The Big Water

View to the lake

It was the end of March and the beginning of the real Spring. But maybe it was the end of Spring, maybe Summer was coming, curse me, no-one knew what season we were living in. Dry winds blew through the sky, fire. Maybe it was an unknown season. But that was the day when we destroyed the order of the dear Headmaster. In the middle of the night, taking advantage of the fact the others were sleeping, the son of Kejtin came next to my bed.

“Leme,” he woke me, “little Leme, come on,” he waved to me with his hand and, without waiting for my answer, without a whisper, like a cat, he went out into the night.

Even though I didn’t know where, and even though I knew the price of such disobedience, I got up and went. Without a word, I set off after the son of Kejtin. The whole Home was drowned in that familiar deafness. The Home was oppressed by that same wasteland silence which hangs over graveyards. From time to time, someone sought someone else in their dreams. One of the boys was rambling. Without any answer. The Home was dead, it hardly breathed. Fear spread everywhere around, some great, unknown fear.

In the Home everyday it became harder to put up with, more impossible. The only place where we could pass the little spare time we had was the yard, already known to you, and the area around the wall. Even though that was part of the general Home area, for us it was a part of the wall. Just about all of the boys would gather in that part. Like discarded, old objects you could see a heap of children in the area near the wall. That place, by rights, was the hunting ground of the dear Headmaster. Curse me, his hunting game; from that place he prepared his roast (which was the way he loved to express himself). This was where the greatest trade unfolded, all agreements were reached, all court rulings made, some, it is understood, even made plans to dig under the wall. Here, all of those things which come about later in life started to emerge. Contraband was traded to death; there was trade with anything you could find — from a button to a needle. At one time, the most sought after object was the “Virgin Mary”. That was a small picture, and no-one can ever say where it came from or how it got into the Home, a small picture in which a very attractive woman was shown in various poses. Curse me, that was sex to set your teeth chattering. All you needed to do was to see it with one eye and you had to put your hands into your pockets straight away. Looking at that picture, even we little mice lifted our tails. Curse me, it was sweet to look at sex. Somehow it was alluring, beautiful to look at the uncovered full breasts of the woman. That was real sex, honest word of youth. I swear, even today it is causing someone’s hands to itch. There was nothing the dear Headmaster didn’t try to get the photo. He pulled everything out of our belts, you could say he plundered all of our goods, but he didn’t manage to get to the sex. He just about died of frustration, he and the entire administration, everyone wanted to get to the sex. But we kept the “Virgin Mary” as safe as our eyes. In that regard, we were under the control of deep unity, sex was treated as the most important thing. How. many times was he watching out for it, but it was a waste. When the dear Headmaster showed up, the children shoved themselves into a black knot and the sex was saved again. It would fall to the ground. And the knot of children would unravel in a second and each one, all alone, would go off in his own direction. Most often they’d stick it to the wall and would start to rub their backs on it as though they had scabs. Curse me, if only you could know what thoughts were in the little head leaning against the wall. When that was happening, he was no longer in the Home.

I was just about always alone after they separated me from the son of Kejtin. I think he felt very alone too. For the whole time I wished I was neither bird nor titan, nor butterfly (even though the flight of a butterfly is the thing I love most in life) — I dreamed totally impossible things. I dreamed about a small, curse me, a small hole in the wall, the size of an eye from where I could see the water, to hear her good voice. I believed in the power of the Big Water so much, I believed one day she would come, that she would knock down the wall, carry it away, that she would say to it “It’s enough, it’s enough; you’ve kept them locked up long enough.” She would say that to the wall and then she would wipe it out, she would take it into her good, bright arms. Curse me, everything would become water. There wasn’t a day when I wouldn’t go around the wall a few times looking for that hole, the view toward the Big Water. For all of the centuries I was in the Home, I didn’t want to think about anything else, I didn’t need anything else, I completed all of my chores without love, without any real interest. And after that, then, that thought alone, who knows on which path, as though broken I dragged myself along the wall. I was looking for that small hole in the wall, even though I knew it was made of concrete, a solidly built wall made exactly for this purpose. When I thought it was all just an hallucination, an illness, a dream, the son of Kejtin took me by the hand and, without speaking, took me toward the attic of the building. Even if we were separated, he saw my dream, he knew where my heart was flying, what it sought through the wall. Curse me, he saw.

