The Big Water

The assembly line in the home and the dear headmaster Ariton Jakovleski

Our assembly line was the most sacred thing. On one side you could see the newly arrived ones and, on the other, the older ones. Even though they looked almost the same, you could, even at first glance, distinguish the first lot from the second. The older ones had already learned, in line you had to look directly at the forehead of the dear Headmaster Ariton Jakovleski. Exactly at his forehead, curse me. The newly arrived ones still permitted themselves the freedom of looking left and right, to look at the small, distant sky above the Home or just to look aimlessly for hours. Wandering on the patterned wall. God help those who forgot the line. If only you could get used to something like that from the first day; all you needed was to be a bit stupid and a bit two-faced then you could certainly achieve a good character appraisal and all that flows from that little piece of paper. Paper, head, blood. Life. If only you could’ve seen those who had the best “character appraisal”! Curse me, when they were in charge of the line, on duty, there wasn’t a scarier place than the Home. Oh God, how they killed themselves for the administrators, the instructors, how they would lie shamelessly, how they thought up vile suggestions. I think that chased us away the most from that place, that betrayal. The son of Kejtin couldn’t stand it anymore, he said “I have to escape”. Curse me, he said those words.

That was at the very first step. The first lining up. But we were still only children and above all we wanted most to look at those places we weren’t allowed to look. However, a person can get used to anything. Curse me, a person can endure anything. More than once the dear Headmaster would say “When a bear can learn to dance, what remains for an intelligent being?” That was the whole of our education, I swear. Worth nothing; even a moron would understand all that was necessary were a few right and a few left “thoughts” of the dear Headmaster and it was totally clear. It became clear to you, as clear as bright daylight. After all, it quickly turned into action. For a little while, everyone who stuck out was pruned; walloped. There was no untidiness in the line. Soon enough, the line was understood. We weren’t so stupid, curse me.

The Big Water was so far away from this yard. God, in the beginning we still believed in God — dear God, life was so far away from this place. The wall was all the way around as was the death-bringing toll of the bell. Curse me, the assembly line. The voice of the Big Water came as though in a dream. She was on the other side of the wall, enormous, free. All we could see was the wall. Black. With bum marks in a thousand spots, curse me, some poor souls in extreme despair had obviously tried to set fire to the wall. Earlier they were to be pitied rather than laughed at. But after one such attempt it didn’t occur to anyone to do something similar. Often the children and the objects became equal, it was difficult to separate one from the other.

That morning we became familiar in the most impressive way with the administrator in the Home, comrade Ariton Jakovleski. You could meet all sorts of people in the Home. There were all sorts, all of the types created by God. Smart ones and stupid, mean and kind hearted, all types. The Home with its residents resembled a cuckoo’s nest. Just like everywhere else you could meet special and unusual temperaments which you could never make presumptions about with any certainty. Here, not even fantasy could help very much. Such people, whether because of natural stupidity or because of cunning and corruption are able very skilfully to conceal themselves from those around them. To look at him, there was nothing, nothing unknowable in the life of Ariton Jakovleski, it seemed, nothing in particular; a life, an upright, ordinary man, living the life of any mortal. But for the person who knew Ariton Jakovleski’s nature — those were complex, difficult examinations of the conscience. For a long time, he wouldn’t permit anyone to get close to his heart, as they say, it was covered all over with barbed wire but it was as if that soul was in an eternally dark camp. Curse me, you could count all of the facts of his poor life, no, I swear, you wouldn’t find the truth here. It was hidden like light in water and every attempt to just hold the light in your palm for just a moment with the water would be in vain. It is very hard to take light from deep water. Then again, the light is simply hidden in fine sand, so all you have to do is separate it from the fine grains of sand, collect it, find it, my friends. Curse me, what a thankless job, and let’s not even talk about the trouble, turning over one stone after another until you find that tiny place where, like the devil himself, in a little hollow, the accursed truth has hidden itself. And what of it, my friend, he’s not around anymore, in his place gapes a black hole, a grave. Curse me, somewhere the man drowned, he was lost, unseen.

