Anthology of wounds - Arct

ARCTAnthology of WoundsA terrific and artistic testimony of the hellof the livingTirana 2006

ANTHOLOGY OF WOUNDSMaterials translated from albanian byANDI BALLAFreelance writer and editorPublishing boardAdrian Kati (Executive director of ARCT)Gentian VyshkaAriel ÇomoValmira SkëndiThis book was published with the support of the EuropeanCommission, Tirana; and with the support of theAmbassador of Finland, Mr. Alpo Rusi.Cover and design: Visi design© ARCTARCTAlbanian Rehabilitation Centre for Trauma andTorture SurvivorsRruga Kont Urani Nr. 11TIRANËTel. 00 355 4 256522

ContentsAnthology of Wounds ................................................................................. 1Introduction ................................................................................................. 5Anthology of Wounds ................................................................................. 9MARIA MEDICINA (DVORANI) ............................................................ 22TUK JAKOVA AND MITA JAKOVA ........................................................ 26LIRI LUBONJA ....................................................................................... 39VASIL KATI ............................................................................................. 61DRITA ÇOMO ......................................................................................... 65ROZETA PEPELLASHI ........................................................................ 78LUAN MYFTIU ....................................................................................... 80SAMI REPISHTI .................................................................................. 101A FRIEND AND A TEACHER .............................................................. 101JAMARBER MARKO........................................................................... 107AGIM MUSTA ....................................................................................... 111DOM SIMON JUBANI ....................................................................... 125Father KONRAD GJOLAJ O.F.M. ........................................................ 139SELFIXHE BROJA (CIU) ..................................................................... 144FATHER GIACOMO GARDINI S.J. .................................................... 159FATBARDHA SARACI (MULLETI) ...................................................... 171NAFIE STËRMASI (1920-1983) ............................................................ 172MARIE GJOKA .................................................................................... 174MAKENSEN BUNGO ......................................................................... 178AHMET BUSHATI ................................................................................ 194URAN BUTKA ...................................................................................... 214FAR FROM PEOPLE ........................................................................... 215MARIJE GJOKA (MAZREKU) and DOM NIKOLL MAZREKU ...... 234MARTIN CAMAJ ................................................................................. 250MOTHER THERESA IN ALBANIA ...................................................... 259The Communist Persecution in Albania: Brief Historical Overview .......... 261

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Anthology of WoundsIntroductionThe ‘Anthology of wounds’ was published fromARCT (Albanian Rehabilitation Centre for Trauma andTorture survivors) on the year 2004, collecting dozensof narrations in its original form, from ex-prisoners ofthe communist dictatorship. Now the foreign public hasthe possibility to have a selection of those narrations inEnglish.During the last years there have been several publicationson the theme of persecution, communism andits human consequences. But yet no collection of entirehistories and of a variety of authors such as the presenthas been published. This was not the only reason forconceiving this book. The other one, and probably themost important, has to do with the oblivion. There is atouchable, clear and important risk that everythingmight be forgotten some day and some where. It shouldbe a sociological reason to this risk of oblivion, however,and such a reason must be clarified. The presenceof two generations might be this precise reason: the Albaniansociety actually is composed from two groupsof generations: the first one, old and middle aged peoplethat have been in direct contact with the communist dictatorship.The second group is formed from the actual5

Anthology of Woundsyouth, i.e. new generations that never had the ominouschance of knowing what the communism really was.As a matter of fact, the school curricula – especially thenational history – lacks substantial data related with theyears of the communist dictatorship, and above all, noexplanation at all is given about what this bloody regimemeant for the everyday life of a simple Albanian.The process of empowering and consolidation of thecommunists’ regime in Albania was really a bloody one,such as could be a process called ‘war’. The so-called‘class struggle’ was in reality a civil war, without rulesand honor, merciless and out of every human law. Thiswar has been coined through massive falsifications anda notorious propaganda that disorientated the population.The dictatorship carefully selected the ‘class enemies’to be annihilated in a constant and continuousway – first of all, the intellectuals.The criminal nature of the communist regime ofEnver Hoxha was absolutely not a consequence of thecircumstances – as its apologists use to say. As a matterof fact, this nature was made from a secret code whoserules were précised from the dictator and his tight collaborators.An attentive eye will easily pick up an evolutionarytrend to the communist regime of EnverHoxha, i.e. some kind of change: let’s say, from the year1950 to the year 1980 some changes were really made.Those changes were in fact related to the intrinsic dynamicsof the system, rather than being an adaptationto the international situation.Unfortunately the fear of a ‘potential persecution’ iseven now – more than fifteen years after the reversal ofthe dictatorship – present at the memory of all people6

Anthology of Woundsliving under the direct influence of the communism.Such a fear is being transmitted to new generations thatnever lived under dictatorship, and this transmissionprobably is not verbally done, nor it is intentional, evena not in a conscious way.The fear was born and penetrated inside the cells ofthe Albanian life: the psychological trauma that followedwas a really harsh one. Nowadays we may run a meticulousscanning of the dictatorship, but we still are farfrom understanding the internal mechanisms of its functioning.Probably this is because the persons that shouldjudge the entire process are on the other hand even themshaped from the infamous period of communist dictatorship.This criminal suppressive machine has to bestudied entirely: what was the role of the labor party(PLA) inside the hierarchy of violence; what was therole of sigurimi – the secret police of the period; whatwas the role of other organisms such as the youth league,the simple communist cellules etc. etc.A special characteristic of the communist regime wasthe concentration of the power in a very small group ofparty leaders that by definition are not subject to any lawof any kind: the party is above all, even above the laws.The party is controlling the state so thoroughly, that theborders between the state and the party are extremely nebulousduring the communist dictatorship. The party of laboris controlling the everyday life second by second, andsuch a thing had never happened before in Albania. Thespies were controlling everything said and done; denouncingwas widely encouraged, censorship was applied routinely.The communist way of directing and organizingthe state has in its foundation an incontestable and cruelverity: the human rights are violated systematically.7

Anthology of WoundsOf course from a juridical point of view, the redressof all injustices is very important as well: the condemnationof all communist crimes in Albania is imperative,including the crimes perpetrated on behalf of theideology. Such a juridical rectification would render thenew generations the conscience toward a period whichthey have not experienced directly. Such a thing has tobe done simultaneously with the condemnation of thecommunist ideology, and the crimes that it produced.Of course, the stories depicted herein are a humantestimony of all human rights violations and a reflectionover the transfiguration of the perpetrators. It couldbe much simpler to condemn an ideology and a periodof the history; rather than to bring before justice thoseperpetrators. The Albanian transition resulted to be along one, and the confusion this phenomenon producedis unbearable. In fact it seems more important than ever,to distinguish once and for ever, the collaborator fromthe sufferer; the man that didn’t say a word before theinjustices and the other one that produced them.Of course, there is a great deal of pain and sufferancein all narrations included in the present anthology.With the hope that the emotional response of thereader will not hamper the process of reading the bookentirely, we also wish very much that no one will gethabituated to the scenes of ill-treatment and abhorrenttorture that the authors have described herein. On theother hand, this is just an original and lively collectionof life experiences, whose aim is to prevent that someday everything might well be forgotten, as it never happenedat all.8

Anthology of WoundsAnthology of WoundsA terrific and artistic testimony of the hellof the livingPRAYER FOR THE PRISONERSChrist, you that yourselfhave tried chainsand I see you again on every prisonergive strength and honorto your brotherto defeat time behind barsto fix evil!Give light to all of themuntil they can seewhat was the mistake was our life,That only love canfix and do good deedstoward all the miserable peoplethe sins of whom we have all madeAmen9

Anthology of WoundsThese words came from Mother Teresa, and can bestopen any anthology on life, but this one especially becauseshe, a Saint, spoke them with such a proud desperationand true illumination, similar to the light thatgoes through prison iron bars. She prayed in peace forthose in chains. She loved them and she felt for thembecause she knew the depth of the abyss of human suffering,the nails on the cross, the torture, and worldlyand human wounds. She didn’t believe that prisons andinterment camps could fix evil in the world, to the contrary,they were and remain a great evil in themselves.Surprisingly, in our hell, according to an unexplainableand mysterious mechanism a lot of important newsreached us down there before the rest the rest of thecountry, and the banned name of Mother Teresa wascalled. There was a need to find Christ among the prisoners,starting from the common suffering, but it mustbe said that between political prisoners and the Son ofthe God there was another special connection that wentbeyond the similar torture through barbed wires. Theydidn’t place it on us as a crown, but all over the body,forming a blood stream that joined under the same theideal – to oppose violence, to love and to dream of abetter life. The prisoners were not the real wrongdoers.The real criminals were the people that them us in prisons.Those who gave the orders, as they went above thishell, where the life should have been normal, becauseover there generally people did not know anythingabout important things, for it was not possible, that whilethey suffered to understand the suffering, especially thatof the others. While held in the big prison the countryhad become, they must have not cared the small pris-10

Anthology of Woundsons, for that map of the crime, full of black wells of horror,where the suffering and the struggle were endless,with a dizzying experience that needed supernaturalhuman strength to overcome, sublime silence of lonelythinking and a the fate of a martyr.Even without knowing it, that hidden celestial voicewas joined by Albanian voices of thousands of others asan inner chorus of silence. Since even God was banned,it came from the mud of interment camps, from the colddormitory halls in the middle of the dictatorial winter,the dark halls in narrow apartments, the dark roads,the ditches, the poor schools, from the grave-yard shiftsof Socialist factories, the hospitals and military departments,the artist studios. It was in the middle absurdityevery dictatorial regime, as dusk came under the shiverof some forgotten candle and the women stood on theknees over the old floor and the marriage bed, emptyand frozen, praying in the middle of fear for the lives ofmen in prisons. They prayed so that their lives could bespared, for if they died, they would not even get theirbodies, which would be buried somewhere unknown.They were praying to for the return of their prisonersfrom hell, as halved home awaited to be whole again,to feel the love never completed. Life waited…And so like a halted storm, a part of which has beencontained in this anthology as the wind in the mythologyof Eol, that somehow changed the climate of thetime, giving insecurity to the walls, sphinxes, slogans,the Central Committee, the class war, adulterers, newarrests, bunkers, the first kiss in high school, funerals,socialist realism, the barbed-wire border, advice, andevery thing that seemed as sure as the regime itself.Meanwhile, from the Hadi of prisons as an underground11

Anthology of Woundsriver, the incredible sufferings of those violently detainedwould want to gush out as the collective moans,the political swearing, the imaginary revenge, thedreams and the delirium that flooded that reality. Thedownward spiral and the waves it created are felt in aterrible way through this anthology. They serve to createanother reality of the future, more bearable, and whynot a better one — surely human.“I won’t allow you to use word ‘human’” – the investigatoryelled in the catacombs of the state “Socialismhas other words, more revolutionary, stronger, “ hesaid near the chained man, innocence itself.“We will punish you severely” — the screams continuedflying around like black fowls – “because wewant it that way. You have been determined to be anenemy, and you will work as a slave in our mines, becauseyou can’t be subversive to our People’s System,because the laborer class leads our country.” Meanwhilethe investigator had become red from his screaming likethe flag of his ideal, his nose turning into a yellow harvesterand his forehead heavy like a hammer. “We willput you in prison again, we will sentence again,” thescreams filled the air coming from the mouth of the harvester-hammerman. “In prison …”So what happened in our prisons and intermentcamps? How were the prisoners’ conditions? Did theyhave enough to eat, could they laugh, and did they gocrazy at once? How could they bear the fact that sincethe end of WWII until now they were locked up, hungry,without love, without freedom, because the antihumanshad stolen all of these. What was that screamthat came out there? How did they take them forced12

Anthology of Woundslabor? Chained? Oh God, behind those barbed wires,how did they go on with their lives as a jailed peoplepushing the mine carts? Why all those floodlights overthe barriers, like Cyclops bloody eyes? What really happenedthere?* * *What really happened there?“The Anthology of Wounds” is the most shockingbook about anti-life and its wild tortures against thosewho went against it, locked up there inside the barbedwires. It tells us about those who went against evil withtheir courageous words and otherwise with the revolutionarydeeds, but even with the active dream, and withthe philosophical silence, that were hard punished. Saidotherwise, “The Anthology of Wounds” shows the cruelpunishment that was done to people, the physical andpsychological mutilation, the unimaginative AsianMiddle Ages-like torture the one-party-state exerted onits people and especially on those who dared to oppositeit during the second half of 20th century. WhenWWII finished and humanity expected to work in peace,the big the apocalypse came, as the world was separatedinto two big groups on opposite sides of a terriblyCold War.While our little Albania was set to enter the big communistempire, differently from the other big states, wewere under the greatest pressure, we massacred withoutmercy our self, we improved only the machine ofviolence, we built more prisons than factories, morebunkers than houses, and we created literacy to inventor slander the new man, the monster against all the othersand ourselves. And while we locked ourselves up13

Anthology of Woundsand were isolated from the world, we became poorerand poorer, economically.To add all the years in prison of the all those jailedand interned, it comes to the result that Albania wascondemned with centuries of imprisonment.The wounds anthology is the common book of manyauthors that have had chains on their hands and werechosen to go into the mines of hell and they are the samepeople that would be killed or that would die in theendless sufferings. Through this book, their spirits gotup to bring their testimony of hell.Parts of this book have been written in prison withinvented alphabets, on cement sacks, cigarette lettersand on the sides of newspapers. They were hidden underthe straws of the mattress, in shoes, under stonesand ultimately they were memorized, helping spirituallythe authors. What’s even stranger, they got theirreaders in prison, which if revealed would cause theauthor and the reader to be sentenced to more years inprison. Other parts of the book were written during timespent in interment or after being freed from prison.However, the authors had no right to be published, thesame way these people had no right to vote or to workin their profession.As a result, this anthology was seen reasonable toinclude even some writings from those forced to go intopolitical emigration, from those authors that had beenprohibited to return to their country. They were alsopersecuted even where they were, in the form of assassinationattempts toward them and their works wereconsidered dangerous and the regime punished everypossible reader of them here.14

Anthology of WoundsNothing here is fictional, existing in the hard hyperrealismof arrests, relationships between the prisonersand the people who tortured them, the midnight tortures,the rapes, the big revolts in the camps of Spacand Qafe Bari — the only one in the prisons of the communistempire — the shootings, the disappearances, andmany others. But we don’t have here only a cold bookof facts and numbers. We are dealing with real literature– made of harsh rocky scenery in the dark werethrough a miracle of tears and emotions that, like grass,come above the gravestones of death.So this anthology is a close as possible to the writingsof torture and suffering from those that sufferedand were tortured in cells by criminals vested withpower in the criminal abandonment of the anti-country.Not all of them are writers, but they tried to do theirbest, and surely not all are well known in literature, butmany of the authors are mentioned later as famous personalitiesin the country’s culture that once freed from theprison years later, were valued in different countries anddifferent languages in the Europe and all over the world.This tells that the crime against them has been double, theywere maltreated first as people, then as talents.They wanted to kill them before death, killing theirworks before they were born.In the meantime, I think about the pain the authorsof the anthology have endured, while trying to choosethe works of their fellow sufferers. The term “anthology”is an old Greek phrase, meaning “to choose flowers,”the authors had to choose among wounds withblood on the petals.15

Anthology of WoundsSo this hard book is “chosen wounds” collection likea coal still burning, a mortal wealth of a collection leafsand charring meats, signs in the air, as long as the endlesslength of the barbed wires, dark marks in the collectiveconscience.Especially today that the communist empire and dictatorshiphas fallen and its dictatorships, the people thatcreated tortures or did them, are continuing them inmore evil ways, ignoring the suffering of others or notrecognizing it, because they don’t endure the persecutorsthat are a resistant evidence and remember themthe big sins, the colossal crime and then demand otherroads to save and hide, and not that of apologizing butaccording to their ritual even that of revenge, but veryoften that of the theft, they are trying to steal the persecutionsof them that were persecute.They want to be those that are not, the victims, whilethey were even such, not only because they shirts weresprinkled with blood during the tortures but even becausetheir blood was of the others, but at the end whenyou take the freedom of somebody you have not twofreedoms, but you have lost even yours and accordingto them now, is enough a bought testimony in these institutionswith weak former prisoners that creates thenowadays state, which is more similar to the technicalprisons, and …the oblivion is needed, the river Lete,collective amnesia, more and more from it.But I had to add that this anthology is only the top ofthe iceberg that navigates in the darkness. That as ifmelts more, will overflow, not only on the dark watersbut even with blood.16

Anthology of WoundsReally what were all those tortures? What was thatcrazy will to destroy the other person?The torture in its origin is invented to disappear withevery condition the truth. The inquisition used this way,torture to make people speak.Communism in the basis of its doctrine has its violence,as a device of social development, the war ofclasses, that according to me, is civil war in the peacetime community that was proved in the prisons withkiller obligation, so has the crime and the ideology, untilraising up in philosophy of it, making Marks andLenin as the protector of the badThe state of Albanian communists after took everything;good and soul had nothing to take even the truthand didn’t accept any other truth except its truth. That’swhy they didn’t accept the truth of the other, they pullout the tongue from the mouth and lied on the table ofthe gory office and put the knife on it. The word wasblooded like this. While the executors, were drunk ofjoy to be executors and they didn’t know and didn’t haveany other profession, except the one of the sadist, investigators,spies, guardians, prosecutors, denouncers,art critic of the socialist realism, member of the PoliticalBureau, leaders, prostitutes, lawyers, commissars, theshooting team. They feel stronger in the group. And inthe instinct to wash theirs sins they wanted victims. Andthey sacrifice the others so their society could remedyits sins, which they declaimed as feasts and victory.And so the society looked worse, wild, and uncivil,that the prehistorically caves substitute with the cells ofthe Interior Affairs Branch, while the book must be one,and similar with the Penal Code. So making afraid some,17

Anthology of Woundsor all the people really the society couldn’t choose anythingimportant, only incriminated more and more,while the state believed that worst he was worst hewould become. And it needed this appearance. A humanstate would feel weak.So it is better not to reason than to reason, the inhumanity, and the big crazy fury to enter the othersskulls, even breaking them. In the prisons of our prisonswas written in red, “We condemn all the people thathave a bad behavior, that speak in a bad way, that thinkin a bad way” and for the last one it was enough as aprove that they itself to think that the other was thinkingin a bad way.The witnesses were found very easy. The tortureswere ready and its zoology of the iron and electricitywere ready with light and terrible eyes.Often and often the crime has passed over the man,and to the tombs, and to the rivers, and to the animals,birds, trees, air, the sky and nothingness.The people chosen to torture the others were normal,at least seemed like this, not sadist, they spoke oflove they told erotic stories, but they were like beastswhen they had in front of them the arrested persons,because they first were indoctrinated and fight with theenemy and then they were themselves the victims oftheir macabre ideology. And to justify the violence andits ideology needed the victim to merit the torture, andon the other side to be as not valuable, so in one side itmust be done the depersonalization of the opposite, theviolation of him and his family the devaluation of himas a creation so must be put the chains, as dangerous, tobe fired in a cell, to cut all the hair, must be leaves on18

Anthology of Woundsold clothes, to become ugly, to be hungry, and to takethe food on the floor as a dog, to look as soon as possiblea very disgusting thing, not to merit anything.In meantime happened that during the fevers of thetortures to shine in the eyes something esthetic and atonce they broke the arrested persons’ fingers and tookfor example the rings and gave as a memory to theirignorant wives, that even today keep as memories notonly of their youth full of revolutionary orgasm and toa pathetic triumph not dead for them. That’s why theycontinue to eat with the teeth full of gold, took off fromthe teeth of the opposition.The writer Primo Levi, that evoked the camp ofAuschwitz, that later on with his books looked so deepon the world of the torturers that was suggested andfrightened that he could be one of them, we don’t knowthe fatal conditions, but he would hurry up to kill himself.No killer up to now has committed suicide, but theycontinue to murder the persons they have already killed.That’s why nothing must have a memory. The greatestenemy of the totalitarian system was that it must nothave memory. The dictatorships, of Nazism or communistespecially the last one, destroy the endless documents,the testimonies, and the written and not writtenmemory.But every action had an equal reaction with the action.The titanic difficulties restart in even in hell whendignity must be saved with the opportunity of men tolive normal lives. When you put yourself on the side of19

Anthology of Woundsgood, that must give you strength to dare and believethat it is possible to resist in the middle of the cruel vulgarityof evil bad. The dictatorship, even dead, has thissatanic thirst to continue the persecution generated aspart of the past – through the sons of the persecutors.They consider as their legitimate right to continuethe persecution as something inherited from their fathers,that in the conditions following the dictatorialsystem is presented on the most sophisticated shapes,such as maltreatment, the dispersing of the responsibilityto all, which means nobody, aggressively appropriatingthe right of the history, and of the future, and concretelytaking away the last wealth and creating conditionsto profit in capitalism for their own clan.Didn’t Enver Hoxha write his books in his villa as hestepped on the thick carpets that had been appropriatedfrom the subverted classes, while his cooperatorsput people alive into holes in the ground and coveredthem with dirt, leaving only the head outside, just sothey could find out where the gold was hidden.And we are telling our suffering, in the dark depthof which the stones tortured by the pressure, and thepainful corrosion of the hard plaques, sudden fill withgolden tendons, while our gold burns subverted underthe land on the shining diamonds.But the historic memory of the tragedy must bestrengthened.First we have to remember that evil must not be repeated,that’s why telling it especially from the artists,is not only liberation, but even a creation of conscienceand duty — an act that serves the truth, history and the20

Anthology of Woundsfuture. Because in this way is transmitted the soul ofthe times and spreading the suffering now, will passless of it to the future generations, in order not to havebig collective sufferings.Is it worthwhile this anthology for us? Maybe weneed to do as soon as possible peace with our history?Forgetting…But it is known that the crime not punished is a crimethat goes on…Even though this publication is at least an artisticpunishment, it also serves as an encyclopedia of thesuffering and a guide of overdoing it. It is even a harsh,majestic, challenge, a collective testament written in lionleather that honors all the Albanian literature, as a modernIliad persistence, a cathedral of a mourning miracle.By Visar ZhitiTirana, October 200321

Anthology of WoundsMARIA MEDICINA (DVORANI)Born in Korça, in 1925, shefinished the elementary school inher hometown and the high schoolin a medical college, in Venice,Italy. She came back to Albaniain 1944 and participated in theWar for National Liberation byjoining the ranks of partisans.She was arrested in 1952 andsentenced to death under politicalcharges. Following an appeal, her life was saved andshe was sentenced to a prison term of 25 years.She served her time for about 14 years and later onwas moved to a forced hard labor camp. She has beenthe head of the Former Prisoner and PersecutedWomen’s Association since 1992Her published books include “The silent love” (1999),“Why do I suffer?” (2001), The time in fogginess” (2003).May we forgive?We have often talked with our friends – the formerlypersecuted women. We have often read on newspapersthat we have to forgive. Yes, sure! We have to forgivefor our nation, to tolerate, to live in peace and harmony.But we would also have to forget our wounds, the nightmaresthat keep our youth and life still locked up inside…22

Anthology of WoundsHow can we forgive?I am one of the victims of the communist regime. Iwas sentenced to death and then after appeal I was condemnedto 25 years in prison. I have a lot to tell aboutmy prison years, but … the years of freedom have alsobeen hard.It was April when I regained freedom. I wanderedthe streets of Tirana to find a shelter until became dark.It was my first night as a free woman. I had to be gladbut I couldn’t. People walked out, quietly, in that coolspring evening. I took of my shoes and kept them in myhand because of my feet ached. I didn’t know where togo! I went to a lot of hotels to find a place for that night,but for me that night all the doors were shut.When the hotel receptionists saw the document thatmade me free had a prison stamp, they said — “No vacancy.”It was a very, very long and frightful night…The next day I went to a family to rest a little. Myfeet hurt, but more than that I had a wounded spirit.There goes the policeman again. The owners had to kickme out, because I was an “enemy of the people.” Theycould be interned. I was in shock again, but I couldn’tcry. I had forgotten how to cry since my prison days.However, I was really touched when a 12-year-oldchild and a few others threatened the policeman withbricks in hands, protecting me, shouting together, “Sheis kind. What do you want with her? Aren’t you sorry?”But I left. I didn’t want to create problems to that goodfamily.Oh my God! Why do we have to forgive these shamelesspeople who did everything to alienate us from our23

Anthology of Woundsfriends and cousins, who became afraid to meet us …And what about the “colleague,” the provocateur,can he be forgiven?...…He came from a military detachment. I worked inchirurgical ward, and he came there to do a nurse’scourse. When I saw him for the first time I was sorry forhim. He was pale, skinny, but although he had neverattended school, he was ambitious and was ready to doevery thing needed.One day he told me, “I have been proposed to workfor the State Sigurimi*” Very soon he was on his way tobecome a Sigurimi agent. One day he asked me if I wasa Party member and if I had participated in the war. Ididn’t answer. But he insisted, “You will not be part ofthe Political Party, you dream of the West and a freeAlbania.” At that time I couldn’t understand his words.He was Sami Lamani.These common people hid their real goals after aninvisible spider web. Fabrications, slanders, provocationsand traps were their invisible profession that sorrowedmany people’s lives.…As in a picture, I remember even now, four men,a colonel and three generals with all their ranks andred-striped trousers.- You got us tired - said Halim Xhelo (the Inner SectionChief at that time)- I have put my feet where you have put your heels-I answered. –I didn’t know to be such an important personto be observed from such a high degree officer.24

Anthology of WoundsOne of them, Mihallaq Ziçishti, shouted like a crazedman:- You are the enemy of the people. We have to getyou.Two hard slaps on the face and a kick on my abdomenmade me fell down. I hurt a lot, but I couldn’t beweak before them. I put my head up and said:-I have done nothing. My only mistake is that I lovemy country!A sudden punch knocked me down of the floor again.My mouth was bleeding and the front two teeth werebroken. I couldn’t get up again. It was almost impossible.I looked up and prayed: “Please God, look andtake revenge for me.”It was the first day of my arrest …*Translator’s Note: State Security, locally as known Sigurimi, wasAlbania’s feared secret service under the communist dictatorship.25

Anthology of WoundsTUK JAKOVA AND MITA JAKOVAMita Jakova was born in 1925.She finished the elementary andmiddle schools in her hometown.She started high school in Korça,where in March 1943 all the studentsof her class decided to interruptthe lesson and to participatein the Antifascist Youth Conference.Starting in August 1943they participated in the First AttackBrigade.Tuk Jakova was born in Shkodra in 1914. She finishedthe elementary and middle schools in his hometown,but interrupted his high school studies due to economicand political reasons. He then worked as carpenterin the city’s factories. During this time he was one ofmain participants of the Communist group of Shkodra.Then he participated in the National War for Liberationas the commissar of the First Attack Brigade. Afterthe war ended, Tuk and Mita got married and had fourchildren, two sons and two daughters.During this time Tuk was a member of CommunistParty Central Committee and the Political Bureau. But in1951 he had contradictions with the system and was dismissedfrom the Political Bureau. Then, because of hisopposition, he was also dismissed from the Ventral Committee.In June 1955, his family was expelled from Tiranaand sent to Berat.Tuk began to work as carpenter and Mita as a teacher.But after some time she was forced to work as a laborer.26

Anthology of WoundsIn November 1956, they were told of the first measure ofinternment. A year later Tuk was arrested and sentencedto 20 years of prison.In 1959, Tuk Jakova died in the prison hospital undermysterious conditions. “They are going against developmentwith their ways,” were Tuk’s last words.After 27 years, in January 1983, Mita and her children,together with the nephews and nieces, where sentto internment for the second time.Mita then came back to Tirana, where she currentlylives with her oldest daughter, Vjosa. Agimi and Bujanawith their families live in Greece and the other son, Besnik,died accidentally in the United States in 1994.Fragments from the book “Painful Correspondence”My dear Mita!This is the first letter that I am writing from the prisonand as you know, because State Security Comrades told you,I have been sentenced to 20 years in prison.Please don’t get sad, but look after your work and takecare of yourself and the children.Don’t worry about me. I am fine and I am not sad and Ilive with the hope that one day I will go in any place to workin my profession. So I will not ask you for money any morebecause I will get it by myself. But now (as you have heard) Iam in the old prison of Tirana, waiting to begin any kind ofwork. If I change address I will, write you at once.Regards and hugs, Tuk27.IV.1958, Old Prison27

Anthology of WoundsMy dear Tuk,I have waited a lot for your first prison letter. I just got it andI am replying.I have a lot to write, as much as you have had to write me.But can we write all what we have felt and thought for eachother all these months, after January 3?Your letter was short, but I am glad that you began towrite me again. I will count the days until I get a letter fromyou again.My sweetheart! Your letters will be so precious and wantedall this time!Don’t worry about me! I know that I have a big obligationto raise and educate for a long period of time alone our children.I understand this duty and the other social ones, so Iwill find strength and deal with the difficulties.Don’t get sad! Hope you will have as soon as possible awork place. You love working and it will be like a friend to youin these days.That’s why I will be glad if you have a workplace, but notbecause you will not ask me for money in the future, as youwrote to me. Surely you will need underwear or other thingsduring this time. Don’t be ashamed; write me.All the children are fine. Today I got a letter from Vjosa.She wrote me that they were preparing to celebrate May 1 inschool, and she was glad to celebrate it again in Tirana afterso many years. On the third semester she had got only fives(the highest grades). Besnik too, while Agim got a four againin grammar, nevertheless he is improving now. I am worriedabout the grades he will get on the high school diploma. I willwrite you again about this. Bujana is the same.28

Anthology of WoundsShe remembers you a lot and speaks a lot of funny things.The children take care of me and don’t get me angry.Mother left 12 days ago. So I have to pass every worry bymyself. Oh no! I am not alone, I have my children. Whatabout you?Write me Tuk; as much as you can. I will write you too. Iam looking forward to see you right way you accommodate.A kiss from the children, hugs and I miss you,Yours, MitaBerat, 6. V. 1958My dear Mita!Even though I have written you a letter a week ago, replyingyour first letter, now I am writing you again.Today is May 24. This has been a very important date forus. It reminds us of our unforgettable moments that bring ustogether. I am not writing about the romantic side of this date(even though I would like to) but I am writing only for thecurrent reality.In my family life, May 24 coincides with moments of happinessand desperation. A wise popular proverb says “Life itis not always full of flowers,” it has its happiness and its desperation.So considering what I am writing, I advice you tobe strong on this desperation moments because we have obligationstoward our sons and you must be for them father andmother, and to face the life alone as time as we will be separated.I was glad to read your words “I understand the obligationI have in life.”29

Anthology of WoundsI have written my mother a letter and I said to her to come andsee me with Vjosa. Also I asked her to bring me some food, ifpossible, because now we are under the prison norms and the foodis less.According to the things I had with me, I kept the mattress,quilt (with no sheet and bed), pillow, my gray suit, old jacket,trousers, cigarettes, waterproof leather, sandals, 3 shirts, 2 A-shirts, wool sweater, white cap, vest, towel, chess board and fivebooks. All the others things they promised to send me there whereyou are, so if you had taken them and if not, write me back. I havethe inventory of the things. So if they have confiscated something,tell me what.I am in good health. Tell me how are you, how are the childrenespecially Bujana. Tell me about their grades in the school.Kiss the children from me.Kiss you, miss youYours, TukuTirana, Old Prison, 24.V.1958PS: Today I got 500 leks that you had sent me.Thank you!My dear Tuk!I got the second letter of 17.05.1958. I think now youhave got the letter I sent you before this one and you are calmnow to hear that we are in good health .Before some days Isent 500 leks thinking that I have not sent you money since along time.I will wait from you a long letter next time, as you promisedto me. I saw you are sad and despaired from this last one.30

Anthology of WoundsI love you so much Tuk! Don’t worry and don’t get despairedin every condition you are. Try to be strong and to overcomethe difficulties wisely and patiently. When worried and despairedthink of the children and me. I have seriously decidednot to despair. I have many reasons to be. I have often spokenwith myself (not having other person to speak with) and thenlike a second person I have encouraged myself in all the matters.Now I think for the job, to be a good worker, and to educateas good as I can my children, and to fulfill their needs thebest I can, I will think of you even though you are far away, Iwill try to be always close to you with strength, decision, andenthusiasm for the life and love for work and the care for children,and loyalty and all of this to transmit you. Do you understandme Tuk? So, whenever you are think the same way.Think of job and be strong. I know you are so no need to write.During the last months I have read many books, for example“A hero of our time” of Lermontov. The efforts road” ofAleksej Tolstoy, has so far been translated in Albanian onlypartly, “The sisters”, “Uncle Gorioi” of Balzac, “Storm inGang” of Tagora. “If I was a guy” of Stermilli, “KujtimiFlower” of Postol and some Chinese parts etc It needed a longconversation to tell about each of them, especially for the firstones. When I was reading “Storm in Gang” (a book whichyou have written me to have read) I tried to find with myimagination the part that mostly had impressed you. Komolowas for me a dear character, with all the good qualities theauthor had described her.If possible and you need books write me to send some.Write me for everything you need. We are on the last days ofthe scholarship year. We have a lot to do. We finish the schoolon May 24 May. I began the holidays on 5 June. The first31

Anthology of Woundsdays I will accommodate the home, because I have not done yetthe summer works. The children will write you when the schoolwill over. I will include here Vjosa picture that did it only foryou. She will come on 4 th of June. We are all in good health. I amfeeling better too.We all kiss and hug you.Yours, MitaBerat, 20.5.1958.My dear Mita!I sent you two letters and this is the third and I am waitingto have an answer from you.I have written my mother and Vjosa to come and see mebut they are not coming yet so I am a bit preoccupied. I amwriting a letter to Fran too. In your first letter you wrote mewhat I needed and I am replying.First I want to see you. Come when you begin the holidays.Let Vjosa come with you and bring me these things.I need some sausage, cheese, a little sugar, bread, a floormat, a hair comb, toothpaste, some stamps, soap, a copy pencil,envelopes and letters and some cigarettes. As you see theseare expensive things so you can sell my light suit. If you arenot able to come , sent the things in a package. If you wouldcome I had to give you some clothes like my gray suit, theleather coat, etc I have no place to keep themDon’t worry my dear. Continue to be strong and persistentbecause I can feel better in this way. On other hand I amtrying not to get sad too. Until now I have been in good healthand I have even not had headache. I think I am getting usedwith the prison climate.32

Anthology of WoundsPlease write me again and tell me of you and about thechildren results at school. Kiss the children for me.Kissing and missing you,Yours, TukuOld prison, Tirana5. VI.1958P.S. I forgot to say me bring another new book (novel)My dear Tuk!I have written a letter two weeks ago as of today. You havenot written me back. I don’t know how you have passed thetime there after May 24. (The third letter I did get.)Do you have a job now? We have the same preoccupation,your job. I continually think of you, for your food and theplace you sleep. I am worried for you. I don’t want you to besad. Every time I cook any good meal I think of you, and Ican’t eat it.I ask to myself what is Tuk eating today? I am sad that Iam far away and I can’t see you to bring something to eat. Ithas been a long time you have not seen a relative to come andsee you and to bring something to eat. I knew you have waitedfor Vjosa and your mother. This last one is in Durres and youknow she can’t come by herself if somebody doesn’t accompanyher. So that’s why even Vjosa has not come yet. Shecried when she came on holidays and couldn’t come to meetyou. I began my days off on June 5. During these days I cleanedthe house and when I sleep in a clean room I think of youagain. And Tuk, where is he sleeping? And I feel pain in myheart. Life is so strange! I think of your conditions of living33

Anthology of Woundsand I try to have a clean home (especially now that I am on mydays off). I do all these for me to loose my mind and for childrento live in a good family.…I have asked to come and see you and to stay some days inTirana, but I have got no answer. I continue to wait. I will comewith children if I can. I don’t know what to do with Bujana! Ourchildren talk a lot about you. They are growing up Tuk! I amglad to see them altogether as birds. Gimi likes very much working.He can’t stay a day without it. He began to clean and oilagain the construction tools. One day seriously he said, “Mum!Can you find me a job until the school starts? I will earn somemoney to help you and pass the time too.”I told him, “you are young and you have only to go to schooland to became a good guy. “What about my father,” he said, “hewas younger than I am when he began to work to help hismother … I had to give a long explanation. I think to let him gofor some days in Durres. He likes it too. Lately I have dreamed ofyou very often as if you suddenly come. This way I miss youmore.I am sending you 500 leks. I have not sent you since onemonth before. I know this is little money. But I will go inTirana and sell any other thing and send you more money.Write me Tuk, write me for everything. I am looking forwardto get a letter from you.A kiss with love.Yours, Mita.Berat, 5.6.1958My dear Mita!34

Anthology of WoundsI got your second letter on December 10. I am sorry youhave not gotten my letter of November 5. Maybe you have got itnow. I learned about you from this letters so I feel glad.I ‘m happy you are fine and on the other hand I ‘m sorryyou are obliged to work supplementary hours. I am preoccupiedfor your health because you are not in such a good heathto work double work. This is a noble initiative that is comparedwith heroic actions, and I have just to thank you but ifthis initiative (independently that it is for a good purpose)damages your heath is a big cost for our children and me. SoI want to stress that you have no to preoccupy for me, I canlive fine in prison conditions, and if this sacrifice you are doingfor me you just put in your mind that this makes me feelbad and not in honest conditions. I feel like a criminal towardmy wife and my children. So take care of you. Don’t over passyour physical possibilities. Did you understand me?!. I got a New Year card from Fran .He had come in Tiranabecause his son was sick. He felt sorry he has had no possibilityto see me. I want to write him back in 20 January, so don’tworry if I don’t write you in this date. I wish you HappyNew Year although late.Kiss the children for meHuge for allKiss youYours TukuOld prison Tirana, January 5 1959.My dear Tuk!Today is February 5 and you must have written to me. I think35

Anthology of Woundsyou are happy to write me back after one month you have no hadletters from me.I wish you have been in good health and wish to be always.Lately has been so cold and I have been preoccupied for yourhealth. When near the fire, I have thought of you!We all have been fine. We have had woods inside and havenot felt the cold. Don’t worry about us. Bujana has four lettersto learn and then she will write you with her handwriting.She wants to write you even now but I told her to writeyou in the celebration on her Reading Primer Day.We have decided that. The other children have not written,but it’s my fault. I usually write in the evening, thattime they want to sleep. I forgot to tell them to do it at noon.I have been forgetful but now I am more Tuk. Two weeks agoI bought an umbrella 750 leks and I don’t know where I leftit. When the rain began again I looked for the umbrella but itwas not there ….I lost it.Every time I say the children I sent you a letter they feelbad I have not notified them. Agim is better. I am sendingyou a little package, a pair of wool socks, 1 kilo sugar, 100grams of coffee, 5 boxes of cigarettes, 1 tooth paste, a soap barand the second book of the novel “War and Peace.” I read it.But I will write nothing about it. Read it and enjoy it. I amputting all this in a wood box as the post office wants it. Savethis box because if I get the permission and come to see you,you can give it to me and I will send it back to you anothertime.I feel so sleepy tonight, maybe because I have been readinglate the last three nights “War and Peace.” I forgot I had to go to36

Anthology of Woundswork early tomorrow. I am closing the letter now.Good night sweetheart!Kisses and hugs, from your Mita…The no. 8 letter, Berat, 5.1.59P.S. I am including here 4 envelopes and 8 letters that Ihave home right now.M.…Tuk, my honey!This time I came to see you happier than ever. I would not goto sleep in hotel but to Durres, and the next day me and yourmother would come to meet you. But she was not home. She wasin Tirana to Kola, because Filip was with his family on holidaysin Dardha. I stayed two days on Durres to my aunt Toninja andthen I left for Tirana, I told Besnik to go and notify the motherthat I had arrived and I waited her to hotel. She didn’t come thatevening but on Thursday, August 20. I had bought everythingI had thought and we came to meet you.My honey! I can’t express by words how much worried Iwas when I heard about your health! I was on the road and Ihad to be strong but even now I think I am not able to breathe.I tried a lot that day to give them the prepared things foryou (they got only the cigarettes, the letters of them, and akilo of sugar) and they didn’t let me see you, at least to hearyou for a while. They told to me you were fine and that I mustbe calm but you my sweetheart can understand how littlethose words mean to me. And I couldn’t be calm.My dear Tuk! If I had to sacrifice and pass the difficulties I had todo a lot to be at least a minute over your head. But in this cases manis powerless. Nevertheless I imaginably heard your voice that called37

