Anthology of wounds - Arct

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