From: sachz@montebello.ecom.unimelb.EDU.AU (SAS)
Subject: "The First Night". A Macedonian Tale.
Organization: Dept. Engineering Computer Resources, Melbourne Uni.
Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1992 14:22:53 GMT

Emphasising the CULTURE of the soc. newsgroups, we have a short story
published in the Australian Macedonian Weekly on the 25th August 1992.
Enjoy.


			    THE FIRST NIGHT
			    =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


   A wedding without music or song, one might almost say... Sandre was
celebrating this wedding just for the sake of the custom, though not a
blow was struck upon the toupan.

   Three months they had been in love, three months had passed like
three short winter days. There was cheer, song and music... What days
they were, but how they had fleed by like a dream!

   The Verbyane girls would gather in Krumeto's home, among them young
Stoyanka Klimeva, beautiful, too beautiful like an upland rose on Kara-
Orman. Her figure was as slender and lithe as a graceful spruce upon
Slavey; her gaze was tender, as tender as the sun's rays caressing the
limpid lake in spring; her eyes were smiles. All her friends were full
of laughter. Through the laughter a song would be heard:

   "Hey, you Macedonian!
   When will you get ready?
   The fight awaits you.. the fight for liberty!"

   Sandre would also drop in occasionally.

   "Hurry up girls, our men are barefoot. Don't disgrace yourselves!
What do you say Stoyanka, eh?" Lowering her eyes, she would say:

   "No, we won't disgrace ourselves.."

   Sandre's were days without rest. yet, he always found a moment to
see Stoyanka among the knitters at Krumeto's.

   They were all on their feet: the old men of Ilinden times, young
Debarcani, the women and girls, and children with five point stars.

   "Blessed by the hands that hold you guns!" the people would say.

   The storm burst... Blood flowed in Kicevo, on Preseca, Kara-Orman,
Botun, Turye, Mramorac, Debrace went up in flames one night, turning
night into day. Around the evil flames danced evil figures with
boiling, tainted blood. A liaison officer, Sandre stayed behind in
Verbyane. A mist caped the white crests of Kara-Orman and Slavey. Sad
were they eyes of the Verboyani. Icicles hung from the eaves of the
Verboyani. Icicles hung from the eaves of their roofs, smoke rose
lazily and almost unwillingly from the chimneys of their houses...

   Sandre and Stoyanka were sitting face to face beside the loom in a
small room on the top floor. He was leaning on the cross-bar, his gaze
rowing from object to object. Timidly, Stoyanka was running her fingers
along the warp and weft of her work. Spread out on the floor lay a
broad mat of reeds upon it a mattress of straw, and over it a sheet of
linen, white as the snow on the mountain; at the head was a straw-
stuffed pillow, embroidered by Stoyanka herself. Not a word did they
utter. The first night, a night without song or music. In a small room
below could be heard the guests and cousins who had come to supper.


   "May it bring you happiness, cousin..."

   "To your daughter, too, sister."

   "Long life to the couple, Aunt Andonica!"

   "Amen, child, long life to you, too, from all my heart!"

   Sandre rose, took Stoyanka's hand, and shaking the silver coins
arrayed on the bride's necklace as if he wanted to make some excuse for
the quietness of their wedding, said:

   "Don't worry, Stoyanka.. Don't grieve... Our time will come..."

   "I'm not grieving, Sandre," Stoyanka replied almost inaudibly.

   "Everything will be all right. Do you remember, Stoyanka, how you
used to knit at Krumeto's, and how the toupani used to resound, and the
dancing in the yard... That'll all come back... And then... God will
grant us children," he added shyly.

   "That's according to his will, Sandre," she said staring at his
braidadorned waist-coat; and then, suddenly throwing back her head, she
looked him full in the eyes.

   Profound silence fell upon the small room. The strong pleasant odor
of cydonias hanging from the ceiling suffused the air. Sandre inhaled
deeply, filling his lungs.

