Bako Jazin

Vencislav Kurciski

Dedicated to my grandfather Simon Srbinovski who lost everything he had in the aftermath of WWII and to all others who have lost their livelyhood under a new regime.

Foreword When I published the print version of Bako Jazin in Macedonian, one of the most touching messages I received was from a friend of mine, Tony, who paraphrased a Macedonian proverb. Now you are complete. I know you have a son, and a house, and that you have planted a tree; and now youve written a book. My publisher, Zoran Kostov, has always believed in this novel and has stood behind this entire project, for which I owe him an indescribable debt of thankfulness. But that was only the beginning of my odyssey. The destiny of books written in littleknown languages is to have a small number of readers. However, every author wants to share his idea with as many people as possible. And so began my long path of translating not only the words, but the meaning of my book. Luckily, on the way, Ive met quite a few Good Samaratins, to who I am very grateful. Dr Graham and Peggy Reed, for all your advice. And my dear friends: Liljana Cerepnalkovska, Liljana Stevceva, Allan Katz, Irv Isaacman, Paul Boursalian, Carl and Gay Flatown for the the time that they spent reading my book, and for their good-natured critiscism. This whole thing would not have been possible if my son, Simon Kurciski, hadnt been with me throughout the whole process. Weve been through discussions, debates and siagreements, but in the end we transformed the text into something better. I thank him for his patience. All that you have read would not be in front of you were it not for one more helpful soul, Martin Naskovski, who put this material up on the web. I thank him. I give this book to the world with the sincere hope that it will touch many hearts.

Chapter One 2002 It was a strange sky. On one end, blue, cloudless, and crystal clear; on the other, full of heavy ominous clouds ready to unburden themselves on the ground. The sun was still on the clearer side, but clouds were coming perilously close to its rays. Down below, a similar drama was unfolding. Small and expectant, a group of people was gathered at the local pier, next to the largest and oldest boat on the lake. The mayor, visibly excited was addressing them. It is my privilege to hand over the title of the oldest boat on our shores to Bako Jazins descendants. For me, this is an extraordinary moment. My father died while attempting to raise the sunken boat. The applause was welcome, as it gave him a moment to catch his breath and continue. The mayor had spent hours preparing this speech. He had started with a full typed page, and ended up with just a few sentences, trying to capture the essence of what he wanted to say. The help he received from Bakos family when in dire need weighed heavily on his mind, so he had much to say and many thanks to give, but knowing that this was a different era, when most people couldnt understand what he was talking about, he shortened it. With this, we are trying to atone for a historical injustice. I am pleased to hand over the keys to Sara Jazin, the niece of Mr. Jazin. Small, elegant and well dressed, a woman clad in white walked to the podium. Her nervousness was noticeable from her halting stride, from the way she shook as she took the proffered keys and from the way she looked around as if searching for the real inheritor of the boat. She summoned up her inner strength and spoke a few sentences in a trembling voice. I have to thank the local government officials, especially the mayor, who gave us unending support in our efforts to reclaim my uncles boat. I would like to believe that he is with us today. His dying words were Take care of my boat, and never let your hopes flounder. Thunder rumbled in the distance; the sound of ghosts from times long past awakening. Sara already knew she would not be able to finish the speech that she had been preparing for weeks. Tears began to trickle down her face. Bako Jazin dedicated his life to this city, and this boat was his true love.

A raindrop fell on the text she was holding with shaking hands and a tear dropped on her paper immediately after. Ink smeared across the white paper. That was the end of the speech. She could only say one more sentence; the sentence that was etched in her memory. He believed in people. Suddenly the gloom was shattered by a flash of lightning. A clap of thunder boomed close by, and rain poured from the clouds. There was no doubt anymore the souls of the past were among them. The wheel of time had spun backwards, and when the past visits the present it always leaves a mark. Some tried to take cover, and others fled. Sara left alone. Gripping the cold, wet key in her warm hand, she began to run. Her tight skirt prevented her from stretching her long, athletic legs. The clatter of her heels gradually merged with the rhythm of the rain. Suddenly she stopped, took off her shoes, hiked up her skirt and started running barefoot with her shoes in one hand and the keys in the other. Thoughts came upon her in a torrent. There was nobody to hide her tears from. She had a feeling that the wheel had come full circle.

Chapter Two 1948 The boat shuddered under the weight of its load, and the excitement of its crew. Bako in particular could not stand still. He darted from place to place on the deck, talking to the sailors, the divers and the captain. His watchful gaze followed every stage of the operation. Sweat beaded on his high forehead, revealing the nervous excitement that drove him. His bright eyes were everywhere, trying to take in everything. The weather was perfect, perhaps in recognition of the important event. There was no wind, the lake was a deep blue mirror, and the only sound to be heard came from the creaking winches. Bubbles expelled from the divers tanks slowly surfaced, billowing like underwater clouds as they rose. The lead diver climbed onto the bridge, still dripping. The cables are attached, he said briefly. Exactly as planned? The question was pointless, but the captain couldnt help being nervous. Yes. So, there were no problems? The undertaking had been planned so exhaustively and reviewed so many times that everything was going like clockwork, as they all knew it would. In a voice that betrayed his weariness, the lead diver said, Our job is done. He wanted to say that everything that had been asked of his team had been done. Water ran down his suit in rivulets, and he was breathing heavily. Then Bako appeared, winded, and asked, How does the boat look? Like new. Almost as if it hasnt been ten years. Youll see. Bako had a burning desire to see the boat again. He felt like they were bringing back the dead. However, a creeping doubt chipped away at his exhilaration. Something inside was telling him that he should bring up the idea of doubling the cables again. They had spent days and nights discussing what kind of cables were necessary to raise the largest boat on the lake. The captain had one method of calculation, and Bako had another, completely different one. But, the captain had the last word.

Sir, I still think we should double the cables. We dont know what has happened at the bottom over the years. There might be tons of sediment in or around the boat, said Bako quietly. You havent been on the water for years. Let us do our job. The cables have many times the strength required to raise your boat. I thought that we settled this a long time ago. I know, but I just dont want the boat or any of your people to get hurt, replied Bako in a measured voice that betrayed his concern. From the far side of the ship, the First Mate announced, Captain, we are ready to proceed. It was impossible to tell whether the sweat on the captains body was from the midday sun, or anticipation, or a combination of the two. His uniform was soaking wet, as if he had just surfaced with the divers. He looked around, exhaled deeply, and took the megaphone in his left hand, and the starting pistol in his right. We are about to commence. All three winches will pull in tandem so that none will bear excess weight. When I give the signal winch operators will activate the engines. Cable operators, pay attention to the tension of your cable. If you notice any abnormal decrease in the tension, signal it immediately. The pistol shot broke the tense silence. The winches started winding. The engines made a monotonous sound and the gasoline fumes were stifling. The thick cables were as tense as the nerves of those taking part. Water dripped from the cables as they broke the surface. All eyes were riveted on the depths that concealed the sunken boat, which, though the sun penetrated deep into the clear waters, was still not visible. Suddenly, one of the cable operators in charge of raising the prow signaled that his cable was not as taut as it should be. The captain didnt notice right away, and, as planned, the cable operator fired his signaling pistol. With two shots, the captain ordered the winches to stop. It was too late. The cable raising the stern snapped first, then the center one, and then the prow. The lighting-swift cracks of sound shredded the air. A body, sliced in half, fell with a dull thud in the lake. It was the operator who had first signaled the trouble. His blood now mingled with the blue of the lake. Bako stood in mute horror, and the captain simply covered his face with his hands, as if wanting to sink into them.

Chapter Three The captain was lost. His most dire predictions didnt even come close to what had happened. That the cable could, in a deadly, bladelike arc, slice through the body of its victim, had been unimaginable. He was falling apart. Every night, without exception, he woke drenched with sweat from nightmares. He would do anything to bring the man back. But could a dead man be raised? It didnt matter that he would surely end up in jail. If it would ease the pain he had brought on the mans family, he would have accepted twice the punishment. But even that would not bring him peace. He begged forgiveness from God, but God remained silent. There was a strange tightness in his chest. The captain felt that he could not take such pressure much longer. He decided to go and see Bako. Jazin was the only one he had not spoken to since the tragedy. He hadnt slept uninterrupted for a single night since the accident, so he rose early and went to Bakos rope store before dawn, before the first customers would arrive. The captain got there before Bako, sat down on the pavement, leaned against the shutters, and nodded off. His sleep did not last long. Familiar dreams played behind his eyes. Upon awakening, he saw the storekeeper coming towards him with his familiar gentle gait. He stood up, embarrassed to admit that he had been waiting there since long before dawn. Good morning, Bako. What trouble brings you here so early? A heavy one. But nobody can help me. Maybe you can, said the captain, almost tearful. If its a problem I can understand. If its not, Im not sure. I havent been able to sleep since the accident. Every time I close my eyes, Im taken back to that moment when the cable snapped, to the picture of those two motionless halves of the sailors body floating on the red water. You cant bring back the dead, captain. But you can atone for your mistakes. Ask forgiveness from his family, and from God, suggested Bako. Isnt it enough that Ill end up in jail? Jail wont help you. That is your debt to the state. But the state has no soul. It cant forgive you. Then what? Id do anything to be able to sleepto be at peace with myself, said the captain wildly. I would suggest that you go see his family. If you like, Ill come with you. As far as God is concerned, go to the church, but talk to the monks. I trust them more than the priests. All right. Ill go and see them. When could you come with me? If I had someone could take care of the store Id go straightaway. Tomorrow morning Ill ask Petar to watch the shop so we can go. God bless you. Dont thank me, said Bako, shaking the captains hand.

