BROTHERHOOD UNITY - Part 02

During the Main NOF (People’s Liberation Front) Council meeting a checklist of people expected to speak and the sequence in which they were scheduled to make their speeches was made. Then after some discussion it was decided to welcome a representative of the women’s division responsible for digging trenches and carrying logs and stones for building bunkers in the Vicho Region. But despite the warm welcome there were some opposing voices. “And what will an uneducated woman have to say?” the AFZH (Women’s Anti-Fascist Front) secretary for Kostur Region was first to object. “How will she react in front of so many people? I understand these women’s capability to heroically carry large and thick logs uphill to build bunkers, but to speak in front of so many people and especially in front of Zahariadis, that I don’t understand. Why have her speak, I ask you?” “Well, you know,” replied Paskal with a conciliatory tone of voice, “this may be true but these women working in the terrain represent a very important part of the general effort to stop the enemy and I think it is good for at least some of them to welcome the Congress.” “I am in agreement with comrade Paskal’s idea. He is right and no one else. We have already decided how we have decided, why have we returned to this subject again?” said Vera with a tone of protest. “I think, through the entire discussion,” she loves to use some foreign words because it makes it seem like she has a richer vocabulary than the others, “according to our friend, is if there is a need or not to allow a woman to speak, so to say, a woman who is working in the first lines on the front. Is it or is it not like that?” “Please friends, let us not continue with this. We have decided what we have decided, but the problem remains. It is true that they are ordinary women, uneducated peasants. But, I think among them we will find a smart, shrewd and let me say more intelligent woman,” said Paskal with a conciliatory tone of voice, “and let us prepare her, teach her what to say and how to say it, okay? I suggest that Vera, who is a good speaker, accept responsibility for finding such a woman. We all agree, right?” Women, mobilized to transport wounded during the Lerin battle, were detained and temporarily settled in an underground hangar dug in the shaded beechwood forest, located between Zhelevo and Psoderi. Men were also detained but settled in separate hangers located near the Prespa and Koreshnitsa Region villages. Jointly this group of people was called the “working Brigade” which worked in two shifts, day and night. The workers got up early in the morning, ate breakfast consisting mainly of sheep’s cheese and stale bread and at sunrise began to work. Axes cutting, saws scraping and the occasional shout “look out tree falling!” could be heard all day long until the mountain’s shadow on the other side fell on the forest. Many beechwood trees fell under the axe and saw. Cleared of their branches, the hard and heavy logs were measured and cut at four, five and six meters long. The heaviest logs were pulled uphill by oxen and the rest were carried on the shoulders of women. Step by step all day long until dusk, oxen and women moved slowly uphill, bodies trembling from the weight of heavy logs. After dropping off a log at its destination they took a short rest, enough time to wipe the sweat off their faces and gather some strength, then following the same path they descended again to pick up more logs. The night shift, consisting mostly of women, was tasked with carrying the same logs on their shoulders and transporting them over open space, over the bare hills where other women and men, escorted by DAG (Democratic Army of Greece) fighters, carried and placed the logs over dugout holes. The logs were piled over the holes in rows. First a row of logs, then a row of rocks and soil then a second perpendicular row of logs on top followed by more rocks and soil. The process was repeated five, six, seven, or eight times.

Vera came here to find a suitable woman to welcome the Congress of NOF. First she met with the sector commander and political secretary to whom she announced the purpose of her visit, or as she put it, to fulfill her “task in the political struggle” and requested to be allowed to meet with the women. Her request was granted and they took her to meet with the head of the working brigade. A tall, slender stocky man, whose moustache Vera openly admired, led her to see the women of the night shift. “During the day,” explained the moustached man, “we can’t work in the open space. The women are resting.” “And why are you not working?” inquired Vera. “Because this here is a battle zone, constantly monitored by the enemy. We need the cover of night to dig trenches and transfer logs to build the bunkers…” “And where are the bunkers? I don’t see any bunkers,” interrupted Vera. “Of course you can’t see them because they are covered with branches. They are ‘camouflaged’ as they say in military words,” explained the moustached man. “Can I see one?” inquired Vera. “Since you are from High Command, I don’t think the sector commander would have a problem… It’s a military secret, you know… Follow me. There, under the branches, that is a bunker. From the distance it looks like a small wooded hill,” explained the moustached man. Vera entered from the west side. The sun was shining inside through the two machine gun hole openings. She went closer to one of the openings, looked outside through it and asked: “What is this hill we are standing on called?” “Iorgova Glava,” replied the moustached man. “Is it high?” inquired Vera. “Yes it is,” replied the moustached man. “How high is it?” asked Vera. “It is 1858 meters above sea level,” explained the moustached man. “It is very high up here… Especially to carry logs?” said Vera in a sober tone of voice. “Yes, this far and even further…” added the moustached man. “And what is the name of those mountains to the left, to the right and in front of us?” inquired Vera. “To our left, the great one is Bela Voda… To our right