Anthology of Woundsme and with heart and soul I was there with you my darling! Itseemed to me you ask me all the time to drink water. I can’t give youbecause it was bad. I put a wet wipe on your head and lips. Have youfelt me that I have been close to you in those difficult cases? Butmaybe you are not so bad. I hope it with whole my heart.I felt that those little minutes that I met you other times makeme feel happy.I don’t know if you feel if you know how important your life,your health, is for me and the children, and if you know this andlove us, please live for us that love you so much.I asked in the Ministry to see you when you get out of thehospital and they told me I would be allowed to that.The children are fine. They waited for me gladly, but whenthey saw my face and the returned food they worried. I had to tellthem that you were fine.What else can I write? I wish many times for you to befine and this letter finds you in good health.A great kiss,Your Mita that loves you a lotWrite me more about your healthBerat 21, August 1959Unfortunately Tuk Jakova couldn’t get this letter. He diedsuddenly on August 26 in the prison’s hospital. According tothe official version communicated to Mita he died from appendicitis,but his death is still an enigma.38

LIRI LUBONJAAnthology of WoundsShe is the wife of political prisonerTodi Lubonja and the motherof well-known writer and journalistFatos Lubonja, who was alsoa political prisoner. Liri Lubonjahas perfectly described the persecutionsand tortures she sawduring the internment years in herbook “Far and among the people.”She testifies about the sufferingof women under the sameSocialist system for which she herself had fought.FRAGMENTS FROM “Far and among the people”(Interment memories 1973-1990)ArrestsIt was 25 June 1974. Somebody knocked. I looked atmy watch. It was 6 a.m. Who was at the door so early?!Concerned, I went to open it. An unknown person wasat the door. “I want to talk to Fatos,” he told me.“Who are you,” I asked. He told me that he camefrom State Security. I was shocked. “Do u want to seeFatos,” I asked again as in a daze. He softly told me,“Just to ask him for something.”I went to wake up Fatos. He was surprised, wearinghis velvet beige trousers and his shirt. “What could havehappened?” He combed his hair with his fingers andleft. I was shocked. I knew it was absurd and I didn’twant to accept this for him. Todi was spiritually pre-39

Anthology of Woundspared even for prison, since Tirana, but I never thoughtthat my sons would have the same misfortune.I had dreamed a lot about their future — not aboutwealth and grades. My dreams for him were intellectualones, linked a bit with what I had not achieved inmy life. Fatos had a lot of common characteristics withmy oldest brother, Fiqret, a real intellectual that had alwaysbeen a spiritual guide and inspiration to me.We stayed all the day waiting at the State Securitydoors. The Vice Chief said Fatos would come with thenoon train, but he didn’t come, then he told us he wouldcome with the evening train, but he didn’t come again.The next morning he told us the truth — he was arrested.It was a big shock for me. We all grieved. What couldwe tell Ana that loved so much Fatos and was so closeto him? ...Zana, Gimi and the girls went to Tirana. I lived sufferingfor my son, but also the feeling was more thansuffering.I had very bad thoughts and I feared for Todi … ButI never spoke of them in those two days, because Todiwas in very grave condition too. We had even forgottento eat, although he was a diabetic.Then, one moment I cried in anger, “We have to surviveand I began to lay the table.”On July 27, I went to job like every day. At noonAbdulla gave me my register book of cartels, entranceand exit sheets and he told me to go home. It was thefirst time he did this. As always Todi came after three aclock, tired and exhausted from the hard labor he had.40

Anthology of WoundsHe was ready to rest when the door knocked. It wasHysni, an enterprise worker that said that the directorwanted to speak to Todi.What does he want at this time, he asked very astonished.Todi started putting on his clothes, so I went toclose the door and say Hysni that Todi was coming. ButI couldn’t close the door because Hysni asked me to givehim glass of water. When I went to get the water, a lot ofpeople entered the room. Hysni disappeared. He haddone his job perfectly. The State Security Chief MitatBare very excited and selfishly said loudly, “TodiLubonja, you are under arrest!”Six men, one woman and the neighborhood councilchief had invaded our little apartment. I was so naïve! Iwas preparing Todi’s medicines and his toothbrush, butthe one arrested could not have such luxury things withhim.My action angered the chief and he told me something.Todi resented it too, so while he was wearing hisshoes, he said, “Why do you speak her that way?”Nobody could contradict the chief especially, in thesecases, so very nervously he ordered me, “Hurry up! Geton your shoes and come with us!”What was this? A third punch for Todi, after Fatoswas arrested? I understood I was not arrested, becauseif he had arrested both of us he would be happier.I learned the truth only when I went to Burrel andmet Todi. During the investigation they told Todi “Wehave arrested Liri too.” It was a psychological pressure,for the arrested person, who had no relations with hisfamily. He was completely isolated. Todi told me that41

Anthology of Woundswhen they took out of the cell he secretly checked witheyes, the shoes, sandals and women slippers trying tofind mines among them.I couldn’t accompany Todi even to the door. Theyhad taken him while I was putting on my shoes. He waswearing an old light suit that kept working even thereon the tiles. We had no time to think that summer hewould need more warm clothes in that cold cell.He went through winter with that suit. Acceptingclothes and food was part of the strategy used for thepsychological pressure toward the prisoners.I was so alone among seven unknown people thathave just begun the operation.The chief told me with a declarative tone not appropriatein that moment, “Liri Lubonja, do you have guns,other materials, or banned books in this home.” Contractedfrom his behavior, I answered, “I have none ofthese. Give me a paper to sign and leave.”He got angrier. “What did you say? You tell me toleave? He knew very well his job, I didn’t. I had neverseen how the arrests and inspections where done inhomes. They checked everywhere beginning with theunderwear, lifted one by one between all these men, untildigging on the flowers vases on the balcony.They went through every letter found on the drawersand cupboards were inspected with great attention.There were two pictures that drew the attention of oneof the men.There were on it two old, noble men. One of themhad a beard and mustache. They seemed to be different42

Anthology of Woundsin the wearing mode. So very devoted in his job theman that found the picture, passed it Koco Josifi, theinvestigator, that had come from Tirana. But he didn’tpaid attention to it.It’s normal that Bajram Curri and KostandinKristoforidhi were not any compromising material forhim.I put the picture on the drawer respecting Todi’s fathermemory that was dedicated to keep those cards ingood conditions, sticking a cardboard inside. There weretwo flacons “Viks” that draw attention to Hekuran, butthe investigator said to leave them alone.The chief that came to arrest Todi, told me that hewas from Kuç. He asked for birthday, then he said, “Iam one year younger than you and I have participatedon the war one year earlier.”Even as I was in a big trouble, I remind a friend thatwhen worked with Todi in “Zeri i Popullit” newspaperhad said once to tease me:“Do you know why Fterra is separated from Vloraand merged with Saranda? Every time the Kuç peoplegot on the bus they said to the Fterroti people, “Go tothe end, you have fought less than we do. One dayFerroti people couldn’t bear this and wanted to separate.”Fterra was my father’s birthplace and my oldestbrother’s village. I had never seen this village until 1971,but I don’t know why I loved it. That time we hadlaughed, but how could I do now? Could I tell the chiefthat I had participated on the war since the beginning,43

Anthology of Woundsthat on 1944 I had represented the youth of Tirana onthe First Congress of the Antifascist Youth and that Ikept the Memory Medallion? It was worthless.But when he threaded me to take the house awayfrom me, I said, “I have fought as much as to have aroom to live.” It was senseless because the right to havea place to live was of all people. But I remembered itwas not the tone I had to use with him.They couldn’t find guns, so they began to check forbanned books. I convinced them we didn’t have any.Then I added, “It depends what you call yellow books?”He shook his head angrily and added, “You knowquite well what a yellow book is.” I knew it, that why Iasked.Something had happened in September 1955 when Iturned back from Soviet Union. Their employer thatworked in Durres customs found between my books“The adventures of Tom Sawyer” in Italian. I don’t knowif it was for the word “adventures” or the Italian languagebut this made him suspicious. He divided it fromthe others and said: I will turn this book later. Instead ofthe book he criticized me: Todi Lubonja’s wife readingbanned books??When that book was translated in Albanian I wantedto send a copy to him with a written message. I don’tknow if this Lezha chief knew anything about literature,but I was angry, but the council chief put is handin my arm advised me not to get angry.While they searched the room where Gimi slept, theytook all the books. The Tirana investigators checked44

Anthology of Woundseverywhere — in the bedroom, in the notebooks, in thenotes and letters.Koço found the money and counted it as if he weredisinterested. There were altogether 800 new leks,brought from Fatos from some things we had sold onTirana.They kept two files and wrote processing form forall those things they thought were doubtful. They werealmost all mine, except a manuscript by Todi.They took my work files from the History Institute,which included the period from Prizren League of 1879until the June Revolution of 1924, a notebook with flowers’dates and a notebook with notes from the AlbanianAntifascist Youth Congress of August 8, 1944 and someother notes that I had kept from October 1973 when Ibegan to work in agriculture storage.Florian Kolaneci, the other investigator, thought towould find “the key” in these notes. But I had writtenthem with great care, convinced that one day they wouldbe read from them. It was only I that could read betweenthe lines. They could find only the daily realityof workers, described from person that looked at themfor the first time.But the main investigator, Chief Hazdenari with his“cleverness,” wickedness and his predisposition observedironically the expressions and words. He highlighted thepart I wrote about the “saving campaign in medicine.”When I had to be hospitalized in Tirana, the deputydirector of the Lezha hospital had told me, “You willnot be hospitalized in Tirana, but in Shkodra becauseyou are included in the saving campaign.”45

Anthology of WoundsAnd then the search was over. They filled their formsand with the exception of the books, pictures and letters,they put everything else in Gimi’s room. They confiscatedeverything – except the washing machine.They solemnly “sealed the room” with string andmolding material. In fact, we had observed that whenwe they took our home, police could enter any time theywanted.During the search, hanging on a nail in the wall wasmy kitchen apron. I had some recently developed filmin its pocket. They checked every where in the cupboards,but not the apron, so I felt excited even throughthe pain of everything else. They would have no opportunityto destroy that film. The pictures — that we didn’tknow if we would have the chance to do again, altogether— were saved. I was really surprised with thatstrange feeling I had while the seven people were aroundmy house. Checking the bathroom, the vice chairmancame out with the oil burner, holding it by one leg. Whatdid this mean? What proof was in that? I understood atonce — it was dirty. A spider had made a web on it.That’s why he had brought it. He must want prove thatwe didn’t even know what cleanliness was. I looked athim indifferently. No body talked and the vice chairmantook it back.Based on the chairman’s order, I had to go to the StateSecurity. I wanted to lock the door but vice chairmanand another man stayed there. They would questionthose visiting us.The small people reception room was full of cigarettestems. They couldn’t breathe normally from the46

Anthology of Woundsstrong cigarette smell. So when I entered I wanted toopen the window. Somebody outside ordered me arrogantlyto close it. He was Florian that came near thewindow shouting loudly. Maybe he still rememberedthat word that I had said during the investigation in myhome when with Koço they were checking the cupboardand he found my notes. He also saw a little square box.I don’t know why but he hesitated to open it, and I purposelyto offend him took the box, opened it and said,“Don’t be afraid. It is only a television remote control.”I began to open it. Koço more skilled in this works lookedat me and smiled a little, while Florian very angry toldme, “I am not afraid.”I was waiting in that reception room thinking whathad happened during the day and what Gimi wouldsay at 8 p.m. He had gone to Tirana to get informationon Fatos. Would they let me go?Their “show” with me ended. After an hour or sothey told me to leave. I went to the post office to callTirana. Gimi told me that at the moment that he andZana arrived to Fatos’ apartment some people had cometo investigate. They had arrested Todi’s brother in lawof Todi. There was no news from Fatos.Then I told them. “They took daddy too today.”PenalizedIn the 1960s I had read in Tirana a book in Italian,“La morte civile,” the “Civil Death.” It is what the authorhad named the phenomenon that happened in thecommunist countries for party or government cadre thatwas penalized by the party.47

Anthology of WoundsThe book described the death of a woman in Rumania.Since that time, I had a great impression. I had justlived that story as mine, maybe because she had beenwoman. In our country, we have had such “deaths,” butexcept any known person, we have thought very lessabout the others.Why has it happened like this? I often asked myselfand I felt guilty. When the commission of the deportationfor internment was created, of which we learnedonly in 1974, time after time we heard that X or Y personwas interned to work somewhere, but his childrencontinue to go to schools and have no problems or responsibilities.It seemed to be so simple and acceptable.But the reality was different.That death of an alive person was really absurd, ugly,and unacceptable. People that had been your relatives,friends or acquaintances were now just strangers. Onetime, walking on the sidewalk I saw a passing that man.I don’t know the reason he was in Lezha, but when hecame near me he turned his head on the other side anddidn’t speak to me. There was no time to be astonished.It was the same as in the fantastic novels or tales — youwere just turned into an invisible creature. No onelooked at me, be they intellectuals or laborers. I begannot to see them too. It seemed to me they were poorcreatures that suffered when they saw me from far away.No reason to get surprised.A penalized thief, after finishing the prison term returnedon our neighborhood. All the neighbors waitedher with great affection when in the same time theydidn’t accept the 3-year-old, Ana, to enter their homes.Nobody looked at me sometimes, when I went to the48

Anthology of Woundsstore. Greeting was a forgotten gesture. But it was betterthan when looked at you in a very curious way.People came to town with their mind set that thewoman over there was the wife of … One day, whenmy observers where so close I could not stop my self, Isaid, “Do you think I am an animal of zoo?” They didn’texpect this, so they said something and left.. . …It was not so difficult for the adults that use theirlogic, but what about Ana that was still a sensible, kindand friendly child? Could Ana understand that herteacher acted the same with all the other children in thekindergarten? Ana was happy when she saw her onthe road and called her …Teacher…. but her teacheracted differently, especially when Ana was with us. Thesame happened with her friends when their parentsaccompanied them.Ana could not understand. Was it her mother’s andher grandmother’s fault that kept her tightly by herhand? She got angry and cried and bit the hand to lether go. Then she would tell us “mom is bad” or “grandmotheris bad”. We were sad, but what could we do?Only when we went home she was again that kind,quiet child and asked for forgiveness, but she still didn’tknow we were condemned to the same way she was.Once Xhija, the nursery tutor said, “The child is alittle dirty.” I didn’t understand. Dirty meant she hadlice. I couldn’t find the cause. Ana had no friends out ofthe nursery. But I didn’t think she caught the lice there.I continue to idealize these institutions where parentsleave the children out of need. At the old nursery therewas only one episode, but at the new one, the one Drania49

Anthology of Woundsmanaged, she traumatized the child and us. That’s whyI am writing about this.A night earlier Zana, as ordered by the tutor, took anhour to clean her daughter’s head. It was a cold winterday in February. I was in hurry because I had to go tothe Shëngjin storage. At the entrance the nursery directorstood with very serious authority. She inspectedAna’s hear and arrogantly said that she could not go inand closed the door. I went to the bus station and onthe bus I cried for the first time after all the things thathad happened to us. Ana was crying and saying, “Anahas no lice.” I was touched because of Ana. How couldthese people offend even children in this way?I told the other workers what had happened to me.Jupi lit a fire, and we put Ana near it. She continued tocry saying “Ana has no lice.” Then Jupi went in the cityand bought a chocolate bar for her. At noon they toldme to go home. “If Abdulla comes, we will speak tohim,” they said. Without these good people, the worldwould have been entirely senseless.AnaAna grew up and began kindergarten. But her lifebecame more complicated the more she grew up. Itdidn’t have to do with the daily great deprivations. Itwas a more delicate and traumatic concern. Her father,then her grandfather, and Mimi (Gimi) had gone not tocome back. She could not explain this. She asked timeafter time: “Where are they, why don’t they come?”- In Tirana, working, we answered and she repeatedto Teti.50

Anthology of Wounds- My daddy is in Rane, my grandfather in Rane, andMimi in Rane.One day when she didn’t see from the window ofthe kitchen from where she looked the world.“The hospital horse is missing,” she told Teti withregret “The horse left for Rane.”When she grew up a little more, she began askingwith worry, “Grandma, how is my daddy?”- He is very well, he wants the best in the world foryou.Hearing that she was glad and calm again.… One day Ana came upset and worried from thekindergarten. Her face was full of desperation and surprise- Is my daddy Tosi German?- How could he be German? He is my son. Am I German?Ana listened and tried to believe what I said and tryingto forget the words of her best friend in kindergartenwhen they had a quarrel. Gresa joined even some otherwords through the next days — “enemy”, “prison” etc.On other hand Ana must have been more familiarwith the “Germans.” We acted as if we were disinterestedin what she said, smiling and acting as if were notworried of what her friends say. One day I used anotherexplanation, unsuccessfully. I was talking to Ana aboutsome good Germans, that come to Albania to work asfriends. But Ana told Teti very surprised, “Oh why isgrandma saying, bad words.”51

Anthology of WoundsFirst we must know what happened in kindergartento understand these reactions. One day Ana saidshe didn’t like to go to kindergarten just because herteacher Reti had given her the German role in the play.“Why doesn’t she say me to recite a poem,” she asked.We answered that not all the children could tell poems.But she was not convinced she insisted, “Me, me,why can’t I recite a poem?”She has right not to believe.But the hardest for Ana were the visits in the prisons.In July 1975 she met her grandfather in Burrel. Anacontinually spoke, sang songs to her grandfather, whileTeti didn’t speak a word she said only “yes” or “no.”When the visit was over, we greeted each other. Anabegan to cry and shout. But she didn’t like to go, shepulled her grandfather shirtsleeve and said, “Comehome with.”When she visited her father, she saw since far way,went near the big iron door and slapped her handshappy, shouting, “Here is my father.” Then she embracedhim.Teti sat down on a corner, and didn’t speak, didn’tmove. She was afraid of the officers and policemenaround. Her father was an unknown and abstract figurefor her. She was only one month when Fatos wasarrested. She didn’t move even when we called her, evenwhen Ana criticized her. When parting only Ana cried.Tears of pain, but beautiful ones. She didn’t speak therebut during the road home she asked, “Why doesn’tdaddy come with us? Maybe those persons don’t let himcome?” Then later she concluded herself that the per-52

Anthology of Woundssons where just officers. “Why don’t they let him?”On October 20, 1976, Ana, who was not even 4,“passed her big first trial.” She walked out from Spacto Rreps. That was 7 kilometers. Ana kept hergrandmother’s hand and asked about the river’s color.It has another color because of the pollution in it.Ana asked frightened: “Will the night come?” Tetiswas happy in her mother hands. It’s better to come thisway every time without car. In Rreps Ana continued toask whether the night coming, but at the end a car thatcame from Oroshi, took us as far as Shpal. We sat downnear the road and waited. The girls, tired, slept. A passengertook of his jacket and covered the girls. Anothercar took us and we arrived to the Mati Bridge. It wasnight when we arrived to Lezha. The next day at thekindergarten Ana didn’t play with the others.“I have foot aches,” she said to the teacher.The girls played with one another. Teti threaded Ana,“I will put you in prison.” So she knew what the prisonwas! We asked her about the meaning of the wordprison.Ana answered – “Don’t you know?”“No,” we said. But she shook her hand doubtfullyand said “Hmm you know, you know.”Another time I sat near the place where was written“Stop” near the big door of the Burrel prison. A truckcame there and Ana asked”- How did they bring the food in the grandfather’sprison?53

Anthology of WoundsFor the first time Ana used the words “daddy andgrandpa in prison.” She was getting older, as she evenliked to say. Then she didn’t speak any more for Rane orjob for her father and grandfather but asked insistently,“What did they do? Why are they in prison?”The grandmother answered strictly, “Nothing.”InternedAlthough the main part of the former camp inhabitantswas not interned any more, the villagers called usthe same, “the interned”.Some were disgusted by the word. As I was toldsome of them lived on the command offices and annexes.The camp was behind them. After the camp was closedall its environments where just storage now, but in 1975,when a big campaign “cleanse” the country started, theoffices got full of people.The first at the former offices was Meli’s family. Sheand her sister married Italian engineers after the war.They had even one child each. Although they didn’t haveany more ties with their husbands, who had returnedin Italy, they were interned. One of the men was put inprison with “a group of saboteurs” before he left forItaly. Zeneli, their brother, that didn’t like to leave thesisters alone and had joined them. All called him “Uncle”the same as his two nephews, Boxhi, and Fredi did.When they were young, he and his little sister, Meli,who I had met in Lezha, had been partisans.They came from a wealthy family (their father hadgraduated the military academy during King Zogu’s rule54

Anthology of Woundsand he was large landowner).Persecuted all their life, during 1950s they had sleptfor some time under a bridge. In Fishta after five yearsthey were not interned anymore but had no right tomove in another town or to return in Tirana.Fredi, Hajrie’s son (the oldest sister) had fallen in loveand married a Zadrima girl, a Communist’s daughter,the head of the civil status office of united cooperative.This relation was unacceptable for the girl’s family.They had threatened him with knives, and to quell allthis, it was approved for them to live in Rrila, the farmsector.Hajria had praised them in Rrila when she came tosee her brother and sister. “Poor man! The less he has,the less he is glad!”Meli and Boxhi had the tap under the steps. Sometimesthey thought this was a privilege and the othersthis was disgrace.In addition to the two rooms where they lived, theyused other places of the former camp, especially thegarden, to grow good vegetables and raise chickens.Xhevria lived next to them in a big room. She wasfrom Procesti, a Peshkopia village. She had a son of 12-to 13-years-old and the wife of the oldest sun, Rushen,who had 2 little girls.Hasan and Selami the two other sons were in prison,because a friend of theirs that had come from Tiranahad escaped to Yugoslavia. It had been so shocking. Inthe investigation room the men where asked to acceptthey have helped the Tirana friend to escape. In the court55

Anthology of Woundsthey were sentenced with 16 and 14 years of prison.The family used to live on a cooperative pension of 110leks of Xhevrie. The younger woman worked as an agricultureworker in conglomeration sector.After Xhevrie’s room was a wider place. EnverPacrami lived there. He was Fadil Pacrami brother, sohe was moved from Tirana where he had worked asstorekeeper. In Fishta he and his sons worked in agriculture.Ten years of prison he had done for agitationand propaganda before coming to Fishta. The accusationswere that he complained about the marmaladequality, the water, and he watched Yugoslavia channelson television. The two witnesses said he had oftenwatched Montenegro programs in his television. Somebodyelse that hoped to be forgiven had accepted to testifyfor the other nonsense things. His wife a very slickwoman, after trying a lot could go with her sons inDurres where her relatives were. In that place livedFadil’s family and in a single room Zana and the girls.After the kitchen was Neta’s room. She was about30-35 years old, from Korça. When the other were askedfor the reason of the interned they spoke with a littlevoice, otherwise she told me with a Zadrima dialect repeatingthree times, but I didn’t understand. Anotherperson translated for me — “prostitution.”But Neta didn’t get angry, she was happy that at theend I understood what she meant. Was that womananother one glad that she had no political reasons inher sentence? I could not understand.She had been married. She had a son about 13-14years old and he was in Korça with her brother. She told56

Anthology of Woundsthat her husband was dead, but somebody else thathad had any quarrel with her told he had separatedher. She had relations with a Zadrima driver, father of4-5 children; she had a woman praised by all the people.Nika entered in Neta house as in his house. Some of theformer interned told stories about Neta (she was notinterned after she had fulfilled 5 years).Time ago she took a telegram that notified her thather father was sick. After taking the permission she wentto see him. Another time a telegram notified her fatherdeath. But after some times there was a second one thatnotified the death of her father. The people that told thisstory were sure she went to cells of the prisons to snoopthe arrested women.Neta didn’t hide the friendship she had with somestate security employees.She tried to find for them stupid women and calledof them to indulge Golga, who he was the investigator.Lately she had told Zana as confidentially that Hekuran,the chief of the security in that time, had ordered her into take care in a special way of Liri and Zana.Neta worked as a shepherd of cows together withanother girl. She was a privileged job not only becauseshe had a good salary but she had some other perkstoo. The cows were to give the meat as an obligation ofthe cooperatives toward the state. When the cows gavebirth, the shepherds took the milk.Once Neta had a quarrel with another woman overa bucket of milk. They had no spoken to each othersince that day. The people she loved or wanted to makefriends she sent a bowl of milk or yogurt. She said57

Anthology of Woundssmiling that when she wanted to have some meat shedid like that. She chose the best cow, fed it on the grassand when it was full she put the knife on it. The damagedcow was brought directly to the abattoir, and Netawith her rights took the part of meat and all the interiorparts of it.She spread over the sector pieces of punch. Even thisbutcher profession she had gained there added to mybad feelings for that woman.During the summer she saw her son, who was a studentof the first year at agriculture school of Korça.One day he came near my fence and asked me anItalian dictionary. He wanted to learn Italian.The entire rancor I had for his mother I deflated tohim although he was unfortunate, his father was deadand his mother was interned so far. I said to him withoutopening the “door” that the language could not belearned in this way and that I had no one. Later I feltbad for my gesture and that I didn’t try to help him. Hewas a doubt victim too. This doubt for people and theself-protection instinct maybe was destroying us….After the big iron gate of the camp was a particularbuilding. Gjon’s family lived there. It was interned since1975. They both had been good workers. Roza had herpicture taken among the best workers of the city in thetable of the Emulation of Professional Units. She hadbeen candidate to be the heroine of the Socialist Labor,but there were some letters from Mirdita written for her.It was written there: How could they live in Tirana, inthe capital, when was known that Gjon’s father hadhelped anti-Communist guerillas!? Some others said he58

Anthology of Woundshad been a guerilla too. So they were interned. Gjonimothers the guerrilla old wife, didn’t move. They lefther in Tirana. But she could not leave alone withouther son. She was old, lonely and had no money so shewent with her son. She was a wise woman but verystrong. She cooked for all the family, did housework,and all the other time nevertheless she suffered fromhigh pressure of blood she passed on the garden, evenhot, near the tape, where she planted vegetables for somedays. I told her that it was dangerous to work underthe sun but she didn’t hear until she got sick.She tried to help the son that had five children. Twolittle children were born in internment. The oldest girlshave had excellent results in school in the Bilisht agricultureschool. But the only work given to them wasdigging. The oldest girl, Kristina, began to work halfillegally sowing not only for her family but also for theother interned and villagers around. She was wantedas tailor especially for the girls that prepared their bridewealth. The Council threaded to take the sewing machine,but they didn’t do it. The last chairman, a youngfellow, wanted to sew a pair of trousers for him. Thesecond girl Angjia, worked on the field with her mother,and the third girl Leta a smart girl that was a very goodpupil, she was Ana best friend. They were in the sameclass and fellows. In the same house had lived evenYlvia, interned from Tirana in 1975, together with herson Shpetim because her daughter construction technicalwas sentenced for agitation and propaganda. Evenwhen she had come out from the prison and turned backin Tirana, her mother and her brother had not given thepermission to return. Only when retired Ylvia went toher daughter in Tirana, while Shpetim, although tried a59

Anthology of Woundslot and was ‘a free citizen” couldn’t move form thatplace for about 14 years.The new couple, Luti and Lida lived next to us. Lutihad been a wrestler, a good one at that. He told that hewould go in an international match when they had internedhim. His wife was from a family that had helpedthe national war. The worse thing had come from a Luti’sbrother that was sentenced with many years.Altogether after the five years interned were declaredfree citizens from the State Security, but they had noright to turn back in Tirana, or to go in any other city.As the other tells “Taras Bulba”, when passed there,didn’t forget to remind them not to leave, because theywould be homeless in the future.60

VASIL KATIAnthology of WoundsHe was born in Labova ofKryqi, Gjirokastër, in 1920. Afterhe finished the elementary schoolin his hometown, he attended theHigh School of Shkodra, where hemet members of the city’s communist.During the war years hereturned to the area of Gjirokastërand participated in the partisanmovement. After the war, NakuSpiru, who was minister ofeconomy at that time, appointed him in Tirana as a coordinator,staring a career in macro-economy. He then wentto Moscow as a representative of Albania at KNER andlater in Beijing.In the 1960s he was Minister of the Foreign Trade andDeputy Minister of Trade. Enver Hoxha condemned himin 1975 together with the so-called “enemy group of theeconomy.” He was sentenced to a 15-year prison termand was freed in 1990, just when the dictatorship wasending. His book of memories “On the waves of life” waspublished after he as freed. He died in the 2002.THE GREAT NOSTALGIALETTERS WRITTEN IN THE PRISON(MANUSCRIPT)… I was taken to a new place to live, after a full isolationof six hundred and ninety nine night and days. I am a fewkilometers away of you, my fellow friendly prisoners havetold me. It seems to me as if I am coming from the dark side of61

Anthology of Woundsthe moon. I don’t know how you are. Inform me urgently foryour health…Try to come and meet me, but we must curb the emotions,otherwise we would suffer more, and the traumas and stresseswould create other troubles and sadness….Ballsh, September 1977(A fragment from his first letter sent from prison)… I saw you from the moment you were far on the horizon.I wrote in the letter to be strong, but I was first to not be able bearthe emotions of that moment. We hugged and kissed each otherlike no other time. We wanted to speak, but we were unable.Only the hearts communicated.I was very troubled that my mother didn’t come, and youtold me she was sick. I didn’t believe it. Tell her to write me onlya few words, I know her hand writing.*Those few minutes were like seconds for us. It was so incrediblefor us, the husband to meet his wife, and the children to meettheir father. It’s so difficult to describe such moment — a geniuswriter could do that. My children were like flowers in April, atthe time I was first put in prison. Now they seemed to be likeflowers in the autumn. They are living the best years of their lifein very bad conditions, but life must be lived in every situation.The little son that was in a stroller when I left now runs and puthis hand on my chest. He had his nest there, and like the swallow,never forgot it ...Ballsh, October 1977… In every birthday of yours, I try to draw your portrait. Imiss you and that convinces the pen to write. I wish to sendyou bouquets of flowers but I can’t find flowers anywhere here.62

Anthology of WoundsI sign every day your names on the palms of my hands.Then I see them, and it seems to me as if we were speakingtogether.The years went on, but for us they are the same. The daysand nights are the same as summer and winter. The frost isnot melting.Sometimes I envy the birds that sleep during the nightbetween the branches of the trees. I try to sleep but I can’t. Ithink of you my children … good children and with goodqualities.Try to keep your soul pure, because it can have a positiveeffect on your feelings and body through the hardshipyou suffer. When you were younger you were like acranberry branch, and now you look as like the roughbranches of a dry plant. I was in front of you only as apicture as you grew up, but your mother and my wifewho acted like Onfalia and Laudamia of ancient times isa shield for you. Even though I am old, I will try not to beburn away like a cigarette and hope one day to be togetheragain …Zejmen, September 1982My dearestEven though our souls are from each other, they speaktogether. So we will keep our family’s compassion and lovelike the sun that comes up every day. We wish the evening tobe similar to the morning, to Venus, and not to the fog thatdoesn’t leave any tracks.Sometimes I dream with open eyes, as if nature formedrainbows. A leg to put by me and another leg near you so wecan create a bridge.63

Anthology of WoundsTo the little guy I wish from the bottom of my heart hisbirthday. Celebrate it as if nothing has happened, to rememberit well in the future. In every step let he see therock climber that puts some holding nails into the rock verycarefully. Time after time he would like even the books ofthe old and blind poet of antiquity where are described thedifficulties of the heroes of that time. He will be remindedabout the pain of past too.You looked like a bouquet of violets in the picture, like adrizzle of the morning that doesn’t leave the plant to shrivel.Night and day I keep you on my chest, I want you to stay ina warm place.It’s not possible that for all our future to be covered byclouds. There will some blue in our skies. Even the child willbe again like fresh lilies and not shriveled roses. The happinessis never absolute, and with all its beauty it breaks throughsome times. And in the clear sky there are sometimes blackclouds. But there are also some open paths through the fog.Some important people say:Where there is pain, joy can still exist. Let’s hope so…Qafë-Bar, March 1985* At the time this letter was written, the mother of Vasil Kati was nolonger alive. She had died in internment in Ndërnenas of Fier, justsome time earner in July 1977.64

DRITA ÇOMOAnthology of WoundsDrita Çomo was born in Tiranain 1958. In November 1960, whenshe was only two years old, herfamily was interned because of thepolitical sentencing of her mother,Liri Belishova. Her father, MaqoÇomo, was also persecuted by theCommunist regime. She spentpart her childhood and adolescenceinterned in Kuç of Vlora andthen in Progonat of Kurvelesh. At the end of all she wasinterned in Cërrik, where she finished high school, butbecause of the incurable sickness and the malevolenceof others, she was not allowed to give the final test requiredto earn a high school diploma. The sickness advancedand on February 19, 1981, at a very young ageshe died at the oncology hospital of Tirana. In the mosttragic moment of her life, she was prohibited to have hermother near her, remaining alone until she died.“22 years… so little time…So little time to know so muchpain…”That was she had written in a poem that expressedgrowing up with pain.“How can bear all these years - close to irons, the shortestappointmentsWhen the pessimism is interlaced with goodnessIn the eyes the spring has comeIt happens to smile with beautiful children on the road65

Anthology of WoundsAnd know that will never have to be mother… …And concludes with a hope given visionI am glad that I love and love me - for a piece of sun, forsomething niceDrita, in the endless dark abyss, found a piece ofheaven in hell. She kept a very precious diary.After her death, part of the diary that could be savedfrom the State Security, was published in 1977 in thebook titled “Light that comes from abyss.”Parts of diary from the book“Light that comes from abyss”Friday, 1.X.76On Tuesday, both grandmother and I, went to meet myfather and my uncle. We could meet only the uncle. My fatherwas not in the same place any more. “Where is he?” Butnobody is interested if you are worried or not. All are dump.We don’t answer-is the answer.I will never forget that evening, when in the dark I waswaiting before the prison door and a little far there were agroup of policemen that talked with lower voice. Suddenly Icould hear some words “The coffin…I think it will be outtonight”I was horrified and began to tremble. I thought I couldnot breathe any more. “Oh my God, no this one, no” All thatday I was tried to be as quiet as I could and I didn’t cried. Inthe first moment I thought only one version: they have arrestedhim to judge him again. All the time I had thought of thisand I almost had forgotten that this was only one of my assump-66

Anthology of Woundstions. Only that moment I understand that as much as terrible isa something there is always something else more terrible thanthis one. I could think only for one thing “Hope to be alive, hopeto be alive, oh my God, hope..”Next day they told me again to go and to come back “tomorrowat seven o’clock” .We turned back with my grandmother inthe dark road, walking haphazardly, not being able to speak aword. I could not see anything and I could not hear anything, Ihad in my exhausted brain only that terrible thought…We went to the State Security and asked the chief. He refusedto meet me. Then, worried and weak as I was, I insisted, “I willwait until he comes out,” I said. “And I will talk with him righthere.”I don’t know how much did I wait. In one moment a slimman, wearing a gray suit came out, “Sorry, are you the Chiefof the State Security?”“No, I am the vice-chief,” he answered. Then we enteredthe reception room. He was polite but he didn’t answer to me.Every effort was to no avail. However I could understandfrom the conversation that the most terrible event has nothappened. He was alive. And this was the most importantthing. He was alive. The other things were senseless beforethis.Next day we went to Tirana. I went to the Ministry and Igot the same answer.” He is fine. He is in our hands. But fornow we can’t tell where he is. Come back after one month. Hecan even come back where he was”And now there is a long, passive waiting. What would happen?67

Anthology of WoundsFriday, 16.IX.77On Tuesday I went with Bule in Lezha, we got a telegramwritten that tomorrow the uncle had the judgment day. Wegot the telegram at noon, so were forced to get a taxi to get ontime to Tirana. And then took the train to Laci, and fromthere by bus we went to Lezha. We arrived very late so wewent directly to the hotel. Next day in the morning we wentin the prosecutor office. When we were just getting out fromthe hotel, Bule, stumbled on the last step and felt down.She was trembling. The court began about 8.00. Sokoliwas waiting us in the lobby, well educated and serious asalways.There were a lot of people. The lobby was too little andpeople dispelled each other or got over the chairs... He came accompanied by two policemen. He was paledand with widening eyes and had shackles in his hands. Icouldn’t know him. He was quite different. He moved his eyesas looking someone to support him or to give a warm glanceor as if he couldn’t see anyone eye-to-eye. Then he could seehis son and his eyes relaxed for a while and then he was allrelaxed…It was a man’s court. It was the first time I assisted in acourt.He spoke. Sometimes invasion by a strange concern, andthe other times he seemed to be in full apathy.It was so difficult for me to know him. That man wasAgroni that I loved so much, the physician that walked for kilometersto help the villagers. Was he the same man that all thevillagers praise and love?The court finished at approximately 12:00.68

Anthology of WoundsThe decision was given at 16:30.Then we went to the State Security and asked to meet him. Wecould speak to him for about quarter an hour on the corridor. Nowhe was quite, smiled and spoke almost normally. Then we left. S.was worried and shocked too. How will he bear this for all thelife?In the evening the three children came to the hotel and Buleasked Sokoli to meet the girls. Both were so nice, so well educated,and so kind. They had a sweet and tender voice that toldtheir innocence and pure humanity. I thought. Oh my God, Why?So they went. The hotel receptionist came and told us thechildren could not stay. I accompanied them. It was a darkand cool night. They left. I didn’t know when I would meetthem again.Friday, 7.X.77Today I get a letter from my dad. The first two letters thathe had just sent us we have not gotten yet. This is the third.Ten years. Once more from the beginning! We don’t knowthe sentence motivation yet. But this is not important. Oncemore from beginning! The same as the game” Don’t get angry”” The freedom is one of the most precious wealth that Godmust have given to people. All the treasures hidden in theearth and sea are nothing comprised with it”ServantesSunday, 26.II.78I have about two months that I don’t write in my diary. Let it69

Anthology of Woundsbe this period of time like the memory of poverty. Titi came backfrom military and he has no found yet a job. I have not found ajob too, while ours mother salary didn’t suffice even to feed. So Icouldn’t bye notebooks. Three days ago I began to work and Ibought to myself the notebooks.I work in the communal enterprise as a garden’s worker.These two days we have even worked as transport worker,distributing woods in the city with a Zuk van or farm truck.I get tired but somebody told my mother than I will becamestronger so wanting or not, I ‘m implementing his advice. Ingeneral my colleagues are old. The only guy with whom I canamuse is a gypsy about 30 years old, very black. He sings allday and shouts, telling jokes. There is a funny woman too, alittle younger than the others. But now she has a medicalreport. The driver of Zuk is a woman from Saranda villages.She has about one year married in Cerrik, so the people arenot any more curious to cheat about her.But these days my presence made the Zuk object of discussions.What else can I write?There has been a lot of time since I took English lessonsand not reading literature. I have read something I have foundaround. Now I have no time.At least, at the end of the January my mother took thepermission and together went to meet my father and uncle. Ihad so long time not seeing him and I missed him so much. But Ican’t express this by words.70

