Luan STAROVA
PROSE
The Goat Age
The fortress held us in its spell,
engraving itself deep in our souls from the moment we had settled
on that riverbank. We often stared at it from the stone quay,
gazing at what was left over from the last war, in particular
the old cannons which still fired salutes on the holidays that
had been created by the victors: the First of May, Victory Day
and Republic Day.
For those of us who had found our
way back to the city, the fortress was like some balcony high
up in the open sky. It was the pride of the town. Anyone wanting
to approach the fortress had to cross the Wooden Bridge first.
Having crossed this beautiful construction, which really was
made entirely of wood, you would find yourself face to face with
a shining white building, almost like a palace. On its protruding
facade, there was a row of statues as if to protect it, caryatids
with their feminine bodies enveloped in long robes, alongside
of which were stone masks displaying a variety of expressions.
This was the theatre, a venerable building constructed in neoclassical
style, that conveyed the impression of having been wrenched from
Vienna, Rome or Paris and plopped down in the heart of the Balkans.
This more recent construction and the adjacent House of the Army,
were built on the property of a mosque which, due to its ring
shape, was known as Burmali Xhamia or Ring Mosque. Both had been
constructed to show off the power of the new State. The same
was true of the large bank building on the other side and of
the central train station, one of the most beautiful on the Balkan
Peninsula, especially since it graced a town that was still very
much a provincial backwater. Now, about twenty years since the
foundation of the State which had been created by the Treaty
of Versailles, foreign capital had flooded in and made its mark
on the symbols of power of the new age. The more modern buildings,
the Stone Bridge and the huge fortress rising above everything
else recognised as one of the main strongholds of the Balkans
through the ages, gave the city its enduring characteristics.
In the middle of these lofty buildings
was the main square - perhaps the only one of its size in southeastern
Europe - connected on one side by the Stone Bridge and on the
other by the main road in the direction of the railway station.
The best known of the trains which stopped there was the Orient
Express which linked the city to northern and western Europe
and to the southern and eastern reaches of the Peninsula.
During the Ottoman period, when it
served as a barracks, the fortress was simply known as "The
Castle" and was the only remaining symbol of empires past.
Each of these forgotten empires, condemned to inevitable downfall
and cast into oblivion, had left its epigraphic imprint, so to
speak, on the cyclopean stone ruins. On these heavy blocks were
engraved inscriptions in various alphabets which had been overturned
by subsequent rulers or by tremors.
The inscriptions which were carved
into the jumble of stones eventually weathered and paled with
time. History freed itself of them, testifying to the transitory
nature of all things. In these giant walls lay the ruins of ancient
civilizations. No force on earth could cause them to budge, except
perhaps the violent earthquakes which struck the city every five
hundred years. It was in this fortress more than anywhere else
that time stood still in the Balkans. The inscriptions carved
in stone by former rulers were but epitaphs to their former power
and glory.
After the great resettlement which
caused us to leave our town on the west side of the lake, we
arrived and remained on the banks of the swiftly flowing Vardar,
taking up residence in the old dilapidated home of an Ottoman
aristocrat built in the shade of four huge poplar trees. These
formed a row between the Wooden Bridge and the one-time Secondary
School for Girls, which would later be given the name of Josip
Broz Tito and which, after many a tremor, collapsed (although
it could have been saved). The resulting empty lot soon became
the home of a three-storey building somewhat resembling a pagoda
which housed the Central Committee of the Communist Party until
the latter's demise.
Only the fortress survived, shaken
and damaged by the earthquake that toppled the brick-coloured
barracks which had been transformed into a Museum of the Revolution.
When we had gotten used to life in the city, and the final vestiges
of the war had been carted away, we children also sensed a desire,
or was it some vague instinct we had inherited, to conquer something.
This brought us to explore our surroundings in the direction
of the theatre and what was once the Jewish Quarter until we
reached the foot of the hill. Rising above us was a belly-like
formation of rippled clay, the softer parts of which had been
eaten away by rainstorms or by the flooding of the river, leaving
behind deep gouges and caverns in which shelters had been built
to protect the population from aerial bombardments and similar
attacks against the city.
