Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Pop Vasil said to Stefo: “Go ring the bell… after that go and make sure that the teacher is in the school.”

“Should I say something to him, father?” asked Stefo.

“Right now there is nothing special to say. Just tell him I want to see him later. That’s all,” replied Pop Vasil.

After morning prayer, which most women attend, the people went to the school. They were all dressed in their best clothing and had gathered in the school yard. Running around in the circle among the men were the younger children, the older ones were standing on the side.

“Why are the comrades not here?” asked Lazo.

“Because they are not…” Mitre responded. “They are probably still sleeping or Kirevitsa is making coffee for them...”

The men laughed out loud. Lazo turned to Kuze and said: “Go and see what’s going on. Tell them to hurry up.”

Kuze soon returned and was followed by Kiro.

“What’s going on Kuze?” asked Lazo.

“Wait… Kiro will tell you,” replied Kuze while panting.

“Okay Kiro, tell us, don’t keep us waiting!” demanded Lazo with a raised tone of voice. “What’s going on? Where are our comrades?”

As soon as Kiro arrived, he greeted Giorgi and reached out and shook Mitre’s hand. He then looked at everyone present and said: “The comrades, comrade Lazo, are gone, where they went they did not say. A number of people came here late last night and asked them to come outside. A tall man spoke to them quietly and after that they packed up and left in the dark. A woman who was with them said: ‘Greet Lazo for me. We need to quickly get back up

there…’ Where ‘up there’ is they did not say. Lazo, maybe you know?” asked Kiro.

Mitre came close to Lazo, grabbed him by the sleeve and, while shaking his arm, with a hoarse voice said: “If I was in your place, Lazo, I would not have let them go. What are we going to do now? We will not be opening the school!”

The teacher came out, faced the crowd and raised his hand signaling that he wanted to say something. When the voices subsided he said: “People, the most important thing is not the presence of the comrades. Right now, the most important thing is to open the school so that I can start teaching, right? Comrade Lazo, you and Kuze need to say a few words first then I will let the children in… Please start.”

Lazo looked at Kuze and Kuze at Lazo.

“Let’s go, let’s go…” said Mitre gesturing with his hand for them to get going, “one after the other… don’t be shy...”

Lazo went up the stairs and stood on the top step. From there he looked at the schoolyard. It was packed with people.

“Dear people!” he yelled. “Many of you were asking yourselves why we were repairing the roof of the school. Now you all know. Some of you learned when you were repairing the roof…” Lazo paused. His throat felt dry and he began to lose his voice. He had never stood in front of a crowd and made a speech before; this was his first time speaking publicly. He looked around, flapped his arms and continued: “I, people, don’t know how to speak well. The public speaking was left to our comrades who came here last night but it appears some urgent matter led them away. So now that we are gathered here, I can say only this: Let this first school bell be good for us and for our children… and you, teacher, our teacher, go ahead, be the first to take the children in. Go ahead!” said Lazo and with a wide swing of his arm pointed at the school door.

The teacher, who at the time stood beside Lazo, shook Lazo’s hand, turned towards the crowd and said: “Children, first I want to say a

few words to you. I want you to know and to remember that this day is your day. Today you will be stepping over the threshold of the school and it will be like stepping into a new life. You will be stepping into a world of letters and books, books that will take you to new places and new worlds. But never forget that this is your world. This is where your loved ones, your neighbours and all the people in your village live. This is your world of fields, meadows, forests, blue sky and that sun shining upon us... I also want you to know and to remember that this day is the day of your fathers, older brothers and sisters who are now on the battlefield armed and ready to fight for you so that you can have this… what is ours… a Macedonian school... in which you will learn the language of your grandparents, your mothers and fathers and no one will scold you, beat you, belittle you or shame you because you speak Macedonian. Let me also tell you… today, just two hours ago, school bells rang out all throughout Macedonia inviting all the Macedonian children to go to Macedonian schools... We here are a bit late... And when I say all Macedonian children, I also think of those in the Vardar and Pirin parts of Macedonia...”