is Chuka, following is Moro and Lisets and past that is Mali-Madi…” explained the moustached man. “You can see Mali-Madi from here? I know that mountain very well…” interrupted Vera. “And in front of us?” “In front of us is Lundzer. Like a palm, Lerin can be seen from there, the entire Lerin Region flatland, Kaimakchalan, and even Vicho… To the right of Lundzer is Golinata, then Kulkuturia, further to the right the elongated one is Plenata… and behind the Plenata is Baro, Roto, Glavata, Kresto, Plati…” continued the moustached man. “We have very beautiful mountains… Are they all ours? I think that they are all under our control,” inquired Vera. “Yes, all of them,” added the moustached man. Vera moved away from the machine gun hole. Looked up at the cover and asked: “How many rows of logs are there above our heads?” “Five rows of logs and an equal number of stones...” explained the moustached man. “That’s a lot. If we build this kind of bunker all over these mountains, then truly, as our comrade Zahariadis said, our enemy will never pass Vicho. And who brought these long and thick logs all the way here?” asked Vera. “The women… and… and the oxen…” explained the moustached man. “How could the women have done this!?” asked Vera with an astonished tone of voice. “Yes the women carried the logs on their shoulders…” responded the moustached man. “The women you say? So we have very strong women, right?” asked Vera. They came out of the bunker. Vera turned facing east and before her she saw wide open space. Delighted, she shook her head and with a sigh of admiration, said: “No one is going to eject us from here! Now let us go to the women.” “Ladies, I come from the Central Council of NOF and bring you warm greetings and gratitude for what you are doing here. Comrade Zahariadis, our favourite and clever leader, also sends you his regards and gratitude. I came here today to tell you that the Second NOF Congress will be held soon and important decisions regarding the continual struggle and full participation of our people will be made in which you will also participate.

It is therefore necessary that you speak in the Congress and inform everyone of what you have done and how much you have contributed to the struggle and to personally thank comrade Zahariadis for leading us and our fight to victory. I don’t know if you understand me, but from now on I will speak with simpler words. During the Congress you will tell everyone everything you have done until now and what needs to be done from now on for us to win. Is that okay or is it not okay? I understand that it’s okay. I understand very well that you want to tell everyone in the Congress, especially comrade Zahariadis, what you have done and what you are doing and how much you believe in victory. But all of you can’t do that. Only one of you, who today you will select, on your behalf, there at the Congress, will tell everyone how you work here on the second front. You will select her and she, there in person in front of Zahariadis and in front of all the others, will tell everyone how you work here, how you believe in victory and I know that you believe in victory because you trust the Party and Zahariadis…” continued Vera. Vera, involved in her own speech until now, failed to notice that many of the women were sleeping or dozing off, leaning on their elbows. Exhausted from fatigue and sleeplessness, the warmth of the day had put them all to sleep. Vera took the hand of the woman closest to her and yelled at her: “Why are you sleeping? I am talking to you here about the Congress, about our victory, about Zahariadis and you and the others are sleeping! You should all be ashamed of yourselves…” “Young lady,” the woman quietly said, “leave us for a while and let us take a nap, to regain our strength… You can speak as long as you like much to your delight. Everything you say let it be the way you say it but please let us sleep for a while. I hear you. We know how to sleep with our eyes open… we walk with logs on our shoulders and sleep and only then, when someone trips or falls, then we wake up and stand on our feet and we go uphill, uphill, uphill… and you, young lady, can talk…” yawned the woman and fell asleep. Vera could not hold back. She stood up, slapped her dirty boot with her whip and yelled out: “All of you, all of you listen and pay attention when I speak. If you act this way then you have no faith in victory! What do you say? Who are you going to appoint to represent you?” “Take Evgenia. She has worked at this job the longest and is the most talkative of all of us here… Take her!” a voice was heard saying. “Okay ladies, it seems we have solved that problem. Now who is Evgenia? Are you her? Good. Today you are going with me where you are needed,” commanded Vera. Vera rode a horse while Evgenia and her courier followed behind on foot. They arrived in Zhelevo before nightfall. The NOF village committee responsible for lodging people accommodated the three in Stavrovitsa’s house. There, while alternating between spooning lentils without oil into her mouth with a wooden spoon and breaking chunks of dry rye bread without salt, Vera, with a slight smile and an insulting tone of voice, asked: “Stavrovitse, are you feeding us your leftover lentils from two days ago?” “Vera, this is what God gave us today,” responded Stavrovitsa and, while placing the earthenware jug with a slightly broken mouth on the table, said: “We have no bread because we donated all of our wheat to the struggle. We have no roasted meat to serve you because, with your help, our sheep and goats were taken in aid of the struggle. Our plates, spoons and forks, again with your help, have all gone to the struggle. And now Vera, three days ago the struggle took our oxen along with the yoke… With what are we now expected to plough our fields?” “Come now, don’t complain. Our friends from the democratic countries have already started loading trainloads of tractors and other machinery that they will send us. The question now is who is going to operate them…” said Vera with self-assured confidence.

