Anthology of wounds - Arct

Anthology of WoundsDuring the work day not far way from us, the policemenand their servers, joking and deriding , were tryingto put in a man back about 40 years old a carriage full ofsoil. It was a daily view. The sick persons, the weak ones,the old persons, were beat and tortured every day. Theyhad to work hard and when they could not, the policementortured them. The man that was trying to stand up underthe weight of the soil, but he was weak. He was not tall.His feet were thin and trembled by the weakness. He keptthe weight of a skeleton the bones of each could be counted.After a while he felt down. Then the commandants beganto kick him and the policemen to hit him with sticks.Mean persons!- I heard Hamdi voice near me. Ilooked at him strangely. Words like this could take himtoward the death.- He is my friend – I was told - he has been a professor,from the first fighters. He is a very good person andI love him so much. I will introduce you to him. Hisname is Bego Gjonzeneli.I met the professor after that day and many times too.After the first words about the life we had, was done anotherdiscussion about a new situation. After some daysafter the revolution of the Inform-Bureau of the June 1948,we were obligated to hear the newspaper’s reading. Wesat down in the yard of the camp under the sun and heardthe newspaper reading, with long hours, hypocritespeeches, that were held all around the country. But wecare for another thing. Would this condition last? Itseemed that it was shaken from the foundations. Butnobody could say exactly anything. We could not havecontact with anybody, we were hermetically closed. I wasstill young. I heard the thoughts and the words the other104