Chapter Four The next morning, they met at the widows house. A thick fog carpeted the whole city, save for the red tiled rooftops that poked up like mushrooms after rain. Bako knocked at the door. Come in! said someone within. The next moment, the widow appeared, dressed and hooded all in black. Her face was empty, as if death had taken a part of her, as well. The blankness changed when she turned towards the captain. Her eyes flashed as when a snake hisses under a horses hoof. I wont let a butcher into my house. The captain began his apology, but she interrupted him, looking Bako straight in the eyes. I cant let him into the home he has broken. The captains second attempt was also cut short before his first word. I will not repeat myself. Bako felt uneasy. His idea had sunk as neatly as his boat. We came with good intentions. I havent laid eyes on anything good lately. Please let us come in and talk. Certainly not. The captain wanted to sink into the ground. All of his hopes had been dissolved. He turned away, shoulders hunched, and left. His clothes hung loose on his retreating frame. The large man was a shadow of his former self. Bako, taken aback by the unfolding events, began to leave with the captain. At that moment, the widow addressed him in a completely different tone of voice. You are always welcome here Bako. Come in. Bako was caught between the needs of two desperate people. The captain, whose eyes brimmed with hopelessness, was lost in the mists. The woman who had lost her husband only a week ago stood before him, her eyes filled with emptiness. And it was as if something from on high told him that he should stay with the woman. In that way there was a chance that he might at least partially succeed in what theyd set out to do. Somewhere in the distance, the captain walked into the realm of sleepless nights.

In the house, they seated themselves on the covered balcony. The fog was slowly lifting, revealing the lake in front of them. Two children, one two and the other five years old, were playing inside. Bako tried one more time to salvage the captains reputation. You shouldnt have chased him away. The harshness on the widows face relaxed. Maybe, but she said simply, gesturing helplessly. Hes not guilty. Then who is? I dont know. Fate. said Bako, looking towards the sky and spreading his arms. That would be a fine thing, if we could hide all our sins behind fate. It weighs on his heart. He wanted to apologize. I dont need apologies, I need a man for my household, for my children, for myself. A small tear rolled down her cheek, but none more followed. It seemed that her eyes had been exhausted of them. She swallowed the one that had escaped, wiping away its traces. The black headscarf struck a pleasing contrast with her pale skin and lakeblue eyes. The widows beauty was there, but it did not shine. Thats why we came. To help, and to ask forgiveness for the captain. He wont get it from me. Let him ask it from God. He will, but he wanted it from you as well. The widow sighed. She had spent days and nights scouring her memories, hunting for the sin that had brought this upon her. Would you like coffee? I have homemade sweets. Yes. Lets mix the bitter with the sweet, and hope they balance out in the end. Ill be right back. She went to the kitchen, leaving Bako with the incredible view from the balcony. You couldnt tell where the fog started, where the sky ended, or where the lake laid. All three blended together in grey-blue tones covering the entire landscape. He closed his eyes, and if his hostess had not returned, he would have dozed off. She came back with a fine wooden tray covered with a hand-embroidered cloth, two of her best coffee cups and a beautiful plate laden with cakes. Setting everything on the table, she spoke softly. Im asking you like a brother. Tell me the truth. Everyone has their own truth. I want yours. It wont help. I know, but it will give me peace.

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I dont think so. Im begging you, one more time. Is it true that you suggested doubling the cables? A few people have told me it is, and I wanted to hear it from you. Yes, he said shortly, and lowered his head, as if he was passing judgment. Bako knew that with this confirmation, the widow would never forgive the captain. A wall of hatred would be raised between the two families, and nobody would gain anything from it. Quite the opposite, both would lose much. Thank you. Take some cakes. I came for a different reason. He felt as if a stone had been removed from his heart. God bless you. For a good one, I hope. Since I lost my man, everything has gone from bad to worse. It is said that evil never comes unaccompanied. Let us break its spell. I hope God hears your words. They paused. Bako bit into his biscuit. It was flavored with lemon, and very good. Im not as well off as I was before the war. But they cant change you. They can take everything away except the soul. I brought you some gold pieces that Ive managed to hide. Bako removed some coins from his inside pocket and gave them to her. I cant take them, she said flatly. It doesnt matter. Ill leave them here. Its for them. He pointed to the children, who played quietly, and at that moment, they looked towards him as if they knew that their destiny was being shaped. The next moment, the children went back to their game, leaving it to the adults to think of the future. They were only concerned with the here and now. The wife shook her head, gesturing no. Her blue eyes shone brightly in the foggy morning. Her face, and the mute writhing of her hands, showed the hopelessness in her soul. This time Bako was quite firm and spoke with conviction, unlike his speechless, flustered state when they had stood at the door with the captain. Pride has its own place in life. Now, its neither the time nor the place for it, said Bako. Nobody can buy my husbands life, she said, her head bowed and tears in her eyes. I know I cant, and I dont want to. I just feel I have to help. If times were different I would have done more. A silence fell, which neither of them dared break. The only sounds to be heard were the voices of the children and the sighing breath of the widow. God bless you. She kissed his hand, took the gold and hid it away.

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Be careful with the gold. Spend it only when you need it. I have to go and see to my store. I know what it means to have a shop. I wont keep you. But our house is always open to you. The five year old boy looked at Bako and said, Come and see us again, mister. Bako held back his tears. As soon as he stepped outside, he released them, weeping for the fate of the innocent children, for the fate of the widow, and for that of the poor captain. The morning fog was still thick enough to hide his sobbing.

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Chapter Five 1937 Twilight was slowly approaching; the hues of the day and night slowly blending. The prominent and fortunate of the town held invitations in their hands, invitations to a dinner on board the largest vessel on the lake. Those who werent lucky enough had to content themselves with touching the smooth white and navy blue paintwork of the boat. Nobody had ever seen such a boat on the lake. Everything was ready for the festive ceremony of the Paulinas launching. Bakos wife gestured hugely, and the bottle of champagne in her hand smashed against the bow of the boat, which started gliding over the water, as if it couldnt wait to ride the waves. Bako appeared to say a few words. She is my pride. Thanks to our fellow citizen, Mr. Jazin, from now onwards well have regular and swift transport across the lake. It is with great pleasure that we accept the invitation to sail on the Paulinas first cruise. All who had been invited lined up to set foot on the new wonder. Their excited eyes contrasted with the jealous stares of those left behind. The boat sounded its horn for the first time, and pushed into the darkness. Dusky colors dominated. With the sun behind the horizon, the moon ruled the sky. The boats lights reflected in the mirror smooth black water. It looked like a lit Christmas tree gliding over the water, into the hushed night. Tables with place names were arranged throughout the deck. A night cruise was a strange experience for most of the people present; a trip after dark usually meant fishing. Bako sat with his wife, Paulina, at the largest table. Next to them were the mayor, the bishop, the schoolmaster, and the old town doctor. Bako still couldnt quite come to terms with the fact that, after all these years, his greatest work had come to fruition. Everything had fallen into place. I have been dreaming of this for a long time, said Bako solemnly. You couldnt have given us a better day, replied the mayor. It is easier to give than to receive. It depends on the giver and the receiver, the Bishop commented. And on how open your mind is, Bako added quickly. All minds are open. What matters is your awareness of it. You are absolutely right. But how to discover that? Through faith. Yet some lose their faith along the way, said Bako.

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That is a problem. But you can always return to the path. Not wanting the religious debate to go over his head, the mayor asked: Where was the ship built? In the shipyards on the Danube, Bako replied. And how did you bring it here. Thats a story in itself. It took us weeks. It wasnt possible to have it build locally? asked the mayor, becoming more interested. A boat this big? No. And I insisted on a big one. It looked as if even the sunset was pleased with your ship, the mayor complemented. Nature has its own way of celebrating. Bako excused himself and stood with Paulina. They walked among the tables. Although he was in his early thirties, Bako looked young for his age. His soft hands revealed that he had never done any manual labor, and his face was intellectual. The black suit with the white shirt fit perfectly on his slim frame. Paulina was the same age, though she looked years younger. Tall and thin, she gracefully walked alongside Bako. There were no traces of wrinkles on her face. Her pale skin and curly hair added to her semblance of youth. Some ate dinner. Others, who hungered only for entertainment, danced to the beautiful music.