From the top of the fortress we could
see the whole town. Below us flowed the waters of the river,
sometimes pale blue and at other times a sallow green. We imagined
ourselves to be on the mast of a galley sailing through time.
We watched people coming and going,
and observed the old horse-drawn wagons, and stared at the colours
of the great bazaar and the eternal flow of the river. But from
wherever we stood, it was the main square that captured our attention
most. It was this square that had taken centre stage in most
periods of history. It was here that rulers had held their parades,
liberators had declared victory, and workers and politicians
had organized their meetings.
* * *
One spring morning when we were up
on the fortress, we turned our eyes as usual to the centre of
town and were taken by something quite unusual - a quivering
mass of white that had filled the square. When our eyes had adjusted
to the scene and we could see what was going on, one of us exclaimed:
"Goats! Look at them, masses of goats and people down on
the square!"
We looked around town in all directions.
Everywhere there were goats and people flocking through the streets.
A seemingly endless mass of white was gathering in the main square.
"A goat demonstration!"
shouted one of the children, recalling the many rallies and demonstrations
that had been held there.
"It's not a demonstration, it's
a goat parade!" countered a third child, mindful of the
frequent parades that had also taken place on it.
In no time at all, the square was
jammed to capacity. The herders from mountain villages who were
driving their flocks with the help of robust billy goats pacing
behind them, mounted the wide review platforms which were set
up in the middle of the square where, under normal circumstances,
the supreme authorities of the Republic of Macedonia, part of
the Socialist Federative Republic of Yugoslavia, were in the
habit of observing parades, processions and important rallies.
This time, it was the herders who
were waiting for their first meeting with the municipal authorities
and the Party. But what was actually occurring on the square?
From our vantage point up in the fortress,
we had no idea as to what as going on, but it was evidently something
"great and historic," as they used to say. Later, with
time, we would learn what had happened.
The peasants from the surrounding
mountain regions who had not "voluntarily' joined the workers'
co-operatives had descended upon the town with their faithful
goats. The authorities hoped to transform these goat herders
in no time flat into members of the working class, who would
carry out the socialist revolution. This is what we were later
to learn. But how could we have been expected to understand all
this at the time?
The city seemed to come to life with
the fresh mountain breeze blowing in and bringing all these new
residents with it. It was not without regret that these people
had left their native reaches, the mountains that had sustained
them in good times and bad. They had abandoned their huts, but
still hoped to return one day. They took nothing with them but
the essentials they needed to survive, yet had taken their house
keys, though they would certainly never return. It had been hard
to persuade them to give up their animals, especially the cattle
which were to be handed over to the cooperatives. In the end,
they had nothing left but their goats, and no law or force on
earth could drive a wedge between them and their prized animals.
The goats lived among them like full-fledged
members of their large family units. The docile animals had indeed
saved many people in the years of hunger and deprivation during
the war. Each family possessed whole generations of goats, descending
from those who had been privy to the earliest conflicts and catastrophes
of the Balkans. Without them, these people would certainly not
have survived to produce this new generation of life on earth...
Most of the womenfolk had changed
their clothes and were now, for the first time in their lives,
dressed up in their fine national costumes, garments embroidered
with strands of shimmering gold and silver and woven in those
splendid colours seen only in the mountains - from indigo blue
to various shades of green bordering on yellow.
To reach the city, many of the peasants
had to walk for days and nights on end. Some got there within
a day. As if in silent agreement, the goat herders had left their
homes and villages in the mountains, though it was obvious that
they must have discussed the exodus beforehand. They travelled
together in convoys. Behind the families with the most children
were large herds to match, and the occasional billy goat.
From time to time, the convoy would
grind to a halt because one or several of the children would
not quit whining. The goats stopped, too. They were more than
willing to nurse the moaning children who were cowering beside
their starving mothers. The women had no more milk to offer.
On their way, the goats grazed and
ate up virtually everything they came across: leaves, branches,
shoots, grass, anything they could find of nutritional value.
