THE NICKNAMES OF IONE BUKOVALOV

THE NICKNAMES OF IONE BUKOVALOV

God will not give to everyone. But now I am old.

I did not amass wealth and I did not commit evil. I have two sons and they too now carry the nickname “sweepers”. This is what they called us in the city. The entire family was nicknamed “sweepers”. I was the “old sweeper”, my wife was the “female sweeper” and our sons inherited their nickname from us, their parents. As I remember we also had a dog that followed us around.

When we lived in the village we were nicknamed “Bishkari” (pig herders)

We looked after the village pigs… and thus the nickname “pig herders”. It was hard for me carrying that cursed nickname, especially before I was married. No woman wanted to marry a “pig herder”. The women avoided me like the plague. But my Krstana did not care… and neither did she think that she too would be nicknamed “pig herder” after me. But she did not regret marrying me… She soon got used to the nickname and agreed to work with me and we looked after the village pigs together… for a crust of bread.

We had a nice time in those days. We had food to eat… and that was enough. The villagers were good people and shared with us what little they had… and on top of that they gave us a few slices of bacon. This is how we brought up our children, healthy and strong… we also looked after our own health. We had clothing… a few of everything… worn but fine according to us… smelly, rotten and loaded with sweat, according to others. As I remember, those clothes were given to us by the villagers… God bless them all.

To dispel rumours, it was not the villagers who drove us out of the village; they did not even fire us from our job. It was my decision… I decided to go to the city and find work there… something… a job that did not have a nickname. I thought to myself I will go to the city where there are good nicknames. I was more concerned for my children. I wanted them to lose the nickname “bishkari” (pig herders). What was I guilty of, for everyone to say: “There he is the

pig herder…” or “Call the pig herder” and even “Give it to the pig herder…?”

My wife and I had endured enough… of listening to people say:

“Give it to the ‘bishkar’, ‘bishkarka’ or ‘bishkari’...” (Man pig herder, woman pig herder, family of pig herders.) And all this charity was to keep us in the village so that we could continue to look after the village pigs. I felt pain in my heart when I heard things like that… especially for my children. Krstana is a meek and gentle woman. She knows how to spin yarn, knit… she is better than most women… that is why she does not care about the insults… Our children are now growing and can also help out with the work.

So one day I decided to go. I left my family in the village until I could establish myself in the city. I was dreaming of becoming a mailman, a guard at the baths… unfortunately I was illiterate. Then I thought, with God’s help I could become a shepherd… that’s what I wanted to be the most. But then I thought perhaps I could become something in the local government? And what’s wrong with that? And lucky for me we became “sweepers”. Now I tell people that if I was literate I could have become a minister…

When villagers heard about this, they envied me and said:

“The pig herder has set his butt in a government job…” After I was appointed sweeper I was sent to sweep the main street in town along which many prominent citizens walked… both buyers and sellers… and the young people walked on the promenade in the evenings. I was doing my job conscientiously. They wanted me to start sweeping very early in the morning so that the dust would settle before life joined the new day. And that is exactly what I was doing and for that reason they liked me. They called me “sweeper”, but I say it’s better than being called “pig herder”. It seemed to me like I was reborn. I was careful not to annoy any of the villagers who knew me. I did not want them to start yelling: “Look people, there he is, Ione the pig herder…!” But fortunately nothing like that ever happened. Meanwhile as the city grew so did the rubbish in the streets. There was as plenty of work to be done.

I was confident that they needed me and would not cause me problems, so I slyly brought in my son and gave him the side streets to sweep so that he could learn the job.

Not long after that, on May 1st, I brought my entire family to the city. We lived in a house with not even an inch of yard space around it. During the census they described us as “Proletarians”. I was very proud. I thought to myself: “Ione, Ione, you have made such a jump… there is no trace of the ‘pig herder’ in you.”

