LENA

LENA

Meglena Vasilevna’s eyes were now clear and cautious. Only desolation lay behind her bright and empty world. The only hope this gentle woman now had was with us, the young people of Tsrnchishta. She lived in the gymnasium without children and here our beloved professor Meglena Vasilevna taught us and nestled her love with us, which persisted and lasted. She stepped between the lines, stopping beside each one of us, but longer beside me, as if she loved me more. I felt her gentle hand caress my hair, a love more than motherly love. Perhaps that is why I felt guilty each time I didn’t do my school work properly. I want to tell her story, the story of partisan Lena, which I had heard from the constantly coughing Vasilko Iovanovski, a grey bony man who was a courier at the headquarters. I also want to empathize more of Lena’s character, as if I was part of it.

Uncle Vasilko Iovanovski told me many stories as if wanting to tell as many as possible knowing that the illness he was carrying was slowly extinguishing him. His body was riddled with the scars of war as if he had been branded forever. Hotly involved in the revolution he began:

“It was in the 1940’s some time ago.

In those days the young people sang Russian romance songs. They were beautiful songs… Katiusha, Vast place my native land, Soldati idut, the lyrics of Iesenin… Lena knew all those songs by heart, like Boris did when he recited Maiakovski and Pushkin, and so with that reverie Bistritsa seemed more like a small Moscow. They even greeted each other with a fist in the old Bolshevik manner, which was passed on to us by the old revolutionaries.

Lena sang the song ‘Russia my beloved mother’ beautifully with Russian words as if she spoke Russian, just like a Russian woman would. But when everyone sang the song ‘A young partisan I want to become’ Lena was in everyone’s heart.

Boris was in love with Lena. He was a nice and stout young man with lush hair who came from the village German, Mala Prespa.

Lena was a tall and thin young woman with a solid and lush chest, long blonde hair and a simple mouth and eyes in which one could see constant anxiety but sincere feelings. But her nature was more than just that. She was a beautiful person and everything about her was beautiful. They said she resembled her grandmother Maria Gerova, voivoda (leader) Naum’s sister. Voivoda Naum was the Commissar of Dolna Prespa (this is what he was called during Turkish times). Lena was proud of her family heritage and that is why she became a young female freedom fighter, following in her family’s tradition. The fact that both her grandparents died for Macedonia was a motivating factor for Lena...

Like a cloud, Bolshevism embraced all the young people in the 1940’s. The young men danced to ‘kozachok’ and young women to ‘mazurka’ but everyone wildly danced to ‘Eleno mome’... That’s how it was in those days...

And that’s how they joined the partisans, in love and singing… That’s how they arrived at Headquarters. From there they were deployed in various detachments.

In partisan life only your rifle is closest to you… It rests near your pillow, it serves you… it protects you… it props you up when you need support… it saves you… And you burn with desire to see your loved ones. A soldier, a volunteer soldier without pay, you walk wherever you are sent, day in and day out you are tormented by evil, thirst, hunger… but your spirit feeds you, makes you sing in the most difficult times, even when you have lost a loved one. But most desired of all for you is to be with a loved one.

One day, Boris’s detachment met up with Lena’s detachment. It was dark and the fighters were looking for each other, calling out names, embracing each other. These were memorable encounters and everyone was expecting to receive at least some news about family and loved ones...

A voice was heard in the night calling out: ‘Lena! Lena!’ It was Boris.

Lena jumped like a frightened deer, yelling: ‘Boris! Boris!’

They were both excited and happy to have found each other...

‘I love days like this…’ said Lena.

Boris showed his affection and tried to get closer to her body.

‘I don’t think we should do that Boris...’ she said.

‘Why not?’ asked Boris.

‘I didn’t expect something like this from you. Have we not made promises...?’ she said and prevented her body from touching his… separated between a promise and love… Boris, silent and disappointed, caressed his rifle.

‘You are really pushing me away…’ declared Boris.

‘No I am not. I am doing what is reasonable for both of us. I don’t want us to be immoral… Boris...’ she replied.

Lena leaned her entire weight on her automatic rifle and said:

‘Are you trying to cause me pain...?’

‘I am sorry, but I am your fiancé...’ replied Boris.

‘Boris, don’t be angry, it’s better for us this way…

Victory is ours. There will be a time for everything. We will have children but now we are in a revolution. Isn’t this what we learned… about the moral character of the fighter...?” Isn’t this what Steve and Bogoia, the real Bolsheviks, have told us...? Isn’t it enough that we saw each other?’ said Lena with a serious look on her face.