Stavrovitsa crossed herself three times and, with the palms of her hands, covered her face, mouth and eyes to hide her astonishment and got up and went to the next room. Then through the open door said: “I will prepare your beds here…” Vera stopped spooning the lentils into her mouth and, while collecting crumbs off the table, stared at Evgenia’s face wondering if this simple village peasant had the ability to give a speech? She remembered the other women praising her, telling her that she was the most talkative, most assertive, most self-assured and bravest of them all… There were moments however that Vera blamed herself for this, for having accepted the task of finding a woman to participate in the Congress. “It is easy for those who can read written words and written slogans,” she thought, “but I must teach her word for word not only to make the speech, but also how to make it… It is best I write it down.” Happy with this thought she asked Evgenia: “Can you read?” “No, I can’t. Why do you ask?” inquired Evgenia. Vera did not respond. They walked all day and finally reached Nivitsi. At the checkpoint before the entrance into the village Evgenia was detained. Vera’s explanation and assurances, even her threats to complain to Main Headquarters and even go to Zahariadis himself, were not cause enough to satisfy the security people. Not even her certificate which identified her position in large Greek letters was of any help. The patrol commander returned Vera’s certificate and said: “Her,” pointing at Evgenia with his handgun “take her to command and you, comrade, be on your way…” Vera grabbed her horse and went to the house where command was stationed. “Move out of my way!” she yelled at the guard and, after tying her horse to the fence, kicked the door in with the heel of her boot and went inside. “Where is your commander!” she demanded. “I am him…” replied a young man. “Are you now!?” asked Vera with an astonished tone of voice. She did not expect that such a young person could be a commander. “And do you know who I am?” she asked as she shoved her certificate in front of his face and, as if expecting no reply, she raised her voice and said: “You sit here and daydream, while your constables out there are detaining my people!” By the time the commander recovered from Vera’s surprise ambush, two militiamen brought in Evgenia. “Here,” said Vera “is the woman who needs to work with me. Evgenia, come here and don’t be afraid. And you, I want you to immediately give her a pass and make two copies! Write down that she is a delegate of the NOF Congress.” The commander opened the folder that lay on the table and, dragging his finger along the list, said: “A delegate by that name is not on the list…” “Damn you, if she is not on the list then put her there, she is my responsibility and I made the list; give it to me so that I may sign it for you! And don’t forget my name, understand? Let’s go Evgenia. And don’t be afraid, I will tell your superior that you are with me, who by the way is a good friend of mine. Goodbye and farewell…” During dinner Vera, without a break, continued to look for words needed to be woven into the content of Evgenia’s speech. Like beads collected and strung on a string, she selected the right words and strung them together into meaningful sentences filled with expression and influence for those who needed to hear them. “Evgenia,” Vera called out as she pulled out a fishbone lodged between her teeth, “you have to give each word power, colour, meaning, warmth, clarity and all the words must radiate confidence and trust in our leader, our Party and NOF, certainty in victory and hope for its speedy end… Finish your dinner and go to bed. I will go to the office to meet with my friends from the council.” The next day Vera and Evgenia first went to examine the village church, Sveta Bogoroditsa, where the Congress was scheduled to be held in two days. The village’s narrow cobblestone lanes were jammed with all kinds of people including many wearing military uniforms.

Woolen covers, blankets, overcoats, old army blankets with Greek and Italian markings, were all hanging to air out in the breeze all over the village outside of windows, on fences and on balconies. Fires were burning in the yards boiling clothing in large cauldrons in need of a wash. There was a guard at the church entrance inspecting all who entered. Evgenia went inside and was shocked to see what was done to the church. She turned to Vera and with a choked voice, asked: “What have you done to this sacred place? Why have you placed white sheets over the walls and covered all the icons of the saints? Look what you have done to the altar!... In front of what should I be crossing myself now?” Vera smiled and asked Evgenia: “Do you see what’s over there?” “Where?” asked Evgenia. “Where the altar was, over there, can you see it?” repeated Vera. “Yes, but there is no saint… And who are those people in the large photographs?” asked Evgenia with surprise in her voice. “The man with the moustache is Stalin, the greatest leader, and that beside him is Zahariadis,” Vera announced proudly. There was an expression of dismay in Evgenia’s eyes but she said nothing… not a word. They left the church. Evgenia looked at the clear, cloudless March sky and without looking away, quietly said: “Here, outside, one can breathe much easier, right?” “Oh you poor Evgenia, I can teach you faster to read and write than I can to give a speech…” commented Vera. This was the second day that Vera was teaching Evgenia to speak. “Your voice should be determined, confrontational, courageous, provoking and harsh and when you speak about Anglo-American imperialism, speak mockingly. And your look, your look Evgenia, when you speak about the enemy, should be heartless, silently loud and sparks should fly out of your eyes. Your head should be proudly held high and your stare should be eagle like and full of disdain, it should convey death, retaliation, fire, heat… And when you look at the first row where comrade Zahariadis