Anthology of WoundsTuesday, 13.II.79Yesterday, me and my mother met my father and my uncle.We were notified since Saturday. I went to Elbasan on Sundaymorning by bus to cater, and I turned back at 11.30. I didn’tgo to see my uncle. The other time left, I spend in the library.We went to Burrel, in 6.00 of the morning. Two guys accompaniedus*. The road was long and boring. It was sultriness. Mymother felt bad by the car and vomit. I was thinking what wecould do for one hour and what I had wondered to say to them allthis time.They permit us to meet 10 minutes with my uncle and 30minutes with my father. They said this at the last moment. Itwas unaccepted so I forgot everything prepared before. WhatI said I thought it was not the right one. The minutes fliedand at the end I thought I had said nothing, even we have notkissed each other as much as we wanted. I looked like a childthat his mother had promised a toy and had not bought it,lying him.Once again a long and boring road! Then we had a shortrest between two tiring roads. This is my father in my life.My strong and kind father!Now everything seemed to me senseless, almost ridiculous.People walking on the road, children that play, workerbuses, young guys that smoke and meet girls! Newspapers,words,… and my father there for 18 years. My father! Will Ihave any more my common life again? Some times I feelashamed from my self because of my little worries and my ridiculoussufferings…71

Anthology of WoundsMonday, 19.II.79On Saturday China attacked Vietnam. These have beentwo days full of something unexplainable but great and notcommon. I was anxious. It was the first time I wanted to hear onthe radio news and not music. In our monotone life a suddeninterest was born.Since when I was to my father I don’t feel well. I have pain indifferent parts of my body almost in whole my inner organs, Ihave waist and kidney’s aches, especially during the night and Idon’t know how to stay. Today during the evening I hadcough…The thermometer was 37 degreesTuesday, 27.XI.79On Sunday I was with Bule* in Tirana and we met uncleBardhyl*. They let us speak only for 10 minutes through aniron door. He put his face on the irons and he kissed us, andthen we did the same. Bulja couldn’t walk. We turned back at10.00 and I accompanied Bule to the train station and I wentout to by some things in Tirana.When we turned back we found home Sh. He slept therethat night. He drunk a little with my uncle and began to singold songs of his youth. He singed passionate and talked in thesame way for those years. Ida, Ledi and Laura glanced at himand singed together as they could. I turned back home onlythis afternoon.……Thursday, 13.III.80Today we get a letter from my father. He wishes me my birthday.It has now been 20 years that we wish each other “Happy72

Anthology of WoundsBirthday” through letters. “I am sorry only for one thing,” hewrote, “for Drita’s health.”It’s strange and unbelievable to think that you have not tolive for long as all the others. Where is that something thatmakes you different, where is it that thing hidden? That somethingthat makes you think as a casual passenger in the world,that makes see the others as foreigners. Your relatives sufferfor you and treat you in a special way, and people see youwith compassion and curiosity. But you are the same as theothers. Nothing changes. Nevertheless you are different. MorbusHodgkin. How this sickness did entered your body. Andyou will have it until the death.……Monday, 17.XI.80I don’t know what to do in the future. But every storywill be the same. It’s worthless. Even somebody’s friendshiphas a hidden interest. You have to leave alone. To decide whenyou are only 22 years old…Maybe is absurd, time will tell it but I promise to my selfto keep my dignity.…Tuesday, 27.I.81It was a windy night yesterday. Today is a sunny andcloudless weather. I love sun. I feel better. Yesterday the numberof my leukocytes was 2000. I have good appetite. We orderonce in two days a chicken, G. has fried it. He has helpedus a lot. We eat together. V. and I sometimes even drink a glass ofwine. What can we do else?Last night I did handwork. I unsowed the red scarf.73

Anthology of WoundsThe future is not known, it comes before the person as theautumn fogginess that comes out from the swamp. Many birdsfly in the sky moving their wings without looking to each other.The dove doesn’t see the falcon and this last one doesn’t see thedove. So nobody knows if the death day is close or far…GogolFriday, 30.I.81On Wednesday I had my leukocytes 3100 and yesterday4000. I feel better. Yesterday evening I go down the steps afterso many days, resting in bed. I have a good appetite too.A day before yesterday G phoned me. It seemed not to befine. I sent Titi a card for his birthday. He is 25 now, but hethinks to celebrate when I will go there. Yesterday I talked byphone to my mother.…Monday, 9.II.81On Saturday I talked on the phone with G. We talkedonly about my sickness and I could say nothing else, I couldn’teven ask him if he was fine.I have been very weak yesterday. I can’t breath and mypulse throbs very fast, especially when I get up. I have noappetite any more…This is the last note on the diary. After ten days onFebruary 19, 1981, Drita Çomo died. Even her motherwasn’t there, no relatives — the dictatorship doesn’tallow it. The last days she was kept with oxygen andwhen one day it lacked she fell into a coma.74

Anthology of WoundsHer youth not lived was closed in loneliness.What would she say for the last time?The people that fight”I want three days,” said the member of PoliticalBureau. “These are hard accusations and I want threedays to prepare to defend my self….” His nervous andtired voice suddenly became strong. “How is it possible.Could I, a Communist, not have tree days of time toprotect my self?”It was possible. They did not give him a day. It wasonly the beginning. The war had three years that hadover and from their dreams they had not seen anythingreal. Until that day everything had been black or white.They had dreamed a white, pure, lighten, cloudless future.But the days pass and they see things that they didnot like see. Only the persons that conditions obligatedto be accused by the system, asked astonished. “How isthis possible?”Days and nights it was the only answer they ask fromthemselves. The y had won for something right and fair.Where was it now? So they wanted to shout loudly:- How is it possible?But it was only the beginning. It was the first tragedyand maybe the most grievous, maybe because it wasthe first and maybe because the man sacrificed was oneof the most honest and dignities persons to live the lifethat had sacrificed during the war.The meeting finished very late. He looked at hisclock, in the car, and so that it has lagged two to eight, It75

Anthology of Woundsmust have happened when he had banged his fist onthe table and cried loudly, “How is this possible?Thirty years later when he had taken again his oldleather wallet, that watch was again two to eight.He thought for a moment that time had not moved.In fact it had…but not for him…Maqo Çomo, her father after 16 years (seven yearsin Zvernec and 9 in Burrel prison) took to the investigationin the Interior Ministry and after about one yearinvestigations they sentenced him again for agitationand propaganda for ten years. The condemnation forthe second or third time was a practice of the dictatorshipnot to let “condemned” people get out of prisonalive.The period time of investigation went on for monthand month and during this time the arrested personwhere in the unconditional power of the cruel investigators,isolated, and with no relations with their relatives.They had no defense advocate. These days whereeven difficult for the family persons that live anxiouslybecause they had no news.**Telegram was written by Vala, Agron’s wife.The court of Agron Belishova was one of the ugliestof the dictatorship system. After six exhausted monthsin the investigation cell, he was sentenced 10 years ofprison for agitation and propaganda. This capable, honestphysician that had worked for about 17 years withdevotion! Even after the prison he was taken in the deepestplaces, far of his family. Vala, his wife raised up, sacrificingtheir three children.76

Anthology of WoundsFor about twelve years Drita’s mother was prohibitedto meet her husband and then after 15 years wastaken only 4-5 times under the strict masses of security(with the car of the Interior Ministry and two SecurityOfficers.)Drita has written this fragment in a piece of letterfor Naku Spiru, head and famous publicist in NationalLiberation Antifascist War and in the first year beforethe liberation. He was killed tragically on November 20,1947 because of the Yugoslavia’s Titist intrigues and thefeud between Enver Hoxha and Koçi Xoxe. He protectedthe independence and the interests of Albania anddemocratic and humanist principles. Drita had heardof him a lot from her mother that had been his wife andhis collaborator.*Makbule Belishova, Drita’s grandmother**Bardhyl Belishova - at that time a patient in Tirana’s hospital prison.*Garentina Memisha**Vjollca Telaj (Suparaku)77

ROZETA PEPELLASHIAnthology of WoundsShe was born in Korça, onJanuary 11, 1939. She finishedhigh school in her hometown. TheCommunist regime executed herfather without a trial, under mysteriouscircumstances in 1949.For that reason, her family wassent to an internment camp. Thefamily was allowed to go back toKorça two years after their internment.During this time Rozeta finished high school, andworked the hardest physical labor. In her memories booktitled “Spirit Pieces” (1999), she describes her sufferingduring Communist system.Fragment from the book “Spirit Pieces”It was November 29. It was holiday celebration even inthe Camp as in the whole country. There were a lot of familiesgathered in that big place; each family was separated from theother by sheets. We were four children staying with ourmother, and we were also listening to the celebratory musicgiven by the loudspeaker outside the camp. In this momentsomebody came and asked our mother. The chief of campwanted her. I can never forget that man. He was calledLeonidha and all the people get terrorized even when theyhear his motorcycle noise come. He was the horror of the camp.My mother went there and after two minutes we heardher shouting. Something really important has happened becausewe heard her to shout and in her shouting it was real pain and78

Anthology of Woundslove. She came back but her eyes where enlarged and full of tears.She took with one hand the youngest eight-month sister andwith the other gathered us around herself. Her body was theonly place when I felt secure.Tragic death has taken away our father, and it came faithlesslyby people that he had loved and trusted. The State Securityofficers killed him in Butke, of Kolonja. What a macabredeath! He was not even 35 years old . I felt pain inside ofme and tears went out of my eyes. Love tears, nostalgia tears,tears for his innocence and for his youth…That maledictedsystem killed a lot of innocent persons…And my mother didn’t know what death was. But itknocked to her door. And she, my sweet mum, was now widow,when she was only thirty years old. She accepted with a greatdevotion to rise up her four orphan children. She didn’t stopworking for thirty years. Her hands were strong and secure;her judgment was always infallible, almost divine. She wasable to give the house happiness and good fortune. She waskind, devoted and self-possessed. Her eyes have lost they realcolor, they seem to have seen all the tragedies of this world,but they were still full of devotion.Oh my sweet mother!79

LUAN MYFTIUAnthology of WoundsHe was born in Berat on2.02.1933. When still a little boy,he lost his father and mother, becomingan orphan at an early age.His father was a supporter of theNational Front (Balli Kombëtar, anationalist organization that foughtthe Communists) and a respectedpatriot. He was arrested and sentencedto death in 1945, but thenhis life was saved. After a few years he died in the Burrelprison. While his mother could not come out alive from thepsychiatric hospital when they put her without mercy.Although the life of Luan Myftiu would continue, sufferingsand sadness followed him during all of his life.He finished the Pedagogic High School of Berat andworked as a teacher, but in 1975 he was arrested.“What have I done,” he asked the investigator.“You are the stabbed meat we keep in the refrigerator,when we need you, we take you and condemn to let theothers that sing songs, see you,” was the answer of theinvestigator. He was condemned to a prison term of tenyears for agitation and propaganda and was taken in SpacprisonAfter 1990 he came in Tirana and participated actively inthe democratic movement. He has also written many satiricpoems, aphorisms, and many other stories.They are published in political essay titled “In the communistterritory” and two books with fables. He has trans-80

Anthology of Woundslated “Aphorisms never described” of Oscar Wilde and“White nights” of Dostoyevski.The motherI don’t know how the other mothers do they lovetheir children but I have to say that my mother lovedme in a very strange way. She kept on her finger a specialring to protect me from any hidden curse of herheart, when I did something that hurt her. But she neverrevealed to me her love, as if she wanted not to touchmy privacy. She was careful to hide me her exaggeratedprudence. But I could dictate this weakness of her. As akind lioness she wanted to rise up a proud calf, and thenallegedly indifferent she forgave my bad behavior.Maybe this queen of beauty through me wanted to putthe power of her pride in the cultured environmentwhen she had been bride. I don’t know why I saw thebeauty of her spirit every where on the icons of thechurches of the town, that I visit almost every Sunday. Iwent through the roads paved with white ZAJE, and agreen grass, I entered the church with a racing heartfrom an unknown feeling. Behind the fume of the incenseI saw the beauty of the brides and elegant girls,that had come to pray in God to forgive their sins, I sawthe sweet sadness of the wall pictures, the majesty ofsilence, and the magic of the divine voices of the chorusof the children. It seemed to me that only in that place Icould reveal the paradise of unexpressed love of mymother. I felt so drunk from a strange passion that Ithought that all the ceremony in the church was organizedfor me. And I felt the need to thank all the personsthat came in the church to pray. So since that age Ihad a special relation with that house of God. And eventoday I don’t know how to explain how did I under-81

Anthology of Woundsstand the meanings of the bell that rang when somebodydied, and I cried running to my mother, that neverasked me what I had, hugging her, happy that she wasalive…even she didn’t like me to express the weaknessI had for her. She never complained for her problemswhen my father was arrested by Communists, and shehad to stay twice a day head down in front of the prisongate with hope that they could accept her foods preparedfor her husband. This creation was now invadedonly by the feeling of duty. An anger wrinkle in her foreheadcould not ruin the harmony of that creation thatfound the happiness only in peace. Maybe, have herbeauty had any important role in that tenderness? Iadored and was fascinated after her, in silence, lookingthat even the females admired her beauty. Maybe thisjealousy had created a kind of hostility toward my father,that made me do such mistakes that I was surethat would made her angry, just to see how would sheprotect me in every case without taking care of the sadnessI could cause to my father. Now that he was inprison I thought he have asked this, and both I was despairedbecause I had not known the love he had forme, and I condemned him for this pitiless revenge towardme. Everything that happened with me, I judgedas I wanted. Communists were some games in the handsof my destiny that did what it said.Now my mother looked everyday evanescent, whileduring the night when I strangled her through my thinarms, she rarely remembered I was close to her. Oneday I saw her crying. Her brother was sentenced todeath. He was a copy of her sister from the soul, Smart,intuited, but without the culture that his intellect asked,he saved as a treasure the pride inherited by his father,82

Anthology of Woundsanti Turk rebel, that with pureness of the patriotic feelinghad gained the sympathy of the persons that musthate him. This brother loved madly his sister. Her beautywas added the nobility of his brother, and his hotheadwas adorned by the angel beauty of her sister. They stillloved and behave as in their childhood.Who will protect my beautiful mother now, from allthe arrows around that her beauty attracted toward her?Communists really killed her brother but they did nottell the quarry when they put him, when they throwdown his cadaver. Even they didn’t feel well when shecried. Communists were very afraid by tears poured fortheir victims. My mother cried secretly. She didn’t wantto cry. She could not accept that her brother was dead,thinking that he had been a very good person. She criedsecretly for the humiliation they had done to her brother.They had kidnapped the pride to my mother, which iswhy she was half-dead. The other half of her ran afterhis memories, not to leave him aloneDuring this time, the income was decreasing and theneed was greater. So began the sell of the valuable thingsfor little money. The hungry knocked for the first timein our door.My mother went way spiritually every day from us,as that captain that don’t go near the passengers thatwill be drown, when the ship is full of water and terrorizedby the screams of the conscience that is not able tohelp them. She thought all the time; she did mechanicallyher duties as wife and mother! The people in powertried to convince her to leave her husband that wouldnever get out of prison and to get marry but she revoltedand said what she could to them, while the nights,83

Anthology of Woundsshocked, she passed without sleeping. I tried to staynear her, especially during the night, she didn’t forgetto indulge me, but it looked as if she prayed not to annoyher. One night she told me to hear if I heard steps onthe ceiling, and when I was sure there were no such ,except the silence of night she laugh as if wanted to saythat she was kidding, while I could see some tears inher eyes. That time I need her love, and searched herlove. I didn’t understand why she was so cold to meevery day more and more. Why had she put me awayof her heart? I followed despaired the whispers andmovements and her voice but I could not arrive in anyconclusion. I could not find a cause why her love for mehad lost like this. So I did many mistakes to take herattention, and took any scorn of her. But no, nothinghappened. She felt like my love for her was a carry.Then I took of my pride in which I hide the love for herin order to offend her, but she worried only for somemoments and then she was indifferent again. She askednow a new pact that I couldn’t accept: leave her alone!But I couldn’t, when I saw she was suffering! While, shemaybe wanted to learn from me. So many times I haddreamed myself dead to taste the happiness her compassionexpressed with tears and screams for my loose!Later on I understood I have had a sick love for mymother. I wonder if her heart has felt that. Had she feltthat how wild my love for her was? She had taught meto treat her cruelly. I went to school for her, I wear newclothes for her, I ate and drunk just for her, even sleptfor her. She did every homework I had , she vindicatedme when I didn’t go to school, and never told me whatshe had done to protect me, she paid my mistakes ashers.84

Anthology of WoundsOnce the neighborhood’s children that came oftenin our home, have pull off in the yard all her silk dowrybought in Italy and where wore as actors, and playedtheatre. From the counter of veranda a child had feltdown a jar with grape paste, about 30 kilograms, andhad began to cry from being afraid from punishment.My mother came. All the children were frozen. Herclothes were put over the roses of the garden and grapepaste had made dirty almost all the house. She laughand asked for me, put me in a room checked me if I washurt and then took all the clothes on the garden andbegan to clean the house, without scorns and withoutfrightening the children of the neighborhood to comeand play again. I tried to help her, but taking care shedidn’t understand I had done that work. She surely understoodbut didn’t thank me, when she knew this didn’tgive me pleasure.It was wartime and our father was carried with differentduties, so he rarely came home. But we were notalone because the mother took home poor and lonelywomen, waited them as the brides that go to theirmother’s home for a month. At the end she accompaniedpromising to invite them again next year. We wereso surprised by her devotion in this charity.Now except being silent she didn’t eat. But we neverunderstood the reason of her strike of hunger. Did she liketo leave us the ration of limited bread the state gave in thattime? Or hungry made her feel less spiritual pain….thosedays communists had sentenced to death even her nephewthat she loved so much and was a copy of her brother, forwhom I don’t believe she have never stopped crying untilshe went near him. Did she talk in those nights when shewas awake with her nephew, which waited to take away85

Anthology of Woundsfrom the moment to moment? How could a child be killed?How could a child that had not even killed a butterfly andhad not frightened a bird to be killed? Maybe she felt thiswas the end of the world and there is no more reason tolive. While I asked with obstinate, her love, I think I havebothered her asking something that she could not give tome. Oh mother you had to bear so much! The people thatyou had protected, now didn’t give you even a randomjob to feed your children! Now you had only to pray evento the guardian of the prison, the doctor for a visit, thebaker, and the friends of your husband that now made asif they had never known you. You climbed down withnobility these steps of humiliation and you told anotherbeauty that even you didn’t know to have. You washedthese steps with tears of the offended proud ness and Idon’t know what kind of deal you did with death thatsigned in your forehead the indifference. What did youkill more mother, absurd sacrifices or the cynic ingratitudeof people? Forgive me mummy. You must leave thislife! Maybe your coldness was a way chosen to make easierthe separation…I think you have suffered a lot to log offthese thin strands of our strong relation of love.But how could we not be angry at this abandonmentthat you did every day? Did we felt your problem? Or yougive us so much love when you were “awaked” that keptour hearts so warm. How sweetness did go by your smartsmile? Where that benevolent irony did go?You felt down mother…!No other catastrophe could damage our soul in thatage more than this that happened to you. We lost foreverthe wish to build something beautiful in life, somethingsimilar to happiness.86

Anthology of WoundsDid you know that?Forgive us mother if we have made you suffer evenafter the death!You couldn’t go away without a scream! You couldn’tgo tell the executors about their real face! It was a dutyasked by your brother honor, orphans tears, and thegood work of your husband that was suffering in thecells of the Security without any fault. Your spirit couldnot leave some bums to kid with its nobility, that theambition turned them in some beggars or killer, whiletheir criminal instinct made they believe they were divinity.And your pride run since from the darkness ofthe communist system had fired it and bursting as lighteningthat hit the head of a snake. You screamed in theiroffices “Cruel persons…criminals! And you didn’t hearthe telephones rang and the doors slammed, and youdidn’t see how they put chains in your hands how didthey put in cell and then turned back tied home.And we found you alone, chained hands behind withGerman chains, cross leg so beautiful, sat down on thebig shelf over the steps. You didn’t speak and could notlearn who had put you there. And why did they putyou exactly there? Some people said that she wasbrought by two policemen; some others said with themwere two even some civics, and a woman that have seeneverything didn’t like to speak. We asked our motherbut she didn’t speak. She stayed with head down asbeing guilty without moving her eyes as if she wantedto say with her silence: I did this now! This momentwas as a first slap that communism gave us .I went nearher and kissed in the cheek, she turned her head on oneside as ashamed while the chains made a noise banging87

Anthology of Woundson the wood both with her with white hands. We triedto put off the chains, but a policeman climbed up thesteps and told to us not to put off the chains to ourmother otherwise they would take her away, not leavingto stay with us.Was it a dream? Or a mysterious force that gave us apunishment to estimate better our mother? After yearswe were convinced that this was a revolution that wouldbe coped with so pain! While we were thinking how tofeed and move her and take to bathroom she as if understandour problem, with an uncontrolled moansmiled and asked us some food.One of us took off the chains and she with free handstightened two first buttons then began to eat as hungryand timid as an unknown person in her house. The greatshock had frightened our tears and I don’t understandeven now how could we found the forces and be so carefultoward her in that moment. In the moment a personis in the kingdom of happiness he doesn’t take attentionthe people that gave it to him, but since the momenthe became a beggar he prayed even for mercy. Wehad not still understood that without mother love anythingelse was important! We called this happiness ourright and her compassion as her duty. Now we felt thatthe love of every mother was not something terrestrial.Now that we missed her we were amazing before it! Allthe life would fight now to win a love that was similarto that of the mother! But no…We were real people foras time as her love was inside us. Strange! Our care forher made her suffer more. Lionesses stand up and wewere not dreaming, we had gained again the person thatwe were just loosing forever.88

Anthology of WoundsWe were again in the kingdom of love! We were againpeople as the others! I slept that night as always withher, but crying happy. And she cried with me, and Ithought they were joy tears but she felt that was the lastnight that she slept with us! When the next day camewe put her chains again in her hands as she taught us.Then she went and sat down to the place the police hadput her. And she looked at us smiling as if she wantedto say that nothing had happened. And surely wethought as all this was a game! After we did any thingany cousin said to us, we turned back to our mother atonce to insure ourselves she was there. She was as beautifulas a forest fairy, she was quite and head up as wehave heard to stay the brave persons in front of the teamthat would kill them. She looked like a bride, while, thewedding guests, were not coming yet to close her in thecage.DOSTOYEVSKI COURTI was an orphan because I had lost my parents at ayoung age, and in no time I didn’t know how to buildmy relations with others. I was as a beggar of a humanlove, because the orphan without understanding willask all the time to feel the spirit with that lack that parentslack had created. As much as I grew up, greater Ifelt like a boat on the sea with waves.I don’t know how I found a book of Dostoyevski andsince that day I never forget it, and I didn’t need anymore the other advice. A hidden voice as if consoled meand said that the others must take advice by me. Howcould I imagine how much I would suffer for his influenceon me, especially reading the book in that age,when the experience doesn’t leave you to separate the89

Anthology of Woundsdream by reality? Because the genies are important foras much as we need to feed our spirits.Although I am not penitent that I read with passionthis author, when I think that without him I don’t knowwhere my boat would have gone in the conditions of adictatorship that destroyed her sons. Aren’t sometimeseven the children that damage their children thinkingthat they are the best in the world? Why Dostoyevski isguilty when I had no one to teach me that I had not toread him in that age and in the conditions of a socialsystem that punished you if you love and the other lovedyou without the permission of the political party?At the beginning I was surprised even to myself.How is it possible not to be angry with the persons thatused irony on me or the others that looked at me withdetestation, maybe they thought I was in a worse levelthan they were. I consider all the people as good as bad.I stayed awake to find who was good and who was abad person. And looking the others like this I was goodfor all although I felt nobody loved me as I thought. SoDostoyevski had put me in a great trouble that nobodyhas solved until now— what can you do that all thepeople love you? Is it possible to be loved by all? Whyis it so important to be loved by all, if you have forces tolove them?I was fixed of the idea that in the world everythingcould be arrived with love. Even you can make feel badall the persons that have made bad to you and also theycan admire you.But when I remind my father killed by the communistsand my mother that was hanged with the scarf of90

Anthology of Woundsbride, when they killed her brother in tortures and hernephew too, all the thoughts I had in my mind felt downand I lived for weeks silent looking every person as abad one and Dostoyevski as a great sabot tour that triedto justified the devil accusing like this the angels. And Itried without entering in the universe of his book in thatendless world of stars that has its laws of gravitation,and in that darkness I tried to become common and tosave from the tyranny of Dostoyevski and I start to loveand hate the people as the others did. But during thetime I felt that I must behave with the others as hypocritebecause in the dictatorship you can’t love or hatesomeone as you want because this contradicts the balancegiven by government to hate or love the people. Sothat’s why I had to leave from the people, in order tojustify them. But I was not quite. I had a question in mymind — What about the people that deserved to behated? Trying to choose this question Dostoyevskihelped me, advising not to care of them, for as muchtime as I could not repair them. So at least I didn’t makeenemies the persons that were not guilty for my poverty,even though they behave with me as the statewanted.Once I had an illusion especially when the communistslooked less wild, but during the time I understandit was only a technique of them, made by the fear that allthe tyrants have when they said for someone that dies —he is saved! From this situation save even the personsappointed as “sacrifice” but it was a temporary amnestybecause they know their time would come again. But theman is strange he doesn’t accept the bad for himself!It happened like this in one of these periods when I91

Anthology of Woundswas appointed as a teacher in a very far village, becauseI had just finished the Pedagogic School, the onlyhigh school our town had. Was really great for me tobuild in practice that wonderful world inspired bybooks and in my case by Dostoyevski. Now I was sothirsty for parental love, I would become a second parentfor innocent creatures that lived in that harsh rockthat was communist dictatorship. Now, nobody couldstop me to build within that half program the hive ofthe human love where the children feel how great theworld of the goodness is.And so strange! How much the human spirit feelsthe sincerity and nobility! But the communism thatbuilds up over the hate can not bear that people loveeach other. Because human love is built over the freedom,that’s why Communism is terrified by good deedsand compassion. It had to punish every preacher of gooddeeds and generosity. Exactly when I arrived the apogeeof my good opinion and the others toward me, evenof them that didn’t understand why they must see inbad eye, suddenly comes an order, to put me in prison.Just for not tiring the reader with the frighten storyof my kidnap that made me the State Security, as hetried to accept that I was guilty, I can’t stay without tellingyou shortly one of the episodes of the my tragic investigation,but that today reminding make me laugh.It was a dark night when they called me as usually toask me for the faults I had not done. Except the chairmanof the Branch were in the room and some other officersof the Security. They seem so interested to tear on someoneso I felt it would be very difficult to be silent.92

Anthology of Wounds- Speak! - screamed the chairman that was over thetable to pull me up by my hair.- Why have you called me, I have done nothing!- Iwhispered.- What? - he screamed like a beast - Have you havenot done anything? What do you think, will we arrestyou when you do something?- But how is possible If I have not done anything….– I wanted to insist- Surely! We are called state security, so we can’t letyou do something and then put the chains. And he saidto his friends:- The others have told us that he is smart but as I seehe is like a donkey!- When I have not done any fault why do you wantto arrest me? –I asked angry- What do you want to do, to arrest our sons thatsing songs in the picnics?- and he got my beard andsaid:- Look at my eyes? And say me shortly: Do you loveus?- What did you say - I suddenly said.The chairman moving in the room repeated:- I asked you if you love us?- And you, what about you, do you love me - I whispered.- What? Do we love you? - he screamed and then a93

Anthology of Woundssudden punch knocked me down. I felt my hand wet.Maybe the German chains had slit me any vein.They got me up and put me on the chair as a toy, andone of them stopped my blood with a sticker. The chairmancontinued:- Do you think we are as the prince Meshkin of yourDostoyevski?- I know you can’t.- How do you dare to ask if we love you?- I said that because I have had no deal with you.- What do you mean - he screamed again - that youhave had the right to deal with us but you have notwanted? Why not and why didn’t you wanted?- I knew that I would be punished…but I have hadreasons- What? Have you had reasons to hate us?And when I convinced them that I had really the rightto get with them the chairman cried:- Listen here, say you are lucky you live in a statevisionary like this because for the party ideal I will openyour brain with scalpel and eat it with a coffee spoon.And he said to his friends: “And you say me to give himonly ten years of prison. This person is convincing methat we are bad men and cried: Get out of my eyesAfter two months I was at the court hall. When allthere wait to hear what crimes had I done, the prosecutorasked me:-Have you read Dostoyevski?94

Anthology of Wounds-Yes I answered shortly.-Why have you read it? - said not prepared the manof justice-As a literature teacher I had to know everything forhim, I said-To save the pupils from his indication? – he askedironically.-Maybe yes!- Even for this- The pupils must know…- What about you? What influence have he had onyou?- I am waiting to hear this from you, it was said withirony this time.Somebody in the hall laughed. I interfered at once.- I have understood in his influence to love peopleonly as people.- What about us? – said the prosecutor - How do welove them as animals?- No sir, its not that! You love the people but not inthe same way. You can’t love in the same way the communistand the kulak or the enemy of the class! And Iremind a sentence of Dostoyevski: Please God! Save usfrom ourselves!The sentenced to ten years of prison term was givento me that afternoon.THE BALL WITH MARMALADEWhen in the camp of reeducation finished theritual of arrests sudden there came a frighten silence. Inwhich the anxiety from the unknown was so torment-95

Anthology of Woundsing as much as the fear from death and happened thatvery often punish the people again and they curse theCommunism even in their sleep. These were some caseswhen the dictatorship tried to subject its victims, momentswhen the solemnity of the territory broke downthe scream of a cat that had stomped the tail. These arethe moments in which the violence leaves its daringplace and in which tragedy and humor can sometimesmix.One day just in the time when had finished the kidnapof the falcon birds in the camp was heard an unusualnoise. The screams of the two captors that werehitting someone with kicks, a fellow, that looked as ifsaid “ Go on like this, this is a good way.”In these cases when usually more frightened are theexecutors came running the commandant of the prison.- What have he done? Asked when he saw theblooded condemned man.- While the rest of the camp is in the sleeping halls,this person gathers pieces of marmalades in the cafeteria- said one of the officers.- What else?- When we punished him he said us “I want it formy mother…I want it for it”- And what else?- He have gathered the marmalades as a ball withthe newspaper “Zëri i Popullit”- What do you want these marmalade?-asked suddenthe commander the mountaineer.96

Anthology of WoundsThe fellow didn’t answer.- Tell me why do you want it? And when he wantedto add something more he noticed the thin neck as astick of the fellow, and his eyes with black circles aroundand kept himself screaming to the subordinates:-Who has left there the marmalade?- The prisoners. Those one who we give it as antidotewhen they enter the miner.-said the officer.- Why did they not eat it?The police went near the boss and said on the ear“because it is acidulated.”- Oh I see!- and the commander said to the fellow-So you need it as the food when you escape?!- No commandant, I want it for…- Tie him- said the commandantIt was so strange. That day the guiltier was not putin the cell and was not tortured by the punishment team.All got surprised but the curiosity didn’t last becausewe soon take the notice that the military doctor of theprison had said that the fellow was so sick that even iflet him free, he would not be able to go his home.I occasionally learned something more about the lifeof this mountaineer. A cousin of him prisoner in thecamp told me:“Don’t look him now, because Mark (this was hisname) has been so imp and so sly that his friends calledhim with the nickname “roe deer” and surely he waslike a roe deer when he followed his father to collect97

Anthology of Woundsmedical plants, because his father had his hand cut inthe state Saws and after this they have not given himthe right to work again, even accusing him that he havedon’t this accident with purpose. All because of the biography!So the young guy was so close to his father asmuch as he forgot he has a mother too. Poor Mark, hewas too young to understand that rudeness of hermother was part of the fear she had for the end, whenshe saw her husband that didn’t eat just to leave somethingmore to eat to his hungry children. One day hisfather died and the son except the pain, felt a bit angrythat he had not notified at least once, complaining maybeone time. But one day he saw his mother crying withthe picture of her husband on her hands he regretted somuch that began to give her an unusual love. And hesaw the miracle on her face how this mountaineer becamemore kind. But his mother grown up him withgreat care , and the son felt since too young the detestationthe communist ambient had for him.I don’t know why the cousin just here, let the storyand began to tell something from the end of the memories.When Mark asked the investigators why did theyarrest him , he was surprised to hear that cause was adream that he had told two of his friends. He haddreamed resurrect of Christ that had said to them thatwould bring on the earth the love and equality betweenthe people.-What kind of equality you want?- screamed the investigatorhitting the guy on the face.- Do you want to eradicate the class war ? Althoughwe will be mercy with you, more than your Christ, iso-98

Anthology of Woundslating you only for 10 years…!When the wild tortures began that he accept the accusationagainst Mark during that hell thought of hismother and the little sister that were alone and nobodycould help them. One day very sincere as he was he hadasked the commander of the prison if was possible tosell blood and the money to give to his family, but thecommander did as if he had no heard anything.The mood of Mark change from the day he formedthe ball of marmalade that was permitted to give to hismother, the police that had called him in the appointmentjust kidding him “come on marmalade.”His mother came once in a month and brought onlya kilo of boiled maze, which Mark didn’t eat but disperseto his friends to wish for the health of the homepeople.Only when the policemen were convinced he wouldnot live for long they let him to give his mother the ballwith marmalade. Poor mother took it and cried all thetime, when she thought she could not bring to the soneven a simple homemade pie.One day suddenly the personnel changed the attitudetoward the prisoners, because something had happened.Some voices spoke for a big amnesty. Some officerscame near the prisoners and spoke with them fortheir opinion toward them. Some of them said that notall had merit a punishment so hard. Some others saidthat some people were sentenced with no fault. Then inthe camp some person came to stimulate the prisonersto pray for pardon. But it was surprising! No one of theprisoners did such a request! Maybe all took this as a99

Anthology of Woundsnew trap. This concerned the command and then oneday entered in the camp the commissar who didn’t enduringsuch a contempt and generosity of the politicalparty , directed to Mark that thought would not contesthim- Mark! Will you make any request to go to yourmother?After a short silence the guy said:- No…commissar!- What? …Why? – screamed the man of the party- But I have not done any crime to request amnesty!- Really?- said the commissar angry- It’s not your fault –said the policeman that accompaniedthe superior- but ours that had leave you to getout of the camp balls with marmaladeMark stayed head down.100

SAMI REPISHTIAnthology of WoundsHe was born in Shkodra in afamily with patriotic traditions. Hisgrandfather was a fighter with theAlbanian League of Prizren in 1878and his father was fighter againstthe Serb invasion and power intentions.After he finished high schoolin his hometown, he graduatedfrom the University of Florence inItaly in the Faculty of Modern History.In 1945, he was sentenced to a prison term of 15years, of which he served 10 years. After he came out ofthe prison he escaped to Yugoslavia from where he wentto the United States, where he currently lives.In 1977, he received in France the title “Doctor ofSciences in Philosophy.” He is among the first Albaniansin America that in 1965, before the U.S. Congress, askedfor Kosovo to be granted independence.Although in exile, Sami Rrepishti was not detachedfrom the problems of Albania. His curriculum is very richwith studies, book publications and different articles.A FRIEND AND A TEACHERAt the beginning of the June 1948, in the swamps ofBedeni in Kavaja, was emanated the caravan of the prisoners.In the side of a hill there was a line of big boothscovered with old sheet metals, appointed for these101

Anthology of Woundspeople to live in. All over barbed wires four meters high,in an area of about a quarter of hectare. On the cornersthere were the Guardian Towers, where soldiers withguns observed every movement and were threaded todeath all the persons that tried to pass the barbed wires.There were about 900 persons inside. It was the campthat later on was named as the unfortunate camp ofBedeni.We were organized in brigades and companies. Andwe were in orders of any sludge of the society. We beganthe work until early in the morning and on the mudwith insects and snakes and the policemen hit us withoutmercy in order to work hard and hard. We walkedwithout resting a little and the head down, the clothessweated, the body shriveled up by suffering. We couldmove with great difficulty the arms and legs to do thoserhythmic movements, monotonous, because of the hardwork but we had to fulfill a certain amount of workcalled norm.In the evening in the camp we got in line to take theblessed bread without being able to talk with each other,we were so tired and we stood on beds without havinga shower or without cleaning, sleeping covered withsome old clothes, that only us could call a bed.* * *Today as everyday we are in line to go to work. It’sdawn. When the sun shines we went to work, in a caravanwithout line and shape. There are guardians withsticks in hands around us, and we run not to be the lastone, just because the guardians hit us.One day a friend felt down just near me. I just wanted102

Anthology of Woundsto help him get up when a big hand took him with apowerful strength. Then I helped him too. We were turningback to the camp and together with the weight ofthe tiring of the day, we both kept by arms a man thatwas almost dead. During the road we didn’t speak atall. In front of barracks we let the sick person. He didn’tmove. We called the pharmacist that for our good luckwas a real hero. He put him on the bed. We understoodeverything by the mimic of pharmacist face. Near to theperson that was dying we said the first words with theperson that had helped to carry the sick man both withme. Since that day he became my friend. We found themoment when we were altogether and went and cameback from work to greet and to talk to each other. In thecamp this was more difficult. One day after I introducedmyself he told me his name. He was named HamdiGjoni. He was graduated from Madrasa of Tirana andhad fight since too young to serve where the countryneeded him. He was like a real man. He had a strongbody that never gave up and he had a beautiful smile,part of his character. He spoke slowly, convinced, foreverything he said. I liked him since at the beginningand I start to love him. In the difficult hours of work, inthe endless suffering days of camp, we made so close toeach other. He was so smart and gave me advice. Hewas more pragmatic and helped me. He was very stoic,assertive, and brave and he was like a model for methat I could not found in the daily life. This man gaveme inspiration, faith in myself and determination. I reallyliked him. He was for me like an island of supportin that sea of sufferings. I was so happy to have a friendlike this.* * *103

Anthology of WoundsDuring the work day not far way from us, the policemenand their servers, joking and deriding , were tryingto put in a man back about 40 years old a carriage full ofsoil. It was a daily view. The sick persons, the weak ones,the old persons, were beat and tortured every day. Theyhad to work hard and when they could not, the policementortured them. The man that was trying to stand up underthe weight of the soil, but he was weak. He was not tall.His feet were thin and trembled by the weakness. He keptthe weight of a skeleton the bones of each could be counted.After a while he felt down. Then the commandants beganto kick him and the policemen to hit him with sticks.Mean persons!- I heard Hamdi voice near me. Ilooked at him strangely. Words like this could take himtoward the death.- He is my friend – I was told - he has been a professor,from the first fighters. He is a very good person andI love him so much. I will introduce you to him. Hisname is Bego Gjonzeneli.I met the professor after that day and many times too.After the first words about the life we had, was done anotherdiscussion about a new situation. After some daysafter the revolution of the Inform-Bureau of the June 1948,we were obligated to hear the newspaper’s reading. Wesat down in the yard of the camp under the sun and heardthe newspaper reading, with long hours, hypocritespeeches, that were held all around the country. But wecare for another thing. Would this condition last? Itseemed that it was shaken from the foundations. Butnobody could say exactly anything. We could not havecontact with anybody, we were hermetically closed. I wasstill young. I heard the thoughts and the words the other104

Anthology of Woundssaid. But I liked more the thoughts of professor. I stillremember him. He lay on the drawn land and he put hisright elbows on it. He was always with two or three otherpersons. Then as if he wanted to tell what he thought hespoke very slowly and fluently. He thought continuallyas if he wanted to tell what he thought. These thoughtswere linked so well and he made the other person feelvery fond of his thoughts. He was worried about the countryand our luck. We could survive on Beden.Some months later we were transferred to the Maliqswamps. We hugged each other as best friends.* * *They took him a September day and we didn’tknow anything. I couldn’t even greet him or saygoodbye. Hamdi told me that he and four others wereturning back to Vlora prison. I didn’t understand anything.-You will understand it later. Maybe this is a farewellforever.I was astonished. I saw only the tied hands of thefive friends that were climbing on the truck accompaniedby the military guardians with guns.The end of the March is the anniversary of thatmacabre that I heard two months later. I was told thatthey were executed because of a tentative of escape fromprison. From the first people I heard were even the professorand Hamdi. The surprising news shocked me. Iwas frozen and I didn’t know what to say. I would notsee them any more, and their voice would not soundany more. I looked the Vlora friends that usually usedto stay with them. They were sad too. They kept their105