Because of the truth, curse me, for the truth, I will start at the beginning, then the sequence of events just as God created our beautiful world. In order I will tell you all that is known and not known about Ariton Jakovleski. Yes, just about one part of his life, about the part I knew and I don’t say this without reason, I presume he was not always so alone, so damned alone as we knew him in the Home. Ariton Jakovleski must have had his own house, his close relatives, maybe even children, sons and daughters, maybe he was a very happy father, person. An exemplary, gentle hearted father, I swear, it could’ve been said of him that his was not a barren nature, made that way at birth. Maybe Ariton Jakovleski (God, if that was his real name; war changes everything for a person) — maybe there was a time when he dreamed, hoped, maybe loved! Didn’t, curse me, that love ruin him in the end? Call me a beast, but there was a time when I prayed to God and before people, and today I do it too — when someone is judged, as much as is possible you cannot just look at one part of his life for something that perhaps is not his fault.

It was said he was specifically appointed to the Home with the task of taking care of the orphans of the war. It was said it was his own request. Curse me, from love. How much could we find out; to the last moment Ariton Jakovleski and with all that darkness and ice in his soul, still, that good man planned a better end for himself, he even hoped, he had moments when he passionately believed in his work, meaning he had some deeper hope. Maybe at those times he thought he would be paid back for everything he had lost in his life. Poor man! And it was not hard to work out that life wasn’t set all that much in his favour, the marks of a definitely brutal and tragic life were as visible as a dagger’s scar on his face. What was that hope based on? What dream deceived him, what water splashed about in his hard, chiselled, manly head? He spent all his time in the Home alone. I think he chose to be alone; apart from his administrative duties, there was nothing that could tie him to the people in the Home. Even though he tolerated the instructors, he didn’t like them. His only friend was the strong and very loyal dog, Andrusha. You couldn’t say life had put them together because of an exercise of will, a great battle obviously, great memories were the agent of the friendship between Ariton Jakovleski and the dog. (A dog doesn’t easily become loyal to a man.) Curse me, there was something touching, tender, inexplicable. That man and that dog, some damned common destiny. For example, everyone in the Home knew something terrible was going to happen to Ariton Jakovleski. Some might even have known the exact time of the accident, and maybe some knew the details about the place and the way he would take his life, but no-one found it necessary to lift even a finger. Not that, because of his individual, strange, strict behaviour, no-one in the Home mourned his loss, at the end, it was a human life, regardless what kind — he was a person after all. Curse me, everything appeared helpless, every word, every comfort. That sort will live out the last remaining moments of their life more calmly, easier if no-one from outside stirs, if you leave them to themselves in their own peace. He analyses everything and then it ends, mercilessly he judges himself, he dies with some lightening of the soul, he is conscious, he punishes himself, his soul is Christian, repentant. He thought he’d saved himself, he washed his hands, everything is smoothed out and now enough, goodbye life! And in case something made him rethink, he couldn’t go back, everyone already knew, everyone was waiting for that death. Tragic, my friend, tragic when you are still alive and someone has written you off. Curse me, there’s no life for a person after that, no way, he has to die.

The dear Headmaster was a real devil. He still wore an army uniform with the red star. They called him the old partisan. God, he was strong, proud, then! Do you want me to describe him further? Excellent, I think you should pay attention to one other thing if by chance you bump into our dear Headmaster, comrade Ariton Jakovleski. Sometimes he acted like he was going blind, he would walk around acting blind when really, he could see like an eagle. When he hit, he never missed. The Headmaster was rare in that regard, he could see with his hands. With his left and with his right. Sometimes he was imaginative, more than once he hit out with both hands. You understand, that was on special occasions when he was in a good humour. To put it briefly, the Headmaster was one of those very wholesome, useful citizens who don’t have anything negative inside them. Let’s be honest, the dear Headmaster was like one of those people who put a lid on their life like you would on some ordinary object and then, go on, try to wipe that philosophy from their heads. If you make a drunk stop drinking, he’d be ready to die, he’d collapse. It was the same with Ariton Jakovleski. He would not yield, God forbid, from his positive ambitions (he loved to express himself that way) — he was no longer well. It was as though he got all of his strength from those stupid tasks. From day to day, as the tasks were lost, he lost his strength. But comrade Ariton Jakovleski did not permit such a thing, at least in the beginning. He knew his job, he trod his path perfectly. He had a firm step, army trained (curse me, the army changes a person in every way, in every single way). And I can see him now, my heart feels it deeply as if I am still in the Home. Curse me, I can see him and I remember his every movement. He’d put his hands behind, maybe these were the times of reflection, he would throw his head as high as it would go (it was rare to see his head bent toward the ground) and he circles around the yard like an eagle which has flown close to the ground to look for its prey. You could say he was unique in every way, and when he’d sing some battle song, then he became amazing. Everything in the yard, as if on command, fell silent. Curse me, a song.