sits, you will look with confidence but lovingly, mildly, warmly and sweetly like milk and honey flowing out of your mouth… Do not forget. We have now discussed your voice and your look. And now we will discuss your movements. Your hand and head movements, Evgenia, are very important especially your hand movements, they can show dignity, determination, impulsiveness, rage. For example, when you speak about the struggle, you must raise your left hand up high, always remember, the left hand not the right, make a tight fist and turn to the east, I said east, because Vicho is in that direction. You will then shake your fist hard making threatening gestures…” “Wait, wait,” interrupted Evgenia quietly. “The altar is on the east side of the church, the Virgin Mary is there… Should I be threatening her? That is a sin; it is a great sin to be threatening the Virgin Mary…” “Okay, don’t do it in the east…” murmured Vera. “The west then?” asked Evgenia. “God protect us! Albania is in that direction. We will offend Enver Hodzha,” replied Vera. “Then how about the north?” asked Evgenia. “We can’t do it that way either… Do you want to threaten our Macedonian brothers?” responded Vera. “What about south?” asked Evgenia. “Let me think about that. What do we have south of us? South of here we have the seat of our Headquarters and our Central Committee. You know, it would be best if you don’t raise your fist too high. Just a little above your head. That would be best… Ah, good thing I remembered! Do not forget to occasionally stop and call out some slogans for our comrade Zahariadis, slogans such as ‘for our struggle’, ‘for DAG’, ‘for our fighters’. First and foremost you should call out a slogan about our comrade Zahariadis, you should greet him first with a warm and sweet voice… tell him that he is the greatest and most beloved son of the Slavo-Macedonian people…” explained Vera. “And why, Vera, should I not say ‘Macedonian people’, are we not Macedonians?” interrupted Evgenia.

“You will say what I tell you!” replied Vera angrily. “We are what we are but Party politics and Zahariadis want us to be Slavo-Macedonians. Whatever Zahariadis says, goes. He knows what’s best for us…” “Maybe it’s like that,” responded Evgenia after being silent for a long time, “but we at home, in the villages and up there in the mountains always call ourselves Macedonians… And now you tell me that we are some sort of…” “And never, you cursed woman, ever mention Tito or Lazo. If you do our heads will roll in the mud. You will remember that!” interrupted Vera angrily. “I will remember about mine, but about yours I am not sure…” said Evgenia and laughed out loud. “Please do remember…” replied Vera. The next day from morning to evening the two, one beside the other, walked the narrow village cobblestone lanes, passed by the compost heaps, descended down, passed by the dung laden waterhole, muddied by the oxen and then took to the lakeside coast. There away from the listening ears and prying eyes, the kind that follow people and lurk at every corner and tell and re-tell everyone what they heard and saw. Away from the women who carry tables and chairs, heat ovens, bake bread, cook meals, shake bed covers, pillow cases and area rugs. Away from those who secretly watch and whisper wondering what possible secrets Vera could be telling that strange woman? Everyone in Nivitsi of course knew Vera. And even though they all carried on with their jobs, their thoughts were with Vera and the strange woman, who now sat at the coast, took her socks off and submerged her feet into the cold, lake water. “Vera,” said Evgenia, turning her head away from her, “your feet and socks smell bad as if something died in them… Toss them in the water before we get attacked by vultures; please for Virgin Mary’s sake…” “Come now, don’t worry so much. It is fashionable for fighters to be like that… Do you know how long it has been since I have had a shower? The only showers I have had lately are rain showers…” replied Vera. “And the lake, is the lake too small for you?” Evgenia asked sarcastically. “The lake is not small, but I rarely have time. Here, for example, instead of getting a good wash with hot water, I am spending my time teaching you and still I have not finished teaching you… And do you know how much time it takes for you to learn our ways? Such is our struggle…” replied Vera while shaking her head. “Do you want to stay dirty?” asked Evgenia. “This, Evgenia, which you said goes contrary to my liking… Watch what you say, because for such things one can go to Drenovo, under a wall…” threatened Vera. Evgenia, as if she heard nothing, kept rubbing her feet with sand and splashing water on them: “We, Vera, in the brooks and in the woods from where we take logs, when we have a bit of time, we splash water on our faces, foreheads, necks, underarms and between the legs. We are clean enough not to attract flies. And around you and the others up there, at!...” Evgenia pointed at her big thumbnail, “flies this big circle around them… Go ahead, ask Risto…” “Which Risto?” asked Vera. “You know, Risto, our commander. He always tells us, ‘Wash so you don’t smell. It is embarrassing for a woman to stink…’” replied Evgenia. “And he, what did you call him, Risto, is he the moustached man, is he a bit of a woman chaser? Does he grab women there in the grove, maybe in the gullies or the brooks? To ask you to be clean and not to stink like something dead, eh?” asked Vera. “Vera, you have a foul mouth. He, he is like Christ to us. You have heard of Christ haven’t you?” replied Evgenia. “Forget about Christ. If he behaved himself he would not have had to hang from a pole. He was not a revolutionary like us, but wanted to do things with kindness and with good words. And that is why the Jews, with the help of the Italians had him crucified. And don’t talk about flies any more… We fight against them as well. We fight against everything that stands in our way of victory. I have been teaching you for many days and you still seem to be uneducated.