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Chapter Six 1927 It was a quiet afternoon. The Jazin house had an unrivaled view of the lake, whose waters were dark and still. The smooth mirror surface was disturbed only by breeze or a stray current. Stefan Jazin, Bakos father, was having his afternoon coffee and enjoying the view. Mr. Jazin was known to be one of the wealthiest people in town. His business was doing well, his shops were thriving and his vineyards were producing in glowing form. All in all, the family was one of the most distinguished in the whole region. Stefan very often relaxed in silence, taking in the smells and the subtle colors of spring. Bakos mother loved greenery and her garden awakening from its hibernation, a model of perfection. Bako suddenly came out onto the balcony and sat down next to his father. It was obvious he was impatient to speak. Dad, Id like to talk to you, he said, breathing deeply. Thats what fathers are for. Tell me whats on your mind, said Stefan sipping his coffee and looking towards the lake. I want to study wine-making. Where? The Sorbonne, in Paris, said Bako excitedly. His father saw a serious discussion coming and turned towards his son. He had been grooming Bako as his successor, and this changed his plans. Not that he had anything against education. His own father hadnt let him go on to college, even though Stephan was an excellent high school student. It had been the old tradition of thought that education doesnt make for better merchant and Stefan had thought that if he kept Bako by his side hed learn more about the craft. You think that they know how to make better wine than we do? Stefan said almost to himself. Yes. I am going to learn as much as I can, come back here and become better than they are, declared Bako. Seeing that his son was determined to go, Stefan began to consider how he would manage the finances of the affair. Is that school expensive? Very. I was talking to Kirils parents. Hes been studying there for a year. It wouldnt be a bad idea for you to talk to them as well.

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Are you sure thats where you want to go? Your hearts set on the Sorbonne? asked Stefan, wanting to confirm Bakos commitment before making his own. Yes, said Bako, with a light in his eyes. If thats the case, Ill find a way to send you there. Ill sell one of our vineyards. Thank you. Bako embraced his father. Bako had been preparing this conversation for a quite a while. Ever since Kiril went to Sorbonne, he could think of nothing else but going as well. Kiril wrote to him regularly, describing the city and the university in glowing terms. Bako tried to read everything he could lay his hands on about that part of the world. The more he read, the more he became convinced that it was the place for him.

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Chapter Seven The conductor opened the door of the compartment and shouted, Paris! Bako woke from a deep sleep, drifting for a moment between hazy dreams and reality. The journey had exhausted him. After twelve hours of cramped sitting, his compartment had emptied. His dreams had taken him back to his old home, but his awakening had brought him here, where he would have to make a new one. He stood up, opened the carriage window and stuck his head out to clear his head. He breathed deeply. The air was strangely humid to him, although the sun was the only thing visible in the sky. So this is Paris, the city of light and art, he said softly to himself, as if he was afraid to utter these words in the face of the seemingly endless city. Bako wasnt aware of how much time had passed when the station appeared. It was the vastness of the station that impressed him, and instead of concentrating on spotting the friend who was to meet him, Bako gazed at the multitude of people. Suddenly, he heard his own name, and in the bustling crowd he caught sight of his friend, Kiril. He waved to him, shouting: Ill get off at the back. Whats got your head stuck in the clouds? asked Kiril, running alongside the slowly moving train. The city its size. There is lot more to see. The university was on the way to their appartemnt, so Kiril decided to stop briefly and show it to Bako. This is the university. Youll get to know these buildings well in the next four years, Kiril told him. These are all students? Bako asked, gazing at the maelstrom of people. These are just a few of them. How will I find my way around this ant-hill? Ill help you out for a while, then youre on your own. If you hadnt been here I think Id have gone back on the first train. We are here to conquer, not to retreat, said Kiril, laughing. Now, tell me whats new by the lake? Nothing much. Your folks gave me a bag for you. They send their love and are expecting you next summer. Your mother misses you and your father is proud of you. And the lake? As beautiful as ever. The water is high. Its blue and sometimes furious. What wouldnt I give for an Ohrid trout, said Kiril, his appetite showing in his eyes. Theres a smoked one in your bag. Where is the bag? Right there, said Bako. You are not going to eat it here?

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This isnt Ohrid. This is Paris. Kiril opened the bag, and as if by some trick of magic found the fish right away, took it out and broke off a piece of it. Its taste and smell swept him away at once, far from Paris and close to home. Time halted for both of them. Kirils mind drifted thousands of miles away, carried by the wafting scent of trout. Bakos mind, overwhelmed by new impressions, followed close behind. After a while of time, Kiril broke the silence. Id almost forgotten this taste. You cant forget whats yours, Bako corrected him. Far from the eyes, even further from the heart. As if the heart can forget. It depends on how you nourish it, answered Kiril. And where is our place? said Bako, weary of matters philosophical. For the rich kids, right there. For us, a little farther away, said Kiril, pointing to a distant building. But you are the richest kid back home. Maybe there, but not here. Above every priest theres a bishop. Lets go, I am tired. They briskly stepped into reality after their short venture into a formless world of thoughts. After a short taxi ride, which seemed to Bako like one of the wonders of the world, they arrived at Kirils apartment. In two trips they carried the luggage upstairs. This is it. This is the place where well spend the next four years, cried Kiril after opening the door. Bako gaped, dumbfounded. The apartment seemed small, cramped and dark. He stood speechless with disbelief, taking in the cheap, dusty furniture, the one small window, and the general drab untidiness of the place. Kiril could see in his bright blue eyes that his expectations had not been met. Whats the matter? Is something wrong? I didnt imagine that in the city of light there could be such dark places, said Bako, in confusion. Only here can black be white, and only here are they so sharply defined. Do you remember what sort of houses we grew up in? How could I forget! But Ssh! Youre tired now. Its been too much for one afternoon. Go to bed, and youll wake up in the morning with a clear head. He couldnt go to sleep for a long time. The thought that he had made a mistake tortured him. Should I go back? he thought to himself. Where am I? his restless mind

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continued. Why did I pick this place? And so forth, into the dreary hours of the night. Exhausted by his trip and haunted by his doubts, Bako managed to fall asleep just before dawn. Kiril let him rest for a whole day and the following night.

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Chapter Eight 1979 Bako lay on the bed, bathed in sunset crimson and gold. In his ageing body, only his eyes had remained young. The room had a breathtaking view of the lake from the south and west balconies. The larger window afforded the better landscape and the natural scene. Gulls were completing their aimless yet beautiful flights. They were looking for food, diving from great heights into the water, and then soaring again into their kingdom, the air, only to dive once more. All of this was done with elegance and harmony. Is everything so perfect in nature?, the old man asked himself. For days on end he had sat there watching the last rays of the sun and the gulls. And today he repeated the ritual. Sara came at the close of the day for a talk. They both remained silent, waiting for the green light that would spill out from behind the horizon, signaling the end of the day. From that moment on, the landscape changed; not only the colors but the texture as well. Everything became a silhouette against the ruddy background of the sky. Abruptly, Bako asked his niece: Do you know what is left of life after death? What, Uncle Bako? Just love. Everything else is forgotten, turned to dust. Wealth is divided up, houses are sold, power disappears, hatred turns to water; only love stays with us forever. They say you only loved once. If the love is true, once is enough. The feeling of pure love is unforgettable, he answered in a gentle voice. But only a few people find true love. Yes, though its strange. And even if you find it, many obstacles spring up to block your path. Thats true too, but thats why we have to be persistent in our search. Some people give up too soon. Yes, because its easier to give up than to go on seeking it. And where do you get the willpower to keep to the path? I dont know, but I think that comes from the purity of the soul. You know how I lost my loved one, Sara said to him. I know. But you are young, you need somebody to stand by you. I cant imagine anyone taking his place, said the niece sorrowfully, shielding her face with her hands. For your own sake, you have to try Didnt you say one true love is enough? When it comes to feelings there are no rules. We are all woven of the same fabric, and yet different. Its getting late. Ill be back tomorrow evening.

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Do come. I see the end. Didnt you say there in no end? The end of this chapter, said Bako, peacefully. Sara stood up and looked out of the window to where the darkness dominated, and stepped out into the darkness. She did not want to believe that the end was near for her uncle. Time and events had taken their toll on him. The result was the ruin of the body that was still inhabited by a bright young spirit. His soul could not shrug off all the blows that it had been dealt, but he persisted in a contented and peaceful state. She could recall the stories of the hardships he had endured. Sara could only imagine how Bako must have felt when everything that he had to his name was taken away from him right before his very eyes. How strong and resolute did you have to be to stay normal in such a situation? How could you start again from scratch without sinking into the past and its memories? Bako gave her a peaceful good night. His niece resembled him, she was slim and graceful, her chestnut hair and shining blue eyes made her look much younger than her thirty years. Like Bako, life had dealt her many blows, the hardest when her fiance was killed on a road accident. From then on, she had completely changed. From a lively, outgoing girl she had become a brooding introvert who only spoke and went out with her uncle. Bako was left alone in his room. He wondered whether Sara had understood his words. They were separated by decades of experience. Could words replace them? He was dealing with a new age, a new life in which his niece would have to keep her head above water. It was one thing for someone to look back and review events with wisdom, and another to look ahead, even though most of us dont know what awaits.