One day Trifun the shoemaker said to him: “Ione, we make up the core of the working class… It is well for you to remember that...” But all Ione did was nod his head because he did not know what that meant. He did not know many things. Then Trifun proudly, in the name of the party, said:

“You Ione, you truly love Stalin... not just any old way but you have his face tattooed on your chest... Oh, my dear Ione you must at least know that these people have special skins... Right!? Open your soul… we are all of the same kind…”

After that Trifun always addressed him as “Comrade Ione”. For a long time Trifun tried to find out who Ione was but without much success. Then, after he found out that he was tattooed with sickles, hammers and stars on the elbows, he suggested to him to become a member of the local committee. This way Ione and his family lived with all the benefits the city had to offer. The entire family worked sweeping streets and sometimes they swept the yards of the more prominent members of the community… making them sparkle, as Ione put it.

One day Ione was sweeping slowly while daydreaming, when he heard a woman’s voice. She said:

“You there… The ‘Captain’s wife’! All the other captain’s wives have become wives of majors and even generals... Only you and that man of yours have aged as Captains…”

“Listen, listen Ione”, Ione said to himself and perked up his ears.

He then heard another woman’s voice. “Oh, you, girl… you have some face… ‘Sacristan’! You boasted that you would become a ‘priest’s wife’. The people would then bow to you. Ha, ha, ha… You still can, all your man has to do is steal the liturgy from that priest Arso and then you can be a ‘priest’s wife?’! Ha, ha, ha… And some ‘priest’s wife’ you will be…!” said the other woman and spit a couple of times.

Ione continued to sweep while listening to their conversation and thought to himself: “If only my Krstana was here. Her heart would have been filled with joy to learn that other people too ate their eggs (made a living) from some sort of nickname. I made a big mistake not sending her to sweep this street today.”

Ione dragged his broom so as not to make too much noise.

“For twenty dinars…” replied Ione.

“But why only twenty? I will give you forty dinars and let the ‘Captain’s wife’ go ballistic,” said the woman who earlier was called a “Sakristan”.

“For that kind of money I will even wash the tiles…” replied Ione meekly.

“You come tomorrow, bring your wife with you. This will show everyone who is rich around here and who can afford to pay servants. I will also give you lunch...” said the woman with a begging tone of voice.

Ione immediately went to see his wife Krstana and told her everything he had heard, in detail, while she watched him with her gentle eyes.

“We are given an opportunity to meet the prominent people in this city…” Ione said to Krstana while looking at the perspiration on her forehead. A gentle smile began to appear on her face, seeming like it was coming from the depths of her heart.

“Only be careful…” he said to her. “Don’t be too quick with your words… Be careful not to expose us… We don’t want the city people to know that we were ‘pig herders’. We don’t need that…” he advised.

The next morning he knocked at the gate and listened. He then heard the clatter of wooden soles on the tiles: tlak-tluk, tlak-tluk...

“Welcome! Welcome!” he heard a happy voice say as if it was welcoming a group of nobles. Without being told what to do they immediately got down to work. Moments later, a woman, the one called the “Captain’s wife”, appeared on the neighbouring balcony and stared at them wide-eyed. Then, suddenly, all the women came out on their balconies to see what was going on. Some dragged their husbands with them.

Occasionally Ione threw a glance at them while Krstana busied herself like an ant cleaning the tiles... rubbing, rubbing, rubbing… just like licking them. Ione was getting upset and felt like telling her off: “Be smart you stupid… The people are watching you!”

They served lunch in the garden and paid the sweepers while everyone was watching from their balconies. They took their time counting the money in front of everyone, one coin at a time. One, two, three, four…. thirty nine, forty... The sweepers made sure to thank them and show them respect. They then put their brooms on their shoulders and left.

Just outside of the gate the “Captain’s wife” was waiting for them.

“Tomorrow… my place! I pay 80 coins!” she said. Ione and his wife said nothing.

“If a ‘Sacristan’ who eats donated buns made by other people can pay 40 coins why can’t I…?” she said.