The tortured and sick morning hung like the tom half of the Home’s tree. The morning rolled itself in the sharp glass fragments in the wall. What happened to Spring, to the sky, the birds, what happened to the migration of things, with the rain, what happened with the Big Water? All the kids stood like statues. Frozen. We thought something bad had happened in the Home. No-one knew what morning it was, curse me, what really happened with the Big Water. No-one looked at us, didn’t even glance. The Headmaster did another hundred circles around the tree, singing his little song the whole time, until at last he went as silent as a stone. Oh, how quiet it was. He began to look deeply at one child then another, like he was looking for a thief. He measured each child, as if saying “You bloody mice, mice, bandits, look into these two eyes, eyes of a man who wouldn’t feed his mother (he paused in front of me and Kejtin) — look and remember, learn what a line is, discipline. At your age we captured German soldiers, my word, living fascists — remember, either you will be people worthy of your fathers (but our fathers had already gone) or it is better you don’t exist at all,” curse me, and I wish we did not exist. After that, obviously not finishing his review, he turned toward us unexpectedly and — not even giving us the chance to open our mouths — he took our heads as with a magnet, you know, mine and Kejtin’s, and with all his strength, hit one into the other. Poor heads, how they sparked! The old guy, you could see, had experience, had worked it out to the last detail. One head against the other. Turning toward the son of Kejtin he said:

“Who are you, you devil?” and without waiting for an answer, he belted him across the ear. He thought with his right hand. “Who?” he repeated in case he hadn’t heard and at the same time, belted him with the left hand. The Headmaster hit so cleverly that everyone, each time, was surprised. Curse me, he hit like lightning from a cloudless sky.

The son of Kejtin, Isaac Kejtin, as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t received two violent blows, calmly replied to the Headmaster:

“I am the son of Kejtin,” he said, “Isaac Kejtin.”

“The son of Kejtin,” repeated the Headmaster in a very interested way, and gave him a regulation third whack. “Think further,” he said, “maybe you’ve forgotten something, little son of Kejtin,” curse me, he said “Maybe you’ve forgotten your name.” That’s what the Headmaster said and slowly, as if he was counting old cartridges, he turned toward me. Oh, the omnipotent comrade Ariton Jakovleski, I was lost in his shadow. For a whole decade we sized each other up like two devils, the dear Headmaster loved to play a little game beforehand. From above the dear Headmaster is glaring at me, he winks at me, and I look at him from below, shooting him a fiery look or two, thinking he will feel sorry for me. He’s looking at me and with a sort of loving voice he says to me “Do you like this little Home; just tell me what you’d like, and I’ll get it for you, my little eagle.” I thought he was saying something like that to me and I got a bit closer to him, like I was going to throw myself into his arms, I’d hug him like he’s my own father, but it was from fear I got closer so he wouldn’t get me from a distance, so he wouldn’t hit me from a distance, so he wouldn’t rip my head off, so I’d end up without a head. Curse me, fear can force a person to do anything. “It’s a good Home, Headmaster, naturally,” I answered him in my thoughts.

“And who are you, you devil?” he cut me off, whacking my nose. I didn’t see when he put his hand out.

“Lem,” I said to him, leaving the blood to run down my chin and below, over my throat and onto my chest. “I am called Lem,” I said, “the nephew of Ilo Kostadinovski.”

I left my blood flowing in a gentlemanly manner. Curse me, when I mentioned the name of my uncle lie Kostadinovski, I felt I’d said something important, that I’d said it all. The blood cooled me off a bit, my whole body was burning. I was happy when I thought of my uncle Ilo, I swear, I thought, well, what an uncle I have, the good Ilo Kostadinovski.