The teacher paused for a moment, looked at everyone in front of him and continued: “I also want to tell everyone gathered here that this is the first school year in Macedonia, in spite of being divided, that Macedonian students are learning their own… our Macedonian language. You, dear children, be good students, smart and bold because many people including your parents will be depending on you to lead us to a better future. You are Macedonia’s future. Macedonia will be what you want it to be, what you imagine it to be... And I will teach you to read and write... After me, someone who knows more than me will come and teach you more and more until you know more than all your teachers... and now I will give one primer for every three children to share... That’s all I have... One day everyone of you will have your own primer and many notebooks and pencils...” concluded the teacher and, with his hand, invited the students to pass by him. He then handed out the primers, entered the school and a moment later came out holding a school bell in his hand, raised it above his head and began to ring it.

After the children went inside the people began to slowly disperse all excited about finally hearing a school bell ring in their village.

Several older people still lingered on in the school yard sucking on their tobacco pipes, releasing tiny clouds of smoke into the air and leaning of their canes. First to separate from the group was old man Mitre, who stuck his nose and moustache against the glass window and looked inside the school. The others stood behind him and looked and listened to hear what the teacher was saying. Kiro, the shortest of them all, stood behind everyone and could not see a thing, even after he raised himself on his toes. Lenka’s Pando, that’s what the other old men called him, who stood in front of Kiro, turned around and angrily said to Kiro: “Stop pushing, Kiro. What do you think they are doing in there, selling alva and none will be left for you?”

“Move, move over you… let me see what’s going on in there…” whispered Kiro, not wanting to speak out loud and disturb the teacher. “Move, move I said…” said Kiro and shoved his head under Pando’s arm and with his mouth wide open and with watery eyes, looked inside. The teacher was walking between the desks touching the children on their heads and when he came to the blackboard said: “Children, that’s all for today…”

“Oh, damn it!” whispered Kiro and excitedly slapped Lenka’s Pando on the back. Pando, startled, swore at Kiro but in a very happy tone of voice.

“What the hell!!!” Kiro yelled out. “Why are you swearing at me, all I did was ask you to move...?”

Nikolche came home offended and threw the bag that contained several Greek books on the floor and said to his father: “Daddy, none of your ‘calimera’ (good morning in Greek), ‘jasas’ (goodbye in Greek), ‘paron’ (present in Greek) and ‘kirie’ (sir in Greek) were acceptable in the school today. The teacher told us to greet each other in the morning with the words ‘dobro utro’, during the entire day with the words ‘dobar den’ and during the evening with the words ‘dobro vecher’. When we departed he told us to use the words ‘doviduvanie’ or ‘dogledanie’, and when we meet each other to use the word ‘zdravo’.

A week or so later, the old men were sitting on the porch of the church carrying on a conversation. They were discussing the teacher. One of them, hitting the floor tiles with his cane, said: “He is some teacher, eh? He wears no eye glasses and no brimmed hat, has no part in the middle or side of his head and wears no pomade gel in his hair… And look at how he is dressed? Boots, military pants and a military hat and belt. No! I say he is not a teacher. He sees an old person and what does he say? Good day Grandpa, good day Grandma... all he does is say good morning, good day, good evening, how are you, how are you doing…? He will ask you if you want ‘tobacco’ or a ‘cigarette’ and he will give you one. He does not speak Greek and will not scold anyone who speaks our language. He never scolds the children. And they, the little rascals, pay attention to him and praise him. He does not beat them like the Greek teachers did for speaking Macedonian… He is not like the teachers before in front of whom we had to bow and be the first to welcome him and say ‘kalimera’ (good day in Greek), ‘kirie’ (sir in Greek), zito i Elas (long live Greece)...” concluded the man, pausing for a moment, looked up and then said: “Can you believe it… He then went to church, lit a candle in front of an icon, crossed himself and said: ‘Thank you, thank you, Mother.’ in Macedonian…?”

Talking about Kiro, they were saying that he spent his youth and ruined his health far away from the boundary of his village. Immediately after his “problem” occurred he fled through Serbia, Austria and Italy and went to America. He left five family members behind; his father Nakie, mother Dina, brother Nikola, sister-in-law Sofa and, two years before he married her, his fiancée Mara. Before the Balkan wars he took his brother to America and his brother then brought his wife Sofa. After the Great War, Kiro tried to return to the village but the Greek authorities refused to allow him entry because he had a Turkish passport. By then the Greek authorities had also confiscated his property because he was considered a Turkish subject, not a Greek. In order to allow him to return to his home, Greece asked him to give up being a Turkish subject and become a Greek. They took him from office to office until they finally found someone who advised him to quickly become a Greek citizen because: “If you do not receive a Greek citizenship soon, you will be expelled to Bulgaria as a Bulgarian... And not only you, but your entire family...”