Anthology of Woundshead down and they were still shocked by the hardloose. I tried to get any news for their last days. Theytold me that they had scorned the offered mercy. I trustedthis. I had heard many times the hate they had and Iknew how proud and assertive they were. Theyinspirited the conviction on the justice of my ideal. Butwhen I try to convince myself they are dead, that theydon’t breathe, I feel a pain in my chest that strangle myheart and my face diminished from the wind and thesun, two teardrops fall in my faceI live spiritually all the day with them….106

JAMARBER MARKOAnthology of WoundsHe was born in Tirana in 1951.In 1974, he graduated from theUniversity of Tirana with a journalismdegree, but a year later he wasarrested and sentenced to aprison term of seven years foragitation and propaganda (a commonsentence for those the regimedeemed to have criticizedthe government). This was a bigshock not only for Jamarber, whohad begun to express openly his dissatisfaction towardthe Communist regime, but also for his father, the greatwriter Petro Marko.He was freed in 1979 and worked for some time as amaintenance worker in a brigade in Kinostudio. His passionhas been and is still now to write poems. He neverstopped writing.They were published in recent years in two volumes ofpoems that were valued much by critics and readers. Theshort article chosen for this anthology was written in 1984,but is published for the first time here and is a specialone in the experimentation of the poetic prose of JamarberMarko.Soul AuthorityI felt in love with my road on the horizon of whichlooked clearly the signs of a future a bit majestic. Althoughthe façade that I see I gave a majesty shadow.That time I still saved myself as the glorious beggar of107

Anthology of Woundshappiness. I had to get out from the inner fog antiquearmor of a winning march. It was like a big love clutchedwith fury on the general movements of that time. Myhorse began to fly with the endless army of wishes, studies,maneuvers, these one of animals and insects….Underneath the water of disregard, our swordslooked as if took care not to come out on the surface.Time after time, amazed circles shook the marks thattraveled toward dead coastal areas. There were evensome suns rising that I passed with my horse run.The time passed. I thought that love for a new constructionleft behind the followers. I was lonely. Did Ihave only the victory? On the high façade of the miracleI was put as a knight fighter, symbol for them that waitto enter on my constellation. But passion doesn’t havewhere to go when the dreams became need able comparisonable joint. I say that the independence is linkedwith the fixing of characters. Until here my love went….After this my sword dissolved on the light that accompaniedthe obligation of them that wanted to becured…and this happened for the best of the reason,which seemed to win over my feelings.These people now come silent. They represent theirdocuments and pass on equipment combinations thatcheck the regularity of an empty perfection. And on thespecial cases they turn back again. But this time theycan be known by their striped wearing of the institutionswhen they have gained the right to win. The conceptof time is now shifted in a perfect scale….I keep in my hands the diagrams of the organizationof their thoughts. From the radiographs can be looked108

Anthology of Woundsthe silence and convince. Their small loves are eliminatedon the effect of the great love. The sensibility isdestroyed and the differentiation based on the overcomingof a spiritual quietness make them able to resist theinfluence from the entire human past. In this point makeme happy, the decreasing of mistrusts, which are put ingarbage and their elimination is duty for a foreign departmentof cleaners.So piles with pieces of characters are burn far awayof the institution, but although the big quantity of thesmoke on the air, is absorbed liberally, the moment.Some minutes before, while I looked the miracle ofthis giant, I get astonished from the invisible weightsomewhere inside myself. The usual day started its routine.After a while will the decrease began but it willfeel very little only on the automatic memory. Eventhought something is disobedient to me. A silent mechanism,as a black wing of bird, which touches the emptywalls of my crippled memoryWho is knocking on the thick glasses of my silence?All the arrows tell the normality of the radiation thatwaits the perfection. Is there no defect at all? My hearton the big screen, pulsate the moment. Then there wasa face that refracted on the weight of the atmosphere. Idon’t remember any more, even the moment. I knowthat during the morning somebody came near me differentfrom the others do. I want you to help me. Weare….The documents are ok….As all the others you willbe examined too…Yes sure…For a moment the voice is clear and then lost on theconstant fervor of the vehicles. A close man ore109

Anthology of Woundsmore…More? As all the others… Maybe mymother…With the old ring as antique as the world is.Looking with her eyes… On the gap of the spirit thesteams of the doubt condensed in faces. The face thatare circulating both with my intake of breathMy man... I run in the waiting hall...They sateddown waited the moment. Unknown faces. Despairedand with problems…Maybe my sister. The memorydoesn’t function. The doubt is so strong. Maybe haspassed some times ago. I run on the places, roads, andcorners, No face I can see. All are directed with themortal silence toward the façade when the antiquityknight dreamed.110

AGIM MUSTAAnthology of WoundsHe was born in Gjirokastër in21.08.1930. He finished the elementaryschool in his hometown,and finished high school inTirana. He then graduated with adegree in Literature and Languagesfrom the High PedagogicInstitute. He worked as a historyteacher in Saranda, Kuçova andTirana for about a decade.In 1962, he was sentenced to a prison term of 13years from the Military Court for anticommunist activity.Agim Musta is a well-known scholar and serious researcherof the dictatorship period. He has published manyof books that present harsh reality of the time of dictatorship.We can mention here “Alive files” 1944, “Who wasEnver Hoxha? “(as coo writer) 1996, “The State prisons”(Albanian-English) 2000, “The deeds of Communism inAlbania” 2001, and “It happened like this” 2003.We have chosen for this anthology a short, but veryimportant, description of one of the cruelest people in theEnver Hoxha regime, who the author himself has giventhe nickname “Black General.” We have also chosen thearticle “The polygons of death” that describes a problemstill not seen in this book, the one of finding the siteswhere people were executed and killed during the dictatorshipsystem.111

Anthology of WoundsBLACK GENERAL, NEVZAT HAZDENARII knew Nevzat Hazdenari’s face since in 1947, whenhe as military prosecutor was famous in the courts organizedat the “17 Nentori” cinema of Tirana, against the“enemy groups”. I had in mind his big head the same asthe old Slavs, his strong body a little curved, his steelcolor eyes, and his hands as the paws of the Siberian bear.I had heard that his origin was from a bey (landowner inthe feudal system). He was very poor in Leskovik. Hisfather died during the 1930s, he went from one coffeeshop to another in the Korça, in full poverty, until he diedon the road and the municipality organized his ceremonyof death. In that period of time Nevzat continued theNormal School of Elbasan (high school) on a state scholarship.His friends called him “The Beast”. His preferredbooks were the novels with tortures. In 1938, after he finishedthe school in Elbasan he was appointed as a teacherin the Postenan of Leskovik village. Former students ofhim say they peed their pants when the teacher threadedthem even for the littlest mistakes. After he could not carryon the Fascist Party during 1939-1942 he took of the blackshirt and wear the red one, being part of one of the mostimportant directors of the communist movement in thevice Prefecture of Leskovik, both with Kiço Kasapi andAli Gina. In the spring of 1943 he killed in the pass ofPostenan Gaqo Tasho both with his son Petraqi and PetroTashko, for the only fault that they were distanced fromthe National Liberation Movement, when they have understoodthat it was directed by communist. In the endof 1944 was executed Muharrem Rusi, former Chairmanof Municipality of Leskovik, and an honorable and respectedman all over the district. After the dictatorshipwas put in all the Albania, Nevzat was appointed as a112

Anthology of Woundsmilitary prosecutor of district of Korça, where he becamevery famous with his deeds. He participated in theexecution of the Maliq Engineers group in November1946, putting with his hand the rope on the necks ofAbdyl Sharra and Kujtim Beqiri. Ali Selenica, jurist, thathave died in the prison of Burrel in 1963, had told methat in 1945 when he worked as an advocate in Korça,the communist military court with prosecutor NevzatHajdari gave every day in the name of the people 10-15,condemns with death. Most of them were intellectualsand ignorant villagers that have joint Balli forces..The court doesn’t do any difference between the realguiltier and the innocent persons. The sword of communistdictatorship in the hand of criminal Nevzat, “cut off”cruelly the heads of innocent persons. Some kind of courtswhere not organized neither in inquisition period of timenor in the ottoman period of invasion. In every momentyou can be revolted by this kind of “justice” that has beencruelly violated.Mr. Ali, the advocate of the accused person, saidthat accusations against his client were absurd and patheticbecause his client was mute and he could not committhe crime of agitation. Nevzat had offended the advocatewith dirty words and had accused him as a fascistand for this reason he protected the enemies of thepeople.Mr. Ali Selenica replicated with the prosecutor Nevatisaying to him that the only fascist there had been he, aknown fact in the entire Korça district. Captain Nevzatgot angry and court hearing to be temporarily halted.Mr. Selenica an hour after this was put in a dark cell ofthe security of Korça in chains. After three months of113

Anthology of Woundstortures made personally by Nevzat, Ali was sentencedto eternal prison as a people enemy , while two his sons,to save from persecutions were killed while trying topass the border Albanian-Greek. Within 11 years killinga lot of people, executioner Nevzat took the gradeof General, being like this symbol of state crime. Therewas no arrest case for enemy people that Nevzat hadnot participated, asking the person and caressing withhis paws. There were no prisoners that have not beenbleeding by the meeting with him. Even the other littleexecutioners in the investigation offices, in the prisonsand in the camps of interments, stayed as shocked beforehim. He had to deal with famous intellectuals, ministers,generals, and the members of the political Bureau,closing his carrier with the “group” of BeqirBalluku. In 1954 when the political prisoners in theCamp Number 4 in Tirana, tried to open a channel tosave from the communist hell, Enver Hoxha’s “the justice”sentenced 20 people with hard prison, four of themAbdulla Bajrami, Mark Zefi, Isuf Velcani, ZyhdiMancaku were executed in the cells of the old prison ofTirana by executioner Hazdenar, nagging skulls withiron leverThe personal meeting with this Lucifer I had in aroom of investigation of the Tirana prison was in theApril 1962. He was accompanied by 3-4 graduated officers,which stayed behind him. I was chained. Theysat me on the concrete chair of the accused person, whilegeneral Nevzat, with a ruler in his hand asked me whatI had talked with his brother in law, the teacher FatmirBerati. I told that with Fatmir we had been colleaguesin the “50 vjetori” school of Textile Industrial complexand we didn’t have much confidence to each other such114

Anthology of Woundsas to speak about politic. He screamed and said to theofficers that we must be killed, but it was Enver Hoxhathat wanted them to apply the laws. “These personswanted to re create Social Democrat Party , that one thatMusine Kokalari couldn’t do, and they have to suffermore than she did” He hit me so hard on my head withouthair. I fainted falling down by the chair. When Igained my conscience I saw my self in my cell, with adirty rag on my head. Officer Koli who was kinder thanthe others came and brought me a wet handkerchief totake off the blood frozen on the face and on my clothes.I knew that Fatmir Berati was brother in law with Nevzatbut this last one didn’t speak with him, because Fatmir’sorigin was from a family touched by the communistsystem. This was the first and the last meeting I hadwith the main executioner of the Enver Hoxha dictatorship,black general Nevzat Hazdenari. In 1959 Nevzatremount the group of Leskovik of 1947 adding evenother unlucky persons to fulfill the exact number oftwenty persons. This time, the vice prime minister ofthe Interior Ministry, Mihallaq Ziçishti, with his helpers,Rexhep Kolli and Nevzat Hazdenari performed theoperation.Vangjel Cini that was able to survive from the groupof Leskovik told me of those days of terrible tortures.The arrests were done at 2 a.m. on March 30, 1959. Theywere arrested 19 persons within an hour, because thenumber 20 on the list Kolaq Kozmai wad dead and forthis took a hard critical observation micro executioner,Tare Isufi, chairman of branch of interior labor ofKolonja , that had no had notified in time the governmentagency for his substitution.115

Anthology of WoundsThey tortured me inhumanly. They let me keep onlymy underwear and chained me hands and feet, andadded a chain on the neck. Tare Isufi pulled me in thefloor, in a room of tortures while Nevzat hit me with hisshoes on my fingers of hands and feet. I fainted whilethey pour me out buckets with cold water and when Icame on my own Rexhep Kolli and Nevzat told me toaccept that I was Greek agent, otherwise they wouldkill me slowly. After this, Nevzat changed the torture,strangled my neck and on the last seconds of breath helet me free, smoking in my face, that caused me a terriblecough, that I will never forget. After three days oftortures they took me to the Starje River where they hadopened a tomb about 50 centimeters deep. They put meinside and Nevzat directed me the revolver on the forehead.I closed my eyes and he shot in the air, and thenordered to take me in Tirana. After 10 months of tortureswhen we accepted everything the investigatorsoffered, according to the scenery of General Nevzat, theyput us before the military court, except Thanas Lulo thatcouldn’t break, and they were afraid to bring him withthe others because he could do the same he had done sonot to accept with contempt the accuses but this couldgive courage the others. During the court séancesNevzat, before the layers threaded us continually, sayingthat would send our heads with large baking sheetin Leskovik, as the head of Saint Joan the Baptist. Afterfour court séances where sentenced to death, Mihal Cini,Thoma Buda, Janaq Ruqi, Hajredin Gega, ShahinHajdari, Kico Kuqoli, Thanas Vila (in a special séance)that were executed after some days while Xhevat Zerjaand Musa Shemja died in the hands of the investigationexecutioner Three other persons died in the prison and116

Anthology of Woundsall the others died after they gained freedom, exceptme, that I could see the democracy coming, and to revealto the sun light the crimes of the dictatorship.For every enemy group that would be arrested inAlbania, Nevzat would create something new for histortures toward them. For the complot’s people of TemeSejko he used the hive of bees, for the group of Devollihe used the iron cupboards, and the people that wouldbe killed he broken the skulls with iron lever. There wereother tortures too such as the salt put on the openwounds, petroleum ampoules, the electricity, putting thepeople on the ditch with excrements, squeeze of thegenital organs, putting in a barrel with pieces of ice, hangin gaff (torture instrument with hooks) with head down,inflating with a pomp from anus but he called this consummatedand out of fashion.He went once in the Soviet Union to get experienceand even in china, but it is said that the Chinese’ “Comrades”were astonished by his Albanian experience.They said they had nothing to learn this Albanian geniefor tortures and thanked him giving as a present a bookwith sketches tortures made on the time of the Min dynasty.In the 1974 the dictator called Nevzat from Elbasanwhen he was chairman of the Internal Branch to investigatethe “sheep of army” The spirits of Beqir Balluku,Petrit Dume and Hito Cako knew how much have sufferedby this Satanic that time ago was their friend. It’ssaid that on them he tried the tortures of Min Dynasty,treated as he knew. He closed his glorious carrier withthis invest gory as one the most dirty and cruel executionerthat Albanian country have had. The dictatorship117

Anthology of Woundsgave him a villa in Tefta Tashko road and a special pension.He died suddenly and people say that he is poisonedwith order of dictator to disappear a live archiveof crimes.THE DEATH POLIGONSHow many people are accused in Albania during thedictatorship terror nobody knew exactly, but the placeswhere most of them are killed are known and called bythe people as the polygons of death. There are killedpeople kidnapped from the road in the periphery of thetowns. There are killed partisans from behind their back,on the sharp rocks and valleys and buried by the villagerswithout never known their names. There are killedinnocent persons, without any court decision, unregisteredin no list at all, the name of who turn up alive onthe civil status offices, and nobody knows where theyare holed. There are killed citizens that tried to pass theborder and their bodies are burned by the commandsof the border post offices. There are executed peopleand they bodies are thrown in the abyss, where neverpass even the wild beasts. There are shot near the riversother citizens and their cadavers are thrown in seas orrivers. There are dead in the cells of the Security officesand prisons and their bodies without life are thrown inthe garages of the cities. During the years 1945-1948, inthe most of the cases the executions of the enemies weremade during the day, to frighten the citizens. So wereexecuted in Tirana and in the May 1945, in the sunlight,17 personalities of the Albanian government, in the placecalled Kodra e Priftit, near the porcelain factory inTirana. Two days before the execution, the municipal-118

Anthology of Woundsity workers under the supervision of Security officershad opened a shallow hole. Had not passed a week fromthe execution date when some thefts opened the coveredhole hoping to find worthwhile things in them,but they went on delusional even without covering againthem, because the killers had captured them everythingbefore they killed them.In the begging of the 1950, the interior ministry orderedthat every Security branch to have its polygonsof death. In Tirana there were some death polygons butthe most important were near the river of Terkuza andErzen. In those places are executed hundreds victims.Many of them were taken away by the waves and ateby the birds or bitten from the wild animals. The words“at the shores of the river” were a synonym of death.When somebody cursed to another, he said “I hope tosee you on the shore of the river.” Another importantpolygon in Tirana has been near the Bridge of Farka, inthe shore of Erzen River. Nuri Stepa, a driver that time,a person that suffered in the same prison with me hastold me as follows:I was traveling from Elbasan to Tirana with the truck fullof olives. Without passing the Farka Bridge, a policeman askedme to stop and to switch off the lights. I obedient to him but Ifelt that something unusual would happened over there theriver. It was 11 o’clock p.m. The moon was pale but I couldsee an automobile Gazi of the Security and an auto prison.From the automobile climbed down some persons and fromthe auto prison two other persons sat down. The policemenkept them by they arms .After them from the door of the autoprison they threw out on the land another person, pullinghim by his feet, He surely had died during the transport withauto prison from any heart attack. In the pebbles, near the119

Anthology of Woundsbridge leg, the two victims were executed shooting them.After this they put all of the bodies in the hole opened, andthey throw on them some sand and gravelly soil and left tothe automobile and auto prison turned back toward Tiranadirection, so did the policeman with his motor car. I was reallyshocked from that macabre execution that my handstrembled when I began to drive. It has happened ten yearsago but I have not still forgotten that horrible night, thatseemed to have happened as yesterday evening for me.”In the pluralism years many skeletons of shot peopleare found near Erzen, as the hole of the 22 killed personsnear the bridge of Beshiri, 12 kilometers southwestof Tirana, in February 1951, on the occasion of the named“incident” in the Soviet Embassy.In Tirana there executed many people even near theBridge of Sharka, near Vora, in the tunnels of Qesaraka,in the Mali me Gropa Mountain, nearest the Bridge ofBrari and in any other unidentified place until now. OnShkodra the most important bastion anticommunist inAlbania, as execution place was appointed Zalli i Kirit,from Bardhaj until the bridge of Kir River. In that curseplace are executed hundreds innocent, especially duringthe years 1945-1946, after the “operation of purification”in the Malesi e Madhe and the fail of the insurgencyof Postriba. There are others executions even nearthe Buna River, near the cement fabric, where very oftenthe cadavers during the raining got out on the surfaceor went away from the waves of the river. Therehave been other cases when the cadavers are left on thesurface not buried, piles one over the other, as happenedafter the Postriba insurgency. This was purposely madeto frighten the citizens of Shkodra. The phrase “Go to120

Anthology of Woundsthe Zall of Kiri!” was as a proverb for citizens of Shkodraand symbolized the death from killing blow.In Vlora, the polygons of death have been at the“Bishti i Kalldremit” during the road Vlore-Kanine, inHambare, near the bricks fabric and near a little bridge,and also the national road, but not arriving until theQafe e Kociut. That bridge was called from the Vloracitizens the “bridge of Ballists”. They are executed therehundreds sentenced or not from “the people courts” ofthe communist dictatorship. Even these days every honoredAlbanian that pass this bridge, remind those menthat were killed with the only guilt— they loved Albania.In the Gjirokastër, executions were done in the squareof the Chains and in the Buduk, near Drino River.In Berati, the polygons of death were in Uznove andnear the village Morave, near the river Osum.In Durres the executions were made in Porto Romanoand in the Bisht Palla.My suffering friend, Dervish Sulo, former prosecutorof Durres, during the 1950s told me:The sentenced to death people were executed in PortoRomano, Once upon a time there was there a fabric for refinementof Leather and there were many ditches, where therewere put garbage of leathers decomposed by acids. So thatwas not necessary to be opened new ditches for the executedcadavers. We put the automobile near the ditch and climbeddown the person tied hands and feet and shoot him with gunor revolver. When the person was an important one, we tookwith us the doctor of the Branch to sign. In the most of caseshe signed the next day after the person was executed. When121

Anthology of Woundsthe person that would be executed was strong and aggressive,for having no troubles he executed in the cell first, hitting with alever in head and then they took him in the place of execution andafter the murder they called me as a prosecutor I was and thedoctor of the Branch, to compile the report of execution, that wassupposedly done at the polygon of death at Porto Romano. Lateon the night the cadaver was thrown in the ditches of PortoRomano and was sucked at once from the garbage of the fabric.Within a short time, it was decomposed entirely. According to thegeneral of the Security Halim Xhelo, that was put in prison in1965 and found hanged in the hospital of Tirana, after the year1948 for the disappear of the cadavers of the executed people,was used the slaked lime, which during the time decomposed notonly the cadaver but even its bones. Halim Xhelo said the mostof the killed people, are used as cadavers in the Faculty of Medicinein the University of Tirana and some are sold even abroad, tothe clinics and hospitals of the universities.In the prison of Burrel, the elite of Albanian intellectualsduring the years 1946-1990, are killed or have died.Over 350 prisoners most of them famous intellectualsgraduated in the most famous universities of Americaand Europe. Every prisoner died from hungry, illness,cruel tortures, was covered with an old blanket and wasthrown in a ditch that was tens meters after the prison,near a cherry tree. The ditch was covered with roof beamand woods and over them was put a thin layer of soil.Every time a prisoner died, his cadaver was pulled outfrom the prison late in the dark and then thrown in thecommon ditch. Over the cadaver they threw an amountof burnt lime. Cherry this wonderful tree that Japanesekeep as happiness symbol, over passed the borders ofborders of the barbed wires of the Albania and was mademotive of inspiration for a Hungary movie maker who122

Anthology of Woundshad escaped to the west. He did an artistic picture titled“The cherry”. Unfortunately in Albania cherry tree ofthe prison of Burrel never mentioned from our historiansand artists. When the prison of Burrel was closedin 1990, to disappear every track of crime, bulldozer,became flatted everything behind the prison, not leavingnothing from the common ditch of the cadavers.In the years of pluralism, the familiar of victims triedto find the cadavers of their relatives in that cruel prison,but was impossible to getIn the district of Korça in the river of the villageShipske, in the years of pluralism, are found hundredscadavers of people, executed by communists during theyears 1943-1944. In the joint of skeletons are seen clearlyrusted nails, which tell that victims before executionsare crossed as the Christ tortured and nailed. In theswamp of Maliq, in the district of Korça for the drainageof which have worked many political prisoners, thepersons that died from the hard work, from the torturesand illness, didn’t ditch, but threw on the crud of swamp.In the autumn when the prisoners, went to the prisonsthey had come from, the raining took with them the crudof swamp and the decomposed cadavers come over surface.They were pulled by the dogs of the villages,around the swamp and were done subjects of horriblelegends for villagers.Hundreds of political prisoners worked side by sidewith the ordinary prisoners at the camp of Bulqiza Mineduring 1947-1957. They were moved from Bulqiza thattime when the Hungary revolution began; being afraidthat a revolution could began from the prisoners there.In the prison camp of Bulqiza, during 43 years of the123

Anthology of Woundsexploit of the miner with the prisoners, over 700 peoplehave died. It’s enough to mention that in one day of theyear 1969, from destroy of a gallery, died 17 prisoners.Nobody said a word for those unlucky people in thetime of the dictatorship. Necropolis of Bulqiza the greatestof the camps and the prisons in Albania was destroyedbefore than the communist system was destroyed.To save in the people memory of Albanian history,the duty of the municipal councils is to identify the polygonsof deaths and to put on them memory plaques.When will this happen?124

DOM SIMON JUBANIAnthology of WoundsDom Simon Jubani was bornin Shkodra in 1927. He beganApostolic School to become aJesuit when he was 16 years old.After the closure of religiouscatholic schools in Albania, hecontinued the public high school.In 1957 through 1958 he tookthe “Order of Missal” and servedin Mirdita as a priest.He was then arrested and sentenced to 26 years inprison.He was freed on April 13, 1989. On November 4, 1990,he celebrated in the graveyard of Rremajt the first catholicpublic mass after decades under ban in front of manybelievers.For his great contribute, he was decorated with thetitle “Doctor Honoris Causa” in 1991 from San FranciscoUniversity, and took the diploma in human sciences withthe motivation “Bringer of a new era in Albania.”In 1996, Michigan honored him with the diploma withthe motivation “Initiator of the free word and catholicpress.”Dom Simon Jubani is the first Albanian that after theimplosion of the communism was called in audience fromPope John Paul II. He worked with devotion to rebuild thecatholic institutions in Albania. He is also author of twobooks with memories.125

Anthology of WoundsTHE COMEDY TIMEPlease don’t think that in prison everything was atragedy. Everywhere the man is, in his life, near andclose to tragedy, there is always something ironic. So inthe prison there where many people that suffered fromthe complex of inferiority. They had never read a bookin their life, but speaking with cultured persons withwhom they were obligated to stay all the day they feltbad and mentioned titles of books and authors they hadnever seen even in their dreams. But they could not pronouncethe right names, or made other mistakes so, wasimpossible not to laugh at them. Some others wrotebooks. And after this gave to me hoping to be mentionedas one of the best writer in the world such as Shakespeareor Moliere! But their writings were copy of them! Theystole any verse from these famous authors and then gavethe writing to me. So as I took off these verses, or phrases,the work of them looked as a bad composition of a highschool student. When I said this they got crazy.They thought I envied their works so they hoped thatwhen they got out of the prison their books would besell even in the world, but as I know some of the publishedbooks of them are only sell with half prize, becausethe people of west don’t care of the history of martires. They don’t like them at all! One of them, which Iread, what the man that wrote it called masterpiece, Itold that, was below the intellectual level of theScanderbeg’s horse. The other one I said that he livedonly to eat!Pjetri told me that the operative didn’t read the lettersof the villagers because he could not understandthe silly things they wrote. The villagers were smart. I126

Anthology of Woundswill tell you only this. My friend from Bushati had receiveda letter from his wife. She wrote: You are hundredstime better than I ‘m, there in the prison, becausethose 600 grams of bread full of pebbles, debris, thatyou eat without paying I have to work in good or badweather to earn the money to buy, sweating all the day.While you rest all the day there in the cell, when I lookforward to do a holiday, because on Sundays we haveto go in conferences and other works.” Wow! So we inthe prison with chains on hands were enviable by theothers in freedom. They were free. What a comedy! Thismade senseless the threats of the prison director thattold us to take care, because I will take your family fromcooperative to the camp of interment, and if you continueto behave not well, I will take it even in prison.But the letter of the villagers from Bushati said usthat they have to come in our conditions, so it was not abig tragedy for them.Other sources of information for our comedies werethe press and the radio. First was the newspaper “Zëri iRinise” that solved all the youth problems.We read also the other press outlets:The first prisoner: They accuse us of not having carsThe second prisoner: What do we want the cars for?We love each other so much that we like to travel altogether,collectively in the buses; even we like to travelwith open automobiles, in trucks, because we are closeto each other and we breathe better.The third prisoner: The persons that live in the westdon’t love each other so they travel individually in per-127

Anthology of Woundssonal cars. That’s why the poor ones spend all day inshops to buy the imported Albanian goods.The first prisoner: The people there don’t do anythingelse they look for all the time on the garbage …Sometimes I couldn’t keep myself and read the textas I wanted. One day I said to the director: “Why don’tyou take us condemned to the capitalist world? Accordingto your newspapers, we will suffer there worse thanin Burrel!”In such cases for me opened the curtains of tragedy.It must not be forgotten the wise people words that said:that too much joy often brings bad luck, and adds that“the mouth speaks and the back hurts!” After this theytortured me, but hardly and I became only ash and dustlike the phoenix. But the next day I got up again as Phoenixto begin the comedy again. Do you know what thesecret was? Prying to God. It was he that gave me hopeeven when I couldn’t resist. Believe with all your heartand pray and you will see how a man can be transformedin a phoenix. Or better, a died man resurrected for thethird time.Another source for comedy was even the radio thatserved to educate us, because even the prison was namedthe big department of education. So the terrible wordprison disappeared from the dictionary and the worldcould not comply that in Albania there were prisons,and for more that there were even a place where werenot buried and the interned and prison red were thereal heroes of the war for freedom.So to educate us they turned on Radio Tirana withloud volume and through the speaker we were lucky to128

Anthology of Woundshear the more funny news of the time. The first eventwe were waiting for was that Mehmet Shehu after anervous crisis was suicide. The peak of the comedy wasthe death of Enver Hoxha. It must be written in the annalsof the world history the joy this news brought inprison. I still remember the voice of the deceased DedBegeja that was extremely happy. Even on the face ofthe guardian that opened the wicket to see, looked thewish to laugh with the others because in one way or inanother he was slave as we were. He guarded us becausewas easier than to guard the cooperative fields.Usually he ate before us bread with nuts that his wifehad stolen from the cooperative.Some times when I was in good mood I teased thepolicemen saying: I have nothing to do I am against thecommunist and communism so I have to stay here, butwhat about you, what’s your crime that are condemnedto stay and guard me for about 12 hours? And whenyou are hungry you eat worse than I, a piece of breadand nuts, or tomatoes do, stolen from the cooperativesby your wives. It’s so pity! I am sentenced with a temporarycondemn while you are with an eternal one.In the dictatorship regimes better than any one livesthe person who rebelled and don’t care of his life, theothers, beginning from the most important to the lastservitor of the dictator, live anxiously, without knowingthe friend and the enemy.Another scene of the comedy of the cell was whenthe inspectors of the prisons came from Tirana. All myfriends looked at me to feel surer. The people comingfrom Tirana were wearing the Sunday’ suits. Theywalked proud one by one; at the end were the authori-129

Anthology of Woundsties of Burrel with military uniforms.They opened the doors and the visitors entered butin the rooms they felt the smell of our dirty clothes, andespecially from the full jars with “our emotional momentproductions” So the greatest person between themcame from Tirana kept a speech before 30 people coveredwith some old bad cotton blankets. “We are hereto see even the application of the law, so who has somethingto say, any comply for any injustice we are readyto hear.”The thirty people look the person that had come toprotect them. But they could not speak they had no anycomply; all the rights of them were respected! Theycould even swear of this. How could our rights be brokenwhen we didn’t have rights at all? Their eyes gazedDom Simoni, as if they wanted to say: Speak, speak forus! And surely Dom could not ignore those gazes thatwanted the priest word that for them represented theChrist. So I got up and I said: Are you speaking of laws?What are these laws? The written or the unwritten ones?Because we are treated here according to the unwrittenlaws, because this place is not a prison but an exterminationinstitution and it’s not easy to understand thatwe live as animals” Surely I never ended my speechbecause the man that had come to protect us, gave orderto chain me, and beat. So the prison comedy for everyoneand me had always tragically end.EPILOGUE IN THE SKYAnd now God, what can I do?It was the end of that terrible night. I stayed over130

Anthology of Woundsmyself, lied in the coffin. At the end I was dead. Therewere glad the persons that hated me and there were sadsome others that loved me. I had done this migrationroad that for me have had not less bushes, although theflowers didn’t lack, as long as God saved me to see thespring, even to let me open the door. The cadaver wasthere without moving, unusual thing for me. Aroundit, passed hundreds people. I think this is called “to makehomage” or better to honor died person. But I had noneed of honors. I wanted any praying to make easierarriving to the last place. Any phrase like “Give it God!”But nobody thought that the soul needed prayers. Themost of them talked for my works while I was alive.Somebody even laughed.In the first line as usually, for the fate irony, whichhad always played with me, there were the highest communistauthorities of the country. Surely they were thereto cry for my death. Oh, how much I wished to get upfrom the coffin that moment! But I couldn’t move, becauseaccording the custom my shoelaces where linkedwith one another, not to became a ghost. And they hadnot thought badly. My body was full of cold sweat becauseI wanted to scream: Do you think I am dead? Nosir. I wanted only to laugh a little with this melodramathat you are playing around my coffin”But it was not possible. I was now in suspense betweenland and sky. I didn’t know yet where I was andwere I was going to go. So the thought that I had completedthe terrestrial road, was troubled by another ideamore difficult, I had to begin the last travel from themoment my body would be put in the soil. And untilthat moment the soul would see with pain that sheath,131

Anthology of Woundsinside which it had walked for 70 and more years allover the world and that would began to impair and hada bad smell. The soul and the body were still linked togetherwith a strand that would be broken very soon.How tragic and funny the ceremony looked! There weremissals, preachers that made the mass for my soul, inthe place when I had celebrated many times. Even withwords that being alive I felt happy to say. The preacherspoke a lot about a Dom Simoni that had nothing incommon with the real one that was neither in the landnor in the sky. Instead of saying that I organized thefirst mass in Shkodra he told that I was grown up asorphan. Was this a merit or did he wanted to feel meashamed I have had no father? I thought regretted thatmore enemies have when you commit a heroism thanwhen you do any wickedness” Then I began to laugh atthe moment when I would leave my body I would haveno more enemies. And I would be not an orphan anymore. And my merits would be weight in a scale thatdidn’t err. What a big deal! All the life I remained reactionaryfor my people and for my enemies.Everything finished. The chime rang. Its noise madeeven the cypress to cry with green tears. All over thegraveyard were dispersed the funeral music of “Diesirae”. The choir began to sing the hymn of death. A bigtear went from my flying soul and fall down on my frozenface, just a little before it was covered forever fromthe mortal lid. I didn’t see who else cried. I remind thestrange phrase maybe real that was repeated every timesomeone dies. We gather without known each other, liveeven though we don’t like to live, and die not crying”Let it be! It was I, crying for my self! And it was the lasttear…after this…Hmmm It was really this that bothered132

Anthology of Woundsme, while my soul was light and light and light. In myheart I had got my saint some minutes before my mouthwith broken teeth in the prisons, was closed forever. Thelong line of clerics with purple paramente, came nearthe coffin for the last time. The lid was covered and tightenedwith nails. I disappeared and I didn’t see any moremyself. At the end I was really dead. Four men pushedup the coffin and went straight ahead, followed bypeople, to the opened trough through the commontombs of Rremajt. I was angry. Have I had not deservedto be buried in the cathedral, near the other preachers,and with the prime cardinal?-I said to myself. Then Ilaugh at this thought. It was not important where I wasgoing to rest. Maybe I must be more content to sleep thelong and last sleep somewhere near Doctor Shiroka. Hewould help me to get up even though any importantbone missed me.I heard the noise of soil that fall over died person onthe face. The spades moved quickly while closed meforever in that trough, the live persons thought of theworks they had, where the gluttony for life waited.At the end on my tomb there were done a soil moundand was put a simple wood cross where was written: Inthis place rests Dom Simon Jubani”Does he rest? No sir, this is a great mistake. The restis far away. I felt that I was flying on the clouds thatlooked as the white sheep wool. I don’t know how did Iremind this word, but I had memorized some time agofrom a school anthology. Maybe Luigj Gurakuqi wroteit. I will meet him in Paradise – I thought happy. It wasthe same as flying with an airplane. At the end I arrived.It was a big gate that shined ,through the clouds. But it133

Anthology of Woundswas closed. But it was not blocked and I had not how tonotify that I was there I cried loudly as if I was beforeMirdita’s towers” Do you want guests , sir?. I laughedagain. But after a while I was serious again. I was afraidthat Saint Pjetri didn’t understand me. At the end hecame and opened the door. I told him shortly who I was.And it was not difficult because I still remind the wordssaid for me in the graveyard.Oh! - he said - You are the priest that has neverstopped! As you have been a preacher you know thatyou can’t enter paradise, without balancing very wellthe good and bad things you have done in that life. Andlet’s see what the balance will weight from. He openeda little that gate and let me do only one step inside. Ithought I had to deal with Saint Mehilli. I had preachedmany times for him and for his balance, from which itdepends if we will or not see the God face. But I saw aman with a walking stick in his hand. He was EnverHoxha. He was in white, and he had some big wingsthe same as the main angels on the pictures. I got reallyafraid. I cried but not saying right the words: “Saint PeterMelon (pjeter-pjeper in Albanian), but this man is notSaint Mehilli. Do you know who this man is? He is thedevil. Deviiiiiiil! My voice rumbled on the sky. I trembledmyself from this ghost voice. This man coming now withthe stick in its hand tortured my body. Now he wouldtortured even my soul the same way, trying to bake it inhell flame. Saint Pjetri closed the ears with his hands.“Why do you cry like this you the preachers of Albania!You are so late on time! You are so old timed! God callsSaint Mehilli for an urgent job. This man is his substitute.And don’t be afraid. This man have entered regularlyin the paradise according to the rules of the catho-134

Anthology of Woundslic and apostolic church, because two minutes beforedeath this man have said that he had regrets, and hasdenied Marx, Engel, Lenin, and Stalin and is turned withheart and soul in our religion of Christ. And when hehas come here his behavior has been excellent. Hedoesn’t leave any soul to enter the paradise. EspeciallyAlbanian souls that you know well are full of bad qualities.And when Saint Mehilli has been busy this manyweight the souls, and now I am sorry to say but all yourcolleagues and friends have finished in hell. He saysthat they have been deal with politics so that this makea big sin for a preacher, who has to deal only with thesouls, because there is no pluralism here, God is overall, the creator of the sky and the soil, the one that lookseverything, and nobody can lie him!- So screamed SaintPeter – and gazed me in eyes as if he wanted to say: Itsenough now just weight now, because there is a big lineof people waiting the same thing, at the paradise door”I looked at the balance, the person that kept it, the doorof the paradise half opened and I run like crazy, I wentour over the clouds and I thought “What can I do now?”I had not finished my words yet when I awake up. Iwas sweated. Oh thanks God it had been a dream! Thefault is of the meeting of one day ago when I had participated.I had waited that day with a great wish. When thechurch had re began its activity many missioners and differentpersonalities of our Church had come to see us. Theywanted to help us to heal our wounds of soul , some tostay forever with us, and tell what had happened in theChurch nowadays because we knew about the Old Testament.But I was not worried for this. As a Church person Ihad always felt myself in time of the new and old testaments.I felt well because the Evangelist doesn’t know time135

Anthology of Woundsand events, and those happened in church even importantcouldn’t be able to overcome the Evangelist.But always speaking new words and being youngin the soul is never bad. Every man that is a bit smartmust adapt to the time, otherwise it’s better to enter themuseum and stay there frozen. And there he can enter,if they accept him to be part of it. Because some peopleare not adapted to the time so it’s better to put them inthe museum near the tall mummies in the archeologicalmuseumSo I went happy, in black suit, and white tie and satin the first row, where my place was. The lector wasJesuit. The hall over filled because people have nothingto do, they had no job to do, and were very interested tosee what had happened in the world and in the Churchduring the time we were out of everything. The meetingbegan and the lector introduced us with Council IIof Vatican and advised us to learn as soon as we can it,if we wanted to be the same as the universal Church.He spooked shortly about the documents of Koncili, andfor the actual conditions of the Catholic Church in theWorld, for the Pope John Paul II, for our future and thefuture of our church. He spoke in Italian and had nearhim a translator that for the first time listened the churchterms, so the people were a bit confused. Even the peoplethat knew Italian felt that they could understand less.At the end began the questions. All wanted and wereinterested was being saved. So the first question was:What must the man do, to be saved? Can the peoplethat have done crimes be forgiven, for example, EnverHoxha?136

