“Oh, poor boy!”
“What a talented, strong boy was Kejtin!”
“Yes, he had strength!”
“There was something uncommon in him, something else, human! He was not an ordinary young man, no!”
“Yes, yes! He was a talent, energetic, brave!”
“He wasn’t afraid of anything, he endured everything!”
“Oh, fate!”
Curse me, that was what was said until the first handful of earthy and then those same tattlers would start at once out loud to snigger, and they would not fail to say:
“Well, at last his end came!”
“Dear God, it was time. There was no life in him!”
“Yes, yes! Now we are saved, what is done is done, may he rest in peace.”
“May God forgive him his sins, but he was asking for it! He earned himself an end just like this, he was a great good for nothing, stubborn, hard headed, always acting important, proud, superior. There was something devilish living in him, evil. He was like that, frightening. Bad blood, impure.”
“What if he comes back to life,” someone spread a rumour calmly, idiotically, and all of the voices went quiet, as though under command.
The Home doctor was awaited, uncle Sile Nikolovski. He will cut short the uncertainty. Uncle Sile Nikolovski got there quite quickly. He was sleepy eyed, they’d got him out of bed, he came in his slippers, without shoes, just as he happened to be. Just as he’d closed his eyes because he had a headache, he’d had a difficult operation the day before in the hospital and he still could not free himself from it. He’d had to take out someone’s wind pipe (a young man), there’d been no other alternative, a pear had got into his wind pipe. After fifty years when they see the way we heal, he said, they’ll say it was a slaughter house, butchers. Curse me, butchers. He was under a powerful impression from the event. It was obvious it had really hit him, he just kept complaining. And always, after such an excitement, other feelings quickly emerged, he was transported to the war. The event tied him with similar such events in the battle and it was impossible then to stop him, the patient can die; he’ll retell it all, in detail about the frightening storms of the war.
“Oh dear children, be happy that that cursed war finished! Throats were cut, my little birds! Butchery, butchery! Once it was in Slivovo, in the partisan hospital, once at Slavej, once in Aegean Macedonia, then Bogomila. Oh, dear children! I am telling you that was butchery... The backpacks were placed up on donkeys, we got lost, we found ourselves on a little hill, the poor little donkeys slipped on the hill, it was Winter time, the people rolled down into a gully, landing on their heads, on their crowns. Hey, hey, hang one, comrades, comrade Marko says to them, your names will be written with golden letters in history, long live freedom, long live the Revolution! Oh, dear children! There was no other choice... an operation had to be done in that very spot, take the axe, Siljane Nikoloski, comrade Marko ordered me, come on, what are you looking at me for! Come on, save the people!”
(Maybe they were our fathers. Curse me, our fathers.)
It was only at such a time, when he met our looks, that uncle Sile Nikoloski, curse me, would pause. He would shake his head and as if it was nothing, with a smile would say:
“Stories, stories, dear ones! Don’t listen to the fool,” he would use the biggest insult for himself, and only then would he return to the present event. Dreamy, taken, shaken, he muttered “Ah, what’s swallowed up the boy?”
Dear God, I was shaken. If he grabs him by the wind pipe, I thought, poor Kejtin, my poor friend. Curse me, uncle Sile Nikoloski had such strong healthy hands. It was enough for those hands to touch where it hurt you, once or twice, and you would immediately be healed. He would soften your bones, as though he’d healed you with the best medicine. Sometimes, uncle Sile Nikoloski was used for other things too, but that wasn’t his fault. He helped with the various functions in his own way, as they say, he cured, by sight. I still remember everything, how they carried away some of the older residents. Curse me, in any way. A general, visual examination would be organised, by sight with uncle Sile Nikoloski from child to child, he would stop at the unfortunate one and say:
“Now, young man, somehow you look really unwell to me. You have dark circles under your eyes, go on into the hospital with you so we can see what’s going on with you, how it is, in case it is something infectious, dangerous. To check it, little bird.”
After that, we already knew, it was bad luck for the ones who were transported to the hospital. For him, there was no coming back. Those poor people never gave themselves up, they fought until the last drop of strength was spent, they called:
“Don’t give in, brothers! No!”
In that moment I prayed to God for just one thing, strength to uncle Sile Nikoloski, don’t let them take Kejtin to the hospital. When they turned Kejtin on his front, we saw his staring eyes, his lips forcefully pressed together, frothing. With a little blood.
“He’s already set off, may God forgive him his sins,” said Sile Nikoloski. “Put him in bed, it’s all finished with him!”
“What if some medicine were given to him?” said the dear Headmaster, I swear, he said just that, medicine.
“What medicine, Ariton Jakovleski?” said uncle Sile Nikoloski. “It would be wasting the pills, it’s all finished for him, brother. How are you going to save him if it’s from some herb or some black magic, or if some spirit has taken him! No, no, it won’t go for long, Ariton Jakovleski. By tonight, at most by morning. Look at him, skin and bone, his whole little body will fall apart, one bone after another, each of his little bones will crumble, that’s what the illness does. If some wonder happens and he survives, it will be a horrible image. For show, Ariton Jakovleski. It is better for him to get his affairs in order a bit earlier. (He was thinking of the soul, curse me, Kejtin’s soul.) If by some chance he ends up alive, he will be blind, maybe deaf, but I guarantee you with my life that he will be mute!” Curse me, he will be mute, that’s what uncle Sile Nikoloski said.
Still, mine and Kejtin’s greatest hope was hidden in that black prediction by our Home doctor. We knew, curse me, we all knew, from experience, that if uncle Sile wrote off someone’s life, you could expect the best to occur, the person would live for another 100 years. I swear, if Sile Nikoloski gave you the worst scenario, you wouldn’t be afraid of it, you would be 100 per cent certain that God would relent, it would pass. Be afraid if he tells you otherwise; in that case you will not get up. Knowing this, knowing Sile Nikolovski could be counted on to always get it wrong, that was the biggest hope.
“He will get better, he will!” I was ecstatic, curse me, I went mad with happiness, I shouted “He will get better!”
And the dear Headmaster, and the others from the administration acted as though they had not heard me, they passed over this, my crazy outburst without a word.
Kejtin’s illness totally captured me. I saw neither when Spring nor when Winter came. I think that his illness was shared with me. Curse me, joint. Obviously, some evil, scary fever, fear, had burnt his soul. His whole face, his head, hands, feet, all over he had dark little red spots. For so many centuries he did not open his eyes. He lay in a dream, in some strange long dream. Curse me, his illness lasted a thousand centuries.