‘But I love you…’ replied Boris.

‘Would you die for me?’ she asked, opening her eyes wide and smiling.

‘Only if it’s really necessary…’ he said firmly, hugging her and laughing.

‘I have never kissed you with a beard like this. It looks good on you… don’t worry; we have a lifetime ahead of us. Let’s go to the detachment. Meglena’s Vasil, Avram, Tale and Iakim are there and will sing a Russian song or one of ours... hey Boris?’ Lena said.

He kissed her and she slightly opened her mouth. His tongue squirmed but could only touch white teeth... He lacked courage to meet her look, so he closed his eyes and buried his face into the pit of her neck, remembering the lectures about the moral character of the fighter.

‘Oh my God, how much I love you!’ said Boris.

‘Boris, be a strong revolutionary, that’s the only way to be proud... As you can see everyone respects us. It is nice that we met...’ she said.

They firmly shook hands and parted. Lena was ordered to remain at headquarters where she was assigned to work in the partisan agitation and propaganda section translating documents and writing about the women in the revolution, about their character, about equality, about the code of conduct expected from a Bolshevik revolutionary, about faith and respect for the revolution cadres who were gifted with humility. Her main feature was going to be the leather coat. This is the kind of coat the political commissars of the October Revolution wore. Perhaps this is why we wear the same kind of coat here.

After she had a chance to look over the printed material, she noticed how silent the trench was. As she was about to leave the political commissar asked her to stay a bit longer and have a private dinner and drinks with him in a romantic candlelit atmosphere in honour of her successful work. But Lena sensed his intentions and suddenly rose to go. The political commissar then approached her and kindly asked her to calm down.

‘I know what you are up to...’ she said, ‘but you will not succeed... Open the door and let me go,’ she demanded.

The trench was filled with cigarette smoke. At that very moment he turned and walked towards her.

‘God, my heart never pounded so hard before…!’ she thought to herself as he approached her looking very stern. Lena moved away, her eyes were fixed on him and her body shook like that of a frightened doe.

That night the political commissar did not sleep at all. He was up to something… concocting various plans. He had a strange feeling that Lena showed allegiance only to the Party and that her head, body and every movement could be conquered easily... and she would be willing to put on the ideological wedding dress... Because he could promise her that tomorrow she could become a Minister’s wife...

So his plan was to go with her on reconnaissance, but he would have to take Vangel the adjutant (warrant officer) with them. They left and went with a particular purpose in mind but Lena already suspected the political commissar’s real intentions. Unfortunately she was afraid to express her feelings in front of Vangel... Vangel on the other hand was sent ahead but when he heard gunfire in the lush fern he immediately ran back and dropped to his stomach petrified. He raised his rifle but in front of him stood the political commissar riding his horse, sitting upright like a roaring wild lion. Vangel did not know what to do so he just lay there looking ahead and remembering Boris, Meglena, the Russian songs, the lyrics of the revolution, the agitators, his dead friends... He was promptly petrified and remained an eternal witness...

The political commissar, fearing the punishment he was going to receive for the violence he had committed, suddenly showed great affection for Lena. He wanted to give her a strong embrace, to earn her affection, to have her love him with all her heart and to forgive him for everything he had done and to agree to be his wife. All this time Lena struggled with him and refused to give in. She stood up and tried to escape but he quickly overtook her. Tired and exhausted Lena fell to the ground in the fern patch. He jumped on her and

while she was under his full weight she promised to be his eternal companion and to be the wife of a minister because that’s what he wanted. She then gathered enough strength and grabbed him by the throat. She continued to resist while calling for Vangel to help her. But then when she saw Vangel looking at her in horror, it seemed to her like she was looking through Boris’s eyes and surrendered. And Vangel, feeling guilty, remained there silent and stunned.

Days, weeks, months had passed while working in the print shop. Lena felt depressed and exhausted… she no longer sang songs and constantly hid from Vangel’s view. She looked pale and ate almost nothing.

‘I am not hungry,’ she used to say.

‘What should that mean?’ the political commissar asked her.

‘I am testing you to see if you are faithful…’ she replied.

He only invited her for night visits. One time she entered the trench and addressed him with special emphasis. She said:

‘Congratulations, Comrade Political Commissar. I am pregnant!’

‘Are you kidding me!?’ he asked.

‘I don’t joke about such serious things!’ she said.

‘Leave me alone!’ he replied.

Lena got very upset and yelled out: ‘Kill me then! My life means nothing to me without you. But this child I am carrying is yours and you can be sure I will bear it!’