Anthology of WoundsI was not much interested for the first question, becauseI have clarified them by myself according to whatwas written to the Evangelist. And for the second questionI thought that Jesuit would answer shortly to thatman that had done such a crazy question: Hell is for thepeople that denied God! But, no sir. I was not right. “Ifhe has regrets in the last moment-he can be forgiven.Even he can be in the Happiness of the Paradise now,”said the Jesuit.I began to tremble. For bad luck that day not to lookso old I had put my teeth prosthesis that I couldn’t bear.They caused me pain that I thought I was going crazy. Itook them off and put in my pocket, and that moment Ifelt free, and I get up my finger and asked: Padre areyou saying here that Enver Hoxha maybe is waiting usin Paradise? If he went there, where can I go? BecauseDom Simoni and Enver Hoxha can’t stay in the sameplace. Otherwise the paradise of Enver Hoxha wouldbe Dom Simoni hell. What can he take away from me ifI stay with him in paradise? Because is all what he thinks,to take away. So the paradise would not be a place ofevaluation but condemning, for them that have giventheir blood not to change the flag! No sir, if you like,forgive me, if you don’t, kill me. I will never go in thatkind of paradise, neither now nor ever!All the people began to laugh. Surely most of themhad the same opinion with me, so they applauded whatI had said.But I didn’t care of applause or acclamations. I hadthe idea that I could find there at the door of paradise,the person that had tortured me. He is even so hypocrite.Maybe he can lie even to God, as he did with his137

Anthology of Woundspeople. And if this is true, where can poor Dom Simongo? It’s not enough the prison but I had to go in hell forthe fault of that person, that my Jesuit teacher, who wasmerciful opened the doors of the paradise to him andclosed to my friends and me. What a problem! CourageDom Simoni I said to myself- while opening the homedoor that looked like a paradise- just courage!First of all you are not dead. Secondly God is greatand full of authority and can’t do such mistakes. At theend he has given us a mouth to speak. So trying to calmmyself I fall down in my strong bed. And I dreamedthat I was dead. The dream I told you above.And now, where can I go? I asked myself even whenI was awake. Suddenly I remind the words of Saint Peterthat told Christ: I have nowhere to go, far away ofyou! Only you have unlimited life!138

Anthology of WoundsFather KONRAD GJOLAJ O.F.M.He was born in Velipoje,Shkodra in 1918. In his preparationas a cleric, he was influencedfrom the Missal with German originsDom Alfons Tracki.After he finished theFranciscan College and the universityin Rome, in 1943 he wasappointed as professor in theShkodra Franciscan College.After the religious high school was closed because ofa ban by the communist regime, he served as priest inMal Kolaj.In the year 1947 was arrested and tortured, then freedin 1950. In 1958 he was arrested for a second time andsentenced to a prison term of 25 years, which he servedalmost entirely in the Burrel prison.After the religious services were allowed again onceCommunism fell, he served as a priest in Lezha, until hedied, in 2000.AN INCREDIBLE THINGAfter he talked a lot, the director noticed that Viktorwould go for an answer that the Brother Njaci, had saidto the operative. Victor said: But I am not Njaci…so thedirector answered: I have nothing to do, go!Viktor looked at me and said: It’s not surprising thatyou have to go somewhere because you have said that,139

Anthology of Woundsmy bones and the communists one, never gather together!I laughed and said: And now… Where are yougoing to take us now, in Beijing? The director listenedto me and answered: “I don’t know. I got rid of you. Buttake care, the wherever you go.”That night they put us together in one isolated room.We couldn’t sleep. We thought where we were going togo. Viktori had 8 years with a paralyzed leg. He tooksome special pills that his brothers brought from abroad.It looked better.In a moment he asked me: Do you want to see Viktorwalking as a young fellow? He got up and walked verywell. I shocked. It was incredible he had played as sickfor so many years. I advised him to take care and tocontinue the play even in Burrel, because if they understoodhe was playing the part they would kill him. Iadvised him too, not to trust his friends, because not allthe people have a good sense of things.In the morning they accompanied us with a car andthree policemen to Burrel. The road didn’t have any incident,and was quiet. We entered the prison area. Twopolicemen got us in a room. They began to check us andwith song: Here is Burrel prison, when enter a day butnever get away. Then they separated us. Viktor was putin another room of isolation and I in the other.At 8 in the morning, a policeman took in one office.There was the prison operative there, who asked me:How are you sir? He told the others I was a priest. Whereis your friend? I told them that he was killed. And hesaid: “Oh its so pity! A dirty priest no less! This was thefamous expectation in the Burrel prison.140

Anthology of WoundsThey put me in Room Number 2. The responsible therewas Gjon Perjaku. The room had the bathrooms inside. Itwas a little difficult to adapt. I found there many intelligentpeople, with dignity, and culture, and knowledgeand experience. They were always proud and superiortoward the time personalities. They were very politepeople, human and very well educated. They always usedthe term “MR” when they spoke to someone. They hadmethods of foreign languages copied by hand, throughthe years. Only there I could understand what an intellectualgeneration Albania had lost. This unforgettableprison had 10 rooms and 60 people and 12 cells with 20people. Who were they? They were in prison since thetime of the war, kept in the prisons of the mountains andin 1946 were put in Burrel prison. There were betweenthem engineers, doctors, economist, professors graduatedin the most well-known universities of Europe andAmerica, military officers, politicians, diplomats, primeministers, ministers, artists, writers, well known scientists,journalists, clerics of all the religions, publicists, excellentstudents, that were considered criminals, traitors,and the communism enemy, almost all are eliminated asnever existed. Only known a part of that generation andthose kinds of intellectuals, could understand the pomposityof that period when Albania had decided to beEurope part with mind, heart and soul. Turn of directionfrom the East was the greatest tragedy of the country inthe 20th Century. It is not repeatable that kind of generation.We are the only country that has committed suicide.Suicide is condemned by the God and the man, butthis was a historical suicide.I was impressed once by an officer of Enver Hoxha whowas sentenced to prison after military ranks were banned.141

Anthology of WoundsHe had not agreed so he was put in the Burrel prison. Thefirst days while taking a bowl with soup (it was called theliquid that brought the cook), he looked at it and asked thevillager near to him for some pasta that he had broughtfrom home. The officer wanted to make the liquid moreviscous. But the villager said to him: I will not give youanything, because you and your friends did these terribleprisons. The officer, who some time ago had been a formervice minister, left without speaking a word. Later on thisofficer had told me that he had never known what wasdone in those places. This was the pure truth because themost of the people didn’t know what happened in thoseplaces, and it’s not good that the projectors of these terribleplaces have not proved by themselves these ones.A LIFE WITHOUT CALENDARWe didn’t know the date. The poverty was everywhere.We lived only with the past, with no hopes for the future.A senseless life, no meaning of it, no continuity! The onlything to remember is becoming old every day. The worstthing is that we think and we are, while in reality we livefor the others, without the right to think. We rememberonly when we look the white hair or wrinkles so we getdespaired and ask why do we live, how much will thislast? Is it worthwhile the life passed in the prison for 10, 15or 20, 25 years? The time goes and flies with it the dreamsthe wishes and illusions, the thoughts to have a family, tocontinue the school, so the future was thought to be theprison even after 13-14 years, and we remind that timethat the half of life has gone. The people condemned byfate. This psychos tired the brain of hundreds fellows thatsuicide having no hopes. God helped them not to loose142

Anthology of Woundstheir soul!The pessimism is very dangerous especially whenthe hope for the future is a little one or doesn’t exist.There were a lot of fellows that didn’t hope to get out ofthe prison, especially when the rebuilding inside theprison began. That was a terrible time, when suicidewas considered salvation.-We are liberated but nobody wants us to create a familyas we want, without school, a job, wealth, perspective,friends, position, people that always have worked withbricks and mortar, detested, condemned with a seal, evenwith a passport with a special series, divided from womenand children, thousands and thousands with the name:”Politically condemned.”This was the name of 500,000 Albanians during 47years.Bearing this name you have not been member ofsocialist society — “What a danger.”143

SELFIXHE BROJA (CIU)Anthology of WoundsShe was born in Gjirokastër,in 1918, finishing high school inTirana. She then continued acourse for foreign students in literatureat the University of Florence.Some of her writings arepublished in the daily newspaperKolombia, starting in 1935. InJanuary 1947 she and her husband,drama writer Xhemal Broja,were interned in Kuç of Kurvelesh. They were then internedfor the second time in 1966, for five years, in theGradishte of Lushnja. She died in August of 2003. Shepublished her book “Billows of life” before she died.THE SECOND INTERMENTOn the afternoon of December 14, 1966, activists ofthe neighbor notified that on the next day would be organizeda special meeting in our neighborhood and wewould certainly participate.My husband said to them that I was sick, while hewas engaged with an assigned term job and he was lateon time and he could not leave it.“Why the meeting was for?-We talked to each other.But I was sick, and my husband preoccupied for the jobhe was doing, so we didn’t speak for long.We slept late at the night. Just on the dawn somebodyknocked on the door, and we woke up with fear.Every door knock in that time made us feel a bad hunch:the same was the feeling of that moment. Further more,144

Anthology of Woundsour older daughter was appointed to work in Shkodrasince three months ago. This first separation had givenus sadness and nostalgia and anxiety too. The distanceis surprising for bad or for good, but when speaking fora parent usually he has a bad hunch. So we thought ofher. We waited to knock the door again while the instinctof the auto protection gave us a hope that behindthe door could be the neighbor. But the second knockand the scream “Police” erased every illusion. My husbandalmost naked, went to open the door while I washoping in a misunderstanding. But I heard the ominousquestion: “Are you Xhemal Broja?”-You and your wife will be send to internment. Doyou have other family members in your home, said aharsh voice.- My young daughter is here with us and the othersare working in Shkodra – he answered.-The girls are not included. Prepare your luggage assoon as you can, we don’t have time to wait-added theoperative looking us as a cannibal. Was it a causality orchosen the person that seemed like a monster?I remember even now that face.Angry, I asked:-Why will we be interned?-Shut up because of that tongue that never stops youwill be put in prison - said he.-Have I spoken? Where and when…? If there arelaws, let I be sentenced according to facts and not slandersor malicious guesses.-This is a neighborhood decision-answered he.145

Anthology of Wounds- Neighborhood? - I said more than wondered and Isaid one of the members of the Front chairman, whichwas in one corner.-Have you, of the neighborhood, asked our interment?Why? Why this, only because we have been correct,and honorable, and for the sympathy and respectthe citizens have for us?None of the four people that would execute the orderspoke.We didn’t know that the meeting of a day before wasprovoked for this purpose. A delegated man in thatmeeting, G. Çuci (Central Committee Member) that evendidn’t knew us and we didn’t know him, had predictedthe accuses that consisted on:1.We had been once and one other time interned(even though for that masse of 20 years before, with theorder of the Central Committee we had been declaredinnocent).2. We had done propaganda about the Tirana Conferenceof 1956. (The events were happening in 1966).The fact that made this accusation fail, because if theyhave had such dates we would have been included bythe persecution in time, and not after ten years whenour positions were not so strong.3. I had written decadent articles (while these articles,published in our notebooks and magazines, were observedwell before)I am opening a parenthesis linked with the massestoward us:In the intellectual settings had iodinated whispers146

Anthology of Woundsabout this event,, in general for both of us: for the reputationof the fighters of the first ranks for the liberationfrom occupation, and also for the consideration aspeople with healthy morals citizen principles, and forthe contribution given as writers and trying for a goodfunction of the art and culture section. In general to camouflagethe bluff predicted, two or three days after theevent, in a provoked conference with intellectuals, theman came fromthe Central Committee, M.Myftiu, through otherproblems for the event expressed in this way: “If XhemalBroja wanted the same as his wife did we are not guilty.”This declaration of a person of such importance made agreat effect and it could not be doubt that he was lyingshamelessly. Neutralization that defeats breathing, theysacrificed one of us.After the prediction of the accuses written above, wasasked to discuss and according to the practice in thesecases, to give the color that the decision was taken bybase (masse) two or three element instructed, proposedthe masse of our internment as not desired people inTirana: Oh what a tragedy and comedy was played tocheat the people frightened by the pressure of the dictatorship.In reality our decision of interment was an act of theCommission of the Deportation-Interments, not the decisionof the one day ago meeting. This was clear becauseof the district decided to go, since a week before, of autovehicles for transport, as drivers declared. The order repeated“hurry up we don’t have time to wait” shook us.The 15-year-old girl, still with her night gown on, shockedand crying without being able to focus on the reason of147

Anthology of Woundstheir leaving, she saw one time her mother and the otherher father. The unlucky her parents!One of them said to her: Keep yourself and wear, andhelp the others to gather the stuffs. He spoke in a soft tuneand it drew my attention: “How is it possible? Or is he aparent too, and imaging his child in the same conditions,suddenly made him feel “human”. My inner monologuewas interrupted by his question:-Where will the girl stay?- At my brother’s home, or sister’s, or there whereshe can still be kept - I answered.- Go first to your aunt, then decide - said to the girl.She was that moment like a baby that wanted to beprotected, or she wanted to protect us?-Wear and come with me to accompany me-said thesame person-Where is the aunt home?She saw frightened but when we approved she left accompaniedby him. We trust that “person” to our daughterthat moment. When we were leaving my sister withmy daughter came. She was so shocked. We said her totake care of Meri. But Meri these words made her sufferterribly.She cried in a terrible way. Her crying must havedomesticated even the wildest beasts of the forest butnot the executors of the decision. She hugged us anddidn’t like to go, then the operative cried in a loud voice:- Hurry up we don’t have time to wait - while the neighborthat alarmed asked what have happened he said: Gohome and shut up.148

Anthology of WoundsSo we had to go, and to leave our daughter. We wereseparated! The noise of the car neutralized the cryingof the girl that said: Mummy, daddy….! That overpassthe borders of pain, penetrating the depth of night andthat warned a mournful dawn.Deep darkness! We were leaving Tirana roads andfirst we were concentrated to see all of it. The catastrophewas real and tragic. Where were we going? Wouldbe so capable to effort what accepted us? What aboutthe girls?The car stopped at the square in front of the TextileCombine. There were a line of cars there that draw ourattention. The home stuffs and element of Sigurimi accompanyingthem, made us understand they were inthe same analogue conditions. Through the peoplespread around or in the cars we saw some known persons,with many in the mix making us more disoriented.What was happening? What was the cause of thissenseless action? Or it was only a campaign, necessaryto frighten the people and poor them that had “win thelottery” to represent the example? While the sacrificewas commit…As we were, informed later this caused fear on thepeople, and for many days no one walked on eveningand everybody went home and didn’t get out since veryearly. But taking account the general atmosphere, despitethe demagogy used for this event, very people wereangry and didn’t accept the situation.* * *149

Anthology of WoundsWhen we arrived at the station, the line of cars as amortal cortege went on traveling south. In our carclimbed another new person, P. Guga, with his clothesluggage. He looked so sad. My husband knew him alittle, but now we were joined by the same destiny. Ourgreetings were, poorly, frozen as our soul was, black asthe night of our future.He was in the top of our physical and psychologicalabilities, in the period when life hopes for light morethan ever, right now the ax bump in the trunk. We weretired of the life, and when we must be cured from thelast wounds this hit made us feel worse. We were unableto give hopes to each other. This meditative silencewas shelter of our gloomy thoughtsAfter some hours of an anxious travel, near the destination,the district of Lushnja, the group was spread ondifferent directions. We were included in the group madeof four families and two singles. The sector appointed forus, was in the deepest bog of the district. In the past thatpiece of swamp was full of snakes, endless mosquitoes,etc It was called Shenapremte. Actually was simply named“Sector” while the interned that populate it, had baptizedit the “reaction city”, because the most of the families wasthe family of high functionary executed or escaped, fromBajraktar related, that were killed in the fights or the killedwith or without judgment, the escaped on the last periodof the war or after it some of them that compared the conditionswhen they had come, when the enter until the throatin the mud, with the other now, ironically said to us: Youhave come now with hands in your pockets, you have noreason to comply! What a bitter irony!* * *150

Anthology of WoundsWhen we arrived it was almost, evening. Everybodytook his place appointed to live. In one of the flat in thesame apartment, we were appointed to stay there werethree families, in fact three couples, because fortunatelythe children were not included in this masse of punishmentso they remained in Tirana. The other couple wasput in one of the booths destined for all the interned,while the two singles, one teacher and the other economist,even thought sentenced to politic, were put in theplace that gathered even ordinary condemned from thegrounds of society.From the operative of the area we took the exact instruction:1. To be present at the appeal three times a day.2. We would respond to criminal charges if we wentbeyond the proper borders.3. If we need to go to Lushnja we had to take permissionfrom the Interior Branch of the District. And forany other reason to go outside the district we had totake permission from the Interior Ministry.Under the curiosity with their help, of the entirepeople that were interned or free, that were breakingtheir routine day, we put our stuffs in our place of living.When we finished was full dark and there was noelectricity, we had no lamps, or candles or matches. Wedidn’t know what to do. But after a while two youngmen came and offered their help to fix the electricity. Inour conditions that help had a double function. Talkinga little we learned that the first one was interned for 5years and the other was deported. It was the first timewe heard for such escalated masses.151

Anthology of Wounds-Why are you accused, we asked them.Smiling bitterly one of them answered:-Me, for my grandfather’s “fault”, and this one, forhis uncle’s fault.One of them was the nephew of Mehdi Frasheri, theother as the nephew of Teme Sejko, former fleet admiralin the period after liberation, executed recently . Theywere there with their families, waiting anxiously to fulfilltheir sentences, that in the best case would be escalatedon an easy masse... Otherwise, the most possiblething, repeating of the 5 years old time that was also thewarning of the other 5 years old that would come again.-Did these cases exist? –we asked impressed.-Only here in this sector there are many families, nottaking account many other families and individuals andlike this happens in Lushnja and Fier too.- There is no hope for freedom?- It’s only an abstract notion and maybe it will remainlike this until we die, the man said angrilyThis information ignored by us, gave us a big shock.How is possible that this administrative masse, basedon the classes war, such as the familiar faults , that inmany cases the accused person didn’t know them, or inbase of slanders, guesses or class origin to take such apunishment character and not rarely forever?! Was thisaction legal? Did it conform to the constitution, declaredas the most democratic?It was the first hit we took, not begging yet the practicewe had to cover. In silence, A. Plaku and T. Celaleft, they would be our best friends in our memory.152

Anthology of WoundsWe were alone, shocked and angry. We felt in thesoul something was broken and could not be gluedagain. So we couldn’t even speak. We spoke with oursilence. The pain was great for those two young persons,so friendly, and so sincere for their friends, familiars,and their parents and our children and for thepeople and the poor Albania!So we had to accommodate. We were so shockedand had a frozen heart but we began to move. At midnightwe finished and thought to eat something. We hadno eaten since 24 hours again ago, but we couldn’t eatanything. It was not easy even to sleep. We were anxious,our brain was in alarm. Gloomy thoughts in ourmind and we had to win this battle for death or life. Thereality was gloomy but we had to live. We had to leavefor our dignity, for our children, and the mother, andeven more to challenger those who caused this. We couldno surrender. So after the night, in the morning we feltin our soul the sparkle of life.We stayed at the window and we absorbed the lifebreathing in what nature was giving us generously. Wefelt as if we found it in the flavors of girls, mothers, andour home memory, and we felt really nice.The next day was as the others, but after that day wewould walk on the unknown. And the greeting of themorning was the roll call. One by one those human shadowswait the roll call. We were like the livestock to be numbered,which attested the presence, with two syllables:Here, here, here … was spread the terrible echo as the denialof the human dignity. Here sounds mechanically evenour voice that was melt on the poor generality.With the hurt soul, wounds of tiredness, with a ter-153

Anthology of Woundsrible presence, that amorphous masse of women andmen, young and older, mutilated physically and morally,without no future, and no hope for it, with the toolsand old clothes and the food to keep alive, skidded onthe battle with life. In that line of people were included,even us.We were appointed in the process of the uncoveringthe corn, which in that period of time, presented lessdifficulties.All looked at us as new arrival. For some days wascheated that stroked for the hard faults” would bebrought from Tirana, as interned, elements that representfunctionary elements. These had stimulated thefantasy of the citizens. The guesses for the faults or mistakesdone and for the function we must have had wereexaggerated. So looking so normal people before themthey looked disappointed: Are these the persons? Butthe curiosity continued: Who are they? What’s their relation?What mistakes could they have done? Who hasbeen director, inspector or vice minister…? Everybodythought according to his impression. But there werebetween them people that had hate for the governingperson, which caused their suffering, feels fine to thinkthat these people had to suffer as they do, even thoughthey were little fishes. So as employer they were theirtools! Let they prove the misters how difficult is to earnthe money to live, they are sat on the armchairs, andused the cars. Somebody else said: Can they work? Orwill they work or will make as if work because theyhave much money from the people? Sure they will. Theyhave not brought here to stay? I don’t believe they havereserves in money, the government must have had se-154

Anthology of Woundsquestrated. As I see they are obligated to work in anobligatory work. Look there as they stay as wet chicken.Look that one, he seems as he doesn’t care. Hmm… beingpresumptuous is not the right place here.-he smiledwith sarcasm. Somebody said to shut up, and he said tohim- Let they hear me, I don’t care, and they are thesupporter of the persons that made us curse the day ofbirth. Let they pay the part of debit they have, to pay.They are only bad lemon for the functionary persons.And this rancor was part of the others soul too,looked in their eyes that gazed crooked. While anotherpart of people, on contrary, reflect human solidarity, thatin certain condition take more deep character. That affectionatesilent look that spoke more than the wordsdo, gave us hopes for empathy and support. But therewas another opinion too, presented by the sector’s chiefsand the chairman of council, and the secretary of theparty organization, made up of 4-5 members, and formsome free citizens, their “tools” or in their service. Whatwere these people that represent the official authority?In general they were people without no cultural horizonor profile, keeper of the mentality of the villagerlinked with the assets; independently it belonged to thestructure of the socialist system.They were disposed to break not only moral –citizenshiplaws but even them of state, if they would find theway, only to profit. Sometimes these people overpass eventheir jurisdiction of disciplinary masses. How pity for thatperson that was in target by them! Except these peoplethere were some others that had been former interned ordeported for easy condiment masses had accepted to beprovocateurs and spies. We were informed for this by our155

Anthology of Woundsbenevolent, with which we had good understanding sincein the beginning.The next day, through a telegram we told our familythe place we where. After two days, the older daughterentered. We felt the presence of the normal life that wesaw now as buried forever. We learned that Meri was tomy brother home, where my mother was. The mother wasfelt terribly badly by the news. But except us she was preoccupiedfor the girls too. Meri was as shocked as she couldnot go to school the next day. She asked the grandmother:Is there any worse thing than this? This is similar to death!And the mother wise and smart and softly said to her: Ohmy daughter, life is full of bad things! But we have to bear.The bad never ends. Only death is incurable because withit everything ends.” She heard her words that looked likebalsam for her wounds. “I was so happy, but I ‘m so poornow, grandmother! Tell me, will they turn back again betweenus? Will I hear again their voice? Will I feel theircaress, their advice their scorns. Tell me that one day theywill come back. Lie me if you can, and I will try to believeyou, because without this hope and belief I have impossibleto wait.The mother with her kindness indulged her hair as thetime she was a little girl said: You don’t know what thefuture brings; You have no reason to loose your hopes.You have your life in front of you. Only wait. You are notalone. We will pass this altogether.After the consultation we saw reasonable that Meriturned back in home, with the grandmother, to be moreindependent and to save the house too. But we couldn’t.I am just telling that after we left, those executing the156

Anthology of Woundsorder said to my sister that accompanied Meri that theywill keep the home’s keys and Meri would go to the councilof the neighborhood after 2 or 3 days if she wanted tolive there. When my brother was informed for this illegalact, said Meri to go and take the keys. Their aim is that inthe most luxury and new part and commode to shelter afamily. But happened that having the keys one of themtheft the jewelry that where on the dresser, that we shockeddidn’t think to get with us or to give the sister.When Meri turned home, as everybody that turns inits place, she didn’t feel the intimacy, the smile of mother,the security that father gives, the love of sister or brotherthat feed the optimism, she didn’t find in her house memoriesof happy or bitter days, where even the simplest thingsbring intimacy, but she felt only emptiness. She couldn’tkeep crying. She was re living her lost. She whispered:Who gets this?Who transformed everything in desert, in fogginess, inshadow, as the death has pass over? Death? Yes a deathwhen still alive. That death that brings hate, revolt thattires you asking Why?After we liberate from interment we turned back inTirana, Xhemali began researches, corrections, and twodramas with social theme and the elaboration of the other.He didn’t stop reading and studding, especially in drama.After I insisted he gathered the memories in a book, but hecouldn’t finish as he was sick by cancer. He didn’t lye inbed. But when understand that he was dying he said: I amnot afraid from death. But I have a callus in my heart agrief, that even the tomb will digest, and with tears in eyesas rare happened, and this not only for my sufferings andmy and your delusion but to all my friends, all persecuted,157

Anthology of Woundsfor the people, country, in front of which all we formercommunist have gone a stone in the establishment of thismacabre system, and must apologize. We that contributeto bring this system don’t have only to keep some oil inour hand and to burn ourselves in the center of the city, toapologize all the people. One of his last wills was: For afree and united Albania is necessary the condemning towardthe genocide caste and the forgiveness of the regrettable.158

Anthology of WoundsFATHER GIACOMO GARDINI S.J.A devoted missionary, even though 87-years-old hecame in Albania to continue the interrupted work by thecommunist dictatorship.Padre Giacomo Gardini was born in Pordenone of Italyin 1905. Later her became part of the Jesuit society, wherehe studied to be a cleric. In 1930 he came in Albania andteach for some years. In 1936 became a Priest and hecontinued to serve in the Albanian catholic church.He was arrested and imprisoned in summer of 1945.He was sentenced to a prison term of eight years and twoyears interment. Then he was liberated and was allowedto return to Italy. His body was far away, but his soul wasalways in Albania, although he suffered a lot. In 1986was published in Italy the book “10 years of prison inAlbania.” After the restart of the church activities in Albania,Padre Giacomo Gardini turned back to serve againin the Albanian churches. His religious mission went onuntil 1996, when he died.Fragments from the book“TEN YEARS OF PRISON IN ALBANIA”Arrest and processIn the old prison of ShkodraAfter I got “the merited reward”, with the decisionof the 28 th of August 1945, I was transferred to the oldprison of Shkodra, called the Great Prison, which wasjust behind the Municipality. It had been built since thetime of Turkey, when Albania was invaded by the Ottomans:A building not so great but terrible to live on it,really allaturka (old style). It had two floors; in one side159

Anthology of Woundsthere were the head of and the corpus of the police andon the three other sides the prisoners. There were twoor three rooms for sick persons, and some cells just understeps, to keep aside the most dangerous prisonersor under the strong masses of security.Inside was a yard 25x8 meters, in the center therewas a hand pump to get the water from the trap. Theliving quarters were made of four big bad rooms with awood floor. Everyone of them included in four lines 40-60 people that lied on the floor. During the night theylooked as if they were a big body carpet and mixedcrossed legs. There were a lot of parasites around.From the little yard, in the down floor, there werethe BATHROOM-s, put on a road without windows,without no water, and with five or six “places” allaturka(old style), i.e. some simple cells that brought the dirtiesdirectly in ditch— that’s why the smell of dirty wasunbearable.On the sides of the yards in the upper floor there weretwo cells that served as bathrooms and to punish the disobedientpeople, to beat them with stick or to wet themwith cold water, or make them stay all the night with thedown head sat on the steps with feet until the knees incold water, punishment that I have proved by myself.The only place to do the morning toilet for all wasthe water pump placed in the middle of the yard. Let’ssay everyday they leave us move for about one hour onthe litter yard surely in the observation of the guardians;we had no radio or newspaper information andunder hard inspections. Every broken rule or just asimple doubt, caused by a liar spy rewarded with stickbeats. The food was 700 grams of maize bread and wa-160

Anthology of Woundster from the pump. These were the routine of my day asprisoner. It was done any improvement later but the basewas the same.As I first told the place was dirty full of parasites, fleas,bugs, and lice that could not be exterminated even takingcare for tidiness. The walls were full of red marks. Fortunatelythe American people provided all their allies, betweenthem Albania too, great quantities of DDT. So remaineda little even for us the enemies of people. One dayin our rooms everything, planks, clothes, and we nakedwere disinfected with DDT. Then they ordered us not totouch anything for two days and three nights. It’s easy toimagine how we stayed in that pulverized place. Wecouldn’t breathe! But even though in danger for our livessuch as contamination, in that place full of people, we werehappy because at the end we were disinfected by parasites.The American people later, send both with DDT evensome flour. The prisoners could profit a little by thisabundance.In the prison we could eat some soft and white buns.Some of prisoners especially the mountaineers that hadnever seen such buns, ate with greed. But after somedays one of them said the other one: “I am constipatedsince five days.” The other said: I have six days…Theword passed from one to another and resulted that abig number of the prisoners was in the same conditions.The directory informed for this, took some harshmeasures.Next day they brought on the yard a big barrel withoil and began dispensing it. A glass was filled to drink161

Anthology of Woundsfor one by one. The cure functioned. We were more than500 persons and the bathrooms were those that I describedabove. So seeing that the white bread made usfeel bad, the prison directory, ordered to take the usualration with maize bread.The field of intermentIn the building of the Vlora prisonThere were about 1500-1700 people in the camp ofTepelena. If we think that the operation-interment hadbegan since 1945, in the time for which I am writingabout (1952-1953), the guys now were 16-17 years oldso they were capable to work. So usually they werecalled to work in necessary or hustling works.After the Easter of 1952, that time was a big day asnow is, somebody in the camp notified we had to go fora work mission. So were prepared some lists of personscapable physically to work, took some clothes, somewheresomeone cried and we left. We were about 1700persons. The group of people stopped at the edge ofVlora, near the green hills full of olive trees. We had tolive is some wood booths, in some floors’ beds. Therewas a big space that was used as yard that and as a storageto keep the constructions’ materials.We accommodated as we liked, according to thefriends, relatives we had, the age as being a real family.We could see from the yard the sea area from Arta untilVlora, its harbor until Kanina, further was the SazaniIsland, which seemed as a guardian for all the area. Fromthe sea we could breathe the fresh air, which was wonderful!The next day after we arrived, was a busy one with162

Anthology of Woundsthe organization and separation in groups with the appropriaterepresentatives, restricted freedom to visit thecity, norms in the camp, and possible punishments. Thenwere distributed the tools. I got content when I saw thatdirector was an Italian, engineer Ugo Monai - onefriulian from Tricesimo (Udine).The workers loved himbecause of his good manners and good heart, while thesuperiors evaluate him for his ability. He had been as acustodian angel for us, especially for the priests.The area was partly dug and partly pegged. It wasthe project of a complicated building and we didn’tknow exactly the place where it was. But we that werelearned with such things were not difficult to understandthat it was a big prison building.I was as half master, so that’s why they gave me theduty to supervise an important and delicate sector inthat prison system: places for the prisoners under theprocess and the sentenced to death.Its shape was made of 10x8x35 meters with only oneentrance, without windows, but only holes in the cementand ceilings when the light and would enter. Theinner part was made of a narrow corridor that went fromone side and to the other. During the sides of the corridorwere the cells, different and strange shapes.In that construction yard the worker worked well,and the food was not tasteful but good and enough.Even our guardians have been informed that internedwere not prisoners, especially because betweenus were even some paid workers, although, it was noteasy. A long time must pass to take our rights and toearn some money for the work made.163

Anthology of WoundsWe did different jobs, to fill the foundations, to carrystones, to prepare the lime, and not for much time thebuilding looked one meter from the land. While in thehills, olives were broiled, and teased the worker taste.So during the night, they went out hiding through thetrees and take some of “theft fruits” We ate olives untilthe autumn and we didn’t think we had done anythingbad. Surely they said even to me Bon appetite, smilingand being more quite when they separate “the guilt”with a priest.As above mentioned except my daily food nobodygave us clothes, shoes, or money, and there were littlepersons that have reached to earn money in other ways.I, less than all… But one day I was called in the directory,because somebody had sent me from Italy a checkof 5 dollars. From Italy…that was so poor! This was thereason why I doubted. The worst thing was the checkhad come from Vatican. “Who sends you the money?And what purpose with?”I asked to see the document to read the name of thesender. For the reason they asked me to answer. I saidto them just to buy clothes. It was the end of the conversation.I don’t know how much they gave to me in Albanianleks, but it was not much, so they could not bedoubtful.A year later I had another similar case with harderfallout. The cousin of an interned person sent me timeafter time, from Tirana, 100 leks (a little more than oneItalian lira), but she didn’t tell the name. I thanked herwith my own because this little help in my bad conditionshelped me, but I was despaired because I couldn’tthank the unknown beneficent.164

Anthology of WoundsOne day I was called to the police headquarters andin reality they kept a serious process file. They askedme for events happened in Shkodra, trying to reveal whowhere my friends there. Bothered and sad I wonderedmy Jesuit brothers or friends, for whom I know theywere not in dangerous, I mentioned Padre PietroPalladini, deported from Albania with some other Italianin 1946We had been closed friends that time but he was inItaly. “Did he-asked the officer-reminds you, helpingyou directly or through the other persons? I answered Ididn’t have directly no letters no helps. “And from theothers?-insisted he. I told than for a help I got fromTirana but I didn’t know the person. I told even the exactsum. “It’s ok-said the officer, and let me went. Laterwhen I turned back in Italy I was notified from PadrePietro Palladini that he asked from the unknown persontime after time, colors asked in Albania, in order tosell them and to help me and any other Albanian Jesuit.But the person, to whom Padre Padallini had faith, profitedmore for himself. The police have revealed the gameand had arrested him. During the process verbal myname was mentioned. So I was called in the commissariatand they didn’t bother me any more.“Obligated to make clay bricks”The work in Vlora had continued all summer butthe chiefs were not content, the autumn had come andthe weather was bad and especially during the night,began the rain, and it was not possible to work. Wecelebrated Christmas gathering some things that wehad bought, somebody had gone until Arte, and hadbrought a very good wine. After so much time “fast-165

Anthology of Woundsing,” celebrating Christmas made us feel happy andmade we sang simple songs of mountains, and someothers known in the city. It was Christmas night andwe forget our state of being.It was all clear it would not continue like this all thesummer.So in the middle of the field, we got the order to departure.The same work, carrying our clothes on themachines and over them stayed us, divided in twogroups; the same start in the midnight a very cold night,and arriving in Tirana, while was morning.We unloaded in the wide yards of a brick fabric, andlet us enter the great empty rooms, when we wait tocome the dawn. When the doors opened all run to gosomewhere for personal reasons. Then they brought usa cup of hot tea and then began to clean the rooms.The fabric was so nice for the time. Accompanied bythe chiefs we visited the different departments. Theyexplained us the turn of work , the collection of the soil,its sift, its compress, and the shaping in the desirablemodel, it was made on the spot, then in the ovens, fromwhich the finished material. Every phase in that timeand place, wanted a long lasting job and no interruptionduring the process.First we worked with the workers that were therebut after some time, that we got the appropriate practice,all the responsibility of the fabric passed to us. Weworked during the day, and during the night we onlydid the oven process needed to commit all over the nightnot to leave the fire to switch off.The briefs baking needed the appropriate amount of166

Anthology of Woundsfire and must pass from one department to the other, tocomplete the baking process. The oven was a circularbuilding separated in rooms. Some teams of workersfilled the rooms with unbaked bricks and after bakingprocess the other teams got out and so the process continued.All the sectors worked hard but the last phase wasespecially more difficult. The environment had a hottemperature, and the air was full of dust, and the hotred bricks must be carried by hands. We finished thework tired and the body full of sweat, with dust in themouth and in the nose, and skinned hands. It was reallyterrible! Exactly in this place I was appointed in thebeginning and I continued for other some monthsBut I want to add that not that entire situation wasnegative. For many years before, I had worked in thewater until the knees and I was sick from rheumatism,because I had a strong pain that sometimes didn’t letme stand straight ahead.But this contrary “cure”, as worker in the ovens, waswonderful to cure me. So how can I not think that Godthought of me? He came near me even in other ways.LiberationThe deal with Italy , according the Peace Treaty, rebeginning of the friendly trade relationship, the decisionthat all the prison red Italian or on the camp ofwork and interned was ready, they had to return inItaly. I thought I was dreaming! It was the first time inten years or more that I dreamed the liberation, becausenow I was convinced that I would never leavethat place any more.167

Anthology of WoundsMy messenger smiled and sad congratulated me,and went way saying! Lucky you, you will go while uswill remain here on the slush.” I didn’t say anything. Itwas better than speaking, I just thanked him, and hurriedup. I walked in the town almost running, somepeople that knew me wanted to congratulate me, or tocomment to event with me. But I was in hurry that day.When I arrived at my department I noticed that everybodyknew the news and the interned curious lookedat me. They congratulated me but it was not difficult tosee sadness in their eyes too. They were suffering becausethey would loose even me and the spiritual consolationI had gave to them. I wanted to give them hope,and tell that God would think even for them. But I feltreally sad and touched. I loved them with whole myheart, as they loved me. This love made me feel as if Iwas in a family. I cried as they did and I think I am notlying to tell that if I will had the possibility I would nothave turned back in my country, because I wanted toconsulate those people that sufferedSo tears and congratulations in the camp, than accordingto the Albanian custom I offered them cigarettes,a glass of raki, and for the women sweets. A real luxury!I had no more money but the custom was fulfilled.One evening during the committing the rituals weheard a knock on the door, it was the Sergeant, the chiefof the department, and three plain clothes. Instinctuallywe didn’t speak, we were a bit worried and after a whilewe breathed calmly when one of them speaking a poorItalian, said that the “government” wanted that ourreturn in our country to be dignitary so they orderedus to wear new clothes. He called the others (a tailorand a shoemaker) to take the sizes for clothes and shoes.168

Anthology of WoundsThey greeted us and went away, we looked each otheron the eyes but didn’t spoke a word with words, butwe talked with our look.The day to leave had come: it must have been thenight of September 20. I don’t remember what kind ofmachine did they get us. I remind the interned gatheredaround us, greeting with tears in their eyes. Wegave somebody one thing the other one another and soon, everything we had. We tool only our heart and thislast one broken by the sufferings.They greeted us with handkerchiefs in the air, andthe automobile started the road to Durres. We were fouron the wide seat, me, Mario Verde from Naples, NinoTagliani from Ferrara, Luigi Maucerri from Sicily, andnear the driver “an angel custodian” that was all thetime with us, day and night during the three days wewait the ship in Durres.So kind with us, he accompanied in post office tosend telegrams the familiars, he offered us coffee, raki,and he show us on the town discussing everything buttaking care in what we said. There were other people inthe town interested for us that surely were not occasionallythere.On the afternoon of January 24 we saw the ship inthe harbor. I saw an Italian flag on it, and my heart beatfast. We found there waiting us even nine other Italiansthat I had never met before. They were all professionalsand they all had worked even before in Albania.When the system was changed they were all accusedof being guilty of things they had not done butreally had continued to do their profession. It was a big169

Anthology of Woundshappiness even this appointment.A bit later an officer began reading the names hehad on a list, calling one by one, and the person enteredthe ship. It was my turn, and with my trembling feet Iclimbed on the steps that got me on the ship. I whispered,“Thank you God.”The ship captain that waited us in the end of the steps,shook my hand and told me“Courage Padre! The commander here is me”It was 24 th of September my 50 years old birthdayday…170

Fatbardha Saraci (Mulleti)Anthology of WoundsShe was born in Tirana in1939. Her family was politicallypersecuted with imprisonmentand internment from communistdictatorship since 1945.She graduated from universitywith a chemistry and biology degree,which she earned throughthe correspondence system. Shethen worked as a teacher inLezha.She was fired many times because of the class war,moving to work as a simple laborer. She was able to onlygo back to teaching in 1990, after which she was decoratedwith the title “Merited Teacher.”Currently she works in women’s movements and isauthor of many publications.171

Anthology of WoundsTwo persecuted women portraitsNafie Stërmasi (1920-1983)As many women that were born and educated withcountry love, Nafie Stërmasi too, challenged communismwith her life.She was born in Shkodra and then married in Tiranain a family that had contributed in the proclamation ofAlbania Independence. Her husband was graduated inMilitary Academy and served in Albanian military until1939.After the fascist invasion, their house became a veryimportant nationalist base (especially for Balli Kombëtarorganization to create relation with all the other cities).He was the Head of the Youth of that capital organization.During the National War was threaded for assassinationattempt by communists three times. And he waslooked for everywhere. When the others mentioned emigration,he said: “I will not leave because I have donenothing.”She was only 24 years old when she hid her three littleson’s father. It was alone to face the psychological torturesmade from dictatorship organs. The youngest childwas only 6 months. She demands to go home to lactateit. “Your milk is an enemy one” –the investigator said toher. This was bestiality. After two months, she and herthree children were interned to Berati where surviving andlive was real difficult. During this time her husband wasarrested and executed. Poor woman! She took permissionfor some days and with a villager help found herhusband’s tomb. She dig around there and found thecadaver face down. She turned him and cut some of her172