Kiro had no choice but to become a Greek subject if he wanted to return home. He had a lot of photographs of himself, in some wearing a fez on his head looking like a Turk and in others wearing a brimmed hat looking like an American.

During the time when the Greeks were changing the names of the villages and towns by law from Macedonian to Greek, Kiro took Giorgi and again went to America. This time as a Greek subject. In America they worked for three years before the “big economic crisis” put them out of work. Kiro again had no choice but to return home and face a greater crisis.

When he returned he found only Mara and his mother Dina at home. His father Nakie had been lying in a grave for almost a year. Then, when he learned that the factories in America were opening their doors again, he applied to go but by then new regulations were brought into effect and Kiro was amongst the first to be affected by them.

Kiro spoke no Greek and he hardly spoke any Turkish or English or any acceptable languages required by the authorities. So he decided to speak Macedonian to them, which almost landed him in jail where for sure he would have been beaten and forced to drink castor oil and eat dry salted cod. But he was lucky they did not nab him because Kiro was a well-traveled person and knew how to keep his mouth shut. Immediately he began to speak English to them, which fortunately for him they did not understand… But because he spoke English, they decided to let him go… but watched him. When Kiro went to Kostur, Rupishta or any other town, he always took Giorgi with him. Giorgi was his closest neighbour and best friend and spoke enough Greek to keep them from getting lost in the cities and from being nabbed by the authorities for not speaking Greek.

Kiro always had money and sent plenty of it to his wife at home but was left without children. His wife Mara suffered the most from that. But that’s not what people saw in her, especially the woman in the urban centres like Kostur, who marveled at her with envy when they saw her in her “American” dresses. They called her the “American” woman and watched her do her rounds in the

marketplace and then dash over to the Kostur post office to see if a cheque or a package from America had arrived in the mail.

When Kirevitsa (Mara) went to Kostur alone she often brought American footwear with her and, before entering the city, would hide in the bushes, remove her village slippers and socks and put on her American stockings and high heeled shoes with straps and wear them on the streets to spite the jealous and envious women that gawked at her. It was truly cold but it was female jealousy fought with female defiance.

And so, once a week, Mara took her morning stroll in Kostur as a sophisticated American woman and by afternoon returned home to her village. The moment she came out of Kostur, she threw her American stocking and high heeled shoes into her bag and walked home barefoot.

She was never happier than when she heard Kiro say he no longer wanted to go to America. A year or so later, her mother-in-law died. While mourning his mother, Kiro thought a great deal of his own youth and the years gone by. He also thought a great deal about Mara’s loneliness and her evaporated youth. He decided to make things right.

He wrote to his brother Nikola in America and asked him to use the money Kiro had left in a joint bank account and secure him an architectural plan for a house, never before seen in his or any other of the surrounding villages. Kiro then found a company in Solun through which he purchased all the materials needed and, with the blessings of Pop Vasil and the masterful hands of the builders from the village Nestram, built a home of stone and covered it with French tiles. He did not build the usual kind of yard with a high wall. He built a low wall and added an iron fence on top of it with an iron gate at the front. At Mara’s insistence, he reinforced the gate and added the old wooden lever from the old house. The biggest impression left by this project was the two tall and wide verandas fenced in by carved posts of oak wood. Now, in his old age, Kiro divided his time, spending some time in the lower and some time in the upper veranda. The lower veranda allowed access to the front

door and the upper veranda housed the icon of Sveti Nikola. They both faced west in the direction of the sunset.