Look at you, you now mixed Christ into all this!” Vera snapped angrily and tossed a rock into the water. “Did you see that?” Vera pointed at the place where the rock landed in the water. “That is what we are going to do to all our enemies… Did you see that? Plunk and it disappears…” Evgenia adjusted herself, collected her wet socks and when she tried to stand up, Vera asked her: “And you, where do you think you are going?” “I am going to the women. My place is there. To help them do laundry, bake bread, cook, and shake lice out of clothing… Take someone else and teach her how to spread feathers… Vera, in this that you call struggle, I did not walk in blind. I gave it everything I had and if I had more I would give it. All I have left is my own life and you are prepared to take that too… And if you ask me to give my life, that too I will give you…” replied Evgenia. “Come now, sit down and wash yourself. Who is more outspoken than you? No one! Only you deserve to speak tomorrow at the Congress in front of Zahariadis. You speak the way I taught you and everyone will praise you. Come, humour me. The struggle needs that. Do you understand me?” said Vera. “I understand very well, but what and how much others understand, that I don’t know…” replied Evgenia. The opening speeches were scheduled to take place during the afternoon of the second day of the Congress. Vera stood behind the stage, waited for the hand-clapping to subside and then announced: “And now here to welcome the Congress is Comrade Evgenia, responsible for transporting wounded, digging trenches… Please Evgenia come up and tell us your role in support of the struggle and your personal fight against the enemy… Please come up on the stage…” Evgenia, looking shy, with her head slightly bowed, straightened up and slowly climbed on the stage. Vera gave her a hand, leaned over to her ear and whispered: “Be careful you don’t fall…” “Don’t be afraid… I am steady on my feet… don’t be afraid… Go back to your place…” Evgenia whispered back. “And like I told you,” emphasized Vera, “gently, only gently, very gently… start that way, the way I taught you…” Looking at Vera, Evgenia closed both her eyes letting her know that she understood and then climbed the stairs that led to the stage. She paused for a moment, looked at the hall and noticed the many people present. She stepped on the stage and someone showed her where to stand. She looked around. She felt faint and weak in her knees, her throat tightened. She looked into the hall again. She noticed Vera sitting in the first row, motioning with her head, giving her encouragement. She slowly walked to the podium and leaned on it. She looked again. Sitting in the first row were Zahariadis, Mitrovski, Ioannidis, Bardzotas, Gusias, Koichev and Vera. Except for Zahariadis, all the others sitting in the first row had crossed their legs and wore long, well polished leather boots. Sitting in the second row were the Brigade and Battalion Commanders. Evgenia recognized Pando, Lambro, Naso and Ahilea and as she looked further she saw prematurely aged men and women wearing black. Their eyes looked gloomy and dark. And when she noticed that they were all looking at her, she felt a lump in her throat. She had never seen so many eyes looking at her before. But the most penetrating and pressing eyes were those of Vera. Her gaze pierced her, probed her and for a moment Evgenia in her thoughts attempted to uncover what more this woman could possibly want from her. She could not figure out what fears and doubts lurked behind her smile and face. At that moment she felt immeasurable pity for her. She coughed quietly and with a pleading tone of voice Evgenia began to speak in her Kostur Region dialect: “Ladies and gentlemen, comrades, dear commanders and fighters of DAG, Party nobles. Greetings, my name is Evgenia, greetings to all of you here, to the fighters in the mountains, to those in the hospitals recovering from serious wounds and from every kind of ailment and to the women dedicated to the service…

I bring you greetings, I am Evgenia the woman who they say has cared for many, many wounded, carried many heavy logs and stones and dug many trenches… They told me…, this is what they told me, in the name of all those like myself, to give a speech at this Congress. I told them, ‘I am a simple village woman, how can I give a speech in front of so many important people, in front of the heroes of DAG…? I know how to till soil, collect crops, bake bread and look after the house… Here… I gave birth to children… they have grown healthy… They have grown big, my dears and may they be safe and healthy and may God protect them…’” Evgenia paused for a moment, looked up at the church ceiling and felt Almighty Christ looking down on her with his wide open eyes. She felt like crossing herself, like praying, but remembered what Vera told her the day before: “Don’t do it, you will insult all the communists…” So, in place of prayer, Evgenia swallowed the lump stuck in her throat and continued with her speech: “They grew big and healthy, they grew up, up there and joined the struggle, and the younger ones, the younger ones… I am saying are now in the [Eastern European] countries, they… how do you say…? Oh, they are in the republics of the people’s democracies… The truth is… I have been carrying wounded, logs, stones, digging bunkers for two years now, but I am not alone. There are many with me, but like me they are very tired with sore shoulders, blisters on our hands and feet, lacking sleep and hungry. The women, the wounded and all those left behind in Bela Voda, Mali-Madi, Lundser, Bukovik and the other war zones, and many from outside of Lerin and from inside Lerin are very tired, hungry and suffering… Thank God and the Virgin Mary for keeping me alive and well and here I am before you, speaking to you. And what should I speak to you about? It would be best for me to once again wish you good health and not speak