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Chapter Nine 1941 Creeping from behind the mountains, the first rays of sunrise were reflected in the calm surface of the lake. Darkness faded into light, and the whole scene resembled the raw beginnings of the world when gloomy nothingness suddenly became reality. The only things that disturbed the silence that welled up from the lake was Bakos subdued conversation with the sailor, and the droning of Paulinas engine. Arent you sorry about the boat?, asked Petar distractedly. My heart bleeds for her. Then why are we sinking it? I dont have any other choice Bako paused. He didnt want to admit, to himself or to anyone else, that he was in a hopeless situation. A person with no exit will do things that he would otherwise consider unimaginable. Didnt you teach us that a solution can always be found?, asked Petar sensing veiled words. Thats right and this is the solution. A boat at the bottom of the lake doesnt sound like a solution to me, said Petar bewildered. A boat in the hands of the enemy is better, then? Why would Germans need a boat? The war makes use of everything it comes across. Bako wanted to end the pointless discussion. He had made his decision, however painful, and he didnt want to defend it to Petar, even though his love for the boat compelled him. Bako was eager to continue with the plan. Did you put the fishing nets into the dinghy? he asked abruptly. Just as you told me. I think this is the right place. Not too deep, but far enough from the shore. Then when the time comes we wont have any trouble pulling her up, said Bako. Should I shut off the engine? Yes, and lower the anchor. OK. The owner took over the helm, the engine stopped. All there was to be heard were the splashes of rippling waves. Everythings shut down and the anchors lowered, Lets tar the engine.

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They descended into the belly of the boat and, their brushes heavy with tar, the two of them began coating the engine. As they worked, Bako conversed with his beloved one: Be quiet down there on the bottom. Well bring you back one day. In the silence filled with unspoken words, they covered the engine and any other parts that could corrode. A film of the boats life began to play itself in Bakos head, from the moment he bought it, to this time of parting. Petars voice brought him back to reality. Should I open all chambers? Yes, I want her to sink as quickly as possible. But wait. I want to open the first one. Sure. Bako opened the seal and water started pouring into the boat. Petar continued, opening all the other chambers. Soon the water was up to their knees. Bako looked around the interior of the boat. He was saying goodbye to every single nut and bolt. The water reached their waist. Lets get out of here quickly. They climbed to the upper deck and slowly lowered the lifeboat. Petar began to row and then Bako, in a quiet, pleading voice said to him: Go far enough away so that the whirlpool wont draw us in, but close enough to watch her sink. They sat for a long time in silence watching how the Paullina sank. It seemed as if she was aware of their mood and sank slowly and peacefully. The prow went under first, then the midships and finally the large propeller slowly saluted them. Then the whirlpool was the only trace left of the boat. And it too slowly disappeared and the surfacing air bubbles were the sole reminder that something had happened under the lake. The sky brightened into daylight, and the sun served as witness to the unfolding drama. The gulls shrieked. It is hard for you? asked Petar in a heavy voice. As if someone very close to me had died, Bako replied, and those were his only words until they reached the shore, where they parted without a word.

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Chapter Ten Three months later Boots thumped on the narrow, cobblestone-paved road. They were not made to bear military boots, especially not for those of invaders. It seemed that the stones wailed under the iron-shod feet, announcing trouble. The formation of two German soldiers and an officer stopped in front of Jazins house, where the officer loudly knocked on the gate. Bakos sister in law, who was working in the yard, opened the heavy wooden door, and asked quietly: Who are you looking for? The officer tried to pronounce Bakos name as clearly as possible. Closing the door, she went inside, going straight to her brother in law, who was splitting logs. The Nazis are looking for you, she said softly. What do they want from me? said Bako, mainly to himself. I dont know, but take care of yourself. He stepped outside, and the Germans, without saying a word, signaled him to come with them. Now only Bakos footsteps were out of step with the monotonous rhythm of the steel-tipped boots. He walked gently on the cobblestone that had been worn smooth by many conquerors. They went into the city hall, which now served as a German command post. They sat him down in a room and left him on his own. After a while another officer who knew something of the local language came in. We have a report that you are owner of three boats, one large and two smaller ones, said the officer, without any introduction. That is correct. Where are the boats? They sank in the storm three months ago. How could all three of them sink at once? It was storm of the century, and only my boats were out on the lake. None of the sailors died? It was a miracle. I personally was on the large boat. Who was with you? Only a sailor, Petar. And where did the boat sink? I can pinpoint the position of the large boat, but the others only approximately, according to what the sailors told me. From today your boats are under German management. This is a document confirming expropriation of property, said the officer, giving him a piece of paper. Bako looked at it, asking himself if this could replace his boat, and why they were giving it to him.

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But they are at the bottom of the lake, Bako said plaintively. It doesnt matter. If we need them, well haul them out. You are free to go now. Bako was suddenly conscious that he had left the swarming hive of German activity. He was on the street once more, under clear sky and a sun that promised a hot day. He had lost his boat again. The first time he had a hope that he would reclaim it, and set sail on it again. Now that hope too, was drowned.

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Chapter Eleven The same afternoon, in the same room, Petar was questioned by the same officer. He was visibly more nervous than Bako had been. Petar did not have anything to lose, but fear had taken him under its wing. His strong body shook and sweat dripped down his back as he sat on the chair. We were informed that you were present when Bakos boat sank. The boat sank because of the storm, said Petar in a quavering voice. But you made it safely to the shore? With Gods help. There was no one else on the boat? The officer was determined to find a discrepancy in their stories. I was alone with Bako, the other sailor didnt want to come. He was afraid of the weather. We were returning from a cargo shipment. Where did it sink? I can show you, Petar responded in a calmer voice. Get out of here before I show you something! The sun was setting when Petar found himself outside the city hall. He wanted to go and see Bako; however, they had agreed that any contact would be dangerous, and he kept the urge under control. He went home, and the restlessness remained. His wife noticed that something was wrong, but Petar convinced her that he was tired from work. Even his children, who were the lights of his life, couldnt bring him peace. When the night had thickened, Petar slipped out of the house. He often glanced behind him to see if anyone was following him, and took a long, roundabout route to the rope-merchants shop in order to avoid any suspicion. When finally he got to the store he looked around once more and went swiftly inside. I have to tell you something, said Petar, all in one breath. Nobody followed you? asked Bako straight away. I was very careful, and the dark hid me. Did they interrogate you as well? Yes. What did you tell them? What we agreed on. Thats my boy! said Bako, slapping Petars shoulder. Petar confessed his fear. He had to talk to someone; it had been growing inside of him. What if they torture us? Dont be afraid. They have bigger issues than our boats to deal with. You always have the right words at the right time, said Petar breathing a sigh of relief.

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Let it be. Tell me how youre getting along, said Bako, switching to less distressing matters. I can hardly make ends meet. If you have the time, come by and help me out with the weaving a few times a week. A spark of hope gleamed in Petars eyes. Even more often, if you can make it. Petar quickly left, leaving Bako alone. He sat in his store, with no desire to go home. The little that he had at the bottom of the lake was lost. He felt empty.

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Chapter Twelve 1945 It was a slow afternoon, whose mugginess lay heavy on the shoulders. Bako sat in the coolest corner in the store, and sang quietly to himself as he wove. His hands had roughened, and there was nothing left of his soft palms and long elegant fingers. His new way of life and work had changed his appearance. He was still slim, with a high forehead and clear eyes, but the wrinkles on his face and the roughness on his hands spoke of his degradation. He did not take his fall as the end of the world. When the war had started something inside told him that it could not last for long. Every war had a beginning and an end. But as the war went on, things had changed. Slowly but surely it became clear to him that besides the fight for freedom there was a covert civil war in Macedonia that would usher in a new regime. And in view of the fact it would be a copy of communist Russia, he could smell trouble. Yet as always, he remained an optimist with an open heart. He noticed Petar far off, coming towards the store at some speed. From the way he was walking he could tell he was excited. When he finally came into the store, he was certain that something was afoot. The Allies are pushing towards Skopje, well be sailing again soon! I hope so. But from what Ive been hearing I doubt it. They might not let us go back to work, Bako responded flatly, carrying on working with the ropes. All at once Petars excitement collapsed. Bakos calm was like a bucket of cold water. Why do you say that? I hope Im wrong, but when I put together what I know with what I believe, more often than not thats the way things turn out. Youve suffered a lot in the past few years. Adversity is part of life. We should learn from it, said Bako and started singing louder. If anyone can, its you. If only it were that simple. Dont worry, pretty soon your boats will be sailing all over the lake, Petar said, wanting to comfort his friend. It was obvious to him that something was the matter, but he couldnt grasp what it was. I am not worried about myself. Whats troubling me is the families that depend on me, said Bako, through gritted teeth, while he kept on winding ropes and singing to himself in the same rhythm.