Anthology of Woundshair (this is the most precious memory for her family today).Then she swore: “I will keep my promise, in honorto your and my family. I will raise up our children alone.”It was confiscated everything after she came back frominternment. But she was strong and courageous: she workedwhere she could in such hard jobs such as in constructionenterprise as a slush worker, in trees sow, digging a newland. She had to feed four persons, three children and hermother in law. She worked as a real man until she retired.She was 55 years old and she had worked for 30 years invery hard jobs.The most shocking story for her and her family was aMarch night, 1963. The same villager that told her yearsago in 1946 about her husband’s tomb, noticed her abouta tractor that was working over there, where was herhusband’s tomb. She and her sons went to the place andgathered the bones, came back home and buried thebones in the yard. “Don’t tell nobody-she advised her sonsbecauseyou will be dead” Her last request was: “When Iwill be dead, you have to bury me in the same tomb withmy husband”She was dead in 1983. Her sons kept the promise. Theyput together secretly theirs father bones in her coffin. Nowin their tomb is written:Nafie and Reshat Stërmasi challenged the revolutionaryvigilance of dictatorship.173

Marie GjokaAnthology of WoundsThere is a popular phrase: “OhGod, how much the man bears”and concretized this meaning cannot better be found than in the lifeof a noble and suffering womannamed Marie Gjoka (Mazreku).Her problems in her life and herheart increased day after day.It was a poor family as manyother families in our poor Albania.Her father died when she was too young and her motherdid what she could to raise up her six children. One of thesisters got married, the other one was adopted by acouple. One of her brothers became priest, the other,Rroku became master carpenter. Don Nikolli was as thehead of the family. It was that man Nikë Barcolla {in factthis is his nickname}that would made that famous polemicwith Father Fulvio Cordignano, which even that hadworked hard for Albanian culture, was expressed verybadly for Albanian people in a newspaper publication.After some times Don Nikolli (the parson) was transferredfrom Tirana to Kryezi of Puka. His mother, Rroku and hissister Maria joined him. It was a very cold and rainy winterday in a very far place…It was the begging of the tragedy. It was a citizenShkodra family in a far way mountainous area, where therewas no electricity, no water, in a poor village of Puka, thesame scene as described in Migjeni books. It was theyear 1944…the dictatorship has just began to feel evenin those high mountains. The news was terrible. The first174

Anthology of Woundsman executed was Dom Ndre Zadeja. But he would notbe the last one…and Dom Nikolla knew this very well.“God helps us”-said his sister and his mother. The fightwas not predicted to begin from the priest, but from hisbrother Rroku. The “beasts” would find a cause even fabricated.And while Rroku, according to Dom Nikolla request,was going to fix some doors and windows of theFleti Church, he came across some State Security people.They had a sentenced to death person with them. So theaccusation was ready for Dom Nikolla. According to thishe wanted to meet the partisans. At once he was arrested.Some days later they arrested Dom Nikolla too. The twobrothers couldn’t see any more each other. Maria and hermother were shocked. After five years Rroku came outof the prison and began his life near his family in village.He began to work as a sawmill worker. One day an oldbooth got caught on fire. Rroku and three other men,tried to quell the fire but they couldn’t. For that reason hewas arrested again, this time as saboteur.Once again began for him horrors and tortures. Hewas sentence to death. It was 25th of December, Christmasday. He was only 28 when they put him tied handsover a wood clusters.“Tell us what you have to say”- the executionerasked. He answered” Long live Albania and a real freedomto it!” He wanted to add something else but theyshoot him. The villagers left terrorized. His mother waspouring water on the village spring. A villager lookedat her and taking off his hat from his head said to her: “Iam sorry priest mother, but your son was executed”.She couldn’t became again as she was because of herwounded heart, until she died. So Maria was alone. She175

Anthology of Woundswas only 18 when for her began the long way of deportationcamps and prisons in good or bad weather andnot for less but for about 37 years.Long years of torments that even Mandela have nottried. At the beginning taking care of her brother andthen for her husband, that was put in prison, just becausehe had married her , a political punishment person.So when she remained alone she married BibeGjoka, born in that village. He was a good man but verypoor. One day they left from Puka to Shkodra.They had many children, males and females. Altogetherthey had 6 children. Maria, the mother, was a little happierthat time. But she was not as lucky as to be glad for allher life. She was only in the half of her suffering road….It was July, her son was soldier, when his two friendstold her that Andri, her darling son, was drowned inthe Drin River because of his superior imprudence. Hewas only 20. She ran as crazy after the river to find hisdead body, but Drin has brought his body somewhereelse. They found him only after five days and she buriedhim herself. Another road she began to go in nowday after day, it was that of graveyard.So ten years gone. Was thought that she had no moreto suffer but… it was not true. Next son, married withtwo children, sickened very hard to death…They didimpossible to give him life, even going abroad in Romehospitals. His mother was all the time with him, but hedied in her hands, there in Rome…far away from hiscountry.This is the end of the story for mother Maria. Nowshe have no reason to live is like a phantasm. It seems to176

Anthology of Woundshave lived a long horrible dream for about two centuries.There are two reasons that keep her alive: for hergrandson and granddaughters, and the flowers shesends in the church. She prays and prays in God… notto have more death in her home. She prays in God forpeople she loved and for the others that made her suffer(she knew even their names).But she forgives becauseshe has a mother’s heart. And a mother’s heart is alwaysa sea of hope, faith and mercy.177

MAKENSEN BUNGOAnthology of WoundsBorn in the Elbasan in 1927,he finished the Normal HighSchool of Elbasan, and the HighInstitute of Pedagogic Studiesat the Faculty of Language andLiterature. He then worked formany years as a teacher.In 1946 was arrested andsentenced to a prison term offive years for anticommunist activity.His published books include “The death swamp,” a novel,1996, “Abaz Kupi” 2000, and “Kosova,” poems, 2002.Fragments from “DEATH SWAMP”The sky was still with stars and the dawn was still faraway when the whistles of the policemen in the camp wereheard. It was time to get up. Then the policemen came inevery booth, where they hit the doors shouting:-Get up! Get up! Get out! In line for two!The prisoners tired from the long road had not slept enough.The oldest that were used with this kind of waking hours, gotup, wear their clothes and got out. These 5 persons got out withthe others too.-Will we bear to live in this kind of camp? –Hasan askedme.-These are dictatorship camps, Sopot said-We are in a military state- Ahmet deflatedThere was Daut Burra after them.178

Anthology of Wounds-Do you know guys, why they got us up so earlytoday?-he asked ironically and without waiting for ananswer he added:- Because sleep makes you fat!- Sluggishness is paid with your death, Sopot saidsadly.The prisoners of Korça and Durres, when they got outfrom the booths, put in line for two, in the places appointedby the command of the camp. The prisoners of Elbasan gatheredin one side of the camp, near the booth and were waitingthe order. The commander went near them, with corporalZeneli and two policemen. The commander formed withthe prisoners of Elbasan a brigade, called the third one. Thecommander of it was appointed an ordinary prisoner, whichhad killed a young guy, beating with him first. The brigadewas divided in two groups. In each of them there was acommandant recommended by the prison command. In oneof them commandant was Myqerem Kola, that was sentencedfor economic deficit, he was about 30 years old. Aftersome times in the ordinary prison he was transferred tothe political prison, or named in that time, the enemy ofpeople prison. In the beginning he was friendly with Vullnetand his friends. But later these last ones kept a cold positionand didn’t speak to him at all. They had understood he wasnow a “tool” in commando service. One day Vullnet had aquarrel with him and after two days he beat him becauseMyqerem had offended him. The prison command condemnedwith a month in the cell. But he was not content, hewanted to revenge by himself.At the end the commandant introduced the prisonerstwo policemen appointed to direct the two groups.179

Anthology of WoundsAfter this organization, commandant, appoint the placewhere they would be ranked.Corporal Zeneli in front of the prisoners shakingthe stick that kept in one hand shout loudly:-Hurry up! In straight line! Alignment!The prisoners try to be in one line but could notalign. The row was long and they didn’t keep the rightdirection. So, Corporal Zeneli, shaking his stick in theair, screamed with a hoot voice:- Did you not know how to stay in one line? Iwill teach you how…He began to hit the prisoners with the stick withpunches as much as he could. One of the prisoners notto fall down on the slush moved a little, but Corporalsaw him and hit so hard until the prisoner fall in theslush. Then he put one of his feet in the body and continuedto hit wildly with stick and kicks .When he wascontent said:-Stay here, piece of dirt!And he went to the head of the line. The prisonercould get up. His head was full of slush and one cheekwas bleeding and damaged….All the prisoners took a ration of black d slice of breadand some soup. Then the prisoners spread on the campand began to eat the breakfast.The five of them stayed together. Close to them, satdown Qamil Daja and Vasil Lashi. A little further wereShaban Flaka with Daut Burra and Sopoti’s cousin. Thetwo Peqin guys stayed always together.180

Anthology of WoundsSala divided the bread in two parts and saw it wasas gravel shook his hand and said:-Why, this bread will we eat?But Ahmet Kurti interrupted:-Do you think we are here to eat bukvale soup?While the prisoners ate the breakfast the policemenwith sticks in their hands try to hear any word aroundin the camp.In the village Vloçisht, that was on the hill, a little farfrom the camp, the first lights switched on. The camptook the name of this village. An unknown name before,but that would terrify all the prisoners for all thelife when they would remind it. The history of dictatorship,would mention it as one of the first camps, wherepeople worked hard and were treated worse than slaves.Exterminator camp…The camp was great and in front of it was the maingate made of two iron panes.Near the door was a bodyguard where an armedwith a gun police stayed. Inside the camp on the left ofthe door there was the kitchen, from its chimney cameout the fume continually. Near there was the water depotthat was furnished by a tank that came from a faraway village. Then there where on line one by one, fourbooths long and high, built from irons and covered onsides and up with waterproof. In the middle of them,there was a little booth, which was used as nursery,where two wood beds and a table, and an old stool. Inthe right side of the door there was a little building thein the door of which an untrained hand had written181

Anthology of Woundsthe word “Library.” In the middle of it was an old tablecovered with cloth and two stools were on the sides.Out of the camp on the right was a highbuilding with two separations. One of them served forthe commando offices of camp and the other as the meetingplace. Close to it was the building where the policemenslept.All the camp was circled with a five rows pricklyhedge, three meters high. Near this hedge, in every fivemeters were some bodyguards’ places five meters high,in which days and nights stayed policemen with headhelmets, with guns and revolvers and bombs on the belt.They had a machine gun at the feet and some cartridges.In the camp on the most dark night, was looked fine,because everywhere were put electrical lamps, in everydoor, in every corner of the booths, as inside and outside,through the prickly hedges , in every bodyguardplace. Also, there was in the middle of the camp a bigpole, where were put four big electrical lamps.* * *The dawn came slowly after the silence of the nighteven in the swamp of Maliq. From the Mali i Thate beganto spread lightly and slowly a silver light on thetops of the mountains, and on the hills around. The bigstars on the sky lightly began to pale. The moon nottroubling, as always did, stayed on the sky looking allthat group of people near the swamp of Maliq? Did itmercy them? It looks everything but don’t speak of nothing.The prisoners ate the breakfast and were put in lineby two. The prisoners of Elbasan, wait in the line, anxiousto go, wondering what the matter was. They werecold and had put their hands in the pockets and picked182

Anthology of Woundsup coat collars to prevent as they can the wind of thatfrozen morning. No body in the line spoke. It was notpermitted. They understand it quickly and nobody saida word. The guardians with sticks in the hands turnedaround the prisoners as wolves ready to hit everyonethat would move or speak a word.In this time, one of the prisoners of the first groupthat was old, staying for a long time got up, fainted andfelt down. The other prisoners around, between themVullnet and Sala, tried to help him but the policemenattacked them and hit with sticks and kicks shouting:-Go way! Don’t help him!The prisoners, first shocked than when they saw thepolicemen they went way.And what is this?-Asked Sala-This is proletariat dictatorship-answered Vullnet.One of the policemen laughing went near the prisoner,moved him with his foot but he didn’t move. Theothers went to work while he remained there and liedon the land, without conscience, in the middle of thecamp. He transformed into a black mark for the othersthat looked now by far, leaving that place.The policemen carried to supervise the company ofElbasan, came out before the groups and began the rollcall. All the prisoners answered at once. One old man,prisoner, that didn’t hear very well, didn’t answerquickly. Policeman interrupted the roll call and cried.The prisoner was pale. He came out of the row and saidto the policeman:-Sorry Mr. Policeman- I don’t hear very well.183

Anthology of Wounds-I don’t care of your ears –said the policeman andhit with two hard slaps, one by oneHe spit on the face and angrily said:- Piece of dirt! – next time open your ears well!After the roll call was finished, the policemen accordingto the companies, reported corporal Zeneli that theprisoners were all ready to work.Zeneli ordered to go. First went the prisoners ofKorça and Durres then the Elbasan one. The companywhere those five participated, was on the end. Theystarted the road almost running to be as soon as possibleat the place of work. Poor one that didn’t get therhythm or didn’t keep the line! The policemen hit them.One of the Tirana’s prisoner could not run. The policemanwent near him and hit with his stick. But he didn’trun again.-Run-said the policeman-Run! Go after your friendsor I will kill you!-I can’t-said the prisoner-I have told you I can’t.-Run-shout the policeman again hitting him so hard-You do the same every day.And he didn’t stop to hit him cruelly.The prisoner didn’t try to protect himself but whilethe policeman hit him he said:-Don’t hit me! I can’t run, in the invest gory officehave cut my feet fingers and I have no meat on the lastpart of the feet, only bones.Later on, after they beat him, sometimes they let184

Anthology of Woundshim stay in the end of the row.At the beginning the prisoners walked on the aridland, then on a soft one. They were just near the swampwhere the land became softer, wetter and more silt. Theprisoners that had been other times on this road werenot impressed the other of the Elbasan prison frightened,but when they saw impossible to walk made asthe others. The shoes were full of silt. The socks got wet.The trousers until near the knees became full of mud.The prisoners walked now running in the swamp.The guardians cried, threaded and beat them. What tocare these people first from?- Who knows how long will the road be?-said Sala.-It could be a long one but I can’t see yet the place ofwork-Vullnet answered.The prisoners of Elbasan were given the tools suchas picks, spades, carriages, etc. At the begging was notdifficult to push them but walking in the swamp theywere full of silt and became too heavy. Some began tocarry them on the back the other to shuffle.Walking the prisoners something pinched the legs.They could not stop but when they arrived at the placeof work they saw that on the legs they had leeches ofdifferent sizes, that thirsty drink that blood remained.Sopoti catch one and try to move it but was not possible.A prisoner said:-Don’t try! It doesn’t move! It falls down when it’sglutted to blood!The prisoners of Korça and Durres began immediatelytheir work just when arrive in their place work.185

Anthology of WoundsThey had many days working in the middle of theswamp and had opened a long and very wide channel.It deepness was high as a man. When they entered insidethey didn’t look. In the two parts of the channelwere build some very high crushed rock layers.The prisoners began to work to make the channeldeep. They dig the land and transported the soil in thecrushed rock area. Making deeper the channel was filledfull of water. Here the prisoners, worked without shoes,with rolled up trousers, and on parts full of water, evenonly in underwear.Just near this place was the sector appointed to workeven us.Working the channel made deeper and so the landmade softer and wetter. The water came out and thework did more difficult, the place was full of mud andsilt. When the lunch time came, the policemen whistled.The prisoners left their job. Before the Elbasan brigadewas the corporal Zeneli that ordered that no carriage toremain without unloaded. The prisoners climbed in thedam and were set in line of twos. Some couldn’t stand.They sat on the ground until the cook brought the boilerwith meals.The policeman ordered the prisoners to the line. Theyscreamed:-Keep the direction! I want to see you in one line! Iwant to see one head.-Corporal Zeneli saw a prisoner of them of Durres,which was not in the line. He captured the man fromthe collar, and beat with stick, before the other prison-186

Anthology of Woundsers and ordered the commander of the brigade:-Don’t give him meal. He is condemned for today,not to eat.The prisoner went away and sat down eating silentthe piece of bread.The cooks gave the meal. First the soup was given tothe brigade commander and groups. In their bowls therewere some beans and some oil. The others meal waswithout no beans, only hot liquid. The five ones wentfar of the others and began to eat. They save a part ofthe bread for dinner. Sala ate it all.- What will you eat for dinner? - said Ahmet.- I have the meal-Sala smile.- Don’t do any more this! Tonight you will feelhungry all the time.While the other prisoners were eating as usually thepolicemen pass through on the dam to hear what theysaid. There was between them a geology graduate. Hewent near Qamil Daja-Bon appetite, advocate!- Said to himThe work re began with the same rhythm. When theevening came the policemen whistled again, and screamingwildly and threading with their sticks and orderedthe prisoners to leave their work and to be put in line.Every policeman did the roll call of his group. Everybodywas there so Corporal Zeneli ordered to go. Thepolicemen hit the prisoners to run in order that they arrivedbefore dawn. The oldest and the sickest, after thathard work, tried as they could not to be at the end but187

Anthology of Woundswas impossible for them to walk as fast as the others. Sothe policemen hit them. An old man could not walk sofast. The policeman hit him many times with his stick.He tried to hurry up but was impossible., saw the policemansomething wanted to say but he couldn’t, so thepoliceman hit him hardly. He fainted. With the policemanorder two prisoners took him keeping by his arms.- Take the dog!- said corporal Zeneli and after he hitme a few times – We are going in the camp, but if wewere going to work I would kill him and let he and hisfriend see how much worthwhile he is.The road for the camp was long. The sun was hiddenafter the hills on the horizon. The darkness beganto come slowly. No movement, only the run of the prisoners.Sometimes trembled by the prisoner’s noise, anybirds flied. And the monotonous song of the frogs washeard from somewhere far away.While the other prisoners walked to go in the camp,two lines of policemen armed and with shot guns, followedthem in silence ready to shoot without no warm,everybody that lived in the row.When they arrived to the camp gate, they werestopped, numbered, and then entered. The Elbasan prisonerswere the last to enter.According to the groups they were put in the linefor two.After roll call made again, they took a cup of tea. Thefive ones tired and hungry, ate the piece of bread thathad saved, while Sala drunk only the tea.I said you not to eat all the bread on the lunch time-188

Anthology of WoundsAhmet said-I will get another ration in the morning –said Salato justify. Shaban Plaka heard the conversation and gaveSala a piece of bread.-Get it-said-It’s village bread. My familiar broughtme before we came hereSala saw him doubtful, but Shaban left the bread onhis knees. Ashamed he took and ate the bread very hungry.It was so good.After the dinner they smoked a cigarette. Almost allsmoked it. Even the persons had never smoked before,had began to smoke. It was their best friend in the tortures,cells, and prisons.The prisoners tried to get up. The five ones did asthe others too. Corporal Zeneli that even knew themvery well asked them:-What prison are you from?-We are from Elbasan prison, Hasan said.Corporal Zeneli screamed:-Do you answer me while siting, dirty pig?And hit him. The five ones stand up. Corporal Zenelithreaded angrily:-Your time is over, dirty bourgeoisie! Until now wehave stayed standing up , now its your turn, pieces ofdirty !They didn’t speak. Corporal Zeneli went way quietly.-These are the people of the dictatorship-said Sopoti189

Anthology of WoundsThey went to wash their bowls at the only tap nearthe water depot, but there were many people there.They went to the booth. The other prisoners werethere. Somebody was laid. Any other was smoking.They smoked too, thinking of sad things, with hate, insilence. It was a long , hard, great, silence that add in everymoment the hate for the dictatorship that was just put in ourcountry.Ahmet that didn’t smoke was laid and was thinkingabout the terrible things they were suffering in the camp.Sopoti asked:- Why do you think? Do you think about the sufferingwe will have here?Ahmet said:-Will we survive? We have to deal a great battle.- Sopoti shook his head and said:- It will be difficult one…- And a hard one- added Hasan- And a long one-Vullnet said.When they finished smoking they tried to sleep. Buteven though tired they could not sleep at once.The booth was not shut well.The air was heavy, from the smell of sweat, the dirtyclothes and the bad smell of feet.A prisoner that suffered by asthma began to breath withdifficulty. The man near him said to go out and to breathe.-I am afraid that guardian will hit me.190

Anthology of Wounds-Yes he can-said the man.Another prisoner began to snore. The men near himwake up and moved him a little.Am I snoring? - said the prisoner that just wake up.-No problem.-I sleep like this now. I got used to when I was in theinvestigation lockup.Another prisoner from the middle of the booth got upand began to smoke in silence.What do you have?-asked him the friend near him.- I can’t sleep.- Why?- I learned that my family was told they would be interned.- It’s our destiny- the other said-but try to sleep.Have not passed many time when from the end of thebooth , was heard a terrible scream. A prisoner screamedwhile was sleeping:- No no, he is not guilty! Don’t do that! No! You can getme instead of him!The friends wake up him because he was having anightmare. He moved shocked. He got up, looked aroundand as he was fine he said:-Please God, save my son’s life.Did you see any dream?-the friend close to him asked.What did you said?-asked he.191

Anthology of WoundsThe prisoners near him woke up. He looked at themashamed that he woke them up.- Sorry, he said, asking the friend close to him for acigarette.Smoking he said:- It was a nightmare- It’s only a dream, said the man who gave the cigarette.- Don’t worry.The man that dreamed said:-I dreamed as if them of the Defense Department camewith a car, entered home…Arrested my only son, put thechains and beating with kicks and punches and took himwith them….He breathed deeply and said:-Oh my God! Please save my life’s son! Please God!The prisoners around said:- It’s a dream from the exhaustion, it is the first day atthis cursed camp .- We will get used to it. We will.The oldest among them said:-It’s OK. Sleep now, because we have to work tomorrow!-Sleep now! Sleep! – said the old manWe all lied on our beds.The booth was invaded by silence. The guardian192

Anthology of Woundscame time after time near the door of the booth, silentas the night. It was a gloomy silence at the camp. Thelights around made a big light. Outside in the bodyguardplaces, there were guardians with shot-guns intheir arms that accompanied the moon that looked indifferentand silent. In front of the camp lived in peacethe Vloçisht village. Could the villagers that looked thiscamp from far away imagine that under this lights thatshined hundreds of people suffered terrible tortures?193

AHMET BUSHATIAnthology of WoundsHe was born in Shkodra in1929, being among the first to jointhe Antifascist Movement ofShkodra Students. He was arrestedin 1948 and sentenced toseven years in prison.Following his release, heworked as a laborer and later as atechnical expert in Kruja.He finished university throughthe correspondence system in the Faculty of Languageand Literature, studying several foreign languages, suchas Italian, French, and English.In 1991 he returned to Shkodra, where from 1992-1996, was the chairman of the city’s Municipal Council.He is also one of the main leaders of the Society ofthe Formerly Politically Persecuted. He has publishedmany of his articles in the daily newspapers.Eight men executedEight men were executed in front of city hall in thepresence of the people.Even though the communist barbarism was increasedday after day and was became wilder, in theroads of Shkodra especially in the center of the townhad continually people movements. The schools wherestill closed and the students even these students thatstudied abroad were turned back in their country be-194

Anthology of Woundscause of the war. So, since two years ago they were theregular customers of Shkodra’s piazza.There were even some former employees of the administration,that would be changed, and also the otheremployees, between them participants in the war, thatwished to be present in every event, and the partisanscame from south that in general had nothing to do.A part of this mass of mixed people would participatein a meeting in the morning of January 21, 1945notified since a day first, as “important.” The weatherwas cold even though the sun shined. The people in thesquare in front the municipality didn’t wait for long andin one moment in the balcony an officer with colonelgrade that looked older than the others came out on it,smiling. Arif Gjyli was next to him. He introduced theperson to the people, his name was Shefqet Peci. Shefqetspoke in a regular oratory, alternating according to theoccasion, even the voices tunes, not lacking also inspiration,accompanied with demonstrative gestures,which the random speeches of the ignorant and inexperiencedorators needed.He shortly told the Shkodra people of the nationalliberation war and the liberty gained by it, for the relationof the Albanian partisans and Yugoslav one, for theircommon ideals and for the blood they have not sparedin the same entrenchment and then praising the MarshalTito, and later ironically and with pomposity hewould continue in more loud voice: “We have broughthere some spies and traitors, that have served the foreignersand have counted their hands with the blood ofthe son’s people, and we will kill them here before you”He began to read the unlucky names of these persons,195

Anthology of Woundsthat had brought to the square, hiding from the people.In the list he suddenly read a man name and somewherein the middle of the crowd, a little girl about 10-12 years old that was next to me, that was so kind andtidy and was wearing in a good way with a new redcoat, when she listened that name began to cry in sucha way that all the people around felt bad.He cried saying: “Oh my daddy, daddy, daddy” andthe automatics that shoot toward the persons, made thatthe terrified crowd of people, shouting , try to leave thepiazza without seeing the eight men linked with eachother, dead and lied in their blood. I could see just movingfrom that place a person with a pistol in his armshooting toward one of the victims, in order to retaliatefor the brother killed last summer, and in the same timeI could see Qamil Gavoçi, that was shooting behind theear of the killed persons, as ”colpo di grazia”.This macabre scene projected by the communists inthe governing, in order to terrorize the Shkodra people,it would be unforgettable for them. The Shkodra citizensince that time and now whisper to each other “Godkilled them, for what are they doing to the people”, notmentioning the names of the people of the communismregime, just saying “them”, on a strong detesting semantics.Killed that day I remember Shaban Elezi, Elez Hoti,Ademi, nephew of Hasan Isufi, wounded in the war ofKolaj Mountain a few days ago, and Dedë Shabani,through the eight person.196

Anthology of WoundsThree months between life and deathMy new investigator, was a pompous man namedAli Xhunga that had come to Shkodra from one of thePermet villages, with the grade of aspirant, that meanthe had not participate in the war in the appropriate time,even though he had the appropriate age. He was so shortand when he came near me and shouted and threatenedme, I got angry because he was a palm shorter thanI was.The dwarf as he was sitting on the chair swollen as arooster to give himself more importance doing artificiallyserious poses. This investigation careerist was notthe most ignorant and most brutal and even not the mostcriminal but he was surrounded and coward toward hischiefs. If during the investigation a chief entered theroom when he was, the color of his face changed inwhite. He had no personality according to me; even hehad no negative personality of the criminal. I think hewas the type of the bad mercenary chosen to service inorder to profit. A. Xhunga would be the investigatorthat would keep me for about three months hanged asChrist and would torture me in order to progress. Processfor life or death was his criminal motto of his workwith me. Since the first day of investigation until thelast he did with me terrible and extreme tortures thatfor many times would me my last hope and if I had nodied this was an unexplainable miracle of my fault.The first time he called me, he was sat on the chairwith an imposed posture, maybe just thought since before.“Sit down” said to me coldly, and continued to stayeven for some time in the same position as thinking andin silence197

Anthology of WoundsI as usually did, looked up on the calendar. It was onthe wall and the date was 28 of July 1948.Then he shaking his hand toward me said with authority“I am the last investigator that will deal withyou. Sure you will speak, the problem is not to get inthat point, because you are young and you have a family,but at least we don’t care of anything even for yourlife. This place has seen a lot of men, and what men! Sothink before to be too late”The next day he called me again and my silence andcalmness made him angry. He came near me and said“I know you wait to come here, your Anglo-Americansbut I let you know that even they come we first will stabyou one by one, in the cells where you are.A month ago Enver Hoxha had broken the relationswith Yugoslavia and the political situation could be frozen,but I didn’t know anything what happened outside.The third day Ali Xhunga, told me at once, “Did youthink?” and I answered as always did: I had no what tothink about. So mechanically he got up and militarydressed and seriously, came out on the hall and entereda policeman to guard me.He came back with a military I had never seen and Iwould never see again. He kept in his hand generatorof electric. Do you look this? - Ali Xhunga ironicallyasked me and continued: Do you know what is it? AndI answered- “Yes” .”Let’s try it again today”- Said henervously. The officer put in my ears the strands of electriccurrent, while Ali Xhunga, with generator in hishands, made me slammed many times in the floor. It198

Anthology of Woundscame out foam from my mouth as the other time happenedand the one ear began to bleed, and make mesuffer more than last time. This session even difficultdidn’t last for long.In the afternoon of the same day, Ali Xhunga andIsmail Lulo entered my cell and after them Shurdha thatkept in his hand a rope and a stool. I thought they wouldbeat me with rope. I didn’t know that excited even thehang as a torture. Shurdha according to Ismail Lulo order,got out the sleeping stuffs and began the procedureof hanging. Nobody spoke. Ismail Lulo put the chainson my hands grasping on the pulses and he adhered tothe wall corner toward a window and he climb on thestool and after he crossed under the chains the rope,two stranded of it joined together on the windows iron’suntil it stretched completely.Ali Xhunga that had not spoken a word until thatmoment looking the people seriously spoke only whenhe was ready to leave: You will see now! After him IsmailLulo left, and they left me on underwear and a silk summerlight shirt, that missed the buttons since that day ininvestigation. So Ali Xhunga was thinking to with mewhat he said since the first day. I will not get for longwith you.”Hanged with the head on one side, with open mouth,in order to breathe and with pains in pulses where allthe body aggravated, and that from the miss of the goodcirculation in them where swelled and had began to becut from the chains , continuously with shut eyes becauseof long lack of sleep and tiredness, it would bemy general view those days.199

Anthology of WoundsIt would be only death, which I hoped to come assoon as possible, to over all my sufferings that had noend even in the days in continuous. I heard as a secondvoice inside of me that said “As much as you suffer assoon you will be near the death that u are waiting forwardto rest”At noon they unchained me to eat a piece of breadand a tomato and sometimes some figs, which I couldn’teat or eat a little. Some times to tease me they at thehome and ate any season fruit. He came near the doorof my cell so when I went to investigation or for myneeds, to see them greedily.When I was unchained in the noon, It was a great problemfor me to sat down, because my legs where so swelleduntil near the thighs , they where in gray color thick aswoods, and didn’t bend on knees. So to sit down I wouldgo slowly stroking on the wall, until I felt down on thefloor. I didn’t want to eat but I was thirsty, and not takingaccount the pains I need to sleep. And I slept as I finishedthree or four nibbles. But 20 minutes later Ismail Lulocame and hanged me again. The first three four dayswhen hanged I saw the floor and said to my self “Hopenot to die before sleeping once in that floor again”First they hanged me from the hands but when thechains penetrated on the pulses they changed the place,hanging me by shoulders, and so on, creating woundswith blood and pus in the entire the body, beginningthe same circle when the first wounds recovered.Only the belief in a secure death made me strong toendure. From the lack of sleep and pains I passed allthe time in an hallucinogenic condition, not knowingfor days and hours where I was. But I was awake only200

Anthology of Woundswhen Ali Xhunga came, and wanted to profit by myconditions. Some times I couldn’t breathe and I had somespasm , and my mouth was full of foam and I was nearthe death, especially in three cases I have been very surefor my death even the medical help was not given tome. I remember two cases, even not perfectly, a manwith a white blouse that came near me with a longneedle.During this period of time Ali Xhunga not contentonly by my hang, would beat me sometimes eventhough my body was full of wounds and had a badsmell, as a died animal. When they would let me go tothe bathroom, I had to lean on the walls, I couldn’t keepmy body straight. Even more tortures followed, and Iwalked like a baby on hands and kneesIt would continue for a long time especially in theinvestigation office, where two policemen kept me frommy arms and some times they kept me up like deadweight.The new prisonThe new prison was the second from its space fromthe big prison. It was a big building two floors. We wouldlearn that this building in the past had been of Cekafamily and some others, but I don’t know for what reasonit was named sometimes even the Suma Prison.After the gate was the hall 3 meters wide, inside of itwas created a room for the guardian policeman, usingthe two walls of the corridor, two other sides where twopanels that went up until the ceiling. The first night theyunchained our hands that had two doors on the side201

Anthology of Woundsand another in the front. There were written the names,one on the right, two on the left, three were the first one.While the two rooms at the side so one and second hada step with wood, the one with number three was onthe low quota of the corridor covered with cementmaybe a beech that lasted all over the building, so asthe length of the two rooms one and two, plus the widthof the corridor.Ruzhdi Çoba, Thabit Rusi, Qazim Dervishi, LecBarbullushi, Ruzhdi Baja and e Refik Bushati, were inthe Cell Number 1, Ernest Përdoda and Xhelë Baci inthe Number 2, while in the third Remzi and XhevatQuku, Tomë Sheldinë and I.We greeted each other and then silence. This happenedas we learned later, when in a cell entered a newprisoner. The old prisoners stayed on their places lookingcarefully us. We could see in their faces disgraceand curiosity for us.When a new person entered the new cell it was anew event for the other prisoners. There were some rulesturned in traditions or customs in prison. It happenedthe new prisoner met there his relatives or known persons,and are these persons that will meet him first. Theyasked him for the prison, if had suffered during investigation,for his familiars, if he have had contact them, sothe information spread all over the cell and the curiositydidn’t exist any more.…I found some of my friends there at the room, evenRamadan Sokoli, my friend’s brother, Hodo Sokoli, thatstayed near me and directed me in that room full of202

Anthology of Woundspeople, maybe more than a hundred. He was reading“Rilka” and gathering folklore, a job in which he waspassionate. That prison was a golden mine to be explored!I had a lot to learn from Ramadan Sokoli, thatwas 10 years older, and that had read so many books.…In that place except the villagers of Shkodra field andthe highlanders of Malesi e Madhe and Dukagjin, therewere a lot of people from Mirdita, Puka, Tropoja, andLuma. Ramadan that had studied in Florence for floutand composition, as the artist he was there in the prisonwould produce in miniature from the peaches’ nucleus,objects such as pashmangas, baskets, etc that were aspresents from the prison for the familiars, and relatives.But Ramadan embroidered too.He communicated with his prisoner friends as DritaKosturi and Terezina Pali through the books, they werein another cell called the women room. Ramadan accomplishedhis correspondence with a code for exampleif he wanted to write Patience, he will sign with a penthe first letter P in the page, and then he found A, T andso on until the word was accomplished, continuing likethis with all the words that he wanted to include in hisletter.In the end of the room was a place for bathroom, whenme and some of my friends, one year and a half withouttaking a shower would wash up for the first time after solong. In the evening a man nearly 30, served there as physician,he pulled me elastic band of the underwear withoutsaying anything and in the others’ eyes and put insidesome DDT and left laughing. DDT was used for lice. Theperson who did that was Elez Troshani, pharmacist, I had203

Anthology of Woundsknown him before but that night his short hair hadchanged his face that was different when he was free.The prisoners we found were old in general, sick ornot capable for physical work, the others were in the workcamp of Orman of Pojan, Korça area, and would come backduring November, in that time we would move to the NewPrison to join them.This prison cell with so light and so good peoplewould give me health and spiritual good conditions andsoon I felt like in paradise.In the evening we had an appointed time for theobligatory Zeri i Popullit newspaper, that usually wasread by Andro Petroviç, a wise and very polite man,but I don’t know why he was so sad all the time.Two times a day for one hour we stayed in the garden,with the youngest playing basketball, in two teams,1+2 and our room 3, for one hour…The Room Number 3 had a rectangle shape. The headof it was busy while near the bathroom stayed the oldest,that had physical problems, ex military, Luigj Mikeli,Hamza Kuçi, Zef Martini, Paulin Prendushi, and after themTeufik Bekteshi that suffered from joint pain, and later onHamid Nurja, Malo Kraja, Malo Cani, Smajl Elezi etc.Since the first night of my coming in this prison, I wasput near Ramadan Sokoli and Pjeter Saraçi, an older brotherof my former history teacher, Angjelin Saraci. Pjeter Saraçisince the second day to give me pleasure began some ofhis jokes.…204

Anthology of WoundsSimon Harapi would be one of the prisoners I hadmore frienship since in the begging. The prison as aplace of the common destine disappeared many of thedifferences that exist between people as age, culture andeducation, origin etcSimon was a quiet man, very regular, in every thing,but he stayed lonely most of the time, and I thoughtthat except his family he thought of the past, a longingyouth in the past, for the secrets of its clean platoniclove, he had confided in me.There was in that room even Ragip Lohja, youngerbrother of Hysen Lohja prisoner too, but that time hewas in the working camp. Ragip time ago had representedAlbania in the race of the 100 meters speed inParisAnd Shaqir Omari was in that room; he was so generousand could speak with everyone. As he had lived onthe mountain, the highlanders enjoy his talks very much.There were also some old Postribas, such as Isuf Hasanfrom Urea e Shtrenjte, which was short and healthy, braveand loyalOne of those Postribas that liked to tease Isuf Hasan wasthe old man that was put in one corner of the room. Celathat was slim and tall, was smart and friendly and funny,together with Isuf Hasan they told stories of their youth.Myrto Dani was another man, a Drishti Chieftain, a realnoble man that talked only smiling. There was in that roomAbdullah Saiti, the son of the Raseku Chieftain, Sait Dulithe hero of Postriba insurgency, generous, that helped aKosovar man, from Gjakova, named Xheme Sadria, braveperson as the person inside told. There were there Nuz Halili,Dervish Nuzi and another Postribas, while Hajdar Tafa,205

Anthology of WoundsMuho Fetahu, Emin Zyberi, Selim Rraci, Shaban Hyseniand others must have been in the other rooms of the prisonbut there were other ones in the camp of Orman of Pojan.Next to them was Abdulla Salihi, also of Puka.A good person or not good, was another man, namedGjush Pistuli, that spoke a lot, only in his heart fascismhad left a big mark. With gestures and with his big teethopened his mouth and called us the youngest “ei, ei voigiovanni” and some other times with fist up he calledus with enthusiasm “Gioventú, gioventú”! In some othercases he declared some verses from the hymn of fascistyouth, “Giovinezza, giovinezza’ Primavera di bellezza”I said, “Fascism is over everywhere in the world andwe have had occasion to fight it and if necessary we willfight it again,” but did Gjush hear? No way. He acted asif he didn’t hear, and not to offend went smiling.…One day there in the room brought two prisonerssame age we had, we let they stay in the entrance of theroom. They were from Mirdita. We went to meet them.One of them was named Ndue Fusha he seemed like areal man, noble and attractive, but a bit pale because ofthe TB he had. He was courageous and from a goodfamily of Mirdita. The same way was his friend, who heconsidered as his brother, Gjon Marka Ndoj, sympatheticand talkative. He was so skilful and stayed every momentwith Ndoja, day and night and was for him notonly as a brother but as a sister too for what he needed.When Ndoj had been 16, in 1945, he was put in prisonfor 1 year. When Bardhok Biba was arrested and sentencedto death and have saved only with the interfer-206

Anthology of Woundsence of father of Bardhok Biba. And would not pass along time when Ndoj, would die from TB in the RoomNumber 3.Somebody had said that I had broken the regulatoryand so sent me to the directory. As a fault repeated anothertime, they changed me the room from three to two,which even better and high I would prefer more the firstone, maybe I was used with the people there.In this room my best friend would be Ernest Perdodathat smoked all the day long and night and since thattime his face was green.During some days I had some other good friendstoo, Hilmi Kamata, with whom i was close and forever.I was in the middle of the Bajram Xhemaliu that had aface with little holes, he was from Kala e Dodes, andsome time ago learned at the madrasa of Tirana, andspoke a little English. My friend was even Preng Bibafrom Mirdita, a good man, but serious and talented inthe producing of the mini objects and celluloid. Once Isuggested to him and he made me an eagle ready to fly,while tried to break the chains on the legs. For memory,I send the eagle and the symbolic it had, to Sime.We would eat together with Bajram and Prenga fortwo months I stood in that room.In the summer 1951, when I was in the work camp nearPeqin, I heard that Preka and Prele Toma from Nikiç ofMalesi e Madhe, and another friend of them escaped fromthe big prison to Yugoslavia. After spending a lot of time atthe notorious camps of Yugoslavia, Preka left for America,and was recruited later in the military forces of Americanmilitary. One day he was killed in Vietnam.207