any more. There are others here who can speak. They know how to speak better than they know how to carry logs and wounded, dig bunkers under fire while bombs are dropped on them. They know how to speak better than they know how to endure the thunder of cannon and mortar fire and to avoid being cut down by machine gun fire…” Vera jumped up and signaled Evgenia to get to the important point. Evgenia noticed and resumed her speech: “It is best that you ask me some questions or would it be better if I asked you some? But first let me tell you something. For two days now, Vera, our comrade sitting there in the first row, two days, she has been teaching simple me how to give a speech. She told me first and last to greet our great, smartest and most…” here Evgenia forgot what the third most was… She paused for a moment, thought hard but could not recall what it was… What was it? Vera gave her a signal and quietly said, “son, son…” “Ah, I remember now… and the greatest son, yes, son, the greatest son who leads us from battle to battle… so we may fight…” Vera from below was counting on her fingers, “and led us from victory to victory and for that may he be clever and well to lead us from battle to battle, to battle, to…” Evgenia was interrupted by a lone loud voice calling out from somewhere in the centre of the church: “Long live Comrade Zahariadis!” “Zahariadis, Zahariadis, Zahariadis!” roared the entire assembly in the church. Everyone stood up and clapped loudly and shouted out the name of the greatest son. This was the first time Evgenia had heard such loud shouting. When she recovered and the hand clapping and shouting subsided, she continued: “Long live he and the others. I can see him well from here. He is sitting quietly in the first row… and he is looking directly into my eyes. I too from here am looking directly into his eyes… and… I want to continue to look directly into comrade Zahariadis’s eyes. I want to ask him about many things that come to mind when I carry wounded young men and women on stretchers, in blankets or in overcoats, when they die in my hands, when they beg me to help them, when they are thirsty and hungry, when they can’t move because their legs are frozen or badly wounded.

At those times I tell myself ‘when will the day come when I get the chance to meet and see, how do you say, our dear and beloved Zahariadis, so that I can ask this celebrated, clever and brave great son of ours, not only for myself, but for the many mothers out there, outside of our borders, in the mountains and on the battlefields who, before everything else brave the war to bring water, bread, ammunition and bombs high up the mountains and then to bring the wounded and dying back.’ I often thought of asking our great son Zahariadis, on behalf of all the mothers out there, who cried while burying the dead, especially the barely grown young men and women consumed by this war, the mothers who while burying someone else’s child receive bad news from whispers that ‘her child was just lost’. I would like to ask our esteemed guest: ‘Zahariadis, why must we carry such great fear, day and night, for our children, for our homes, for our crops, for our livestock, for our closest and most beloved?’ In front of us and behind us, dear Zahariadis, we see only mourning, only fear, only trembling and tightening of our hearts, only evil all around us. Did I say something bad, something incorrect? And you Vera, down there, stop showing me your teeth and stop shaking your hands at me. I forgot what you taught me… I swear… Now allow me to say what I have in my heart… allow my pain to come out, to lighten my burden because this is what the women had told me… they told me, Evgenia, do not make a fool of yourself when you speak in front of all those people in the Congress, but speak the truth, tell the truth and ask for the truth… Everything from us and for us… And, here, I, here at the Congress, as the women instructed me, mothers and widows, I want to tell you everything that has collected here in my soul and in my heart, but not in my mind, because I don’t have a mind for thinking, like the great ones here do… My words come from my heart and soul and from my pain, bitterness and anguish… Did I say something bad, something incorrect?... If I said something that is not correct then please tell me, I will stop talking… Did I say something wrong?...” Evgenia paused. There was total silence in the church. Everyone stood in astonishment and fear, it seemed like they were gripped by fear... “What do I want dear Zahariadis?” Evgenia cut through the silence like a knife with her loud voice roaring through the church. “I want our girls and boys to grow up, to be brides and grooms, to take over our jobs when we grow old. We are teaching them to relieve us when we grow old and you are taking them away, turning them into soldiers, teaching them how to kill… may lightning strike you and put you to death!... So said God did he not? Isn’t that right? Our young women lay in hospitals mutilated… some are without legs or arms… how will they dance the bridal dance? And we, all their lives, have prepared them to be brides… To be brides dear Zahariadis, to be brides… And now our boys and girls have prematurely aged in the mountains, and you dear Zahariadis, the commanders that are here, are proud because they turned our children into soldiers, or fighters, as you call them, and we here are dying of fear… of receiving bad news every day… You say you have proudly turned them into fighters, who know how to kill… Is that what God says? Is that what he says? That our girls be maimed for life, dear Zahariadis? How will they now serve water to their aging fathers and fathers-in-law, how will they go to the spring to fetch water? How will they carry the earthenware water jug without legs and arms? How will they bake and weave…? They, young people in their prime, now rely on crutches to walk, go to Elbasan or to any of the other hospitals and see them for yourself…” Vera was going crazy down in the first row, twisting her face, widening her eyes, gesturing with her hands, cracking her knuckles… “Enough,” she whispered, “enough, bitch, stop talking, shut up, shut up, may God turn you into a mute…