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Years had taught him to take the good tidings with the bad.

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Chapter Thirteen Although the boots were not those of the occupying enemy of five years ago, they still resounded. It seemed as though the worn cobblestone could not tolerate soldiers boots, regardless of who they belonged to. And how could they bear them, when each stone was etched with the memories of the love that had once blossomed above. The girls who had walked these streets and glanced with feigned disinterest at the boys, who politely made a living corridor for them and glanced back rather, more courageously. The energy that was born when two pairs of sparkling eyes met was completely at odds with any military aura. But a stone is a stone and bears everything above it. Passers-by come and go, but the stone remains as a mute witness to the times. Now the cobblestone were bearing witness to the second injustice done to Bako in a few years. The officer, accompanied by two soldiers, halted in front of Bakos house, wiped his sweaty forehead and knocked loudly on the door. Knowing the yard was a big one, he waited calmly till Bakos sister-in-law appeared at the gate holding a broom. Is Bako at home? asked the officer sharply. Yes, just a moment, she said, shutting the door and anxiously entering the porch. Bako, the liberators are asking for you, she said quietly. If they were real liberators, theyd be inviting me to a restaurant, not a police station. Bako walked through the gate, and the officer, not wasting words, just pointed. Bako knew where they were going. The only thing he didnt know was what were going to do with him when they got there.

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Chapter Fourteen The chill of the dark basement cell felt good. Bako asked himself why all this was talking place in the middle of the day, and a market day, at that. Did they want the whole town to see him in the hands of the authorities? Were they demonstrating their power? Were they trying to scare people, the same people in whose name they had carried out the revolution? Bako was utterly confused, and he wanted it to end as soon as possible. Unresolved situations were one of the things he found hardest. He felt helpless when things were out of his control. Fortunately the new authorities also wanted to settle their account with all those who were not clearly on their side. The heavy door creaked and an officer who was not local came in. he sat on the wooden chair, put a file on the small table and started talking rapidly. You are the owner of three boats, one store and a house. According to the new Patriot Law, the state assumes the ownership of all your properties. You can keep the upper floor of your house, but you must pay rent for the store. In one short breath the officer took away everything Bako had worked for in life. You mean youre taking away my boats, part of my house and my store? He had to hear it again to accept it. Yes. You are on the list of war profiteers, replied the officer with a strange air of satisfaction. Bako grasped the situation in a moment. Not having anything to lose, he answered: If nothing else, I lost a lot of money during the war. Its hardly a secret that I sank my own ships to keep them out of German hands. There are orders that must be carried out, said the officer tonelessly. Listen, son, sighed Bako, if you start following orders like these, what will come next? Later, there wont be any war profiteers. We are going to distribute the wealth justly among the people. If this is how you carry out justice in the new state, the new state is going to have a tough time. Be grateful that were only taking your property. The way youre talking, you could be imprisoned. God help you. There is no God! shouted the officer, suddenly livid. Maybe, but he watches you, nevertheless, retorted Bako calmly. As Bako looked through the small window, two gulls flew by.

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Chapter Fifteen Bako didnt know how he got home. He could not remember anything. He didnt notice when night came over the city. He sat staring blankly at the lake, not saying anything. He couldnt think. A day passed, and then another one. On the third day he felt he could speak again, and called his brother to tell him what had happened last Tuesday. They sat on the balcony. You could see the flaming colors of the departing day reflected in their eyes. Are you going to ask a favor from the mayor? asked Bakos brother, George. No spoke Bako. The word could hardly be heard; not surprising, since he had not spoken a word in three days. He drank only water, and stared absently at the lake. Why? Whenever you ask for help from someone, you run the risk of shattering the image youve built up of them. And because of that fear, you are going to give up the things youve worked for for years? Sometimes it is better to give up material goods in order to keep your illusions, said Bako, slowly waking from his stupor. Its easy for you to talk like that. You dont have a family. Dont talk like that, it isnt easy. I have you as my family. My niece is like a daughter to me, said Bako, raising his voice for the first time. And? asked the brother, encouraging Bako to continue. I am going to wait for the dust to settle. The older brother answered in his milder tone of voice. Wait too long and youll get mud. In life, everything has its moment. The rope maker spoke with the usual gleam in his eyes. The twilight sweeping over the horizon reflected in Bakos eyes. George left, and Bako was alone. He sat on the balcony late into the night, until the sky was full of stars. If he merely raised his hand, he could have touched one of them. Sometime before dawn, Bako fell asleep and did not wake for a day and a night. His nightmares could not follow him into his dreams.

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Chapter Sixteen 1927 How are you holding up? Kirils question bounced around the small room. Even after a month here, I cant get used to the people and their ways. Bakos voice emerged from the darkness. Both fell silent. They lay in their beds, in the stifling hot Paris night, and, not being able to sleep, engaged in midnight chat; the moon, shining through the window, seemed to be following their conversation closely. Youll get used to it. Kiril exhaled deeply. What do you mean, Ill get used to it? How can I accept the habits of these people? Ive lived in Macedonia my whole life; will I have to forget all of that? Nobody forgets anything; it all stays in your head. We just dont know how to use our memories yet. And yes, you will have to accept them, somehow. We are social creatures, and we have a need for kindred spirits. If you dont surround yourself with them, no matter where you are, youll wither. How did you adapt? The same way you did, except I didnt have a Macedonian friend. I admire your perseverance. You still plan to be a winemaker? Yes. There is no money in it, said Kiril Maybe, but I would enjoy it. So youre going to live in Southern France. No, Ill live in Ohird. You are going back? asked Kiril, surprised. I never intended to stay here. It is too early to decide anything. Things change. Maybe for you. I know where Im headed. Seeing that their discussion was leading nowhere, they both turned to face the wall. The moon was high in the night sky, filling their room with bright light.

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Chapter Seventeen The professors office spoke of his importance. The antique furniture, the tall and stately bookshelves, the desk of dark carved wood and the heavy draperies that blocked most of the sunlight impressed and bewildered Bako. It was his first time in the professors office. The Professor himself was impeccably dressed, with fastidiously combed grey hair and spectacles that half-hid his green eyes. Do you know why I called you in? he asked, seeing that his student was ill at ease. To be honest, no, but I hope its good news. It couldnt be better, smiled the Professor. Im all ears. Each year, the Sorbonne selects an exceptional student from each year. And this year you are the best among the freshmen. Bako was stunned. He could not even open his mouth, but he felt that the conversation had to continue. How is that possible? he managed. The results speak for themselves. But there are so many other good students. Every race has only one winner. Finishing first is often not the most important thing. There are benefits for the winner of the contest. Benefits? Ones that all students dream of winning. I wasnt even aware they existed. Sometimes the race is easier if the reward is hidden. And the prize is? A full scholarship for the second year, and a paid trip to your homeland. Ill accept the scholarship, but Ill let you have the ticket to Macedonia, so that we can go there together, said Bako proudly. It doesnt work quite like that, laughed the Professor. But the invitation is intriguing. Thinking of seeing the vineyards where they made wine for Alexander the Great makes me want to pack my suitcase right away. It would be unforgettable. I know. Bako rose slowly from the comfortable leather armchair, thanked the Professor and left. He still could not fully grasp the situation. For the first time in his life his own efforts had brought him something of value. From that moment on, a new feeling was born in him: the feeling that hard work can bear fruit.

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Chapter Eighteen Why doesnt Macedonia export wine? The Professors question was barely heard through the trains clattering. We want to drink it ourselves, answered Bako, smiling and wiping sweat from his forehead. From what I can see, the land here is perfect for producing high quality wines theres no reason why you shouldnt be shipping them all over the world. I hope that after I graduate, I can improve the situation. You have to. Lets get off and see the vineyards up close. I dont know when the next train is. It doesnt matter. Even if we have to spend the night, I must step on this soil, said the Professor firmly. The two of them left the sweltering train. Outside, it was slightly cooler, and the occasional breeze gave some measure of comfort. The Professor abandoned his luggage at the train station and set into the seemingly endless vineyards. Bako didnt notice where the Professor went, all he wanted to know was the quickest way to get home. When is the next train to Bitola? he asked, although he knew this was the last train. There isnt one. This is the last for the day, the conductor said. What did he say? the Professor asked from somewhere in the fields. He says its the last one, replied Bako. Well stay the night, said the Professor, quite content. But my parents are expecting us, said Bako pleadingly. I must touch this soil and taste these grapes. Bako saw that he would have to grant the Professors wish, lifted his luggage down from the carriage and put it by the empty bench in front of the railway station. But he could not rid himself of the picture of the sad faces of his disappointed parents. He headed for the engine, climbed onto it and addressed the engine driver: Would you please pass on a message to my parents He hadnt finish his sentence when the driver turned around. Jazin Junior. Youve grown. How I can help you? Uncle Naum. I didnt recognize you. Naum was an old family friend, which meant that he would not only pass on the message but explain it as well. How could you, when I am black as the devil. He said. His gleaming white teeth shone against his soot-covered face.