They were the mobile food supplies of the peasants who were making
their way in victorious strides to the main square of the capital
of the republic. These herders and their lactiferous goats marched
forth as if they were victors returning from war. En route, they
encountered veterans wearied from the long years of war, their
chests covered in medals and decorations. They met young volunteers
who were carry out road work. The herders stopped to greet them,
giving them some of their remaining milk and cheese - proof of
the generosity inherent in the people of the mountains. Thus,
the herders and their goats arrived in town that spring morning,
welcomed by our childish eyes which were observing them from
atop the fortress.
* * *
The supreme representatives of the
State and the Party were well informed about the arrival of the
newcomers who were descending upon the city from their little
villages in the countryside. They regarded them as brothers and
germ cells of the working class.
They had thought that the newcomers
would have great difficulty abandoning their native lands and
had expected them to show up with a cat, a dog, a rooster or
a few sheep and goats, but never in their wildest dreams had
they envisaged that they would witness a full-fledged invasion
of goats in the town! No one would have imagined that, just a
few days after the Victory Day parade, hundreds of goats would
be gambolling across the main square.
The supreme representatives of the
State and the Party were delighted at the arrival of these new
recruits of the working class who had finally abandoned the old
customs and habits of their mountain domain and would now, without
any doubt, be dealing the final death blow to the domestic and
foreign enemies of the working class. But now, this "counter-revolution
of goats," this white invasion, was hindering and in fact
destroying all the strategic planning which had been carried
out by the Party ideologists and thinkers.
Accustomed as they were to working
in accord with instructions from their superiors, the municipal
counsellors did their best to deal with the situation, but they
were helpless in this case because they had received no concrete
directives as to the attitude to be adopted towards the herders
and their goats.
Indeed, there was no time for emergency
consultations. The goats were already covering the main square,
and the herders, their wives and their children were waiting
for an immediate decision. In the subsequent words of a Party
functionary, the city was experiencing a huge "goat invasion"...
The municipal Party Secretary and
the Chairman of the Executive Committee now mounted the review
platform to welcome the motley horde's representatives. The most
notable of the herders, who was of course their leader, was called
Changa. He was wearing a sort of gown made of goatskin and a
leather cap not unlike that of Tito. Changa was the first to
greet the head functionaries of the town. He looked confused
by the words of the Party Secretary who was addressing the masses
in the following terms:
"Welcome, brothers from the countryside,
builders of our glorious future, a society without class distinctions!
We have been eagerly waiting for you for days now, but we were
not expecting the goats. Brothers, where will we be able to find
room for you with all these goats? Do you really intend to live
and work with them here in the city? Remember the old saying:
"You can't go ploughing with goats." And certainly
not in a classless society, in communism..."
Changa was evidently bewildered at
this unexpected speech in lieu of a simple greeting. When the
Party Secretary mentioned the word "communism," the
leader of the herders interrupted him, adding cleverly: "With
our goats, brother, we have brought communism with us, whereas
the rest of you have only just set forth on the path leading
to it. We and our goats have been living together as nature would
have it, in a pre-communist manner. We have shared our fate with
one another. We have co-existed with our goats, as you say, in
a 'society without class distinctions'. We suffered through fascism
with our goats and survived with their help. Without them we
would never have managed to get here and join you to form the
working class with you..."
The herders around them voiced their
vivid approval and the white mass began to quiver. The Party
Secretary had certainly not anticipated such a reply. While he
was trying to come up with a suitable answer, the mass of men
and goats which had gathered on the main square grew restless
and stopped listening.
The news of the white infiltration
of goats spread throughout the town. As soon as we saw the assembly
of goats on the main square, we ran off in various directions
to broadcast the news. Our families did not believe us at first,
as it seemed quite unimaginable, but very soon everyone had headed
down to the main square.
No one could understand what was going
on in the city, nor could they decipher the hidden significance
of this furious outpouring of goats. Each observer interpreted
it in his own fashion.
For some, the goats portended a "white
counter-revolution." For others, their arrival was the consequence
of the "reaction of the country people to the creation of
the compulsory co-operatives." For still others, "Stalin
had his fingers in the pie."
