Childhood village

It wasn’t the sun that moved, but it was the wind that blew a new ugly swarm and a surprise rain.

Some holidaymakers were not disturbed; they liked to take natural bath in the waves of the lake, which easily rubbed their bodies. Others ran to gather their children, tents, belongings and get away from the beach as soon as possible.

We also ran to our car. It was a chaotic situation. A situation that you experience during presidential selection meetings. People seem lost and unaware where and why they are there, and where they should go. The traffic jam was impossible to pass. So I turned the wheel toward an alley and I knew exactly where it will lead us.

After some moments my friend realized that I had lost my way, but it was not true. I was going to the village of my past, to the place of storks, who had already emigrated, and they hadn’t left even a single feather behind, besides damnation, shadows and ghosts.

Many years have passed since no one lives there. The youth had abandoned that place, the elders passed away.
Along the way she tried to persuade me to return, that place meant nothing to her.

“Where are you headed to, did you lose your mind, or this is just one of those mad things you always do? Come on, we are not young anymore.”

I didn’t want to listen to her. I had already breached the threshold of the past and watched everything through the eyes of my childhood.

The village was the same, with the same name, the same streets, the same street lights that had already been lighted by the ashen shadow. The rain had stopped. But the clouds still covered the sun and had woven a veil of the evening, from day to night. Sometimes the lightning strikes will appear, stop our heartbeats and disappear.

My friend was afraid and decided to wait me in the car. She repeated several times not to stay to long while I anxiously wanted to approach the house of mirth and memories.

It wasn’t just me that had changed, but everything else had changed. You couldn’t see the lake from the huge canes covering it out. Apple trees and plum trees, whose fruits were once so delicious, they looked like stilettos now. That place was dead.

Souls wandered freely because their graves were far away. Caught between two worlds, neither here nor there. I barely recognized the house, it was covered with bushes. Alleys with thin tiles, which once I washed them every day was like spider web woven by wild pastures. I was stunned at the gate gazing. I wanted to enter, I was pushing the door with all my powers, but the door rejected. It was crucified. Once I went to jump over the fence, I heard my grandfather’s voice.

“No, don’t my darling! How many times I have told you to beware of snakes.” I goose bumps from his voice, I turned my head to see where he was talking from, but there was nothing. Except fog and turbulence. At that moment of stagnation I cried spontaneously.

-Grandpa, grandpa dear, where are you? Where are you Grandpa, O my darling I miss you a lot!

It was a grave serenity. I started trembling and tears rolled on my cheeks. My faint voice as an echo returned and tossed from the walls of the old and cracked house. I waited and waited in vain that he will reappear and see his wrinkled face, his snowy hair and that wonderful smile which appears just at those moments when a grandfather approaches his granddaughter to embrace. Although I was anxiously waiting for the reappearance of my grandfather, he didn’t. But after a stunning lightning flashed I could hear his voice again.

“Come on, your grandma is waiting for you, the pancakes are ready. And don’t eat all of them you hoggish child.”

The gate was already open, alley tiles were shining, and I could smell the pancakes everywhere. My grandmother and aunt Nurie were sitting on the porch and they smiled when they saw me approaching. How much I missed them and I ran to hug them tightly, but I was stopped by my phone ringing…

“Come back quickly! This place is cursed!” My friend cried terrified.

“What happened you silly woman, why do you yowl like a breeding cat, did you see any ghost?!” I scolded her.

“Even worse, worse, just in front of me in the yard of this mosque there is a hearse with four white horses who are neighing dreadfully after every shot of the lightnings,” my terrified friend cried.

I was shivering, while I was trying to get back at the car. I wasn’t afraid, I was just too sad that my childhood was not there anymore, it had faded away together with its beauty. I was left alone with the pain of life, intoxicated.

“Let’s go, quickly,” I said. And I looked over to see the house for the last time. Aunt Nurie was the only one that greeted us from the window of her room. She had passed away eleven years ago.

© Copyright 2016 Burbuqe Raufi  


3 thoughts on “Childhood village

  1. Like to read the post and remembering my child hood at my native village where electricity was not there only Radio was the media for connecting with world. Nice post thanks for sharing.


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