“Don’t tremble,” he whispered, “if you’re afraid, they’ll discover us. Set your jaw, don’t make a noise, don’t let your teeth chatter.”

“I am not afraid,” I said, “It’s cold, I am freezing.”

“Hey, Leme,” he said. “Hey, friend,” said the son of Kejtin with such wonder that he couldn’t stop the laugh which came to him at that time. And laughing like that, doubling over with laughter, he forgot about the punishments, and holding his sides with both his hands, laughing, he said “Hey, Leme, curse me, there was no bigger comedian ever born in the world. Do you know what season of the year we are in, poor boy, don’t you know it’s real Summer, August, the most beautiful month of the year?” he said and started to laugh. Even more, like some mountain spring, hard and unstoppable.

“Stop,” I begged him, blaming myself for the fear that was eating at me.

“I can’t,” he said, laughing, “you’re terrific Leme. Even if I wanted to, now I can’t, friend. I have to have a good laugh because otherwise I’ll die. O-ho, I haven’t heard such a thing for a long time,” and again he burst into laughter. “It’s cold, you said, eh? O-ho Leme, you little devil.”

“Do you realise where we are,” I reminded him. “Do you know what will happen to us if they catch us?”

He waved his hand powerless to stop, he had to laugh. The whole of him was laughing like a devil. With his face and with his eyes, the son of Kejtin laughed all over. It was pointless to try to persuade him, he would laugh to the end, he would laugh for a whole century. I swear, until the last drop of blood dripped from his heart. I already knew the son of Kejtin, no, punishment meant nothing to him. There was no order they could make which would separate our hearts, to demolish our eyes so that we would not wink at each other, our thoughts not to talk, the heart not hear the voice of the Big Water. That distance tied us even closer together. Curse me, that distance. I treated everything of his as my own, wherever he was amongst the children, my eyes would find him first. I had his laugh with me, and once I paid dearly for it. It was time for lunch and someone devilishly joked about the way the dear Headmaster was slurping his cabbage stew. He had the habit at lunchtime of having a whole serving of cabbage. He did it with such skill that a person had to double over with laughter. His moustache smelled of cabbage at a three metre distance, it went yellow like old sauerkraut. The laughter leapfrogged from child to child.

“What are you laughing about?” the son of Kejtin had dragged himself from somewhere to under my table. “Tell me, tell me the truth, little Leme!”

It was a bad oath. Forgetting that he is an irrepressible giggler, I said to him:

“SLURP! Look at the dear Headmaster.”

Who could’ve stopped the son of Kejtin from laughing then, oh God! Ariton Jakovleski went goggle-eyed when he saw us together. He said:

“Dear little birds, just look at what I can see.” He couldn’t believe it, he was amazed. “Look, look,” he said softly, “my little pigeons have flown”, the dear Headmaster was still joking, Ariton Jakovleski was really born for making jokes. “How come you two are together,” he cut in suddenly, “From where do you get such optimism?” he was thinking of Kejtin’s laugh and Ariton got it right about the optimism.

I took the blame for everything last thing, because I knew the son of Kejtin would not give in, even if they killed him, he wouldn’t say a word. I left lunch and without a word, set off to comrade Olivera Srezoska. The handing out of punishments was divided now: the minor punishments were left by the old guy to his Assistant-Headmaster, comrade Olivera Srezoska. And her, oh, I will have to introduce you to her better some time; she had her own method of punishment, thoroughly different to the dear Headmaster, but in brutality, they were very close. Comrade Olivera didn’t dirty her hands, she hit with strap across your back, and above all of that she did an ugly woman’s thing, hit and pinch, so it would hurt you to the core. Curse me, so it would hurt you to the core. If you cry, she wonders why you are blubbering for no reason. You’re not bleeding, you haven’t lost an eye, but you’re bawling out loud, so hold on a little, at least so there is a reason for the tears. In that way the penalty was doubled, she was smart, comrade Olivera Srezoska. This punishment, it is understood, was in some ways harder because of the baseness it was carried out with. Olivera Srezoska had thought it out to the last detail. So often the children complained they hadn’t done something worse so that psychologically they would remain undisturbed in the hands of the dear Headmaster. This way, not only do you get the same thrashing but your soul melts down thinking about what and how the Assistant-Headmaster Olivera Srezoska will in that moment deal with you. Her soul burned to be in charge, with each day she became a harsher person, she degenerated into a tyrant. People like her don’t even think how malicious and destructive they are; on the contrary, they live with the hope the sun shines only because of them. Anyway, there were bright moments too in the heart of comrade Olivera Srezoska. In her spare time, she wrote songs about children. Curse me, songs.