Anthology of WoundsI was not quite in since the moment I would find theperson that had spied me to move from the room, he coulddo this with the others too; this was the more importantthing. So I decided to pass in the Room Number 3 whereI had first been and to stay there with my friend TomeSheldia. While we talked I observed around in the room.At one moment I saw a person moving, he thought of Tomaand I, so he left from the door. Not to create doubt to theothers he turned back very soon at the room and sat up asan angle in his place near the door. Toma told me to goway because we had discovered the person, but I waitedthe police to come, to prove the spy was in the room, andI wanted to disrobe before all the people’s room. So after alittle time the police came in the room and suddenly saidastonished, “What are you doing here? Come with me!”And he took me with him to the prison director that wouldpunish me for three days in the prison cell.…We, the youngest were surprised from the place full ofold people, with other interests, and formation, their behavior,and their gracious attitude for each other, their collectivefeeling and a nobleness that was manifested in mostof them. We had often had the object of our conversationfact that many people there were so kind, that we had noknown before.In the small Room Number 2 I met old men respectedby all, such as Mr. Shevqet Muka, Shyqyri beg and someothers younger.Xhele Baci was in that room too, and in that time hewas reading ”Chefs d’Oeuvres” from French literature,and when he liked so much any of the stories hewanted to tell even the others. He as talented in litera-208

Anthology of Woundsture, although Fultz School had finished excellently inagronomy.In that room was former revolutionary, and CommunistGjeto Kuqi, who was always in good mood, heread French and as we have told, continued to manifesta poetic tendon. The friendship with me considered oldsince the time of the neighbor prison cells we had hadin Security, when he was in solidarity with me (knockingthe wall with fist many times) when I contradict myinvestigators.In that room was responsible Pretash Nika.I had another friend, Todi Ruho that was a wise andsincere man. In a meeting organized in Tirana, wherewere many officers, and he too, he had asked in a moment“Now that we are so linked with Yugoslavia, whatwill happen with Kosova? And Enver Hoxha that formallydidn’t directed that meeting, was replied, “Whowants the good of Kosova must wish it be part of Yugoslavia,for the better conditions it will have, in constructionof the socialism in its country.”In this room I had friends from Mirdita too, threepersons, that If I remember well, once upon a time, hadbeen students of the Shkodra high school and dorms ofthe “Our Mountains” their names were Kolë Skana,Preng Bajraktari and Ndue Zef Ndoci.Ali Taipi from Dudas neighborhood was in prisonbecause he had hosted his Ballist friend from south, BilbilHajni. He was a good man and very kind person andnot taking account his age he always smiled and wasfunny.209

Anthology of WoundsKolë Ndou, Shala Chieftain, was a quite and smartman. He was not artificial; he imposed a presence andstayed in his place. He was like a person that wants tokeep the dignity and his importance even in the disgrace.He had big mustache, and he never moved fromhis place. And there were in the room two middle agemen from Dukagjini, one of them tall, called Nike, theystayed near Kole respecting him, without letting himdo anything, but helping for everything.Kolë stayed sat all the time cross-legged, with straightbody and light cigarette all the time. If you went “tovisit” him, he was so glad and he honored you so muchwhen you left. Ndue Lala had suffered all his long life.He was smart and human and he spoke so skillfullyand clearly that the events looked nice when he spokeabout them. I liked them and I was so interested andcurious about every thing he told and I felt content.That time I think Ndoj was about 50 years old. Hehad a pink face and some brown marks on it. WhenBardhok Biba was arrested and he was sentenced todeath and for three months he had suffered that punishmentmasse.Being so poor and according to its concept, he andhis friends had gone with rifles on the arm to mug livestock,in Kosova and Chameria, in order to make possiblethe surveillance of the children and women, andold persons they had home. With this motive they justifyevery mug case and felt brave and proud for theiractions, more far they were the places more, honoredthe men were when they came back .Who was killed inthese cases was remind as some others that were killedin the war for the country.210

Anthology of WoundsIn the room nr.1 when I secretly had entered once ortwice, the most interesting and honored including twoin the other room that were shehs (heads of a Muslimreligious group) Ali Bogdani from Bicaj of Luma. I personallyhad no occasion to meet him. He was coveredwith a brown overcoat, he had in the had a small hatused from Muslim believers in the praying time, he hada beard soft as silk and white like snow, long until thechest, and over all he had a grace similar with a mysteryin a nice face and noble features, making think thathe was Muhammad climbed on the land.As the other prisoners that were in the same cell hewas would tell that all the time he meditated and prayedto God. Religion Culture and especially the devotiontoward God and also his prestige and smartness thataltogether made him the most respected man.The most preferred or the friendliest person withoutany rival was Elez Troshani, for his religious vocationand adoration-as for a saint person-he had for the ShehAli. Elez accompanied by a policeman worked all theday out of the prison as a pharmacist and the time whenhe turned back he stayed on knees sat before Sheh Ali,as before the God.Religious Studies Sheh Ali had done in Istanbul. Twoguys from Shishtavec, with Ndergjuti surname, one ofthem called Ragip, stayed near him to serve and helphimIn Room Number 1, we had the friends Ruzhdi Cobaand the students Thabit Rusi and Rrok Pali and RefikBushati, Gjon Ljarje, Lec Bruçajnets and prestigious oldman Ramadan Aga, Dan Hasani, that was always proudand in good health, even though he was nearly 80 years211

Anthology of Woundsold. There was there sir Haxhia, and Riza Hoti myfriend’s brother, Burhan Hoti, in the face of which I readthe gratitude for me that I had no mention the name ofhis son on the Security office. Brave and respected MuezzinQemal Dibra was there, the dentist, Xhabir Dibra,Gani Ymeri, Paulin Kel Pali, and the poorest that sufferedfrom TB, brave and faithful, our friend that timeand later, Mark Lleshi.The priests were separated. We saw them only whenwe went to the bathroom. The unable or sick personshad not gone in camp or somebody else that justifiedhis staying there making any specialized work to servethe directory. Between the priests one of them was LeonKabashi, with whom he communicated in a way not understandableonly Ramadan Sokoli, sure interested inpicture, that he made. As I remember were there monsignorKoliqi, Padre Frano Kiri, Padre Mark Harapi andPadre Gegë Lumaj, and Padre Rrok Gurashi the priestwith whom the communist govern, through Tuk Jakova,continue-as was told – without resistance trying to separatethe church from Vatican.On another side of that building was the womenroom, where were Mrs. Adile Boletini, and the youngestDrita Kosturi, Agime Pipa, Terezina Pali, VitoreKuka, Ana Daja, Bedrije Ashiku, and a Mirdita womannamed Prendë, we citizen prisoners called her BeautifulPrenda because she was really beautiful and she hadbeen brave and faithful when she had been fighting. Wefelt very bad when heard than she died in prison fromTB.As I have told other times, when Bardhok Biba waskilled many Mirdita person were arrested, that was put212

Anthology of Woundsin our prison after a very short sentence. Elez Troshani,which was the physician inside the prison, had the dutyto disinfect the person that came to the prison. Onceone of them asked Elezi, “What’s this sir?”“To kill lice,” he answered loudly and the Mirditaman as if he were speaking to himself said, “I have hadlice like this since King Zogu’s time.”213

URAN BUTKAAnthology of WoundsUran Butka was born in a patrioticfamily. His father committedsuicide during the SecondWorld War, because of the desperationand pain he received fromthe war among Albanians. Heappealed for the interruption of thecivil war (between the communistand nationalist forces).After graduation in languageand literature, Uran worked as a teacher for several years.He was fired from his job for political reasons and to survivehe was forced to work hard physical jobs. In 1975,the Interment Commission deported him and his familyfrom Tirana to Tropoja and then to Martanesh.He was one of the first involved in the democraticmovements of 1990, aiming to overthrow the Communistdictatorship.He is one of the leaders and founders of the NationalAssociation of the Formerly Politically Persecuted of Albania.He has also been elected to serve as a memberof parliament, also severing as the chairman of the commissionof valuation of the national figures and rehabilitationof the dictatorship communist victims, and has directedthe movement for national reconciliation and theintegration of the politically persecuted.There are several historic and literary books publishedby him, of which we can mention “Nation Genie,” “Mukja- unity chance,” “The return of Mit’hat Frasheri,” “SafetButka” and “The White Death.”214

FAR FROM PEOPLEAnthology of Wounds-This is our last evening in Tirana, said Ema.We wanted to buy something and also we walked alittle. We could see the emptiness in the roads. It wasunusual for Tirana, where the evening was so specialand different from the other cities. The evening walkingwas a collective ritual. People that went throughthe boulevard in the both sides from Scanderbeg Squareuntil the University Square and returned back again.Here pulsed the city life, its citizenship, environment,and vanity, beauty and ugliness, the new and the oldclothes. The dark colors predominated, even though wassummer. The people seemed as a mourning line. Thelight colors were not preferred because they were mushyand didn’t match to the new mentality of the new men.They were preferred better, dark colors, especially thered.In the evening promenade people didn’t think of thepressure of their days and felt better spiritually. Theymet each other and talked especially for the weather,sport (other subjects were dangerous), they talked aboutthe news, gossips and their problems…It was the onlyamusement they had. All, even the intellectuals, werepart of this circle. A daily permitted vicious circle…It was Sunday. Usually that day the square was fullof people. But there were no people that day…I had a long time since I had not walked, she said.It’s really sad.From the time the circulation began the eveningpromenade has ended.215

Anthology of Wounds- All are afraid as if they are attacked from panic.- As if the falcon has attacked the chickens-I answered.-We will go tomorrow. Do you think we will everturn back?Her voice was insecure, and I could catch the endlesspain on it.-We were born here. So we will return in any way.Better times will come.I said all these words not to leave her loose completelyher hope. But nothing was good and the bad wasintruding everything and deepest. Even inside the man.What about the mother? Will she cope this? If I didn’tfeed Ela with my milk I would leave her with her. Itwould have been different for both, although difficultfor me. She is a baby…-…The mother has suffered and she can face the difficultiesand she will wait until we return back. Shewants to stay and guard the house for us, hoping thatwe will return one day. Hope will keep her alive….Ema was from a Berati citizen’s family. Her motherwas mufti daughter and Margarita Tutulani had beenher best friend. She had helped the national war but shebecame disillusioned by its metamorphosis and abuseof power. Her father an idealist man with courage wasnot seen in a good eye. But his brother was skillful andarrived to give him the right to study medicine. He wasan excellent student so they kept him at the universityclinic, and he specialized for kidneys. But our marriagecaused familiar and social problems. She was called to216

Anthology of Woundsthe Party office and was pressured to leave him .Shedidn’t accepted and she called all this interference inthe family. But the party was worried for the purity ofthe family! So she was declared heretic and was pointedwith a red circle. She was the first in the circulation listsof cadres, compiled from the Party Committee. But therewas another list too, composed from the Interment –Deportation Commission. I was the object of this list,too. As a couple we were under the observation of thetwo commissions, behind them was the State Security.It was decided for us to be deported from Tirana andto go in northern most place of the country.-I have heard they are deporting even their people,even important-said Ema-They don’t even believe themselves. They are afraid.So they kill two birds with the same stone. First thepeople with “old marks”, and then them with “newmarks” and last the doubtful persons, that are the majorityof the intelligence, which they call, even servantand the undertakers of- I don’t know anything of such things. It’s absurd. Idon’t know why this is done…-This is done that nobody feels secure and calm andimmune. Except the head all the others must be feelingas in siege in the war. The people must be even gracious.Everything is done not to facilitate people’s lifebut to toughen theirs life. Now another slogan is around,“Against the personal comfort”. Look it written here!Shkodra people answered with they ironic humor, “Wetook of the bicycles saddle and we sat on the peg. Sowonderful!”217

Anthology of WoundsWe laugh at this phrase even though laughing wasnot in fashion that time.Meanwhile we were near home where Ela and themother waited.The mother was sat on her place near the sofa. Ela wassleeping in her arms. Her little head was on her mother’schest and her brown hair flopped on her head until to theeyebrow and the black long eyelash. Her face her lips werecramped to the mother’s black blouse, her hands buckledup on her arms. As if she had felt they had to separate.The mother followed with her black sad eyes as askingus, “Do you have any good news?- Very worried and under pressure, she said, for Ela:- She didn’t like to lie on the bed, she got in after meand slept like an angel.We sat near her. I softly touched her white hand, withblue veins and long and slim fingers.-These hands raised us-I thought. She is like SaintMaria, with the head in one side, timid and noble thattransmitted only love. In her face as a saint she smiledsoftly and warmly.-God is great!-said she-Be hopeful. I don’t care foranything else except Ela.Her voice was trembled.Don’t worry - said Ela - when she will be one year oldwe will bring her here. Let’s stay with her grandma as nowshe is….We didn’t sleep that night.218

Anthology of WoundsThe oldest brother bruised his eyes. The second onesaid, “Let it be, don’t go!” The mother that was taciturnkept the conversation open. The sister was crying andwith a low voice talked to Ema.When the hooter rang, we all shocked. It was darkand quietness. The brothers come to help to carry thestuffs. We were after them. The mother came with Elauntil the gate. It was a black truck there, similar to asphinx. Ela was sleeping. Ema took from mother’s handEla, and the woman adhered to the gate not to fall down.On the other side two plain-clothes agents as shadows,waited for us.-Get in and sat down on the middle of the stuff - thedriver said.-Why in the trailer? -said Ema, trembling- We can’tbreathe there because of the dust. There are 300 km ofroad. Do you want our baby to die?At the gate the mother moaned.-The places before are occupied –said the driver andsaw the agents - I only do the driving, my sister!The first to climb was me. I wanted to help Ema butshe didn’t come. The agents came near us and I sawtheir frozen faces.Ema gave me the baby and then got inside. We satdown on a bundle and we had no time even to greet thefamiliars because the black waterproof fall down as itwas a curtain in the end of the show. And the truck closedall over, started the road.* * *219

Anthology of Wounds- I don’t know anything for your coming- said thelocality secretary of Tropoja. He was a tall man and hadtwo big drunken eyes – But even the chairman is nothere, but he will come, if he doesn’t come today, he willbe here tomorrow. Wait me outside to talk with the Comradesof the district.He entered office and talked for a long time in phoneWe waited at the wasteland before the building. Wewere terribly tired.Ema was sat on a wooden suitcase and kept the babyon her arms. She cried and cried. The driver insisted tounload the stuffs from the truck because he wanted toreturn. But he continued to stay at his office. At the endhe got out.- You are appointed as a physician, he said to Ema asif I didn’t exist.- Where do we have to live, she asked.- I don’t know yet, he said. The committee chairmansaid to send you the Culture Center. When Asllan comes,we will decide.-And if he doesn’t come, asked she.-We didn’t know you will come, evaded he.-I have an order to return, said the driver.- Is there a hotel here, I asked.- No-We have to unload the stuff. There is no place foryou here, not even for me-said the driver.220

Anthology of WoundsThey had climbed down to Bajram Curri.I helped the driver. There were a lot of used stuffs onthe land now.The baby cried.Some children came near us. A little slim girl, aboutfour, with straight yellow hair came near Ela, and kissedher. She stopped crying. Her beautiful and innocent eyessmiled now. Ela touched the little Tropoja girl’s hair.- How are you, a 7 or 8-year-old child asked. Itseemed to me he asked, “Are you alive or not, are youstrong?”- How are you man, another child greeted me.- Hi…Do you need anything, another asked.- Thank you, thanks.The big children world brought us happiness.Maybe the graciousness and the humanity had not lostonly on the children…The evening came, and we were there. The sky wasfull of stars and they seemed sad. On the offices enteredand came out people that looked at us like we wereUFOs.At the end the secretary came.-It’s decided to live in the cultural center. It is thatbuilding there. The chief will help you to carry the stuffstoo…Have a good night!The tower was a building with one floor, with littlewindows, no ceiling, and no floor. Up there were theblack bars and down the mud premises. It smelled mold221

Anthology of Woundsand old things. It was a bookshelf with no door, sometwo-chord musical instrument that didn’t work andsome old national suits. There was a Canterbury full ofbooks and especially with Enver works. Two tables, twochairs with no legs, and a long wood stool. All full ofdust.-I will not put the baby inside without moving thedust-Ema said. Please give me a bucket of water and astick as long as you can-she said the chief, an old manwith white hair and deep eyes.She cleaned a part of the dust and the spiders’ nets.The other part impossible to get was on the walls, onthe bars. Décor of middle Ages…We put the bed in the middle of that terrible place.I have not preferred to get from Tirana but it was sonecessary because otherwise we would sleep on thefloor.We put Ela between us. We were afraid to leave heralone. We didn’t dare to put it in her bed; we were afraidof mice and reptiles. Even tired, we could not sleep fromthe noises of mice, barks of dogs and bats. Maybe somethingelse we could not specify yet.-Do you know?-I said to EmaShe lifted her shoulders.-Look around.-Enver eyes - she answered - Even here he followsus. Oh my God!His portrait was on the wall in front of me. The picturewas made that time, when he had done the great-222

Anthology of Woundsest crimes. Although he had a beautiful face, a sweetlook and a warm smile….So strong to give such a look, and this kind of smile!He has the devil force to represent as an angel. What ahypocrisy!-Don’t speak with loud voice-she said- even the wallshave ears.-I can’t tolerate this look.I got up and I put a table near the wall over it I put achair and I climbed. I took the portrait and pulled it. Ithought for a moment as if I threw him from his throne.-You pulled it but there is a trace on the wall. Lookthe shadow of it.It was a deep one.- They will see it –she said- And what if they put youin prison? Don’t you think of me and the daughter?I stayed a little thinking. She was following me withher eyes. At the end, I decided, I put the portrait on thewall again. I climbed down, took a sheet and I coveredEla, even though his look seemed to go even throughthe sheet.* * *The next day was Sunday.I asked to find a painter but they told me he was inFierza. So I found a bucket and whitewash and a brushand I painted with white paint the inner walls of the tower.I put Ela on her stroller on the shadow of a pomegranatetree, in front of the door. Ema washed the floor223

Anthology of Woundswith the water I brought with buckets from a far tapeand then she went time after time to see the girl.-Is it guy or a girl, asked a woman.-She is a girl-Ema answered.-Wish she will have a long life! She is so cute!- Wow, Teuta!- How are you doctor?They hugged each other.-This is my husband Bajram. Do you remember him?-…Hmmm…I don’t-I used to come often in Tirana hospital when Teutawas hospitalized-he said.-Oh I see. You waited a long time after the door,during every dialyses treatment. Even embraced mewhen I said you she was save and alive.-We are grateful for her life.-Come on enter inside, although, it is a real messhere…-Oh no. We are here to take you to our home. Wehave a big space there. You have no reason to stay here-Teuta said.-Thank you very much but they appointed us to stayin this place and we are not going to change it-Ema answered-We will try to accommodate as well as we can.- No doctor, we have to come even yesterday. Butwe heard that some interred person from Tirana had224

Anthology of Woundscome and nobody dared to go out. Today Gani, myneighbor told me that a kidney doctor has come. I askedfor the name. And she replied me-Ema. So I came hereat once here.Teuta looked 30-32 years old. She was tall, brunetteand blue eyes like Valbona. One year first she wasblocked from both the kidneys. Ten days without urinated.She was urgently brought to Tirana and that afternoonEma was guard doctor . She ordered to makethe test of her and then made the dialysis. For sevendays she lived with an artificial kidney. The hope wasalmost all lost. But by the eighth day the kidneys beganfunctioning again. Ema stayed near her all the time untilshe saved her life.-How are you now?-she asked her-Oh I am fine now; I don’t take any more my medicinesnow.-You look like an apple- Ema said hugging her.- Lets now go in our home with your daughter andyour husband- Bajrami will find any carriage and bringsthe stuffs.We can’t come - Ema said.- Do you want your baby died? There are no conditionshere, even no water. No body lives here since halfa century before, since the war. All the males died andthe tribe doesn’t exist any more. There are only snakesnow.There was a hard silence.- Teuta!- Ema spoke- We don’t want to create prob-225

Anthology of Woundslems for you and Bajram. We are…circled in red.- Let it be. We are not afraid of this-Teuta said- I am a worker-Bajram said-if they don’t keep me inFierza I will work somewhere else. Teuta is home. It’s agreat honor for us not shame.I had no spoken until now. I was touched by theirgraceful and I was glad that excited again the bravepeople.- I thank you from the bottom of my heart but I can’tcome, Ema let do what is better for her.-I will stay with you-Ema said- We will not be divided but if is better for the babyhealth….The dangerous for the baby life make her not resistany more.* * *On Monday she went from Teuta home to the districthospital, they said they were uninformed for her appointmentthere. She went to Commune office and the chairmanwaited her coldly and he didn’t even shake her hand.-It’s not decided yet where you are going to work-You will wait.-Who will decide?-she asked but didn’t get any answerHe started to talk to somebody else, making clearthat he had no more to add.When she came to the tower she was sad and nervous.-Don’t worry, it’s a game of nerves. We have to faceit calmly.226

Anthology of Wounds-I am not interested that disregard is so great untilhumiliation but this situation on suspense…- No body is sure in his workplace and not about theplace where lives, even for death. Everything is suspended.All are neither in the earth nor in the sky. Onlythis way they can’t direct their spirits as they like, andas they want.- I don’t ask anything only to work everywhere. Youknow I love my profession. Do you think they will letme work as a doctor any more?- They can even get off the right to live. We must beprepared for everything…For you-I added-have no reasonto do that-I only wanted to calm her- Then we aretogether, we have even Ela…What did you say whenboth the families were gathered, “I will come with youeven in the end of the world.”She hugged me and I felt her tears on my shoulder.-Forgive me; I am egoist, what about you, what willhappen with you?We were in suspense for one week then in the end ofit they notified to go to Fierza. We had to stay there…As I heard later, some people were complained aboutthe government, “Why did u sent us such people?Tropoja is a pure border district. They can pass the borderin any moment. Who keeps then the responsibility?So the commissions in Tirana had decided to find amore appropriate place on the inner side of the districtfar of the border.Fierza was the most interior place.227

Anthology of WoundsOnce again we put our stuffs in a truck and the onlyperson that came to say us goodbye was Teuta. Bajramwas at work. She kept Ana on her hand that loved hermuch for the days they had been together. She hadhugged her with her little hands.- Ku-ku, ku-ku. . ! - murmured Teuta.-Don’t get sad, Ema said. We are near to each other.We will invite you to come as soon as to accommodate.- We surely will come.In Fierza we accommodated in one of the workersflat, Area B. In a room in the front of the building thatserved as guard place. . . Our room was opposite to thebathrooms. The bed could not enter the room. The cupboardsor the other stuffs not surely. We put inside a singlebed and a little table and the baby stroller. We build adoorstep not to let urine and the smell of bathrooms penetrate.They had no water and we couldn’t much aboutthe continuos workers’ noises.But the man can be adapted with everything. Hefinds the reason to live in every condition, even whenlife is terrible.Every day Ema was interested for the job. As if shebegan…We had even no more money. And we could nowait for longer.- The day after tomorrow I will begin to work in hospitalshe said happy- The committee of district people informedme…Tomorrow there is an important meeting.They ordered me to go both. I told about the daughter,that we have no where to leave her, but he told me thatthis is an indisputable order.* * *228

Anthology of WoundsThe great auditorium of the Red Angle was full ofworkers of Area B, hospital’s physicians and teachers ofthe school. We could find a place on the end of it. Wehave even the daughter with us. The meeting began ontime. In the presidium were the district authorities anda delegated man, the secretary of the Committee of Partyfor the personnel, a small-body man, but capable, as allsaid.He was from Vlora, and cousin of Hysni. In the backgroundthere was a big portrait of Enver Hoxha just finishedfrom a well-known artist that was brought toFierza for re upbringing. Around there were EnverHoxha quotes.The delegated man talked with pathos about the situation.All the people there felt electrified.-May I speak - said a worker siting in the first row- Ihave a question. You have spoken for the vigilance andthe classes war but you bring in our new socialist country,enemies of party. Even you give good jobs and letthem live in the workers flat…I understand all this meeting was devised for us. So,after the public shaming was done, usually, then camethe public arrest. This time I would be the sacrificedobject.- If they arrest me, - I said to Ema in low voice, -keep yourself. Go back in Tirana.She felt bad.-This is vigilance-said to the worker the chairman ofthe committee of party of region. - This is the way theclass war is done.229

Anthology of Wounds-Please, may I speak? - another worker got up andsaid –I want to ask that woman there-and he looked atEma- Why did you come here?She gave me the daughter and got up.-Just to work.- Tell the worker class why are you fired of Tirana?- The government knows this. I don’t know anything.I know that I am circulated as some others are.- What kind of familiar relations do you have withBeqir Balluku’s wife? What kind of relations does yourhusband have with Petrit Dume? Why don’t you tellthis?- Uuuuuu, the masse of people reacted as in an ensemble.- No relations, - she answered. – On the contrary…She wanted to explain and to contradict but shecouldn’t speak. She wanted to cry loudly that all to hear.It was sadness gathered for a long time and wanted toget out. But it was not possible.-And what about his father that has been with NationalFront, why don’t you tell this-the worker withcap insisted. He was brushed on face and his eyesflashed. His point finger was directed toward Ema.I gave her the daughter that began to cry.-Here I am-don’t ask her- I said.- Answer the question! – Some voices in the sametime said. – This is the class court.230

Anthology of Wounds- It’s true, my father has been Balli exponent, but hehas been patriot too, antifascist, and interned in Italy.He committed to stop to stop the killing among brothers.- Uuuu…u!- That’s it, Comrade secretary! This man says thatthe entire Ballists are patriots and antifascist fighters.According to him they have had liberate Albania! Thisis in contradiction with Enver Hoxha books and withthe Party way - said with indignation the head of school,a short man, with yellow eyelashes and eyebrows andwith scars on his face.- Ballist calf, - screamed the chief of Fierza region. –Your place is not here but in the Spac to extract copper.- Enemy of the party! Enemy of the people- somepeople said.The baby cried. Ema didn’t try to calm her. She wasnot fine. She was sat up and looked up terrified whatsuddenly was happening. The screaming all over andthe hotness and the smell of cigarettes gave her difficultiesto breathe.- Are we in the meeting or in the nursery? –The sameworker said – Go out with your crying baby-he said- Give to drink a little, - I said- I tried but I have no milk –she said.She was so tired.-Please, I have a proposal, the man with cap said. -He looked terrible with that kind of the look his facehad got. - Lets make an example for all these persons.231

Anthology of WoundsLet them burn alive on the stake…A deep silence came after these words.I couldn’t believe to my ears. They wanted to killus. Oh it was terrible! Where were we? In the Middleages? The person that I imagine in that moment wasmy mother…Their big eyes that looked me in quietness.It was not the first time. Some months before the samething was asked for Beqir Haci the capitalist that teachesforeign western languages to our youth. I felt the insanityto touch me.-Hey what are you doing?- said a man middle agedfrom white hear- I am from Kolonja and I know thisfamily. The party and Comrade Enver Hoxha has estimatedit. His grandfather and his uncles had given thelife for Albania.- Uuu…!- Wait, wait! – The delegated said. –The Party doesn’tburn people but their illnesses.- And what do you think –said the worker to theKolonja worker-to keep them here in Fierza? And as ifthey sabotage, or put in fire the hydroelectric powerplant branch, what will happen?- He is right,- the region chief said. – They have noreason to accept them in Fierza. This is the voice of themasses. The government let find another place for them,but not here.- Ok the secretary said getting up. As you think likethis –we will do this. The worker class decides. She isin the governing. Who agrees with this decision?232

Anthology of WoundsAll got up their hands.That moment I saw Ema. She kept the daughter thatdidn’t cry any more on the chest instinctively. Ema’s fingerswas trembling, all the anxiety was discharged toher hands. She was pale, as a brown leaf, on the treethat was trembling from the winter frozen wind.* * *This time we didn’t need a truck. With some stuffson the hand and the daughter on the arms, we took thebus for Bajram Curri, where will stay temporarily , asthe government to decide. We were accommodated atthe old hotel of the city. To live Ema worked for sometime in the policlinic. Temporally, every time in suspense.This did not last, It was not so easy. The instructionof the central committee after didn’t accept in Fierzawas, “To accommodate far of borders and far of people.”This second one was difficult. The commission of thedeportation and interments worked intensively withmaps and data. Comrade Manush had find a place atthe end, in Martanesh a formerly sacred place turnednow to hospital. Far of villages, near a rock, so lonelyand around tombs without no namesVery far, far of borders…And far of people too…233

Anthology of WoundsMARIJE GJOKA (MAZREKU) and DOM NIKOLLMAZREKUAs brother and sister that wereclose to each other, and had suchgreat trust in God, and because ofthe long suffering caused from thepolitical persecution to both ofthem, we are representing themtogether in this anthology.This because they dedicatemuch of their letters we have chosento each other.Marie Gjoka, faced the political persecution at an earlyage, because at the end of 1946, Dom Nikolle Mazrekuwas arrested, imprisoned and interned during the Communistdictatorship.The other brother, Rroku, was killed during the firstyears of the Enver Hoxha regime. Maria passed her lifegoing from one prison to the next.She helped her brother Dom Nikolla, and her husband,who was arrested shortly after their marriage.She has written her memories in the book “Pieces ofbitter memories,” and has also published a poetic volumecalled “Mother’s tears.”Dom Nikoll Mazreku was greed following the fall ofthe Communist regime and restarted to work in the serviceof the church.234

Anthology of WoundsFragment from the book “Pieces of Bitter Memories”Dom Nikoll Mazreku’s arrestIn November 1946, while eating dinner, the doorknocked and happened what we waited. Eight militariesentered home and shackled Dom Nikolla and tookhim with them. It was 9 p.m. They left on the darknessand we remained alone. I went after my shackledbrother. The Security Forces ordered me to turn backbut I continued to go after them. I was afraid they wouldkill him during the road. After half an hour walkingDom Nikolli turned back his head and said:- Marie turn back and tell the Council of the ChurchI am arrested! If you like come tomorrow in PukaIt was almost the midnight. From the greatest problemI got, I was not afraid even from the darkness. I hadin mind my brother’s request. I choose a short road andso walking through the bushes and scrubs I arrived atof the councilor’s home. A dog, as big as a wolf, nearthe door, had bitten me hard on my leg. The people ofthe home got out; one of the women offered me to enter.My shoe was full of blood. I said what Dom Nikolli hadasked me to say and then I went home. My motherlearned that what have happened to me was much sadder.She was sad for her son and when she saw even mein that state she got despaired.The next day even that I had temperature, I went toPuka. From Kryezi to Puka needed two hours with car. Iwalked until there. I was looking forward to see mybrother s destination. When I arrived in thoseextermination’s offices I found my brother in Franc Jakovaoffice, he had just began to ask him for his curiosity.235

Anthology of WoundsMy brother arrest was directed by operative ZydiÇoba.How years of prison and interment my brother hasdone is difficult even to think! Even Mandela would beashamed before him. 37 years of interment and, twoarrests and two investigations and two courts and somany law séances. So many interment places he hadbeen. He has almost tried all the prisons and intermentscamps of Albania. Even tragic to mention those are hoursof fear, psychological and physical sufferings, abusesand maltreatment that the Communist State Securityexerted to him and to us as his family members.I have explained in the little book with poems titled“Mother Tears” how and why I get married in thatmountainous Puka village with a very poor man, onlyto have a shoulder in difficulties, to help my motherthat had only me. Both brothers were in prison (I willtell later for Rroku)But unfortunately my sufferings had no end. Eightmonth after marriage they arrested even my husband. Ihad to care even of him now. After some days, I andBiba’s (my husband name) cousin walked to Puka tosend him some food in prison. In a place called “PalGjergji Mill” we met two men that carried a stretcher.After them walked a mountaineer woman. Thestretcher was not covered and the dead man on it wasLeke Berisha. The cadaver had black marks on the faceand neck. The woman that was his mother said to me:- Mana, my dear, they have drown him so badly!I have heard that Leka was killed tortured with ahandkerchief in the mouth or with nails in the neck. It236

Anthology of Woundswas whispered with facts even the author of this cruelty…Some years later in the same place we met thesepeople; the only son of that criminal was thrown. Thepeople whispered about it as a God’s punishment hereceived. Only God punished him, because people didn’tdo anything to him. When the system was changed in ademocratic one he lived for some years in Rome…maybenear the “Caritas” organization.As according the slanders was doubt I lived on themountain to get with politics I decided and I asked tohave another house in the center, near the popular counciloffices and political party’s. I sheltered at a shack withwillow rods… very near were the livestock place. Thiscost me not less. I had little space. My child was only 4months and the other one a little older.My story is long. On December 1950, 9 days aftermy brother was killed, one of my children only 13months died. He was so beautiful and so kind as thesunshine. This child the day I heard the guns of the personsthat killed my brother, since my mother was nothome I put on the garden on a circle not to fall down.But outside was so cold. Who have tried Puka Climateknow it is very hard. The child got sick in the throat andafter three days he died. After one year my mother diedtoo. She couldn’t bear the Rrok death. Then I went tolive in the qela (home church). I did this because VincentPrendushi (died later in the communist prisons) askedme as the priest sister to keep open the church, and toserve there. Except this, the church and the house inKryezi had a big pasture, a garden full of trees, apples,pies, masts etc. These all helped our poor economy. Ikept there a cow for dairy, too. The fruits I get I helpedmy brothers in the prisons. But what happened?!237

Anthology of WoundsThe house where I lived after my mother’s deathbecame a village school, as it had four rooms. Two teachersrequested this and the Education Section applied it.At the begging I had only the kitchen then with the requestof two sisters (teachers) Diana and Aida Dani (bothsingle) they fired me of my home. They didn’t like methere. They wanted to be the owner of the house andthe economy I had to leave me and my children withoutanything.I was obliged to leave the house but not the gardenwith trees. It was very necessary for me. I went to leavein villager house, 300m far way. I walked every day withmy two children, one 4 years old and the other 4months…My husband worked far of me in the saw enterprise…In the evening he walked for about one hourto his parents’ home because I had no place for him tosleep. In the villager house I had really little space andno conditions. I slept with my children on the floor. Iwent every morning with my children on the nurserychurch. …I let my children under the shadow of trees.And I don’t know if these women now old, reading thesetrue facts would feel a little bad in their conscience.But my problems have no end….Ten years after marriage as I first wrote, my husbandwas arrested. It was 10 th of August 1947. We were marriedon October 10, 1946. When our first child was born(November 4, 1947) my husband was in prison. I was sosad that I had no natural milk for him. But it was difficultbecause it was wintertime. And in Puka this seasonis very hard. It’s even impossible to describe it…Whohas tried know it…I went to leave to my husband’shouse. It was an old one and between the high moun-238

Anthology of Woundstains and in the depth of the forest…There were 30 ofthem. All had only two liters of milk on the day fromone cow. And what my baby drunk was a lot for them,because there were other children too. There were terribleconditions to feed the child. To heat the milk I gotup in the night on the snow and I went to the fire thatwas a little far from the place we slept. I had to heat thebaby bottle of milk in the embers remained. My sleepingplace was far way 15 meters. I had to go out of thehouse to wash my baby’s clothes and to walk until thesource. So I suffered from the cold every day for goingthere passing through the snow more than one meterhigh.They created a false accusation for my husband tomake my life darker than it was. He worked on thesaw enterprise and they accused him that he had causedtroubles in the railway work delaying the materialsneeded to build the railway.…My husband was at work the arrest day, secondshift. It was afternoon. I was at the source where thevillage road was too. My husband arrested! He wasbetween two policemen. In the middle was the spy M.L.I got very angry when that dirty person said my husband,“Bib God helped you.”- Oh my God! What an irony! I cursed him and hebothered to answer me.- In the honor of our Party I will do the same withyouOther people that occasionally were there heard this.Oh my God! This was a big arrow in my heart for me! Ihad to take care now of 3 persons in the prison, my broth-239

Anthology of Woundsers, and my husband. But the State Security wantedmore from us. The spy M L as I stressed before wanted tokeep the promise and arrested me too. Some days laterthere in the mountain a great fight happened betweenThe Security Forces and Illegal Fighters. It was a bigbattle. There were dead persons from the two pairs. Itwas killed from the illegal fighters Mark Bajraktari, NdueBajraktari son. It is well known that according to Kanun(Ancient Albanian Law code) the dead person can’t infringed.The communists didn’t respect even this. Theypulled of the dead person half undressed until the bigroad. No body learned how the body disappeared. Acorporal, with indignation from what he saw said to hisfriends:-You can pull him off the road as much as you want,but he was very brave!We don’t know anything about the Corporal fate butwe didn’t see him any more in that area when he served.I can tell another case of a maltreatment of a deadperson.An old man from Kryezi, Preng Llesh Pjetri, hadfamiliar relations with the mountain people. He hadtold me that one day when occasionally he was passingthe road to Kryezi he faced the Security Forces thathad put on the saddle of an animal a man half undresses.The old man had known the killed person. He has alwayshad a mark on the chest. The killed person wasNdoc Kolë Biba (Mirakaj). So the communist laugh evenat dead bodies.The spy M. L. for whom I wrote, kept for a longtime the killed person watch, Mark, that have theft to240

Anthology of Woundshim when he was dead….This spy wanted to use this moment even againstme. He slandered that I have had relations and I knewthe place when these people had hidden. The SecurityForces came and checked my house everywhere. Theydidn’t find anything but this man sent me a notice to gourgently in the Branch of Interior Ministry in Puka.My child was 4 months old. I leave him with my sisterin law. I had to walk for about 5 hours, a mountainroad with snow, and wind. My heart was broken too.My brother in law came with me. We walked, and thenwith any trailer car until arrived here. After a lot ofefforts we arrived in Puka, late in the evening, at 9 p.m.My brother in law went to Mara of Frrok Caka Family,while I went to the office of the chief Qemal Xhani.Four hours of questions, hard accuses to frighten me.He said to me:- You are married with a villager only because youwanted to be including in politics. You have had relationswith the escapers and have feed them. You areChristian democrat, fascist, and have relations with thePope of Rome; you are enemies of our governing.- Chief, I said, I am here only because M.F. has slandered,he has threaded me to put in prison. You say Imarried an enemy. Lets my husband go to the courtand let me hear what he has done. (He was kept ininvestigation for18 months and then was released withno court). I don’t know what that word called politicsis. You have no proves that I have fed the escaper people,and this is only a slander because we don’t have even tofeed ourselves. We are the poorest of the village. Youbetter know who kept in their family the escapers (fam-241

Anthology of Woundsily that had relations with M. Bajraktari, the momenthe was killed, left passing the border) I didn’t even knowthat M. Bajraktari existed. You are accusing me as aBallist, Christian democrat, fascist etc, but I ‘m so youngto be part of so many parties.The chief didn’t speak a word. His secretary,Mihallaq Treska, continue to ask me:- How many years of school have you done?- As much as I needed, I answered.- You speak as a lawyer.- You want to revenge of me. Some times ago youcame to Kryesi and you wanted me to ring the bells butI didn’t accept because the bells rang only for the religionfunctions.After three hours the chief said to me:-Go now, and take care, because I will put in you inprison otherwise.I said:-I will not change my behavior but it’s not right toslander and to revenge when people are innocent. I willwalk today four hours on the mountains and snow togo home where my 4 months child is.After the curtains a prisoner had been. He had toldmy husband that was in Puka prison-Your wife was so brave, a lot of accuses, questionsand pressure are made to her but she answered witharguments that the chief accuses, Qemal Xhani, wereall false!242