‘Silence whore! Silence! You will cloud my career...’ he replied sternly.

A few days later, under orders from the political commissar who thought this move would be for the best, Lena was sent to work at a makeshift hospital. The political commissar personally took care of

the move to make sure this incident remained a tight secret and buried in accordance with revolutionary regulations.

Lena screamed and yelled insisting that this case be disclosed because she no longer belonged to Boris, through no fault of her own... But only Vangel knew about this and he was no longer at the headquarters because he had been redeployed soon after the incident took place.

Lena continued to work at the hospital taking care of the sick and wounded, waiting for the day of her delivery. She often thought of how it would be to give birth and was afraid because she was alone and inexperienced as a mother.

Her patients were happy for her and could not wait for her to have the baby. They all proposed different names for it and while some felt sorry for her, others joked around about it because this was a really surprising situation; for a single woman and a fighter to be pregnant.

One day a courier arrived and said:

‘I have orders to take you to the village. There are midwives there. Being here you are lowering the morale of the soldiers...’

Lena quickly gathered her belongings and fulfilled the order. She said nothing all the way to the village.

The courier had instructions to surrender her to the village local board and nothing more.

Three days later Lena gave birth to a girl. She was very happy and looked after the baby well, feeding her and changing her diapers which were provided by the women of the village.

A few days after that Lena was summoned to appear before a partisan court. The verdict was read the moment she stepped in front of a firing squad. She stood there at attention to hear the verdict, which read as follows:

‘Lena Metodieva, you have been found guilty of performing acts of immorality and betrayal. Your acts have been hostile towards our holy revolution and therefore you have been sentenced to death without right of appeal. This will strengthen the morality in our ranks.

The same verdict and sentence were pronounced against Kovkalovski who was executed a few days before.’

Lena cried out in a loud voice: ‘Mother our protector, Mother of God!’

The officer who read the verdict then replied: ‘There is no God or Mother of God… only honest and true revolutionaries! Death to Fascism, freedom to the people…! Fire!’

Only three bullets pierced her and she fell from the third. She opened her mouth with a desire to say something about Vangel her witness, but her words became drowned in her own blood.”

When I finished reading the story my Uncle Vasilko Iovanovski had told me, I lifted my head up. The entire classroom was silent. The silence startled me. I looked at my teacher Meglena and noticed her face was gloomy and pale.

She immediately grabbed me in her arms and put a firm grip on me. I felt her tears dripping at the back of my neck. Finally she let go of me, gave me a kiss on the cheek and, in a painful tone of voice, said:

“My dear, Lena was your mother, and Vangel is my fiancé! Dear girl...”

I too began to cry and we both sobbed, clutching one another as my friends and classmates gathered together around us like bees around a queen.

Crowded together like this, one beautiful day in May, we left for Orlova Mountain. Our teacher was ahead of us when she suddenly stopped in front of a tree that had fallen over a small recess overgrown with grass and tiny multicolored mountain flowers.

Our bouquets only complemented the natural decor. This was my mother Lena’s grave.

Our teacher Meglena stood there in silence with her head bowed down. When she mustered enough courage she looked at me and, with a trembling voice, said:

“Lena! I brought your beautiful daughter Lena here... She carries your name.”

The night ended but the fun did not subside. We had invited many guests to the wedding but one chair remained empty. My father’s chair was empty. I invited him to my wedding but I got no answer. He did not come to see me as a bride, and I still have not met him.

It was early dawn the next day as the sky began to shine with the first rays of the sun. Suddenly my teacher Meglena came over and asked me to dance the dance “Eleno mome”.

I led the dance with Meglena firmly gripping my hand and following after her was a large number of comrades. They were fighters who fought with my mother Lena. They were all burning with the fires of the revolution… they danced and cried... In fact they were the only wedding guests from my side. I heard one among them with a muffled voice say: “Look how she dances… Like Lena the partisan...”

Also missing from my wedding and from the dancing was my Uncle Vasilko Iovanovski, who died in the 1950’s. They said he had a heart attack when he heard what they said about Lena in the news. They said: “The Association of Veterans proposed that a Memorial be awarded to Lena Metodieva, who in the call for struggle against the fascist occupier and against its domestic servants gave her life for freedom and for independence, for brotherhood and unity, for the government of the working people and for the victory of the popular revolution. Eternal glory to the fallen fighter!”

This is how Vasilko Iovanosvski died… with his mouth open… uttering the words: “Oh, poor Vasilko, what future can possibly await you with such a dirty past…?!”