“I’m begging you to stop,” I said to Kejtin. A few days before, I had seen a new strap in the administration.

“Okay,” said the son of Kejtin at last calming down, “but don’t make me laugh anymore.”

“No,” I promised him, “I won’t make you laugh,” not understanding how I could make him laugh so much.

“Then let’s go,” he said, dragging me through the dark ceiling of the Home that was full of cobwebs. He went as if through a plain, he moved as though on a well-known road. It was as if he’d been going over that road for centuries, that he knew it. He overcame all the obstacles so skilfully and at the same time so well did he lead me that I thought he might have been possessed by the spirits. Curse me, the spirits. The water spirits, they might have cast a spell on him to lead me to the bricked up windows. Like a lord of the ceiling, he threaded through it. Curse me, that’s what he was, the lord of the ceiling. He had memorised the attic; surely he must have been there a thousand times. I swear, a thousand times until he’d found this spot. When at last he stopped, he said, with a somewhat different voice, with a voice I did not recognise,

“Little Leme, listen carefully to me, you’ll do as I tell you,” curse me, it was another voice, I think it was burning away at him. “Little one, now you’ll have to close your eyes,” that was an order.

He said all of this with such a voice that I was not allowed to question. Quietly I complied with each one of his orders. I put my palms over my eyes, I closed my eyes.

“Okay,” I answered, “my eyes are closed.”

The son of Kejtin was silent, like he was thinking for one hour, he left the impression of a man facing a big decision. With that same voice he said:

“Believe me, Leme,” he said softly, as though he tore the words from his own soul, “believe me, little one, you must remain on that spot for a whole century. Be a man, Leme. That’s nothing.” Curse me, “just a century.”

I received all of it with the pure and deep love you have for a friend and comrade. But other than that, the way he did everything appealed to me immeasurably. The son of Kejtin was one of those devilish old men who can see a thousand kilometres before them, as though the whole distance was gathered in his eyes. Once, it was already late night, far into the night he saw a pale light, a distant light. He said “That’s a star falling, Leme, it is going out, it’s dying.” He saw all of that before the star fell and that’s why, from then on, I had to believe the son of Kejtin could see like God. What could he see now, where was he taking me with my eyes closed, a hundred times a second those questions came to me.

I don’t believe all of that lasted that many endless centuries, but when he put his hands on my face and when he took mine in his, when at last I opened my eyes, I almost screeched. Before my eyes as in the most beautiful dream was exposed the whole surface of a lake. A big lake. Curse me, it was the Big Water. The Big Water was again so close, I swear, she was in us. I hugged her to me like the dearest thing in life. And she came all the more closely, with bright colours, with thousands of voices, with centuries of mournful wailing. You had to get centuries older to keep hold of childhood.

“Kejtin,” I whispered, I wanted to announce all my grief, but it wasn’t necessary, he was inside my thoughts, he knew all of my heart, each one of my thoughts. It was as if he was my twin, as if we had been together for the whole of our lives. Curse me, a lifetime.

“Be a man, little Leme,” he said to me, “be a man, control yourself, we’re no longer alone,” he gestured toward the Big Water.

“Be a man, little Leme,” the Big Water repeated his words, “be a man little Leme and restrain your heart. Be quiet.”

“Forgive me,” I said to my friend. “Forgive me, son of Kejtin, Big Water,” I said wiping the tears away. I felt free of my wretched name Lem, I felt how the Senterlev Mountain is born, how I am going after it, how I am climbing and how it isn’t madness. Curse me, I believed. The son of Kejtin, understanding my thoughts, said:

“Listen, Leme, listen little fool,” he rebuked me, “nobody knows this place except for you and no-one is allowed to have it until he earns it. Listen little fellow,” he added, “now only you and I know this place and don’t you give it away. This place has to be deserved, Leme,” he said very seriously, giving me a warning.