The dear Headmaster certainly was not expecting such an answer, and much later we understood how crazy it was to give any answer, the dear Headmaster preferred his underlings not to have their own answers. Curse me, no answer at all. Not permitting me to stand open-mouthed any longer, he hit me to the ground with his heavy butcher’s hand, into the new dust of the Spring which came up from the ground like a flame. After that, he returned to the son of Kejtin.

“Does anyone know about this traitor?” the Headmaster asked the other boys.

You understand, no-one lifted his head. The son of Kejtin stood alone, distanced like a wave, exactly like a lone wave, some lone wave, like some free and unruly wave he stood in the middle of the Home’s desolateness. I saw the Big Water, I heard her voice, I flew over her huge expanses. The thin voices of the children were unreal, they begged the son of Kejtin to fall.

“Stupid,” called out some of the older residents, “stupid. Drop down, fall! He won’t leave you alone until you fall, he could even kill you.”

The son of Kejtin was not listening, he was already on one of his long trips, his thin lips quivered as if the first butterfly, as if a butterfly had landed on his lips, his eyes were full of light, he was far away, he was travelling.

“Don’t big note yourself,” called out that voice, “there isn’t anyone who has managed not to fall.”

The son of Kejtin nodded his head toward the ground, and when he did that, then it was useless for anyone to try to dissuade him. He can’t fall in the dust seeing me in it. “Be a man, son of Kejtin,” I begged him, “hold out, don’t fall!” Again he smiled with his eyes and hugged me with two winks.

“You’re laughing,” said Ariton Jakovleski, amazed, “you devil, you’re laughing.”

But the son of Kejtin didn’t say anything now. And he didn’t fall, I swear, he didn’t fall. He bent down much later to lift me up from the ground.

“Get up little one,” he said. “Get up, strong Lem, we’ve arrived!” (Curse me “we’ve arrived”. I was still seeing stars, like someone drowning I held onto the son of Kejtin). I let him take me along.

From that day, the son of Kejtin was a personality in the Home. It was not, at the time, a desirable thing to be. No-one in the Home was allowed to have his own free will, his own thoughts. The sooner you realised, the lesser the suffering, the greater the success. Your character appraisal would be excellent. Curse me, the character appraisal was most important. That’s what made a person, a person or a thug, yes, exactly that, a thug.

At the end, the strange penalty was imposed. For a certain time, we were separated, one from the other, we weren’t allowed to be in the same place in the Home. In the same way, everyone was banned from going to the Big Water. They couldn’t think up a harsher punishment. Curse me, that was the worst punishment they could impose on us. I was separated from the son of Kejtin, and now they banned all of our dreams about the Big Water. The dear Headmaster knew, if you want to punish someone, just separate him from the thing that’s dearest to him. Rip out the one thing that’s in his heart, cripple him, blind him, so he can’t get away from you. Idiots, how can you destroy something if it’s in a person’s heart. I know, I know another century would pass before we understood the voice of the Big Water. But I can already see the frozen assembly line felling apart, columns of unfree children under one command, in one line, under the bell, listen, she is coming, I swear. Curse me, my friend, she is coming.

With each day that passed, I believed more in the tale about the Senterlev Mountain. You couldn’t just think up a whole mountain, a huge mountain from which the sun is born. Surely it existed and to climb this mountain would take a hundred centuries, a whole lifetime. A whole lifetime and still you wouldn’t know how far up you’d reached. Curse me, what a road. Not even comrade Sekule the Meteor knew it. He taught geography and couldn’t hear properly when we asked “If there isn’t a God in heaven, then what is there?” Once we even asked him about the mountain, the Senterlev. He spat on his glasses to clean off the dirt, he took an old notebook from his coat pocket and became immersed in its pages which had yellowed with age. “There isn’t any such mountain,” he said with a sincere voice, sighing deeply. Good-heartedly he added “We were fighting on the Endriev mountain,” some Endriev mountain, curse me. “Then on the Klenoechku mountain, a number of our comrades fell there, just before liberation,” he said it with the sort of voice you just had to believe. He listed a further one thousand three hundred mountains through which the brigades had passed, but he couldn’t think of the Senterlev mountain. “It exists,” Verna Jakovleska’s voice was heard, “it exists, my dears.”