From here, from his verandas, Kiro could see a large part of his world. In the bright sunlight he could see Stenite, a grey rocky hill extending from south to north. Beyond there were the Kostur fields and then the lake. To the left was Pretselo. That’s what the place with all the fields and forests beyond them was called. Over there was Lobanitsko, a large pine grove and past that, was the tall and treeless hill Mali-Madi. Under Mali-Madi was Kosinets, behind that was Labanitsa. These were villages that were burned during the Ilinden Uprising but which had recovered. Shining under the southern sun were the white walls of the houses located on the hills and mountains made of stone, bleached by the baking sun and washed by the rain. Further to the left of Lobanitsko were Trstenik, Kapeshchitsa and Bilishcha. They were located beyond the River Telok which ran under them and which, in earlier times, divided the people who spoke Macedonian from those who spoke Turkish and now speak Albanian. Located to the west was Krlevitsa or Kralevitsa. When the people were plowing there they found broken bricks, thick pieces of ceramics, pots and shards of clay pipes. Over there was the Sveti Giorgi Church and below that where the brook flows, near Turska Niva, was the border and from there to Dolno Paprasko was Karchitska Reka. Beyond it was Novoseleni and located on the same hill over there were Shak and Revani, now populated by Madzhari. Past our view was Aliavitsa. To the south was Mount Gorusha. Located under Gorusha was Gorno Papratsko and on top of that were Odreto and Orleto. Located under them was Ezerets and the chestnut forests. Hence all the surrounding villages together with the forests, meadows and vineyards were called Kostenaria; a name derived from the many chestnut trees that grow there.

From his verandas Kiro could also hear all the church bells from the surrounding villages. Unfortunately the church bells rarely chimed these days. In fact the church bells in Grleni and Gorno Papratsko had gone completely silent. The ones in Kosinets and Labanitsa were heard chiming once in a while but they chimed differently, sometimes fast, sometimes short chimes and sometimes a mix. They were calling something but what? An alert? A gathering…? Up until

last year, in Krchishta before the grape harvest, the church bell was ringing to warn people of approaching Madziri coming to rob their homes. The Madziri were plundering entire villagers. People were leaving their jobs with pitchforks, shovels, hatchets and axes in their hands and running home to save their houses. They defended themselves. The young people who now are in the mountains and forests responded to the call of the bells. Even when they were being mobilized by DAG the recruiters used the church bells to assemble them. All that’s left now are the old people who have no need of bells. They all know what three rings mean… someone has died. Now there are rarely any happy rings… of birth, baptism, marriage, or holidays...

From his verandas Kiro, during the day, could see the partisan units passing through the meadows of Nova Cheshma. Sometimes he would call Mara so that she too could watch them marching by. Sometimes Mara would call out to her neighbours and tell them what she was watching. The village women would often grab their basket full of food and run over to the Sveti Giorgi church to greet the fighters. They knew that the partisans would be passing by the church so they ran over to offer them pieces of freshly baked homemade bread, boiled wheat, buns, apples, a jug of wine, or a bottle of rakia. And those who looked like their own sons; they gave them pears, warm woolen socks and sweaters. All the others received boiled wheat and bread. They also offered food for the souls of the dead and for God to look after the living.

The only church bells Kiro hears nowadays are those of Gprno Papratsko and Grleni. The Madzhiri have fled to Rupishta, Maniak, or Dupiak and now spend their time close to the barracks where they are stationed and in front of the stores where they receive their daily government donated food of bread and salt and canned meats and fish donated by UNRA (United Nations Relief Agency). Their bells are silent.

From his veranda Kiro looked to the right and there, under Mount Gorusha, he saw Gorno Papratsko and Grleni and in the grey mist he saw Ezerets and high above it were Odreto and Orleto. Under them were Lovrade and Snicheni. There are no Madzhiri living there now but the surrounding villages are mixed. Kiro remembers the times

when the bells went silent and when they again began to ring in Gorno Papratsko and Grleni. It was during the Greco-Turkish war. It was then that they (the Madzhiri) came here, barefoot and almost naked, from the desolate Madzhiri lands located beyond the White Sea. After the Turks left many Muslim Macedonians were expelled to Turkey.

It was during that time that a man from the Greek government pulled the rope (rung the church bell) to inform the people that the empty villages would be again filled but not with Greeks, with new people, foreigners, because at that time even before the Madzhiri occupied the homes of the exiled people they were referred to as Turko-phones. Even before they were settled here they too became victims of Greek ridicule by being called “Turko-phones”. The Greeks used every opportunity to put them down and put them in their place by making fun of them and by embracing them by every means possible.