Anthology of WoundsThe man mentioned was one of the first communistof Puka, named Leke Berisha, From Ikballa of Berisha.And this bad luck man as I have told would die ontortures of the red beasts.A sister that writes the truth…After so many years I am writing something aboutmy brother, Rrok Mazreku.He was born In Shkodra in 1920. He was the deputyat the Tirana church. Then as we have written he wastransferred to the Kryezi of Puka as parson. He tookwith him, his mother, Rroku and me. Rroku was mastercarpenter and so he began to repair the church of Kryezi.But except the Kryezi church he repaired even the windowsof the church on another church, Flet. So in thatday he faced a sentenced to death person, accompaniedby Security people. He was masked and was going totell the places where Pashuk Bibë Mirakaj with the othermen was hidden.The council chairman Riza Mustafa to revenge towardDom Nikolli and his family, use this moment,helped by his brother in law Islam Pema, to accuse DomNikolli that he have sent his brother in Flet to notify theescapers, to help them to leave. Some days before thisevent Riza and the priest, were judged by the representativesof the church, because they have had some contradictionsbetween them, and the right was given tothe priest. Riza used this case to revenge. So Rroku arrestedjust coming back from Flet. He was tortured inhumanlyand with no facts was sentenced with 5 yearsof prison.243

Anthology of WoundsOnly few months after this arrest, Dom Nikolli wasarrested too, leaving our mother and me alone in thatdistant village. That time I was only 18 yearsAfter released from prison, having no other peoplein his home in Shkodra, came to live with the motherand me. But not for long time… The revenge had nofinished yet, this time was called “people enemy” asincompatible with the communist ideals and over all,judged as the brother of the arrested priest. These werevery ominous accuses for us that warned bad things inthe future.In the 5 January of 1950, in the Saw enterprise (wasonly an old building) as had happened other times hadfired again and was all scorched. My brothers and 4 otherworker that were far way 100m from the building runto quell the fire but was late. The Security forces cameat once. It was with them even the criminal XhemalSelimi (Uci). Roku and he had a discussion at the Pukabar, because he had offended Rroku. The worker askedfor the case said that was impossible to quell the fire;butt Xhemal didn’t want the truth. He said to the workersthat Rrok Mazreku burned the building I will puthis head on the foundations of the new building. Theworkers insisted, even their chief Lukë Mark Ndoci, butXhemal didn’t hear them. He cried like mad, “We havea people enemy between us. He is a former politicalprisoner and as his brother Dom Nikollë Mazreku, theyare incompatible to us they are Christian-democrat etc.This merciless person took Rroku for 10 months ininvestigation, torturing him in a terrible way. Time aftertime he went to see him to the hospital if he wasrecovered and then again tortures. When Roku was at244

Anthology of Woundsthe prison hospital, predicting his death he writes us apiece of letter and gives it to a sanitary named Leze.“I will be killed for one not committed crime. Pleasesend me a silver medallion to find my tomb and comesometimes”.He has written other letters too. Some of them arefound under the mattress etc. In one of them he writes,“I am dying mother, but don’t be sad. God has asked topay with my life a crime that I have not committed.”Then after he asked forgiveness all the others he describesthe inhuman tortures of the investigation andmany times made from Xhemali. His letters were copiedfrom his brother Dom Nikolli after he was releasedfrom the first prison. But in our family the arrest, confiscation,and checks never ended we have hidden theletters and unfortunately they are so much damagednowadays, as much as can be read with great difficulty.Xhemal Selimi kept the promise. And after a formalcourt hearing, was decide to kill Rroku. So he invitedall the villagers to come near the Stabiliment and seethe execution at 3:00 p.m. (It was the first time for thiscriminal to prove such sadist satisfactions) It was 25 th ofDecember, the Christmas day. When Xhemal came withthe other people that would kill Rrok he said loud voice,“We have rebuild the Stabiliment and you will bekilled.”Rroku answered, “Where do you want me to stay?”They said him to stay near the sawdust jumble andasked him, “What do you have to say?”245

Anthology of WoundsRroku answered, “Let’s live the free Albania, with areal freedom!”He wanted to add something else but they shot him.Xhemal not content with this use his revolver to hitdied head person. Then he felt down. As seemed hecouldn’t bear the blood. The innocent blood of Rroku…I t was a celebration day for the entire Christianworld, but unfortunately not in Albania. I heard theshoots and I run to the place . I was shocked. I saw mybrother lied and covered with blood. I wanted to gonear him, but they didn’t let me. I wanted to hug himfor the last time.His body was not moved until the night came. Theywanted to frighten the people and also to wait the nightin order that his tomb could not be found. I found somebelievable persons to follow the criminal actions. I didthe impossible so with one villager we went to a placehe had fixed and we saw a soil jumble covered withpine tree branches. There were used matches too. Iopened a little hole and I put the silver medallion andthe blessed water.His wish, to find his tomb was fulfilled.But only 41 years later, in December 1991, his boneswere found linked with chains. He was reburied near hisparent’s tombs, in the catholic cemetery of Ermaj, Shkodra.Rroku was born and grown up in Shkodra but killedin Kryezi of Puka. He was kind and well known andfriendly with all. So is remembered by Shkodra friends,246

Anthology of Woundsso is remembered even from Kryezi villagers. They arealso witness of his innocence that have expressed so manytimes nevertheless having fear.Gratitude to my sister MaryI want to express with this letter my thanks for mysister Marie that I have said to the other people too, Istress that taking in consideration her sufferings, “Shewas the person that did the great prison.”I have a broken heart because as a consequence ofmy prison she suffered and my brother was killed. Shewas persecuted and was detested, and considered as“political touched”. But the children were good in theschool and had a good behavior. Are wounds or sadnessthe sufferings we passed during the communistsystem?When I was appointed parson in Kryezi-Pukë, beganthe fight against me as for the entire for catholicclerk. First they arrested my brother with slanderingaccusations. After him, I was put in prison and intermentfor 37 years, while innocent Roku was killed in25. 12. 1950.My old mother couldn’t keep us, so the sufferingsand the consequences suffered this sister of mine. Shewas only 17 but I said her to take care of the church,mother, and the qela (home priest).She kept open with Monsignor Vinçens Prendushiorder the church of parson, and rang the bells for 15years. She had helped the interested person for baptismcertificate. .247

Anthology of WoundsThe first preoccupation for her was I. She didn’tcare as much as for her children as for me. Really, Isuffered a lot, but now I am free.In the period when I was in prison she needed herbrothers’ help because this honored sister was tooyoung but she had to take care of herself. She has suffereda lot that period of time. Unfair things, pressures,maltreatment, tricks of communists and other thingslike those…adding here the travels with trains, trucksfull of woods and other materials,, not forgetting heremany km of road from Puka to Tepelena in the cold andblizzard. And all this not for a little time but for 37winters and summers days. Even now my poor sistershave in mind the noise of the iron doors of the Burrelprison, opening and closing. Arrogant policemen andofficers… Their threat ions…She came happy to see usbut when she left and turned back leaving them in sufferingshe felt terribly bad. She cried as a child.I want to tell that all of this I am describing herehave passed many sisters and mothers that have criedthrough the prison roads the same as my sister. Theyare massacred and pressured and offended from thecommunist genocide. I remind this mother and sisterswith respect and deep love.So that, we have suffered in prison, but our peoplehave suffered the same, if not more. My sister have suffereda lot for me, she has been near me in any time. Eventhough, she had her familiar life, not a good economyand six children to rise up. Her husband Bibë M. Gjokaan wise and gracious man…has not impeded her to comeand visit us but many times he had come with her andfor our fault he has done two years of prison.248

Anthology of WoundsWhen I finished the 25-year sentence in prison and12 years of interment, I didn’t feel alone because mydear sister Maria and the others, with the will and graciousnessof all the family came and took me to theirhome and organized a party for meI am continually respected in this family. My sisteris old now and sad because of her sons’ death in a youngage. So Kristina the oldest son’s wife has to deal withall the works. She helps even me. I thank God for thelight he brought in our country. But the bad memoriescould not be forgotten easily; when the prisoners weretreated with no mercy, when they were obligated to dothe norm in the water swamps until the middle of thebody, where the leeches drink our little bloodremained…There were a lot the people died in thoseefforts. Ah! They didn’t turn to their relatives but theyhad not even a tomb, where the mothers, wives, childrento put flowers and to cry…With a great respect,Dom Nikollë Mazreku249

MARTIN CAMAJAnthology of WoundsHe was born in Dukagjin in1925 and studied in the JesuitCollege of Shkodra. Poet PanoTaci, a political prisoner, has writtenthat Martin Camaj has participatedin the Postriba insurgencyand was imprisoned in Yugoslavia.When he gained freedom, heescaped from Yugoslavia, movingto Italy, where he studied andgraduated.He started his academic career in Germany, where hewas appointed as a professor in the Albanian departmentof Munich University.During the time in political exile, he published poems,novels and stories, and was one of the most famous authorsof the Diaspora and a well-known authority in Albanianliterature. He died in 1992 in Munich.We have chosen for this anthology a part from hismetaphoric Kafka-like prose titled “Dranja” where theauthor writes about the anxiety and sufferings that a personfeels when far of the country.250

Anthology of WoundsFragments from “DRANJA”An unexpected call in the telephone“We have brought a tortoise from your countrytoldme a far voice, as if it was from another continentto the phone –I wanted to ask what does it eat?”Dranja”? This word escaped to me.He didn’t understand me and laughed at me badly.It’s in water strike-he explained-and we did not whatto do with it!“Leave it free! Let walk in the vineyards and drownstreams and on the trees of figs and in bushes and inwalls, cabbages, and make her a house with a ditch ofwater before it. ”But it’s only a tortoise - he said with contempt - whymust we build her a flat? Just tell me what does it eat?”Salt?””I am telling the truth - I said only that one personthat was born on the umbilicus of the ground as it did,feels as went away from her place that the globe has acup shape and the road to turn back is so ramp for it…What? Do you mean that it misses its country?The connection was interrupted.Today for the first time I felt something like a breathinside the thought over covering of tortoise, and myheart something bad felt.251

The world of a languageAnthology of WoundsThe sun came out from the cloud, lightening, in thethought over covering of Dranja between the books. Theentire place was fired, all the plants, the door, and thehearth inside.Pure spouts, the rays on the corners sounds, and wasborn lights, in the walls in the suffocated shapes of thelight, everything in miniature, everything double, headsof snakes with their many tongues outside ….in one side,and in the other-medicines all with their curing names,The thought over covering seemed like a sun.Looking outside, the entire soul seemed like awoman, bound with words, as the flies on the tree, andon the head and the brain, dragon blood in the tongues.Triumph, triumph of the breath of the soul, triumph!But through that light looked that inside the lines -thought over covering, inside in the inside of the woman,decayed the meaning of seed of the words on the sleepinessbefore getting up. That’s why there were no sounds.Sluggish bloodWhen the march was over I waited something nice,like a good omen. But only the clothes were broughtand moved the snow over the top of the mountain.“Better look outside,” my mother said in her ownway. We do our duty we never retire. The three oldwomen together said.I gazed a place when the snow finish and the forestbegan and began the high begins. There were goats and252

Anthology of Woundsdeer with their ears standing up. Still wool carried withendurance in their arms, the grief that left in the bunchsnow paths in that winter.I came around and saw among the carts coveringthe lists was the only picture. Was it a game light? It feltlike sluggish blood. To stand between the top of theshadow and the skinny path, was to move to the otherseason – it’s a law.Outside on the corner of the mountain some wildgoats waited to go to pasture. In their back the diverselight glimmered, only black and white. All the Marchin my eyes they remained frozen in my eyes.Daze on the duskI fondled the Dranja lines, even that I don’t knowwhat I did with my fingers, with my ideas before and,the letter mixed dark and unwashed ideas. One twothree, here the difficulties over the fingers…. After theruin on the dusk comes, daze.The lines, flute inside, prepared to be a nest, outsidestime after time keeps the shape of the cat’s head with acircle of golden in the neck, home animal tied that islinked to the fireplace not to people. The daze comesbefore the sorrow that goes in the rock.Lines so full reminds the headache, the snake insteadof hair and all blink snakes. Tomorrow we will be freeagain.253

Anthology of WoundsBreathing her soul on the booksIt’s not the first time that we tell in books about theturtle. Even the yellow color match to them, like the landwere they lived and died. Her breathe except every spotin this circle, not only the dust over the soul, but humanforgiveness, as in every good book , but even the fire.She has her place in the area, here where it is, like anold man that has cold and stays on the best corner ofthe room.The surface breathes with vigor in the old and newletters, as the old man does near the fireplace that exceptthe warmed wise word.To honor it, in the tortoise cover there are no pens orpencils or other devices to write. The best it can do is tokeep open a big book that the wind does not move. Letit be only ornament, artwork, only to see it.To change a bit the monotony of the cupboard withmany books, it may be put close a candle.New eraI lost the faith on the spirit of Dranja as my fatherdid, in the shoulder, which after saw it for many yearscould predict any more the future. I had it even before,but I forget it. Sometimes I saw it in the dream, on theback swimming in the water. The next day even thedream I couldn’t remember. No stuff that was in snow.One day a philosopher came and he saw a logic book.The brochure with no leather or carton cover, hadhidden in Dranja for years. When the man took the book254

Anthology of Woundsseemed as protected by his mother, as she had kept onthe breast.Philosophy doesn’t take care of the tortoise bur hetook the book and read it. I cursed the fate, Poor Dranjabreath! It has suffered a lot under this writing with thisold letter of a bad quality.No one- He said – the letter is old as used so much,time after time!Strange - I said cleaning with my shirt sleeve thesurface – how is it possible that a book like this and thecover of tortoise are togetherHe didn’t speak. I said to myself he doesn’t care ofhumans and I tried to see him. Nobody was at room.After the second discoveryAfter the second discovery I put the cover on thewindow before the people and the sun. I saw somethings I had not seen first, a necklace with little stones,cut with a knife, on the sides in some parts, somewherethick in the part underneath abdomenInside in the deepness I observe some small partsfrom the yellow word caught the surface of papyrus.Inside there was even something else, thick of stories,without an content list. People faces I couldn’t feel,old or young in the long roads from the countries theDranja came up endless. Everything had inside everything– as to be happy to express myself in my own languageafter several years.Deep on the end of the soul there was the frozen moun-255

Anthology of Woundstain shadow that I had no has time to see every eveninglooking the top, perpendicular, over the fields and rivers.Unspoken voicesI had forgotten not only once that in Dranja, smoothoutside move inside corners and places with bumps. Idiscovered that changing place according to the day andthe weather come out shadows and other colors. Butthat one day I had to hear a voice on it I had neverthought.It was Autumn. The apple, grape and peach smellcame from the lighten hills. In the inside there was avoice was heard, a dumping shout! It was not Dranjabreath, but of a type that suddenly had lost over thehills, on the trees and could not found the road. It wasput as in prison.It was the same sound of many bees awake. It becameso strong near the pass that it moved as the soundof a bull or the shooting of a gun, or the seagulls singing,moving stronger through the rocks of the North.The sound was that strong.If Dranja would have had that shout when it wasalive, who knows how famous it and me have to beForeignersThe bad time came for the owner of the area. He, tosave from this horrible time, try to hear on the hallowcover the cry of sirens stoned on the mountain, whenthis last one was a sea. But there was nothing. He could256

Anthology of Woundshear only the old wind with their ancient name accordingthe direction and sound. Only one of them wasnot affected by the type of evil that moved away eventhe bird of snow to hit the glass of the closed windowwhere he left behind the name of the wind, a new onewith the root of it with a word that means blood, becauseno dictionary had it.Then the spider came, it moved in the night in thewhite surface as if she wanted to protect from the badbreath. Looking around the owner seemed to have focusedhis eyes on the sunriseSo, with that he decided to leave the area forever.LiberationWagons on the railway seem to shape first as sometimid turtles walking not to injure the eggs that had onabdomen and sometimes seem to shape as a snake inthe open field on the snow, toward the tunnel of sun inthe dawn.The spring was coming and the wild quince withred flowers frozen in the rays of the sun and the coldair.In that time, after the wish expressed was kept thepromise to separate from the life of Dranja forever.And I put it in the bag. The place doesn’t look similarto place, the man not to man and the feeling of missinghad began before the migration. Where to go?We saw art monuments, quiet islands, foothills onthe greenery and we never said we will remain here!257

Anthology of WoundsThe day closed the day and the sheet of paper the otherunfinished book. In the dusk we entered inside an ancientplain.Everywhere arches looked angry, and in the environmentinvaded by the Mediterranean vegetation. Atthe end of the gothic abutment, in half dark, was mixedthe noisy passage of the stream, a statue of a womanwith baby limbs. I hid the cover of Dranja there in herhead beneath the tiles with mould. Then I went waywith the sounds of the iron gates on my ears that closedafter I left.In that time of mine, outside I saw around their relief,my Middle Ages ended. Before of me, on my lonelinessstays with open arms over the sea, on the skysparks, my spirit was out of the line.258

Anthology of WoundsAS WE SAID YESTERDAY…(UT HERI DICEBAMUS)MOTHER THERESA IN ALBANIARev. Zef PllumiFrom ‘Anthology of wound under communist terror”, 2 ndvolume… The Albanian origin of mother Theresa remainedalmost unknown to us till the last years of her life. Forthe first time I heard speaking about her, before the year1960, from a colleague of mine, Rev. Zef Bici, a priest inTirana, as we were visiting his sister. The sister of Rev.Bici told me about mother Theresa, but I gave no importanceto her history, because I was annoyed of hearingglorious sayings from relatives of people livingabroad.The second time I heard speaking mother Theresa’sname was in the prison. Some day, talking to Vasil Kati,which voyaged around the world as an official of thestate, I asked him privately: did the world opinion consideredEnver Hoxha really as an important man? Hereplied, after scanning carefully the surroundings fromthe fear of being heard, and said to me: You know Zef,that parties and states through their propaganda, will‘create’ important men of politics and literature, but inreality the world opinion knows a catholic Albanian sister,called Theresa Bojaxhiu, living in India and having259

Anthology of Woundsall the love and respect of the world for being the greatestbenefactor of this century. I’ve heard that she wantedto come in Tirana and visit her relatives, but she wasprohibited to do so.After the death of the tyrant, Theresa Bojaxhiu wasgiven the possibility to visit the Tirana cemetery, whereher mother and sister were buried. At that time I was inprison.Some time later the world affairs were reversed, andfor our people as well it was the same – although at thelast – because we tried to be faithful to Marxism-Leninism even after the Berlin wall felt down. But thetorn sack couldn’t bear the burden.On June 13 th 1990, next to the ruins of the sanctuaryof Saint Anthon, in Sebaste of Laç, from all over Albaniawere summoned approx. 60 thousand men, prayingGod and Saint Anthon. It was the first time afteryears and years that the people behaved fearlessly.Twenty days after, on July 2 nd , began the first exodus offive thousand Albanians entering the foreign embassiesin Tirana. On November 11 th , at the catholic cemeteryof Shkodra, a solemn mass was celebrated from Rev.Simon Jubani, with approx. fifty thousand participants.From that day on the freedom of faith was regained, inall villages and mountains of Shkodra.260

Anthology of WoundsThe Communist Persecution in Albania: Brief HistoricalOverviewFor almost half a century, Albania lived under themore extreme totalitarian communism in the post SecondWorld War Europe. With the end of the 2 nd WorldWar, the Albanian Popular Republic was declared andits leader, Enver Hoxha stayed in power until his death,in 1985, sustaining one of the most repressive systemsin the Eastern Europe. Thousands of people were imprisonedor sent to internal exile; entire families werepersecuted even for slight deviations from the “party’sstrategy”. Aversive towards the “Imperialist West” andthe “Revisionist East”, Albania remained the poorestand most isolated country in Europe.The definition of Raymond Aaron for totalitarianism1 most precisely covers the real characteristics of totalitarianismin Albania:1.The totalitarian phenomenon is present in a regime,which gives to an only party the monopole of the politicalactivity;2.The monopolist party is inspired and carries an ideology,to whom attributes an absolute authority and consequently,it succeeds to become the state official truth;3.For sharing this official truth, the state engages a doublemonopole, the monopole of the forced means, and of brainwashing. All media: radio, television, press are under the statecommand and direction.4.The greatest part of economical activities are imposed bythe state in a way, and all these, acquire the colour of the officialtruth;261

Anthology of Wounds5.Since the moment that each activity is a state activity and isimposed to the ideology, a mistake done in an economical or professionalactivity is at the same time an ideological mistake. As aconclusion, all these drives to the politisation of the society, atthe ideological colour of all the possible mistakes of the individuals,and at the end, drives to police terror and ideological too.If according to Lenin, the dictatorship is “a powerthat is not limited by any law, it is not conditioned byany rule and it is based directly on force” 2 , the totalitarianismis “a dictatorship of the mass’s politic, a totalpower over the individual which aims to create the NewMan” 3 . The totalitarianisms of the XX century started inRussia in 1917. It continued then in Italy in 1923 andGermany in 1933, while in the communist countries ofEastern Europe the totalitarianisms were establishedafter 1945. There are recognized changes and particularitiesbetween the communist and non-communiststotalitarianisms of Europe. These changes consist on theways of establishment, duration and the forms of theirbreak down.Ways of coming in power. The non-communist dictatorshipsin Italy and Germany came into power in away considered legal, such as “will of majority”. Thecommunist dictatorships have been respectively established:a) in Russia through the coup d’etat and followedby a bloody civil war; b) in Yugoslavia and in Albaniafrom the communists parties, by combining the liberationwar with elements of the civil war; c) in the othercommunist countries of the Eastern Europe, the totalitarianismswere imposed by force from the Soviet Union.The fascist and the Nazis totalitarianisms maintainedthe institutions (the legal power, the police, the army).The private small or big enterprises were not en-262

Anthology of Woundscroached. On the other hand, the communist totalitarianismwas more radical on reforms towards state institutions,bank-owners and industrials. At the same time,the reforms were extreme; eliminating private ownership,total monopolization of the society life, limitationor prohibition of religion, etc.Duration of the European totalitarianismsNon-communist totalitarianismsFascism in Italy 1923-1944Nazis in Germany1933-1945Communist totalitarianisms:Russia 1917-1989Eastern Europe1945-1989Albania 1944-1991The ways of the totalitarianisms break down. TheFascist and Nazis totalitarianisms broke down by meansof a World War, while the communist totalitarianismsnaturally failed and passed to democratic states peacefully(except Rumania). Differences are evident as forthe crimes and persecution level, consequences andpost-totalitarian attitudes. The communist totalitarianismbrought consequences, which differ from thosecaused by other totalitarianisms. The “War of Classes”has created a considerable level of hostility infringingunity within the Albanian society. This factor makes thedifference in the deal with consequences from the formerregime.263

Anthology of WoundsAt present there are encountered resistances towardspunishing the past, difficulties in the transitionfrom the socialist economy to the free market, etc. Itseems that the differences between the totalitarianismsare accompanied with differences in the process of dealingwith the processes of rehabilitation and integrationin the post-totalitarian democratic societies.Kinds of political persecutionPenal condemnations- Death condemnations- Imprisonment until 25 years- Internal exile (as to complete the condemnation)Administrative condemnations- Internal exile- Forced hard labour- Violation of the right to exercise the profession (artsand sports included)- Uncharged from leading functions- Pressure to getting divorced- Exclusion from universities- Prohibition of pension264

Anthology of WoundsThe condemnations were given not only for anti-State and anti-Party “activities”, but also for deviationsor political-ideological influences or the bourgeoisrevisionistlifestyle. Penal Code foresaw death condemneven if no action was undertaken or no consequencesderived from it. Death penalty was foreseen also underthe constitution article “Agitation and propaganda”,escape, sabotage in art and culture, etc. Discriminationof citizens belonging to the rich class, families with anintellectual and political background; officers of Monarchywas extensively used in the first years of the dictatorship.Why communism in Albania was particularThe communist totalitarianism in Albania presentssome particularities compared to the other communistcountries of the Eastern Europe:1. It was established through a war with elements ofthe civil war (like in Yugoslavia).2. It was one of the cruellest and longest of theStalinist kind. The executions, torture and maltreatments,massive political imprisons, internal exiles offamiliars continued until end of ’80-ies.3. Extreme absurd reforms were undertaken:Total confiscation of private property.Prohibition of private professionProhibition of religionA strong “war of classes”.265

Anthology of WoundsThe only communist country in Europe, whichapplied the Chinese totalitarianism in lifestyle,art, politics, etc.A total isolation from the external world.Periods of the totalitarian communist dictatorshipin AlbaniaThe part dealing with the dictatorship periods triesto give a comprehensive description of the persecutionhistory. It is based on the hypothesis that the dynamicsof political persecution in Albania was mainly determinedby the (external and internal) political changes.The key events that settled boundaries in between thelifespan of dictatorship were present both outside andinside the State including death of Stalin (1953), moderationera (1956), establishing relations with China(1960-61), break of relations with China and total isolation(1978).The National Liberation War: the beginnings of thecommunist terrorSince its foundation, the Albanian Communist Party(ACP) was aiming to come in power. Part of its programwas also use of the national liberation war to take powerand establish the communist regime. With the foundationof ACP, in 1941, the war for eliminating possiblecompetitors in the head of this party started.In 1943, with the infringement of “Mukje’s agreement”,a deliberate effort of the Albanian political forcesfor being united in the war for liberation, the elementsof a civil war obviously appeared 4 . As it results from266

Anthology of Woundsthe register of the Institute of Integration of Former PoliticalPersecuted, Tirana, there were executed 2386 personsby the ACP and partisan forces during the periodof December 1941 - November 1944.In “History of Prisons of Albania” facts are includedon massacres of partisan forces in villages of Lushnje(62 victims), Martanesh (22 victims), Diber (103 victims),Lume (24 victims), Moker (75 victims) during 1943-44.Declarations of ocular witnesses have revealed that torturehas been used with the main aim of acquiring information.The establishment of the proletarian dictatorship’sstate: November 1944 - August 1948During this period, the terror against real and possibleopponents of the regime continued. There wereused instruments of massive terror including executions,internally exile and imprisonments. 2102 persons havebeen executed during this period. 5 In 01.03.1945 themilitary court gave 17 capital condemns; 8 life imprisonments;10 condemns with 30 years imprisonment; 23condemns with 2-20 years imprisonments. The capitalcondemns given by Nuremberg court were 10, whileby the Albanian court 17. 6Torture has been used for catching the escapees, disarmingthe population and eliminating any resistanceagainst the dictatorship establishment. Torture has beenalso used for gathering extraordinary taxes, gold and/or other goods merchants had. Torture was used evenfor gathering the taxes of agrarian products.In order to eliminate the resistance of democraticpoliticians many political trials were held. Beside pun-267

Anthology of Woundsishments of opponent activities against the dictatorshipestablishment there have been given many condemnationsfor intellectuals as a possible risk for thecommunist dictatorship consolidation. In 1947 therehappened 4749 imprisonments. 7 The majority of thecondemned were nationalists, political activists involvedin defence of the Albanian cause; those who didnot contested German occupation. 8 A violent persecutionwas also applied against religious institutions.Only in 1947 there were given condemns of imprisonmentfor 16 orthodox clericals; 36 catholic clericals; 44Muslim clericals and 1 nun. 9 In 1947 in Albania 18 prisons(8 for political prisoners, 7 for ordinary criminalsand 3 mixed) were functioning. In this year the firstsworking camps were established. 10During this period the conditions in prisons werevery difficult because of the economical crisis after theSecond World War. The characteristics of this period inAlbanian prisons were: the famine, thieve, and diseases.Another characteristic was that prisons were filled withpolitical persecuted. In 1948 the value of forced unpaidwork was 10,780,424,50 lek.During the first years, a special characteristic is condemnationsof over 25 years-imprisonments and executionwithout trials. A largely used mechanism by theregime were massive internally exiles of political opponentsfamilies. The regime pressed any resistance exertingan extremely high terror over the population. Anexample is the Postriba’s movement, in 1946. This is theperiod of the hardest terror and of the highest use oftorture.268

Anthology of WoundsThe Consolidation of the Stalinist Dictatorship: September1948 - December 1954This period represents the political consolidation ofthe communist dictatorship, which was marked by anincrease of terror and persecution. In the IntegrationInstitute there are registered 836 executions. In 1950there were done 7168 imprisonments; 2000 internal exilecondemns; in a total 9168. The “War of Classes” wasexerted more extensively and hardly. There have beenimprovements although not evident on the treatmentsof the imprisoned. At the beginning of this period thehigh level of previous crimes was attributed to the hostileactivity of Koçi Xoxe and the influence of Yugoslavians.In this line a number of communists consideredas unfaithfully persecuted were rehabilitated.The population of Albania in this year was 1.218.900habitants, thus 1 in 132 persons was in prison: 735 imprisonmentsin 100.000 habitants. After 1950 there wereestablished closed prisons of Elbasan, Durres, Berat andGjirokastra, and 4 working camps in Tirana and Lushnje.The prisons map totally changed after the Second WorldWar. The reasons were that:1)Due to the penal politics the number of imprisonmentsincreased. The initial capacity of prisons was 3000persons, but the number of persons placed there was7000.2)The use of prisoners work (in all the country were10 working camps).The conditions in prisons were indecent. The annualreport 1954 of Prisons and Camps Directory shows thatconditions in prisons improved; that there were no cases269

Anthology of Woundsof escapes; treatment of incarcerated had improved andhuman rights were respected. But in the evidences ofthe same directory there are signed 77 cases of death inprison and 53 in camps of internal exile (pg 116). In 1954there were 5 prisons and 4 camps. The prisons were inTirana, Vlora, Korça, Burrel, Shkodër.The Liberalisation Era in the Socialist Camp: 1955 -(December) 1959Under the influence of the liberalisation changes afterdeath of Stalin, in the so-called “socialist camp”, Albaniaincluded, there has been a decrease of politicalcondemnations and internal exiles, and a reduction ofthe “War of Classes” in general. However, within thisperiod there have been 93 executions. Measures weretaken for the working camps were no more exterminatingcamps, but treatment of detainees were out of theinternational norms and standards: they slept on cementfloors, were beaten systematically as a disciplinary measure,the food was insufficient, etc. In order to keep theprisoners under a terror climate, because of escape tentative,four prisoners were executed during this period.“Chinese” Model of Totalitarianism in Albania: 1960- 1990This period can be divided in some sub periods:1) 1960 - (June) 1973During this period, the war of classes returned toStalinist methods. Trials and death penalties restarted.There have been 139 executions. This period representsthe total isolation of Albania also from Eastern Europeand embracement of the Chinese model of totalitarianism.According to this model, the most famous music270

Anthology of Woundsand literature international works, elements of the privateownerships, and especially the religion rituals andfaith were prohibited. On behalf of the so- called “NewMan”, a lot of interventions over the scholar education,the life style, the social relationships, were done. Thehuman rights violations reached the peak during thisperiod. In 1961, there were 4345 prisoners divided in 6work camps and 4 prisons 11 .This is the period where the amnesties for prisonerswere reduced. In November 1962, for the 50-years Anniversaryof Independence there were given amnestyto 1211 ordinary prisoners and 144 political prisoners.Ordered by the Ministry Council in 1966, the prisonerscondemned with forced work began to build 150 apartments.In 1962, the political re-education began to beapplied not only among ordinary prisoners, but alsowith political prisoners. In the general amnesty of thisyear were forgiven 179 political prisoners. In 1966, inKuçova it was established the first working camp onlyfor women that before were held in Tirana’s camps. Thedisgraceful conditions are evidenced as 1 room availablefor 60 women prisoners 12 .2) July) 1973 - (December) 1981This is the period “against the liberalisation”. The classwar became more powerful over the so-called “ideologicalfront”. This is also the period of superstructure hardattacks: arts, economy and army. The artists, writers andcomposers were attacked. A typical example of these artattacks was the denunciation of the 11-th Festival of Radioand Television. At the same time, members of the armyand economy got death penalties and serious condemnations.In 1973, the number of detained increased 28%.271

Anthology of WoundsIn this period it is noticed an increase of the administrativecondemnations, which in essence was a Chinesemodel. The number of the executions during thisperiod is 74. In 1978, 129 prisoners and 48 internal exileddied in prisons. As a result of the foreign politics ofE.Hoxha, after getting closer to the Chinese and theAmericans policies, Albania remained alone in a completeisolation. It was officially declared as “the onlysocialist country” in the world. In order to keep hispower, E. Hoxha continued to exert an extreme terror.3) 1982 - (April) 1985The period after the break with China was markedby the elimination of persons who were waiting to bethe successors of Enver Hoxha, which had used the politicsof terror and violence and definition of the finalsuccessor, Ramiz Alia.4) 1985 - (December) 1991After death of Hoxha, Alia followed the politics ofcontinuity while the country was facing extraordinaryeconomical problems. The number of executions duringthis period is 88.As a result of the increasing pressure from events ofthe other countries of Eastern Europe and the catastrophiceconomical situation, the regime was obligedto allow some democratic processes. This brought topolitical pluralism and permission of religion in 1990.Although, Albania was the country which made fewerreforms compared to the other communist countries andwas the last to allow pluralism.272

Anthology of WoundsTorture and Ill-treatmentIn the “socialist” Albania, law forbade the use of torturein investigator’s offices and in prisons. In reality,torture was used in investigation offices, jails and inplaces of condemnation. Since the moment of arrest, thecaptured was put on torture. In the majority of cases,the hands of the arrested person were tied behind hisback and were maximally strained. According to livetestimonies, torture was used since the National LiberationWar.In the National Historical Museum in Tirana, in thedepartment of the communist genocide, around 20 kindsof physical torture used in the Enverian dictatorshipprisons are listed. The types of tortures are:1.the torture’s vest.2.sexual torture by means of harming the genital organs.3.beating and flogging.4.deprivation of sleep, food and staying on their feetfor days.5.electrical torture6.hanging the heavy weights chains on sb. neck7.hanging by arms and feet in a window or in a hookin some positions, in order that only fingers of the feetcould touch the floor.8.placing salt in the mouth.273

Anthology of Wounds9.mock execution, shooting and rising over the hangingtriangle.10.submarine: putting the head into the water barrel.11.burning the skin with a cigarette or with iron heat.12.putting alcohol in the hands or hair and givingburn afterwards.13.breaking bones and hooking the skin out ofsb.with pincers.14.giving to sb.a very salty food and then leavinghim without water.15.putting sb. in the cold water and letting him wetin winter.16.gradually minimizing the quantity of food.17.use of chemical substances.18.putting helmets on the head.19.tying with shackles, by legs and arms, for an indeterminateperiod.20.using the bee’s beehive toward the undressed captured.Additional methods of torture were mentioned inthe study of Mr. Agim Musta, a former politically prisoner,who has conducted a research on the political persecutionand torture during the communist dictatorship.Clients treated at the Albanian Rehabilitation Centre forTorture Victims have also reported some of the methods:274

Anthology of Wounds1.the ironed coffin.2.putting sb.in the hole of excrements (this kind oftorture was used in camps).3.tying in concrete pillars in places exposed to thesun, until death.4.raping family members in front of the captured.5.those who were trying to escape, using a borderdog for biting them (this kind of torture was largely usedin the border zones).6.the ironed bed (the prisoner was laying undressedon the ironed bed that was gradually heating).7.putting a cat in the trousers of the women; strikinghard with a bar for injuring the sexual organs and otherparts of the body.8.blowing off the pump through the anus.9.the dental torture (breaking and pulling out teeth).10.placing hot oil over the undressed body.11.placing boiled eggs under the arms and hookingnails out with pincers.12.walking barefoot on the fiery coal.13.putting air through the veins with an injection.14.the excitement of wounds with the ironed bar ofthe riffle, used by the police forces to capture the escapers,wounded in efforts to escape.The same author mentions that beside physical torture,the psychological torture was used to damage thevictim’s personality. Some kinds of the psychological275

Anthology of Woundstorture commonly used in jails during the dictatorshipare:1.Deprivation. This torture consists on depriving thevictim from the sensations; sleeping; contact withpeople; natural and artificial lighting.2.Threat. The victim was threatened to torture, execution,and elimination of his family members and relatives.3.Humiliation. The investigators humiliated the victimby teasing and insulting, directed not only towardhim, but also his relatives. The victims were obliged todrink the urine and to eat the excrement of the investigators.During the investigations, the victims were torturednot for obtaining the needed information, but for hurtingthem physically and mentally, and for using the victimsto terrorize the other part of the Albanian society,which was living outside the jails. Torture was exertedin 26 Branches of Intern Affairs, which were Directoriesin the cities of Tirana, Korca and Shkodra.In the Branch of each district, there were a numberof cells, with the dimensions of 2m x 1,20m. But besidesthese, there were some “special” cells with dimensions1m x 0,5m, in which the arrested couldn’t lye himself,couldn’t stay on his feet, the only thing he could do wassitting down or cross-legged.In March of 1993 the newspaper “Revival” of theformer political persecuted of Tirana association, publisheda 186 names list, accusing them for having usedtorture, terror, and violence against the people. The perpetratorsof torture were:276

Anthology of Wounds• Senior servants of the Ministry of Interior Affairs.• Procurers and judgers, which have judged for politicalreasons.• Investigators for political issues, which have usedtorture during the investigating process.• Security chiefs, in the centre and in other districts,which have used torture and violence.• Prison’s and obliged working camps commanderswith political prisoners, which have used tortures andviolence during exercising their job.The torture exertion was a reality, which is confirmedby the documentation on perpetrators. In the book “Thedossier of dictatorship” of Mr. Pjetër Pepa there publishedsome facsimiles of former leaders of the AlbanianSecurity, taken from the archive of Ministry of InteriorAffairs of Albania.Lefter Lakrori declares: “At the opportunity of Shkodramovement (it is about the Postriba movement of 9 September1946) We have been sent in Shkodra for helping Later evenVaskë Koleci came with us. We had access for torturing andwe have had people dieing in our hands. Every captured hasfaced torture”.Naum Bezhani declares: “Since I have been in the sectionof Security of Korça, two persons died because of torture.About them it is said that “they were killed” because theytried to escape. The used tortures during the years 1945-1947are too many. K. Xoxe and V. Koleci (respectively the Ministryof Interior Affairs and the director of State Security 1945-277

Anthology of Wounds1948 A.M.) not only didn’t stop us, but they taught us andinspired us for this kind of job. In spite of the other tortures,we have used, during this period, even tortures like: hangingover the neck heavy chains; putting excrement into the mouth,biting a prisoner by another provoker prisoner, which wasmaking as a dog, putting dirty socks into the nose and themouth”.Kopi Niku declares: “K. Xoxe told us to kill, to burnand beat and to do whatever we wanted, the only aim wasdestroying the criminals. Torturing and thrashing was ourduty.”Koçi Xoxe- ex vice prime minister and minister ofInterior Affairs during the period 1945-1948, declaresin front of the court: “I ordered, that to the arrested shouldbe given less food, less water and should be tortured to death.In February of 1945, we ordered V. Koleci, for killing in theNorth without processes. For the executions I was advisedand they were made as comrade commander ordered. (it isunderstood Enver Hoxha). There has been even a bureaudecision about this. (Minute from the Koçi Xoxe sayingsin May 1949. taken from the book “The Dossier of Dictatorship”of Pjetër Pepa).1As cited by Lèon Poliakov,Totalitarizmat e Shekullit të XX, Botime Përpjekja, 1987, f.7.2Stanley Chodorow, Mac Gregory Knox, “ The Mainstream ofCivilization”.3Ibid4B.Fischer, “Shqipëria gjatë Luftës, 1939-1945",Çabej, 1999, f.208278

Anthology of Wounds5Reference by the data base of the State Institute of Integrationfor Former Politically Persecuted6F.Sufaj,“Historia e burgjeve të Shqipërisë gjatë shekullit të XX”,Albin, 2000,pg. 110.7pg. 1068pg. 1119pg. 11110pg. 11611pg. 12612pg. 12279

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