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Im traveling with my Professor and he insists on staying here overnight. My parents will be waiting for us at the station. Please tell them that well be coming tomorrow by the same train. Dont worry about it, son. Ill see you tomorrow. Thanks a lot! After resisting for a moment, as if glued to the sizzling rails, the train started moving along the tracks, Bako stayed onboard for a few moments, watched the dry soil and then jumped from the locomotive. He waved to the driver for a long time. Now he stood on the parched ground, with the Professor out of sight. He went into the little station and asked the few people who were standing there if they had seen anyone, but it appeared that the Professor had vanished off the face of the earth. Slightly scared, he began to shout: Professooooor, where are you? In paradise, a voice emerged from the vineyard. He started running toward that direction, burst through a row of vines and saw the Professor sitting on the ground, happily eating grapes and filling small plastic bags with soil. Bako couldnt hold back a laugh. Professor, dont let me lose you in my own country! Go ahead, I wouldnt mind, the Professor replied contentedly. You dont need to take soil samples on the very first day. Dont worry about me. Sit down next to me and show me where we are on the map. We have to put this place on the atlas of great vineyards of the world. This is Kavadarci, the largest wine-making region. The second is Negotino. But you havent tasted the local wine yet. I dont need to. Ive tried the grapes. Ive felt the soil. Even if you tried, you wouldnt be able to make a bad wine from it. So thats why they consider you the best soil expert at the university? Forget those who bother about ranking people. Lets enjoy our surroundings. They sat back to back on the dirt, each thinking of his desires. Bako looked towards Ohrid, the Professor towards the sun.

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Chapter Nineteen The table was covered with remains of the meal. While the hostess took the dirty dishes from the table, the men discussed the wines that had been presented during the dinner. He was one of Bakos fathers best friends, and the idea of presenting his winemaking knowledge and abilities to a world-renowned expert was a challenge he relished. The long trip and fine wines had tired Bako. But he had to stay up and translate; the Professor and their host had a lot to say to each other. Tell the Professor that well be having a different wine with our desert. Itll be a bit heavier and sweeter, said the host. Made from the same grapes, but picked later so that more sugar builds up, right? Bravo! You know your wines. The man of the house got up, shook his hand and embraced him. The Professor was overcome by this reaction. He was used to being applauded for his knowledge, but this heartiness was something that he had never experienced. Let me show you the barrels, said the host, leading them to the basement. This is wonderful. Its all underground, just like it should be, remarked the Professor. Have a seat next to the small cask. Its worth its weight in gold, the host said solemnly. He took a small glass and poured some for the Professor. Hes right, said the Professor, after swirling the wine in his mouth, This is gold. Would you give some for me to take to the university for testing? he asked. As much as you can carry. His host answered with pleasure.

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Chapter Twenty As the night wore on, both the Professor and his student were kept from sleep. The Professor was overwhelmed by his discoveries, and Bako was eager to go home. This side trip was completely unplanned. Bako had wanted to sleep in his own bed tonight, with a view of the lake. The wine that saturated his bloodstream didnt help; instead of sending him to sleep, it fueled his imagination. He was beset by memories of people, happenings, places, scents. If our travels continue like this, itll take a whole year to tell the story when I get back to Paris, said the Professor from his bed. Im glad you can sense our countrys vitality. Who wouldnt? There are plenty who see, but cant comprehend. Then they should visit a few more times, to get into the rhythm of things. What do you mean? Dawn will break on us before Im through. Lets rest. We have a busy day tomorrow. Good night. Good night, answered Bako. Bako could sense the Professors exhaustion and did not pursue the topic any further. But he remembered those words about returning. In the course of his life he recalled them often, and the more mature he became, the better he understood their meaning. For that night they remained a complete mystery to him. He lay awake for a long time, tossing and turning in bed, until finally he fell asleep in the pre-dawn darkness. He slept until late morning, and his Professor, although he had fallen asleep much earlier than Bako, kept him company in that morning sleep. Their hosts were careful not to wake the guests. Both of them got up at the same time, said their hearty farewells, packed the wine and soil samples and set off to board the train which would take them to their final destination.

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Chapter Twenty-One They sat in a restaurant that seemed to have been built solely as a place to view the lake. It sat on the shore, with a magnificent view. The lake in all its glory, stretched out before them, the fortress and the city rising behind. Swans white as crystal swam in front of the terrace, their brightness an ideal foil to the dark blue lake. You call this a lake? asked the Professor, breaking the silence. Yes, why? It looks like a sea. Bako laughed at first, and then answered in a serious tone. After Lake Baikal, this is the deepest in Europe. How big it is? Almost 20 miles long, and not quite 10 wide. Whose fortress was that? the Professor asked, pointing to the castle above them. Tsar Samuils whose army was blinded by the enemy after they lost their battle? How do you know that? History was my favorite subject, and I did some reading on your past prior to our departure. A harsh and sad history. Everybody thinks that their own past is a hard one. So you dont think we went through hard times? Undoubtedly. But the tragedies of ones homeland are always greater than those of others. Maybe. But very few nations have produced a leader as exceptional as Alexander the Great. And what has remained of his kingdom? Bako remarked sadly. As much as we have left of Napoleons empire? Yes, but at least you didnt lose any of your own territory. We have been chopped up into pieces, and I dont know if well ever be able to join them up again. That is the destiny of small nations, the Professor said. That is enough about history. We cant change it. What are our plans for today? I wanted to ask you if you would like to visit the churches and monasteries, or continue with the vineyards. Id rather see something of your culture. Therell be time for the vineyards later.

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Chapter Twenty-Two When Bako entered the Professors office he was no longer nervous, as he had been the first time. He and the professor had gotten to know each other during the summer. Bako, I called you to review the test results on the soil and the wine that we brought back from Macedonia, the Professor said, as if speaking to a colleague. My knowledge is still very limited. That is why you are here to expand it. The findings have exceeded my expectations. In a positive sense? asked Bako anxiously. Yes, yes You have a harvest of gold which you need only to learn how to reap. The soil is ideal, the climate, according to the content of the sugar in the wine, is perfect, and the grapes are grapes. If they get all that they need, the wines will be superb just like yours. How do we improve the conditions to maximize production and quality? You could study that question for years. I would improve the irrigation, perhaps introduce new varieties of grapes, and try to standardize production. What is your opinion on the other, smaller wine-making regions? Bako did not want to directly ask about his hometown. Bigger is not always better. The smaller vineyards impressed me as well, especially in your region. There you should go for specific sorts of grapes that dont require high temperatures and give an enriched flavor to the grapes on account of the movements of air that you get there. Ill write up your findings and send them to all the people we met there. Bako had heard what he wanted to hear, and was no longer present. His thoughts were far away in his homeland. Youre going to have to change how all the local wineries work, the Professor said, not wanting to let go of the conversation, and unwittingly predicting Bakos future. Youre putting a great load on my shoulders, Professor, the student responded, scratching his head. Thats because I know you can bear it, said the Professor. Bako simply nodded, took hold of the massive door-knob of the even more massive door and left the office. The university was an ants nest of activity as usual, but he heard none of it. Secluded in his head, he was going over what happened. Finally, his dreams had been realized. It had come about more quickly and more easily than he had anticipated. He turned over the words of the conversation in his mind, trying to find hidden meaning, unspoken words or something between the lines. But no matter how he looked at it, all seemed well. It was all consistent with the way the Professor had expressed himself. Especially when he was talking about his profession, the Professor had nothing to hide. Bako, carried on the wings of his success, hurried to his room, to write to his father, and to his friends in Kavadarci.

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Chapter Twenty-Three Sunday morning was like a vacation for Bako. He usually walked along the banks of Seine, and once a month he would treat himself to a boat ride on the river. Today was a boat day. He always took the first boat at nine oclock in the morning. As usual, there were not many passengers and he could indulge in his thoughts. He loved to watch the birds flying, to listen to the sounds of the river, and the rhythmic throbbing of the boats engine that carried him back home, to the plans he was making for his future and to thoughts of how to expand and improve his experiments at the university. The day was perfect for such a morning outing. The warm April sun was rising higher in the sky and giving a beautiful bluish hue to the scenery. All the various sights of Paris were visible with a crystal clarity. He could count the iron girders on the Eiffel Tower, the stony lacework of Notre Dame and the white stone blocks of the Sacre Coeur. The boat was virtually empty save for a handful of early birds like himself. There were no tourists, which pleased Bako. In the course of the past two years, he had developed an aversion to tourists. It was not that he disliked the variety of people, nations, cultures and languages; far from it, he had friends from all over the world at the university. But Bako could not stand the superficiality of most of the sight-seers in Paris. The majority of them would spend a few days in the city, visiting the usual tourist attractions, and then leave with the impression that they knew the place. And that was probably the most ill-conceived picture you could get of this beautiful city. He understood that not everybody could spare a lot of time and money on sight-seeing, but Bako could not bear the idea of someone spouting their opinions of his beloved Paris based on a few days spent there. This was a result of his perfectionism. He had studied the city methodically, mostly on foot, which he considered the best way to really discover such a place. He combed every single museum, gallery and other such place of interest, the markets, and the streets from the widest boulevards to the narrowest alleys. There was no limit to his curiosity; Bako talked with stall-holders and shop-keepers, wanting to know their life stories, how they had come to Paris, how they lived and who they knew. That was how the young student from Macedonia made friends from all walks of life, ages, educations and backgrounds, coming to be invited into Catholic, Protestant, Islamic and even one Buddhist household. In this way he learned a lot about the world and its diversity but he always wanted to learn more, realizing that the more he learned the keener he was to broaden his horizons. They often discussed their customs and religions, and he was served foods that opened up new dimensions of flavors to his taste buds. His list of favorite dishes was constantly growing. In the best of moods, Bako had invited Kiril to come along, but as usual he refused, wanting to sleep late. After a good breakfast of an omelet made with spring onions and mushrooms, a carrot salad and an herbal tea from Macedonia which he prepared himself, he had gone out into the still early morning. He bought a ticket for the first boat, sat towards the front and started singing softly to himself. Then, perfection