Many townspeople had now squeezed
themselves into the square among the herders. When the latter
had calmed down, the Chairman of the Executive Committee turned
to Changa and spoke in a pensive and calming tone:
"We had expected you to arrive
earlier. Trucks were made ready to move you into town. How did
you get here?"
"We came by foot because of the
goats. There was no room for them in the trucks, and we certainly
did not want to leave without them," responded Changa.
"I see, I see," retorted
the chairman with a worried look on his face. "But what
in God's name are you going to do now with all these goats? Are
you going to sell them, or slaughter them or what?"
Changa bristled when he heard this.
His first impulse was to throw himself at the chairman and seize
him by the neck, but he controlled himself. The same sentiment
of indignation was felt by the men around them and then by all
the herders - children, women and old people. The white masses
snorted and stirred in disagreement, rising up as if to put the
right words into Changa's mouth.
"The goats are part of our families
and our lives. Without them we would not be ourselves. With them
we feel strong. If we didn't have our goats..."
"I understand, I understand...,"
interrupted the chairman in a conciliatory tone.
"No, you can't possibly understand
what the goats mean to us! But you will soon see the benefit
they will bring to the whole town," uttered Changa, ensuring
that he was making his views known.
On hearing Changa's words, the Party
Secretary shook his head in a gesture of suspicion and threat.
He wanted to add something, something peremptory, but backed
down. Changa took advantage of the Secretary's silence and continued:
"Have you noticed, honourable
citizens, how strong and healthy our children are with their
ruddy cheeks? They are so different from the pale, sickly and
ill-fed children in this town of yours. Each of our children
was raised by a goat. They survived and live in company with
their saviours. Our children have their mothers who gave birth
to them, but they also have the goats who kept them alive."
The Party Secretary and the Chairman
of the Committee exchanged helpless glances. Changa was the sort
of person who called a spade a spade.
The words of the herder, mused the
Secretary, were not at all in accord with Party norms. If anyone
else had ever spoken out like that, or contradicted him - even
in the gentlest of terms - he would have paid dearly. That person
would have been told where his place was, and so would everyone
else. Speaking publicly about the regime, the Party, social classes
and socialism, even in reserved terms, was unimaginable for the
simple people of the capital.
In an attempt to restore his battered
authority in front of his subordinates, the Party Secretary turned
to Changa, speaking in a moderate tone, but loudly so that the
other herders could hear:
"We are constructing socialism,
which will lead us to communism and a classless society. This
means that our new factories, roads and bridges can only be built
if we are united, if we join forces as workers and peasants.
We need heavy industry. We do not have enough dams and hydroelectric
stations. Our cities have not yet recovered. We do not have enough
apartment buildings to house all the people. As to the existing
houses, they are far too small because they were built for families
with few children."
The Party Secretary fell silent for
a moment to see what effect his words were having. Then, encouraged
by the silence, he continued:
"It was with great difficulty
that we managed to find accommodation for you. We have built
barracks. We have only just managed to shelter you. But you have
now overwhelmed us with all of these goats of yours! How are
we supposed to advance on the road of socialism with these goats?"
The herders had already foreseen such
opposition, and Changa interrupted the Secretary categorically:
"Without our goats we will not
take a single step on the road to socialism. We will stay here
where we are. But we are ready to depart with them and go back
where we came from. As I said, we succeeded in getting through
fascism with them so I don't think this socialism of yours will
be much of a problem for us."
The Party Secretary murmured something
to himself and fell silent. He did not wish to continue the discussion.
He needed instructions. He did not want to lose any more of his
authority which had been so evidently shaken by the herders.
The Chairman of the Executive Committee
was an elderly gentleman, conscious of the limitations of his
power. When he was with the Party Secretary, he usually let the
latter take the lead; but this time, he understood that it was
his job to take the initiative and that he had to do so immediately.
The government directives, which were in full accord with Party
directives, were crystal clear. The city was obliged to take
in the herders and was not to allow them to return to the mountains.
Otherwise, there would be a disaster. Consequently, the herders
and their families were to be given accommodation and, since
the situation had developed as it had, this could only be accomplished
by retaining the goats. Such was to be the policy.