In spite of that, the Greek state gave them its support and helped the Madzhiri build schools, restore old churches and destroy mosques. The newcomer women deposited in the villages Gorno Papratsko, Grleni, Revani, Shak, Popole, Osheni, Sveta Nedela, Galishcha, Dobrolishta, Chetirok and other villages wore baggy pants, colorful aprons, and white head kerchiefs to hide their faces from the men. The newcomers did not speak a word of Greek. They spoke Turkish, Armenian and other languages. Because of that, the Greek state viewed them as dirty, wild and filthy Turko-phones. They planted tobacco, corn and pumpkins and nothing else. They were not familiar with harvesting grains. During the fall they took to the hills and filled bags full of wild pears with which they made jam. The best jam the people of Kostur had ever tasted. And because they already lived among Macedonians and interacted with them in the market place and in other places, they quickly learned to speak Macedonian and not Greek. Kiro remembers the conversation he had with the priest in Galishcha. They met at the Rupishta market. Kiro spoke in Macedonian and the priest looked into his eyes and in Turkish said: “I don’t understand you Christian…”

“Do you speak our language?” asked Kiro.

The priest again answered in Turkish: “Iok! (No!)”

Giorgi, who was then with Kiro, addressed him in Greek and asked: “My friend is asking how you, a priest, don’t know Macedonian?”

The priest did not reply.

“Ask him of he understands Greek?” said Kiro.

“I speak some Greek,” said the priest. “But I understand more than I speak.”

Kiro, through Giorgi, asked: “In what language do you communicate with your people?”

“In Turkish…” replied the priest.

“In Turkish?!” asked Kiro. “How come, Father, Turkish?” asked Kiro in Turkish.

“Do you know Turkish?” asked the priest.

“Do I know Turkish? Like a true Turk…” answered Kiro. “Please, Father, join us in the café for a coffee and we will have a conversation in Turkish. Please joins us, it’s my treat.”

This is how Kiro met Pop Panaioti who came from Asia Minor and who spoke Turkish with his flock.

“Father Panaioti,” said Kiro, “let me ask you, do your people understand you in church when you read to them from the church books?”

“Iok, my friend... I don’t understand, let alone them,” replied the priest.

“How come you don’t understand? You are a Greek priest, how can you not understand? You do read to them, don’t you?” asked Kiro.

“I read to them...” replied the priest.

“And what you are reading, you say, you don’t understand?” asked Kiro.

“I have learned to read the words but I don’t understand what they mean... By now I have learned a few of the pages in the book by heart and that’s what I use in my liturgy… When I cross myself the people cross themselves too...” replied the priest.

“Poor Father Panaioti, you wear the frock and hat but the words you preach have no meaning for you...” added Kiro.

Pop Panaioti smiled, but barely noticeably, tapped Kiro on the shoulder and said: “Kiro, if it was only because of the frock and hat, here they are, they are yours, put them on and see if you can understand, eh?” replied the priest.

Kiro was not expecting such a comment and laughed out loud, knowing that Pop Panaioti was just joking.

Before leaving, Pop Panaioti asked: “Kiro, Kiro, you devil, let me ask you this; Pop Vasil is a priest in your village, right?”

“Yes he is!” replied Kiro.

“So, when you see him ask him if he understands what he reads... and if the people understand him?” suggested Pop Panaioti.

“Please father Panaioti, in the Lord’s name… The people understanding…?” said Kiro, crossed himself and continued: “They don’t understand what ‘kalimera’ (good day in Greek) means, let alone what Pop Vasil preaches to them in church in Greek… Please don’t make me laugh again like earlier...”

In the old days, under Ottoman rule, people spoke in all languages in Kostur and no one bothered them. But later, after 1912, they spoke less and less and not so much in public until all languages, outside of Greek, were banned. People only spoke Greek in public. Turkish was spoken in private and in secret and so was Macedonian. Pop Panaioti had to learn Greek, some Greek at least, to get him by…

But he could count on Kiro to keep his secret and, in private, converse with him in his native Turkish language and share his grief with him.