“And our business began to pick up. Not a word about our charges for the service. We cleaned any yard but I would like to say that the ‘Captain’s wife’ was the best. She also gave me a pair of pants, slightly worn but okay. She gave my wife a fashionable, slightly

worn dress. This was enough for our children to make fun of us. Our younger one called me ‘captain’ and suggested to his mother that with the money we earned we should buy a few jewels for her to wear on her neck… to go with her fashionable dress... Krstana always blessed them and loved them… It was a life without many worries… especially about our city nicknames,” commented Ione.

They always started their street sweeping from the centre and went towards the outskirts. The trash had its own course: to be expelled from the city. One morning a large crowd of people started out from the centre singing and breaking things while it headed for the outskirts. The sweepers kept sweeping just like they did every day. Then, suddenly, the crowd began to approach the sweepers. Being inexperienced in situations like this, instead of waiting for the crowd to pass, Ione continued to sweep and unconsciously began to sing the same song the crowd was singing. He did this for a while, pushing the accumulated garbage outwards. He thought to himself: “at least the road will be clean by the time they return… and surely that’s what the citizens would want?” Unfortunately, day by day, the city was getting more polluted and it became even more difficult for the sweepers to keep it clean. Ione, however, did not mind because the more garbage there was the more secure he felt about his job…

Opposite to him Ione watched these people run, cheerfully calling out: “Long live the Reds!” while he pushed his broom and happily muttered the same song they were singing. When he stopped to shake the dust off himself, Ione saw a woman, all puffed up and angry, running towards him. Then, suddenly, she grabbed his broom. Ione was shocked when he recognized her. She was the wife of his dear beloved timid boss. Ione knew her as a kind woman always decked out in silk, wearing too much perfume. One time he remembered his sons dropping their brooms and staring at her, salivating like a couple of colts that had caught the sent of a mare’s urine.

“Hey, Ione!” she yelled out. “You too are with them…?”

“Why, my gracious lady? Is it not clean enough? What is it that you wish?” he said to her but, still angry, she raised the broom and said:

“So that’s it, eh! You knew that the Reds were coming and you said nothing…”

The crazy people that were running by were yelling at Ione:

“Hit her! Hit her with the broom. Hit her Ione! Hit her on her head… hit her on her butt... they can’t push us around anymore… they can’t suck our blood anymore… don’t be afraid to fight back! The occupier will be gone...” Ione watched in horror what he knew to be a gentle woman, raise the broom over him in anger and the idiots running by yelling: “Hit her Ione! This is the only way to dig out the exploiters... Long live the Reds!!!”

Their voices resonated as poor Ione stood there in horror not knowing what was happening to him and what he had done that was so wrong. He said to himself: “You poor Ione… no freedom… and not even a single German soldier to be seen…” His boss too was nowhere to be found.

The crowd was growing. People were coming from everywhere. Trifun Shindevski was there too, sitting in his car like the commander of a riled mob. When he saw me coming from afar, I heard him yell:

“Russian… toss that broom away and take command. The government is in the hands of the proletariat...”

“There we go again…” Ione thought to himself, “another nickname… ‘Russian’…” The weather was hot that day and Ione was perspiring profusely. He unbuttoned his shirt… Everyone was gazing at his tattoo, the image of the great leader Stalin. He wasn’t going to hide his chest. He looked like the “batushki” (comrades) who fought in Chapaev’s detachment, he thought to himself. But now Trifun the cobbler, it seemed to Ione, was a genius. Ione remembered the day when this “visionary of a man” told him: “We need to unite… we are proletarians who need to build the future...” He also remembered what Trifun had told him about Marxism and Leninism. But then Ione tricked him. Ione knew that he, Ione, was a simple man and did what he knew how to do. He also did what others did… he did what was popular at the time… that was the time

when Ione had his skin tattooed with the image of the Generalissimo... not because he knew who he was or because he cared for him… but simply because “it was the thing to do at the time”… But then Ione never did tell Trifun about this.