   Quick steps suddenly resounded on the staircase. The door flew open.
Seeing Krumeto in the doorway pale as death, Stoyanka's smile froze on
her lips.

   "Sandre, the Germans! Hide."

   Beads of sweat broke out on Sandre's forehead. He looked at Stoyanka
who stood trembling like leaf, and then asked imploringly:

   "Are you sure, Krumeto?"

   "Sandre, don't be a fool! Hurry! I'm going to hide the things. You
run straight to Mitre's. We'll meet there," and he was off down the
stairs.

   Stoyanka threw her arms around his neck. Sandre felt a thrill surge
slowly through him as the girl's cheek lay tightly pressed against his.

   "Don't be afraid, Stoyanka," he said, "they'll only pass through the
village, and I'll be back tonight."

   Sandre took his pistol from the pillow and was gone. A howling wind
met him outside. He had neared Father Silyan's house when they
appeared. He hid behind an apple tree overhanging the road. Armed men
approached and stopped near the tree. Sandre cocked his pistol.
Suddenly one of them lit an electric torch, for a moment lighting up a
face, pale and drawn. Was it a dream or realty? Sandre has seen that
face somewhere.

   "Pavle!" Sandre whispered and slid down the road.

   "Sandre! Is it you? Why, we're on our way to your house," another
voice exclaimed.

   Sandre took them to an empty barn behind the house.

   He asked them about his friends, and how they had got to Bebarce.

   Pavle answered:

   "Listen, Sandre, first bring us something to eat and then we'll tell
you the whole story. We haven't eaten for days."

   Sandre ran homewards. The guests were feasting in the small room. He
entered by the back door and went softly up the stairs. She was bent
over the load, weeping softly, and she startled violently as the door
opened.

   "Sandre! What's the matter? Run! Oh, please hide! They'll catch
you!"

   "They're our people...the partisans. I'm back..."

   "But the Germans..."

   "No, Stoyanka. Krumeto thought they were. Pavle is with them."

   They sat again beside the loom. He began to play with her bridal
train which still hung from her hair. Her half-open lips were
trembling. Their eyes met. Both of them were thinking of one thing at
that moment, of something they had once had and lost, lost all the hope
of ever recovering, and suddenly had found again. Sandre jumped to his
feet, Stoyanka followed.

   "No time to waste. They're hungry. We must feed them."

   "I'll go down and get some baked potatoes and bread," said Stoyanka.

   Sandre took three pans of baked potatoes and four loaves to the
barn. They talked while they ate, and Sandre drank in their every word.
He heard about their life up on Magleniya; about the big German
offensive; about the battles with the enemy, and the cold. After
breaking out of the ring near Bogumila, seventy-five of them, they were
ambushed on the road and cut off from the brigade which had headed for
Greece. They held their position and then succeeded in making an
orderly withdrawal over the snowbound mountains. Of the seventy-five,
nineteen froze to death on the long trek, among them stoyanka's first
cousin Trpe, his hands firmly locked around his machine-gun. Then they
spent a while night in crossing the Prilep Plain, and only upon
reaching the other end did they rest in some huts, continuing
afterwards towards the frontier. They reached Karbunica and the cabins
at the foot of Turye, and finally arrived at verbyane.

   Pavle called Sandre outside. A snow-storm had begun. The howling
wind plunged down upon Verbyane from Slavey, whipped up snow from the
barn root, carried it aloft and then dropped it again.

   "Listen, Sandre," said Pavle hoarself, "we're going back..".

   "Back where?" asked Pavle anxiously.

   "To Greece. We are leaving in half an hour... We are counting on
you to show us the way".

   He felt something snap inside him. A pain ran through him. But the
first night?! At least one night on the mat, on the straw bed and
pillow that Stoyanka had made. It was different three months ago! He
was courier then an dhe used to go to Greece and back ... as far as
Salonika even. A long, hard march but when he'd deliver the messages.
Trpe used occasionally to join him on scourint duty. They would forget
their hardships, and even sing. Oh Trpe, Trpe! What did Pavle say?
Over there near Bogumila... with a machine-gun in his hands? What
about him, sandra - his first night! Was it a rebuke, or what? His
eyes flashed in the dark...

