her husband’s chair at the table seeming as if she was resting in her husband’s strong arms and the Virgin Mary blackened with soot from burning candles with a child in her arms and with wide, sad eyes, looking at her. And between them a table arranged with nine more spaces… and an oil lamp with a flickering flame. They were waiting and each was feeling her own pain while time was passing in the twilight. The burning wood crackled in the fire. The north wind howled. The snow completely covered the paths. A dog was heard howling somewhere in the lower neighbourhood...