The City | The Move

The City

We were born in a small village, and our few years’ experience was limited to life within it and its immediate surroundings.

Our whole world was tightly hemmed in by the mountain crests of Babuna, Sivec, Lipa, Zlatovrv, and Surun. Our birds flew around that circle, and none of us thought they could fly beyond it. The mountains also marked the limits of our place beneath the sky. We would often say to ourselves, what would it be like if we were to climb a mountain and poke the Lord with a cattle prod.

But with each passing day, that vastness insidiously oppressed us. We had to acknowledge that beyond our horizons lay the city. On Saturdays, the villagers would go back and forth to the market to sell their goods, and they brought us sweets and candied apples and buns—simits or gevreks. Good Lord, what must this city be?

And then it happened—one of our young friends, the first among us, got to see that wonder. We couldn’t understand anything he was telling us, but our curiosity grew. Our friend told us how in the city there are wires strung tight, and sparrows sit on them. The city kids fired at them with slingshots. None of this made any sense to us. We didn’t know what those slingshots were, and we couldn’t imagine what those stretched wires might be.

But from his story, our impatience grew to see the city at last. One summer afternoon, as soon as the heat of the day had eased, our little band set out along the path toward Sivec, following our independent resolve, without telling anyone. We knew this path led to the city.

We walked along in high spirits, in lively conversation, absolutely delighted that soon we would see with our own eyes something that had so stirred our thoughts.

We were already drawing near the saddle between Sivec and Lipa. From there on down began the unknown. In the distance you could hear the clanging of bells and the lowing of cows. It was nearly sunset, the time when the village animals come down.

Suddenly, in a clearing some dogs were barking, but we had no reason to be afraid, after all, those were our Šaro and Murdžo. We also caught sight of the solid figure of our shepherd, Trajko, with his sack over his shoulder.

“Where to?” he asked us.

“To the city,” we said, barely looking at him, hurrying forward as if we didn’t want to lose a second.

We passed him, but his ominous voice reached our ears:

“Go on, keep going, but over by that hazelnut tree there’s a crouching wolf; his tongue’s out, and he’s waiting for you.”

It felt as though our knees had frozen. We debated a brief moment, then we turned and headed back down to the village. “Heh-heh-heh,” we could hear Trajko chuckling behind us.

We put off our acquaintance with the city for better times.

The Move

That summer it was clear that our family would be separated and we would move to the city. How the fields and property were divided, I don’t know, but I do remember the evening when the household goods were divided. It occurred in the space we called home, by the fireplace, with its hearth and pothooks, where indeed, life was largely spent in an old village house. They were arranging pans, plates, spoons, and other things into two equal piles and then drawing lots. Although the division was carried out amidst great calm, it was not without tension. In the women’s eyes from time to time there would flash a spark that showed which pile appealed to them most.

Trajko, our shepherd, was whimpering and wiping away big tears. “My dear Konevtsi, what happened to make you leave this beautiful life?” he said, frightened by the unknown future that awaited him. He had trained Grandma Dunavka to put a savory pie into his sack every now and then; he was like a loyal dog taken into our home, but now the household was being dismantled, and he would have to find another haven.

At last, the day of our move drew near. I overheard several women telling my mother, “It’s not going to be easy for you in the city. Blaže is spoiled, and he’s going to be begging you to buy him sweets.” Boca, my friend, who was a bit older than me, was sad that I was going, because now she’d have no one to play with. But that was all the same to me; I felt drawn to the change.

When our oxcarts, filled to the brim,  set off, it was already growing dark. On top of one of the carts a bed had been arranged for us children, for me and my two sisters. We quickly fell asleep.

All at once, something awakened me deep in the night. When I opened my eyes, an opulence greeted me. Huge stars whose like I had never seen before, nor would see again, were hanging just above me in clusters, and it seemed as though I could reach out my hands and touch them. Мy life would remain forever vaulted in the recollection of that star-studded sky, even after I came to understand that such a thing is experienced only once.

From the others’ conversation, I understood that an axle had overheated and was now being cooled down with water from a small fountain.

It was well into daylight when we entered the city. Good Lord, what is this wonder? This was the first time I had seen a city, and a fear came creeping over me, drawn from everything I saw that had no place within the quiet borders of the world I had previously inhabited.

Overcome with this fear, for several days I didn’t step outside our yard, which was enclosed with a high wall. At last I found the courage to take my first steps into that new world. I would stop at the gate and look at what was happening on our street. Then I would head down to the corner, to discover a whole new grid of similar streets. I would turn back, running as if I were being pursued.

But the day arrived for me to go to school. My mother, just as anxious as I was, saw me as far as the gate, where she handed me my little bag. I began to sob desperately, as if I were being left to the mercy of my fate, and refused to budge.

At that moment, from around our corner, a child in clogs appeared, setting off to school. My mother asked for his help, and he took me by the hand and I set off as well. At school, we sat down on the same bench, and so we remained, inseparable friends. That child, so decisive in my inclusion in city life, is, even to this day, my dear friend Koce Solunski.

In my later life, I have found myself in many situations that alarmed me, and I have had to overcome my fear. I have adapted to huge cities in different countries, asking myself how I would survive. But that encounter with the city of Prilep was my greatest trial, for it was to determine whether I would break or endure. I wonder what torment trees suffer when they are transplanted.

“Град” and “Поселба” from Дневник по многу години. Skopje: Makedonska kniga, 1988.

Image by Yusuke Nagaoka.