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came into his view as she took a seat at the other side of the boat. After a while he got up from his seat and headed towards her. Could I join you? Bako asked, as if it was the only empty seat. Sure, she said with a smile, as if it was natural for a stranger on a near empty boat to ask to sit next to her. My name is Bako; I study agriculture at the Sorbonne. Im Paulina. Studying medicine, at the Sorbonne. You are not French, said Bako, slightly puzzled. Neither are you, said Paulina, not yielding an inch of ground. Are we going to guess? suggested Bako, laughing. You go first. You look like a Slavic beauty from the Tolstoy novels. And truly she was pretty, with wavy blond curls that went well with her beautiful blue eyes. Her pale skin gave her delicacy and gentleness. Her ample breast could not be hidden by her jacket, while her long legs emerged below the long skirt she was wearing. Bravo, she laughingly said. And you must be from one of our tribes. Thats how were usually portrayed, although our history differs from that usually shown to the public. Bako looked to her like a Slav, with his brown hair and grey-green eyes, tall, with broad shoulders and long slender fingers. I am from Poland, she said serenely. And I am from Macedonia, he said proudly. Do you have rivers like this? Paulina asked, as is she wanted to change the subject. Not so grand, but we have lakes. I love water, and the boats on it even more. I was raised on a lake, and Ill go back there. So you already know where life is going to take you? I make the wind for my own sails. They talked the whole time they were on the boat, not noticing how three hours sped by, how the sun reached its zenith, and a muggy heat settled over the city. At the docks, the two parted like old friends. For Bako this was the first time he had a serious conversation with a woman. Up to this moment he had not been ready, either psychologically or physically, to explore the souls of women, but Paulina had opened the gates, and there was no going back.

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Chapter Twenty-Four Bako walked the streets of Paris until late at night. He had dinner at the restaurant of a Syrian friend. After several helpings of lamb kebab, vegetables and yogurt, he went home tired and content. Kiril, who thrived on the citys night life and was getting ready to go out, greeted him. You seem a bit absent. Nostalgic again? Thats not it, answered Bako unwillingly. Are you going to tell me, or can I leave? I meet a Polish girl. She studies medicine at the Sorbonne thats the man I like! Fall in love a little! Kiril clapped him on the shoulder. How can you speak of love right away? You dont believe in love at first sight? There was something about her. When will you see her again? Kiril asked impatiently. I dont know, said Bako, as if speaking to himself. What do you mean? asked Kiril in disbelief. We didnt arrange anything, and I dont know where she lives. Said Bako with a blank look on his face. Kiril smacked himself on the forehead. While he was putting on his shoes, he said. We have some basic lessons to go over. Get some rest, and well think of something tomorrow. Kiril left, and Bako was alone with the long sleepless night that embraced him with open arms, as is usually the case when someone is first faced with love, and the bewilderment it brings. Bako didnt know how to handle these emotions. He tossed in his bed; he heard Kiril come in, late at night, and fall asleep; he watched the moon rise and fall, and finally, he watched as the sun slowly conquered the sky. He got up, resolved to unravel the mystery churning his heart. But the day yielded no answers. He sat gazing into the distance, paying no heed to his colleagues or instructors. Sorely perplexed and feeling powerless, he left the lecture and lay down on the universitys plush green grass, looking up imploringly at the sky. Kiril wandered past, and, not missing a thing, said loudly: If someone were to kidnap you, you wouldnt notice. I was daydreaming, responded Bako with only half his attention. Fine. The winds of love are best felt when they blow at your back. Whats the plan, then? asked Bako, hoping his more experienced friend would have some suggestions. To wait. Well go and wait in front of the Medical Building until your princess appears. Too bad you dont have Cinderellas slipper for her to try on.

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Dont tease me. When you cant cry, the next best thing is to laugh.

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Chapter Twenty-Five As the sky darkened, Bako and Kiril grew tired. They had met at the entrance of the Medical Building as arranged, and, sitting back to back on the grass, immediately began eating the food they had brought with them. The meal made them drowsy, and they took turns napping. When it was Kirils turn to keep watch, Bako had to describe Paullina to him, but there was no sign of her. Everyones gone. She must be the best student or the worst. Lets go, sighed Bako. After all the time weve spent waiting you want to miss her by a few minutes? Come on, said Bako, tugging Kirils sleeve. Be patient. Theres a difference between patience and Ok. We can go, if youre not ready to die for her. You dont understand, said Bako quietly. And they left, walking quietly through the night. Bako was visibly upset, and Kiril did not want to pour gasoline on a flame. They went to bed without a word. Bako was on the threshold of his second sleepless night. He was beginning to pay the debt of love, which, for compensation demanded not coin, but happiness, tears and restless nights. It was all muddled in his head. Kiril was far ahead of him in relations with the fairer sex. Since Bako had come to Paris, Kiril has had several girlfriends; he was sure of himself and bursting with selfconfidence. Bako wondered whether it was wise to share this adventure of his with Kiril, seeing as how he had shown himself in such a bad light to his friend. Dawn broke while he was battling with these turbulent thoughts. But before he fell asleep he firmly resolved he would wait for Paulina the next day. This time he would go by himself so that he wouldnt need to share his frustration with someone else. And so he fell sound asleep. Bako missed all his lectures that day. When he woke up it was four oclock in the afternoon. The sun was already sinking towards the horizon, and the shadows were lengthening. Bright yellows changed to the sullen red of dying embers. Although he had slept for twelve hours he still felt tired. But the thought of seeing Paullina again got him out of bed. He washed, used some of Kirils cologne, took a book to read and set out to meet the girl who had kept him sleepless for two nights.

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Chapter Twenty-Six He could no longer make out the words on the page in the dim light. Perhaps it was for the better; he didnt want to split his attention between the book and the doors of the Medical Building. He found a comfortable spot under a tree where he could see the leaves of spring invigorating the old tree. They announced a new season, a new spring, a cycle starting anew. When he had arrived there the leaves were dark green against the deep blue background of the sky, but now they were like little black silhouettes against a sky lit by the full moon. Unlike the day before, Bako never for a moment lost hope that Paullina would appear. While he was listening to the rustling of the leaves, he saw the door open and Paulinas pale face appear. Springing to his feet, he was beside her in a few steps. I almost missed you again! Bako said breathlessly. Youve missed me before? Paulina asked, puzzled. To be perfectly honest, this is the second time. Once with my friend, and once by myself, he admitted. Its a good thing you saw me. I stay late and work for one of the professors to make ends meet. Kiril was right, Bako muttered. What did you say? Nothing. What do you do there? I help the professor of pathology. Do your parents send you money? Not really. I usually send some to them. So, how did you manage to get into the Sorbonne? Its a long story. I love long stories. I was the best student in a prestigious high school in Warsaw, and won a national competition in biology. One of the teachers took an interest in me, put me on a list for scholarships to the Sorbonne. You got one. I still cant believe it. And your parents, what did they think? They werent happy that I was going away, but they knew this was an opportunity that theyd never be able to afford for me. Im the oldest child, Ive two younger brothers, so they still have them at home with them. How did you get along when you got here? asked Bako, wanting to compare his experience with someone elses. It was hard at the beginning. There were a few Poles in my dormitory they helped me through the first few months. I didnt know the language, and school started in two weeks. How are things now? Much better. I owe a lot to my professors. Will you go home after you graduate?

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Ill have to. Thats one of the conditions of my scholarship. What if you didnt have to? Id still go back. Why? Every plant wants to grow in its native soil. Lets go. Its getting dark. And I am getting tired. Where shall we meet next time? I usually sit by the Seine, watching the river flow. At what time? Usually about now. At the docks? A little bit downriver. Its quieter there. They parted, and Bako stood for a long time watching her climb the steps to her apartment. The wind played with her long curls. When she reached the door, she turned around and waved to him. With that sight etched in his mind, Bako walked back to his own apartment.