   "What ya tinkin' about?" Pavle cut into his meditations roughly.

   Drawing forth the kerchief Stoyanka had given him that morning
after they got him back from church, Sandre wiped his forehead.

   "You're right! Get ready and let's go".

   Stoyanka was looking for something in a trunk. A heart had been
carved upon it by an inexpert hand, and the names "Sandre" and
"Stoyanka" had been written in. Without facing around, she said:

   "I want to give you boys something."

   He was silent. He approached her and stopped. She straightened up,
turned up the light from the lamp that hung over the hearth, and faced
around towards him.

   "Why, what's the matter, Sandre?"

   Sandre had rivetted his gaze upon her, a dull and lifeless look.
He knew not what to do. A pleasant feeling streamed through him. He
wanted to take her in his arms tenderly, and to tell her what had
happened down before the barn. He wanted to tell her about their
march, and about their sufferings, and about their first cousin who
died near Bogumila. Many things he wanted to tell her, but he felt his
throat contract, something choked back his words, and not one could he
utter.

   "Sandre, tell me, what is it?" Stoyanka asked anxiously.

   Sandre pulled himself together with an effort.

   "They're about to leave... for Greece... I - I'm to go with them..."

   Stoyanks turned red and then pale. Tears welled up in her eyes. She
hid her face in her hands, her shoulders began to shake.

   Sandre's eyes rested long on her black hair. He spoke again:

   "Stoyanka don'y cry... You - you know.."

   She raised her tear-strained face to his.

   "Yes, I know ... But it's so hard!"

   "Hard!" he gritted his teeth. "But, I'll be back ... I'll bring
spring with me, Stoyanka!"

   The guests in the room below were going away. Andonica was seeing
them off."

   "Good luck, children, good luck."

   Someone mischievously yelled within an earshot of the young couple.

   "We'll be back in the morning, Aunt Andonica, for a sip of sweet
brandy..." stoyanka and Sandre both looked towards the window which
the mighty wind almost shook oout the wall.

   "You're always welcome, come again," said Sandre's mother closing
the gate.

   After a long silence Sandre said:

   "Take care of mother while I'm away. Tell her in the morning.
If you get into trouble look for Krumeto."

   Stoyanka packed a loaf into sandre's haversack, opened the trunk,
lifted a heavy parcel out of it and went to the lamp. With sad eyes
she looked towards the mat, and then blew out the light.

   Quieslt lest Andonica hear them, they went down the stairs and
opened the back door. The boys were waiting in a group behind
Krumento's house.

   "We're ready," said Pavle to Sandre.

   "No!" Stoyanka inteposed. "Wait!"

   Her voice echoed brokenly. She appreoached them, lowered the
parcel, untied it, and drew wedding gifts from it that she had
prepared for Sandre and her in-laws.

   "Today is my wedding-day. I want to give you presents. You're
setting off on a long journey.. You'll need them."

   They were silent. Only the snow-storm howled. Lined up as they
were, she approached the first of them, a small hunched, young,
and gave him a pair of woolen socks. He did not look at her. She
went down the line placing gifts over their shoulders.

   They set out. Sandre stayed behind for a moment, kissed
Stoyanka on the forehead, and said:

   "Only a month, Stoyanka .. in the spring, and I'll be back.
We'll all be back! All of us ... We'll celebrate," and he looked
towards Krumeto's house, heavily snow-bound.

   "Farewell, Sandre. God keep you from evil ..."

   Sandre turned swiftly and followed after his companions. She
followed them with her eyes for a time. They soon vanished into
the snowy night.

   The wind charged at Slavey and kara-Orman. It struck their
broad slopes and relentesly tore at Stoyanka's bridal train.


Vlado Maleski