“What does it mean,” I asked, “for someone to deserve something?”

“Yes,” he said, like he knew before I said anything what I was going to ask, “you don’t understand that, Leme, but one day you will understand. One day, after a thousand centuries, everything will be known.”

“After how many centuries?” I said as if I had not heard him. “After how many centuries will everything be known?”

“Don’t make me laugh, Leme,” said the son of Kejtin, “don’t make yourself smarter than you are, don’t make out you can know everything.” He thought a little to himself and, taking his hand from his pointy chin (his hand was always stuck to his chin), waved it turning himself toward the Big Water and, with a happy voice, said “I bet, little one, you don’t know why you deserve this place. Do you, Leme?” he said and he looked at me with his beautiful bright eyes.

“No,” I answered him sincerely, but surely I do deserve it, a thousand times over I must have deserved it, I wanted to say to him, but I kept silent so I wouldn’t make him laugh.

“I liked you, little Leme,” he said, wanting to speak himself, “I liked you, from the time you fell on the ground,” a bitter smile briefly distorted his face, “when you were in the dust, I mean when you lifted your head from the dust and said to the dear Headmaster “What for are you beating us, we were at the Big Water”, curse me, that was brave, little one. I haven’t seen that sort of bravery before, maybe you were muttering but it was brave. No-one else could’ve thought up such a thing to say. That kept me on my feet, little one. But it’s not that, Leme, it’s not that, friend. No! Oh you are a devil, Leme, the biggest devil!” Then he scratched his tousled, red hair, wild like a kid goat’s and, smiling, said “You deserve this place because of something else, Leme. You deserve it for all of the days you spent, looking for that hole from where you could see a little toward the water. I think there isn’t a spot on that horrible wall where your eyes haven’t looked. And what were you looking for little Leme?” he said putting his hand on my shoulder. “You were looking for this place and, there you are, now it’s yours, be happy. You have earned the right to have it, Leme. It’s yours,” he said and like a demon he slipped away through the ceiling cavity, leaving me alone in that place. As if just then, he turned into part of the water, plunged in the night.

It was one of the happiest centuries in the Home. Curse me, that was the happiest hour in my life. I acknowledge that neither then nor since did I ever again have such a happy century. After such a moment I could endure any punishment. From that day, my life in the Home was totally changed, the threatening fear totally left me, the fear which was settled in every part in the Home, again I could think of the Senterlev mountain, of that mountain where the sun is born. Curse me, that was happiness.

The nights spent in the ceiling were the most beautiful hours in the Home. Here, in freedom, among a thousand sounds, colours and wishes. You felt it, you drank it in and, from a crawling black snail, all at once you become something great, wondrous, alive. In your frightened little heart, a giant wave stirred up. You would see the wall falling down, a happy feeling would be imprinted on your soul, a feeling that wishes would be fulfilled. It shouts in you, your thin chest opens up and from it a wondrous bird with gold feathers flies toward the sky. For hours afterwards, without anyone able to stop you, you fly above the water. Your wings are as strong as those of a dove born in the warm nest of the old cliffs. The frightening boom of the waves, the powerful storm the night you came into the world, big fear, uncertainty, all are lost moment by moment when your shiny, light wing touches the spell-binding endlessness of the surface. You fly without getting tired, without end. Madly. You are enticed by unseen, secret landscapes, one more beautiful, brighter than the other. Until then, your eyes have seen nothing similar. Like a magnet they pull you toward something even more beautiful, brighter. Eternal. Curse me, eternal. Rushing, you meet death. You hear one of the children in its dream, in the silent, deaf night, utters a scream like someone had put a knife to his throat. You see bulging faces on the stinking mattresses, in confusion even in their sleep. In a fever. Then, like a mad man I ran in that space in the ceiling. I asked myself, dragging myself through the great cobwebs, “Where is that mountain, that cursed mountain which one of the children called Senterlev?”