Oh God, what have you done to me? Why did I have to pick you? Shut up bitch!…” Evgenia paused for a moment and removed her black kerchief revealing her long graying braided hair. She wiped the sweat off her face and forehead, swallowed hard and with the same tone of voice continued: “Dear Zahariadis, is that why you collected our young children and sent them to the [Eastern European] countries so that you could bring them back? Turn them into fighters too? They have hardly grown [ages 2 to 14] and you took them… may evil take you!” Vera jumped up and screamed, “Enough! Enough! Get off the stage!...” “No, no Vera, these are not the words of our enemies… A few days ago Donovitsa saw her own son returned, he was barely fifteen years old… You collected our children, sent them away and now you brought them back, here in Prespa, to turn them into soldiers… And what did you tell us? What did you promise us, dear Zahariadis? Why dear Zahariadis? Did you not tell us to give everything for the struggle? We trusted you and we gave everything we had. You said all to arms and we all went to arms. We did exactly as you asked. Now our villages are desolate and our homes are empty, only spiders live there weaving their webs… Why dear Zahariadis? When you asked us to give everything we had to the struggle, we gave everything we had. When you said the enemy must not pass through Vicho we did everything to stop him. We dug all the hills and mountains, from here to there and deep in the holes we buried ourselves. We dug hangers and bunkers with these hands. You told us to do that and we did as you asked. Bunker by bunker, ditch by ditch, we dug without making a sound. Who now has the power to evict our people from there? Not our enemy, not even a bird can fly unnoticed. You told us to do that and that is exactly what we did. Unfortunately you have pushed us into darkness. Look, dear Zahariadis, do you see any happy women? Do you see them going about their lives happy, smiling and wearing white?... We are all dressed in black. When night falls we rush to see our little ones hidden in the leaves in the forest and in the brooks. Afterwards, step by step, we carry logs and stones on our shoulders, climbing up to Lundzer, Bela Voda, Chuka, Lisets and other hills… The mothers lost their milk, it dried up, diminished, from pain and exhaustion, but they have not lost their step and their will to fight on in the struggle… But, Comrade Zahariadis we live in constant fear. Great fear that, if not today, then tomorrow, a new tragedy will befall us. We are in constant fear that we will receive bad news about our children, husbands, brothers, friends and every day more darkness falls on us. Did I say something bad? Tell me did I say something incorrect? They told me to give a speech. But I don’t know how to give a speech. I speak directly from my soul, dear Zahariadis… And now you tell us that victory is near? Near for whom? Who is going to remove the darkness from us? You say victory is near, but when it comes will there be anyone left to give birth, to make a home, to light a fire? Our fires have been put out, my dear Zahariadis… We are not what we used to be and what we want is no longer there for us, it is all gone…” Evgenia clasped her hands and placed them on the podium, then placed her temple on them and began to cry loudly. There was silence in the church. It seemed that even the angels and saints, silent for centuries, were astonished and humbled before her… “What more can I say, dear Zahariadis?... We did everything you asked and now we want to know, why did such evil befall us? Darkness, dear Zahariadis has fallen upon us as we anxiously wait for the victory that you, every day, promise us, but that bleak and so close victory you speak of we pay for with more and more of our children, with our homes and villages being burned to the ground and pushes us further into the dark abyss… You say victory is near?… But for whom is it near? For us? Even the walls of our homes are now gone, they have been leveled to the ground by our enemies…

You say victory is near, but will there be anyone to greet it, to be happy, to rebuild, to plough, to sow, to give birth, to sing…? I ask you, eh???! I ask you… I can’t help but cry… cry not only for myself but for all the mothers, for all the widows, for all the wounded and maimed… I want to cry because of this, this,” Evgenia touched her chest, “where it hurts… where it squeezes, where it chokes… What else can I say? Let me speak to the commanders and say to them to look after our children up there in the front and let them know that we, their mothers, care for them a lot, love them and beg them to ‘be very careful… please be very careful… may God and the Virgin Mary protect you…’ That is all from me; that is all I want to say…” concluded Evgenia. Silence hovered over her as Evgenia felt sad and choked in emotion. Then at that moment someone in the crowd called out a slogan in respect of the leader and the entire church thundered and came alive again. Evgenia covered her face with her hands and placed her elbows on the podium looking as if she was praying. She was sobbing and sobbing and while sobbing her shoulders trembled and the podium creaked under her great pain… Then carefully she left the stage and walked down the steps, which visibly bent under the weight of her tired feet. Zahariadis stood up. He turned towards the crowd, raised his arms and motioned to them to stop. Then he stepped up on the stage. His footsteps were silent as he walked up the stairs made of rough oak planks. His steps were silent not because they did not make a sound but because everyone’s ears were deafened by the loud