The Chairman of the Executive Committee
reflected on the "personal responsibility" he would
bear if the herders returned to the mountains, and gave the Party
Secretary a sharp glance. The two understood one another immediately.
The Party Secretary knew that his
instructions were confidential. They were stored in the large
safe in his office, together with his revolver. They were clear
and there was no way of getting around them. The Chairman understood
this, too, when he broke the silence, pleading:
"Let's leave the discussions
for later. We must come to some sort of agreement. Let us deal
with the practical problems at hand. You herders are aware that
the apartments we have for you are small. There are few rooms
in them. We have foreseen one room per family. To be precise,
I don't know how you can possibly fit the goats in. We could
perhaps keep them on some of the unfinished premises in the industrial
zone or in the pens of neighbouring co-operatives..."
The Chairman thought to himself, trying
to find other options for the goats, but Changa interrupted him
once again.
"We are prepared to share our
rooms with the goats, any rooms you may give us. The children
are used them. They sleep beside them in the winter to keep warm.
The women and old people do the same."
The Chairman took the Party Secretary
aside, ignoring the further reasoning of the herdsman. It was
evident that neither he nor the other herders would give way.
The Party Secretary was furious but
maintained his decorum. He understood the possible consequences
of the instructions for his career and feared the wrath of all
those whom he had dressed down since taking power, and there
were many of them. Up to that moment he had never encountered
such virulent resistance, neither as a commissar during the war,
nor as the number one man in town after the Liberation. In this
decisive moment of his career, he had lost control and was obliged
to hand the initiative to the Chairman. To make matters worse,
Changa had gotten the best of him, but the latter would pay for
his insolence when the time was ripe! If only these damned instructions
had never been issued!
When he had recovered himself, he
was reminded that the instructions referred to the herders and
not to the goats, but he had no courage to embark upon further
fruitless discussion with the herders because this would lead
nowhere. Yes, the instructions referred only to the herders,
and not to that devilish mass of white which was on the point
of destroying his career. He realized it was better to hold his
tongue in order not to damage his authority any further. In particular,
he considered convoking the Politburo of the municipal Party
Committee - more than anything to ensure that it share all responsibilities
with him. But there was no time for that, and what was more,
he was not sure if this would achieve anything. Of course, there
were the armed forces and the police; but to send them in, he
would have to arrange for urgent consultations with all the levels
of government in the Republic. He was hesitant to take such a
step and, not seeing any other solution, he left the matter in
the hands of the Chairman of the Executive Committee.
Night fell slowly on the town. Lanterns
were being lit in the fortress. The herders and their goats stayed
put. The children fed the animals the final withered leaves they
had gathered en route.
The Party Secretary and the Chairman
convoked a meeting of the heads of the concerned departments
in the municipal administration. An interim decision was taken
to accommodate the herders and their goats for the time being
in the foreseen houses and apartments and to wait for further
instructions from the upper echelon of the Party. All those present
were convinced, and expressed their convictions thereof more
than once, that the herders would give up their animals as soon
as they realized what fate was awaiting them.
Later that evening, the Party Secretary
and the Chairman of the Executive Committee returned to the main
square with their assistants to inform Changa and the other herders
of the decision that had been taken. They were permitted to reside
temporarily with their goats in the accommodation that had been
set aside for them by the municipal authorities.
The smaller children were already
sound asleep on the ground among the goats, keeping warm against
their flanks. Mothers, relieved to see their children sleeping,
were making dinner with the scraps of food that they had carried
with them.
But suddenly there was a great commotion!
The herders began celebrating their
first victory in the capital. They struck up a revolutionary
hymn. There arose a refrain in which goats were mentioned. Shaken
from their sleep, the children took fright and began to whine.
Shouts of joy and triumph blended with their whimpering and the
bleating of the goats.
The white convoys receded, making
their way back through the streets of the town where they disappeared
into a multitude of empty houses.
[Extract from Koha e dhive (Skopje:
Logos-A, 2004), p.13-33. Translated from the Albanian by Robert
Elsie] |
Albanian Literature in Translation
Modern
Authors from Kosova, Macedonia and Montenegro (late 20th
- 21st centuries)