The time had come to rebuild. The people were enthusiastic, humble and obedient and appreciated their piece of bread. Everything was acquired by coupon, if they were given coupons… if someone wanted to give them coupons... That was a time when the leadership was appreciated and its word was the law. Ione and his wife went to a special shop and acquired new clothes. Krstana looked lean and fit like a fasting fox. Her sons were making fun of her saying she looked like Mrs. Fonda. Ione and his family were happy… They were happy to be sweepers. Ione now belonged to the top leadership of the city staff, which worked on the creation of the new government.

They began to go out to outings, gatherings, special restaurants, etc. But women are women… Krstana chummed with Trifon’s wife and did things as they always had done things, and said things like they always had said things. This prompted Ione to say: “A woman is a woman; she is the same in socialism as she is in any other political system, just like the Captain’s wife and priest’s wife.”

Ione started to work on the “reconstruction” which required him to give eloquent speeches, but the words he had to use… let’s say they were arranged like bricks under the sun.

He always ended his speeches with the words: “In honour of... long live our victory and the Red Commune led by...”

This is how it was during the “reconstruction”. It was a common cause done collectively which brought happiness to the people. They had fun going out, dancing in the evenings… dancing to accordion music… sometimes drums were involved, depending on the community... the drummers beat their drums in honour of every newcomer from the city committee who came to the event… One time a bank clerk, a woman, said to Ione:

“Comrade Russian, will you dance the tango with me?” He was floored, but to avoid her he lifted his sleeve, looked at his watch and said:

“Comrade, I need to go. I have something to do...” Ione then thought to himself: “What kind of tango was this crazy banker thinking off… get lost… Me dancing a tango…? That’s so crazy… I don’t know how to dance the tango…?”

A few years later Ione began to feel anxious, like a trapped lion. They often invited him for discussions but he thought that they were testing him, his loyalty, especially when they asked him if he “loved Stalin?” One time he uncovered his chest and said: “Here he is…”

At that point the interrogator squinted his eyes and said: “You will need to tell us that your neighbour too is against the government and against the leadership.” Ione was shocked, especially when they called him an “Informburo” supporter. At that point they pushed him down a set of narrow stairs and locked him in a basement with all the other people who had been beaten. They stared at Ione. His neighbour looked at him but did not believe him. Ione did not want to explain to him so he took his shirt off to show him. Ione began to feel like another person was hiding under his skin and he could not remove him… drive him away… And so, he carried him under his naked skin everywhere… Ione tried to run away from him… he did not need him anymore… he was no longer good for his future…. Just curious glances and spitting… that’s all he got now for carrying the moustached face of the Generalissimo on his chest.

One hot day, when the sun was baking the ground, Angielko Mitich showed up. He came close to Ione and ordered him to get up. Ione stood up and remained still like a soldier in front of a general. There was only Ione and the Generalissimo standing in front of Angielko’s big staring eyes. Finally Angielko said: “From now on you are the ‘undertaker’…” And so they all began to call him by his new nickname “The Undertaker”. Ione’s job was simple. Every day he had to carry the corpses on his back, in the scorching sun… When asked how that felt, Ione said: “The cold corpses are the only thing that keep my sweaty neck cool and from burning in the scorching sun...”

He took the dead without a death certificate, without a ceremony, like they were goods from a “special store” and carried them to the “cemetery”, full of vultures… When he was asked about that, Ione said: “I did not know their names, to which family they belonged, or who to inform about their deaths… All I did for them was say: ‘May God forgive your sins’…that was all…”

When Ione returned from prison he went straight to his village, where the villagers gave him another nickname. This time they called him the “camp gravedigger”. Now he lives in peace. He and Krstana took back their old jobs of looking after the village pigs. Ione says: “I never take my shirt off now, not even in front of the pigs…”