Pop Panaioti once said: “Kiro, we came here from far away, from where the sun rises. We faced a lot of hardship on the way before we reached here. This place is nice. It is thriving with green vegetation, has fertile soil and plenty of water. We came from a desolate place but we loved it and suffered for it. We left our departed ancestors there… and our childhood and youth. It seems to me that it would be best for me if I had died there, where I was born… I would be at peace there. See this stone? I took it with me when I left and brought it here. I kept it warm near my heart and brought it here. This is from my fatherland, from my country. It’s a stone, Kiro, you may say it is something inanimate; it is dead… it does not speak, laugh, mourn and has no regrets... it’s a stone that someone might toss at you or you might toss at someone… It’s a stone... but...”

“A stone too is soil… soil from your homeland… a part of you…” said Kiro with a sober tone of voice and continued: “Even if you throw it here, bury it in this country, it will not do because it is not from here and no grass will ever grow around it... It will roll, someone will move it, someone will kick it... everything has its own roots and needs to be rooted where it belongs...”

“Dear Kiro, they uprooted us and we have no peace in our hearts and souls. Even though your country is tame and calm, we feel like strangers here... we feel like strangers in this country because we have no stones of our own here... I always think of the stones I left behind, there over the White Sea...” said Pop Panaioti.

The old people were able to distinguish between the various tastes of the water and the tenderness of the various morning winds. They passed their time mostly in solitude and, from time to time, spent many nights having conversations about their past and about the future. Dearest to them were the conversations about tomorrow and what was to come. The young, those who already wore the Greek uniform and buried an occasional person from their kind in the new habitats, slowly began to put root there. Kiro, not once but many times in conversation with Giorgi, said: “When you bury someone

close to you in some place, then you start to feel like that place belongs to you…”

And so they (the Madzhiri) began to bury their loved ones in their new places and the places felt like they belonged to them. And the more they felt the places belonged to them, the more they hated the people with whom they were destined to live. Some of the people who were brought from the southern parts of Greece to serve in these regions of Macedonia, according to discussions they had with the more affluent Madzhiri, were told: “Mother Greece brought you here from hell and gave you shelter over your heads and a country; which is now yours... If you know how to protect it, it will always be yours. And you can have more of it, if you drive these Slav barbarians out...”

And just after the war ended and ELAS was demobilized, the Madzhiri began to slowly emerge from their habitats and reach out to the Macedonian villages, ruthlessly cutting down their forests. And before a tree was about to fall, they yelled: “pese Vulgare” (fall down Bulgarian in Greek). “Vulgare” was an insulting and derogatory term referring to a Macedonian person.

Many Macedonian people complained to the authorities but all the Greek government did was make all kinds of promises. The Madzhiri, in the meantime, kept cutting Macedonian forests. Then in the spring of 1943 they took their ox carts, donkeys, mules, horses, guns and Italian made grenades and began to pillage the Kostur Region villages. They attacked at dawn or at times when the people were at work. In villages where they encountered resistance, or heard the occasional burst of gunfire, they backed off and waited for the police or the gendarmerie to enter the village first, then they followed... And when the words “In combat, in combat, in combat Macedonian nation...” were heard in the forests, mountains and village squares, they abandoned the villages. They packed their bags and took to the road and went east, but no further than Kostur and Rupishta and the larger surrounding villages which had gendarmerie or military garrisons.

The truth is, not all of them were like that. Many followed the same path as the Macedonians, which led them into the mountains and

forests from where they fought against the government troops… from the same ditches… and died along with many Macedonians... Kiro knew the people, their families and their children who were killed in Gorusha, Kopanche, Mali-Madi, and beyond Aliavitsa.

There was a bitter taste of disappointment left in Kiro’s mouth with regards to the pillaging and the attacks conducted by some of the Madzhiri. There were also moments when he had doubts about the slogans of “brotherhood and unity” that were often heard from the likes of Lazo and Kuze. Kiro was also disappointed in those who roamed the villages and informed the people about what “tomorrow” would be like, if they sacrificed their lives today.

From his veranda, in the meantime, Kiro observed the battles taking shape in Gorusha and Aliavitsa and the flashes and thunder of shells exploding. He often watched a grey or black puff of cloud appear over Orleto and Odreto and a few seconds later “boom” the sound of an explosion. And when two, three, four, five… puffs of smoke appeared it was as if the place had been hit by a wild thunderstorm.