shouts and exaltation. They all stood up, clapped their hands and some called out more slogans. Only Evgenia, as if guilty of something, quietly, barely noticeable sat on the bench far from Vera and shrugged and scrunched up her shoulders. Tears, like pearls, hung from her long black lashes. She placed her black kerchief over her head and covered her face with her rough palms. The leader stood behind the podium. He looked near and far, high above everyone and far behind the crowd. An almost visible smile appeared on his face looking like it was straining out his partly closed eyes. Vera immediately climbed on stage, turned towards the crowd and with all her might yelled out: “Long live our great leader, our wise, brave, worthy and much beloved son of the Greek and Slavo-Macedonian people!” No one heard the last part of what Vera shouted. It got lost in the thundering noises yelling ‘e-e-e-e-e-e’ and behind the new slogans being loudly proclaimed in honour of Zahariadis who now, without a doubt, was the most important and greatest person in the place and everything said up to now, today and tomorrow, was, is, and will be about him. Zahariadis looked at the main slogan and at the hand drawn symbols on the large cover covering the church altar. In the foreground, looking enthusiastic with great faith in the leader are a man and woman Partisan. They are ready to fight. Behind them are the mountains and hills over which the sun of victory rises. In front of the man and woman Partisans are explosions of bombs and grenades and they fearlessly and victoriously march forward. But the praise does not end there. The Sveta Bogoroditsa Church in Nivitsi had never before heard or seen such expressive and happy people. Zahariadis again raised his hand. There was a barely visible smile emanating from his eyes and, without waiting for the crowd to calm down, he began to speak: “Comrades! Here, today, a natural, noble, simple and benevolent Macedonian, blood and flesh, from the flesh and blood of her much victimized and much suffered Slavo-Macedonian people, who shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand, step to step, are fighting together with their brotherly Greek people for social rights and for freedom from the Anglo-American imperialism and their local servants… Down with Anglo-American imperialism!” said Zahariadis, the slogan master “…those who fight against imperialism, from here from this holy stage of struggle, have told us the truth, the bitter truth which, not that our Party does not know.

It knows. But it is also important that the people know it too. And that woman, our friend, sent by the people, has told us the truth, I mean the great and bitter truth, which we all, and especially our Party, know and feel the pain, that is why it hurts us all. But comrades, this is the kind of struggle we are leading. I am wholeheartedly on your side and you, comrade Evgenia, you are right and I bow before you, I lower my head before your pain and I kiss your rough and chapped hands. But the struggle is harsh and our suffering has been cruel but our swift revenge for the injustices and suffering we have endured will also be harsh and cruel. Today we lead a struggle on two fronts – against Anglo-American imperialism and its Greek servants and against… I will speak about that later… I, therefore, from this podium, promise all Slavo-Macedonian mothers, who lost their beloved children, I solemnly swear that we will win the struggle because with this kind of fighter born out of the Slavo-Macedonian people, it is impossible not to win, and we will win for sure, I promise you that! I promise, but my promises will mean nothing if you over there don’t fight and don’t sacrifice yourselves and be an example of fighting spirit, courage, self-sacrifice and devotion. This is exactly why, a month and a half ago, our Party in its Fifth Plenum adopted a resolution whereby, you, the Slavo-Macedonians, as a result of DAG’s victory, and the People’s Revolution, will earn the right to self-determination and to have your own country which will unite all Macedonians. With a people like yourselves, a people who bore such brave and fearless fighters, it is impossible to not win. Here comrade Vlandas, yesterday, welcomed the Congress, and said that the Slavo-Macedonians are the best fighters in the Democratic Army of Greece. And he is right. I too say it, openly and honestly ‘the Slavo-Macedonians are the best fighters of DAG’. Is this not a great recognition for you? And that is why we will win. We will win. Onward to victory. All to arms, all for victory!” concluded Zahariadis. “Zahariadis! Zahariadis! Zahariadis!” roared the crowd. It seemed as if the church roof was going to fly off from the loud cheers. Slogans and more slogans! The church roof was shaking. Vlandas leaned his fat cheeks to those of Ioannidis and whispered in his ear: “Kitakse poso poli i Slavo-Makethones agapane ton arhigo mas. Apo singinisi mu erhete na klapso.” (Look how much the Slavo-Macedonians love our leader. I am going to cry from excitement). Ioannidis nodded with his head, and quickly took out his handkerchief and wiped his ear. Zahariadis, with eyes half closed and with a slight smile on his face, put his hand out to calm the cheerful Congress attendants. But they kept shouting, clapping their hands and, once in a while, calling out new slogans. There were outbursts of joy and excitement, seeming that in their elation they forgot what they had gone through, what they had undertaken and everything that remained for them to do. Now, only satisfaction radiated from their eyes. He managed to enflame the masses, to make a single voice out of them, powerful like lightning, strong as a hard iron fist, which he alone, at his will, directed its blow. The Congress ended in late afternoon. That day and the previous two days there was no sound of airplanes above Bela Voda, Bigla, Lundzer, Iorgova Glava, Golinata, Chuka and Lisets…