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Chapter Twenty-Seven Bako sat on a bench watching the Seine flow calmly by. This same water, he though, that he was looking at now had probably emerged from a mountain spring that morning. Although they had agreed to meet after eight oclock in the evening, he got there early. Bako could not allow himself to be late for their first official date. Paulina had made excuses to her professor and arrived early; this was her first romantic endeavor and she did not want to be late. She sat on the central stone pier that supported the bridge, right in the middle of the river. From that vantage point, Paulina had the advantage of seeing Bako without him seeing her. He could not have imagined in his most bizarre dreams a little stone island underneath one of the finest bridges in Paris as their meeting place. Eight oclock came and went, and with the sun long gone, Bako paced nervously and muttered. Is she on the other side of the river? Did she get the date wrong? Has she changed her mind? Time slowed to a crawl, and it seemed like an eternity before he heard someone calling his name from some distance away. He turned around, but could not see anyone. He looked at the stretch of bank above him, but there was no one there either. Paulina saw his confusion and called more loudly Bakooo! and waved her arms. This time he caught the direction the voice was coming from. He turned towards the river but it so happened that a boat carrying tourists was passing by, blocking his view of the bank and the base of the pillar that Paullina was waving from. Bako gazed sadly at the boat, filled from prow to stern with people waltzing and dining by candlelight. He paced back and forth, convinced that he was hallucinating. In the course of these immensely long seconds the boat slipped soundlessly by and the view opened up once more. But Bako had abandoned all hope, and sat on the quay with his head bowed, staring at the water lapping on the stones. Then he heard a voice calling his name once more, this time like a thunderbolt from the blue. He looked straight in front of him, and saw Paulina waving her scarf at him. Bako jumped to his feet and shouted across the expanse that separated them: How did you get there? Go up onto the bridge and Ill tell you. Time, which had crept by in a slow crawl suddenly leapt up to speed. Bako ran along the quay and took the flight of stairs that led to the bridge in a few leaps, not letting Paulina out of his sight for a moment, afraid that he might lose her again. When he reached the bridge, still running, he looked down towards the triangular base of the pillar and, all out of breath, called to Paulina: Come up here! No, you come down here. She said determinedly.

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How? Bako asked her, still catching his breath. Turn around. Theres a metal cover. Lift it up and climb down the ladder. Bako turned around and tried to lift the manhole cover. It would not budge. He tried once more, and after his third unsuccessful attempt he cast his embarrassment aside. How did you manage to lift this? he asked Paulina. Sorry. I forgot to tell you. Theres a crowbar under the railing that you can use. He found the crowbar under the railing, it was the sword drawn from the stone, something predetermined. Bako felt neither the chill not the weight of the old iron. It slid under the metal cover, which opened with a creak of protest. The ladder was a set of iron hoops set into the concrete, reminiscent of a sewer. Bako descended through the darkness, paying it no heed, and in a moment he was at the bottom of the shaft. He opened a small iron door; there was no sign of Paulina. Boo! She cried jumping out of the shadows, and grinning like a child. You scared me to death. Thats a good start. A man must leave his comfort zone for truths to surface, said Paulina sagely. Even without that, I still prefer the truth, Bako replied, trying to keep up. They sat on the edge of the stone island, their feet almost touching the water, facing the still-glowing horizon. It was growing colder, and as the rivers current brought with it a cool breeze, so they both put on sweaters and continued their conversation. Youre going to convince me that you are the first man I can trust. I dont want to convince you of anything. I dont want to believe in empty promises. Let me ask you something. How did you find this place? A beggar told me. You enjoy their company? asked Bako, puzzled. I often sit by the river. There are always some of them around. Once I saw one of them sitting here. I asked him and he told me the secret. Since then, this is where I come to relax. Look, I even have a stool that Ive left here. Am I officially accepted on your island? It looks like it, Paulina answered gently. Bako kissed her, even more gently, and they embraced. It was obvious that it was their first kiss. Everyone longs for this moment, but when it comes, they often dont know what to make of it.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight So you finally met her? Kiril asked, anxious for more details. You were right the first time. We should have waited longer, said Bako. His voice broke, as if he did not want to admit his mistake. He was lying in bed, gazing up towards the ceiling. It was good that it was a pitch black night, as he didnt want Kiril to see his face. Let me tell you about her. Tell me the story of a mans first love. But this is something special, Bako insisted theatrically. Everybody thinks that. Essentially, its always pretty much the same thing. No, this is different. All right, Im ready to hear about something extraordinary within the bounds of the ordinary. Nobody can out-talk-you. You have to distinguish between wisdom and experience. Are we going to talk about wisdom or about her? Women either bring wisdom into our lives or take it away, Kiril stated contemplatively, as if talking to himself. In my case they take my breath away, muttered Bako. Just talking about her brought vivid memories. All of a sudden he could see projected on the ceiling Paulinas image as she sat by the Seine, her hair blowing in the wind. Good, then its real love. How do you know what real love is? I am only slightly older than you, but much more experienced. You havent seen such a combination of beauty and intelligence, said Bako, very pleased with himself. You are the only one who can see the beauty, and thats important to you. Others can see the intelligence, but it is important only to you, Kiril said trying to rouse Bako from his dream of love. You are saying that shes not pretty? How can I say when Ive never even seen her? But thats not important. What counts is the fact that you see her as a beauty. Are you joking, or just changing the subject? Neither. When we fall in love we are blinded. After a while we begin to regain our sight, and sometimes were content with what we see, and sometimes not. It sounds as if you dont believe in love. On the contrary. Then why are you so cynical about it? Because its been misused.

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But the feeling is unforgettable. Not merely the feeling, but everything that goes with it. But lets go to sleep now, and tomorrow you can show me your princess.

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Chapter Twenty-Nine The Seines high waters reflected the red glow of the sunset onto Bako and Paulina, who were locked in a tight embrace. Sitting side by side, you could hardly tell where one body ended and another began, as if they were locked into a magical embrace. Like all true lovers they were silent, their love too strong to be expressed in words. When the last rays of the setting sun vanished below the horizon of the city, Bako, as if waking from a dream, asked calmly: Why do you like this place so much? The question seemed to wake Paulina. Because I can see the river, flowing, changing, yet always staying the same. I watch the boats, and, best of all, I can be alone, she peacefully answered. I understand the love for water, but why boats? What would be the water without boats? said Paulina, almost to herself. Well have our own boat someday, just for us. Bako, staring into the distance, unwittingly predicted the future. Someday, said Paulina, and started laughing. You can be alone anywhere, even when surrounded by people. But the experience here is unique. You are not alone anymore. Ill have to give you visiting hours, acknowledged Paulina. Twice a day for two hours, Bako prescribed. Once a day, no time limit. And again deep silence. If it wasnt for the chilling wind, it would have lasted longer. The cold set into their bones. They departed without a word; their goodbye kiss said everything. Anything more would have been redundant. Thus began the saga of Bako and Paulina. The presence of the one always mandated the presence of the other. If they were not at her place, then they were at his place and vice versa. Kiril and Alexandra, who were their respective roommates, might have had a quieter life if the two of them had shared the apartment. They loved one another gently, as people in love for the first time do. They were discovering the strength of being connected, and they became the embodiment of unconditional love. The semester ended, and summer vacation began. Paulina was preparing to visit her family after being apart from them for two years. Bako wanted to see his homeland as well. Both departed with uneasiness. They had each other and needed nothing else. The trouble was how to explain that to their parents. They parted at the railway station, giving each other a letter to be opened on departure, and boarded the trains that were to carry them away.

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Chapter Thirty Time passed slowly for Bako in Ohrid. Paulinas absence was an emptiness. He had no one under whose window he could whistle, no one with whom to watch the ripples on the river that cleansed his soul, no one to talk to about a good book, to take a walk with at any hour, to hold hands, to say good morning, to say goodnight, to embrace, to love. After two weeks, he decided he could endure no more, and told his mother about his love. Vera listened carefully. She was not happy that he hadnt found a local girl, much less a Jewess, but her feeling of universal equality overrode any prejudice. Her sons happiness broke any artifice of discrimination. Bako left it to his mother to give the news to his father, but was ready to enter the fray that would surely ensue and defend his position. He didnt need to wait long. Stefan reacted the very next day, when the three of them were seated round the table. So youve found a Jewish girlfriend. As far as I know, your business partner is Jewish. This was his first tactic to calm his father. Even as he left Paris, Bako had been planning his reaction to the inevitable question. And as far as I know, your mother is Macedonian, Stefan countered with a raised voice. Are all Macedonian girls spoken for? asked Vera. No, but surprisingly enough there arent many in Paris, said Bako trying to introduce a trace of humor into the conversation. All right, but youll come back here? asked his mother still placating both father and son. He wont marry an outsider! his father shouted, striking the table so hard that everything rattled. An interminable silence descended. Father, love has no prejudices, Bako said softly, breaking the uneasy stillness, as if addressing a jury. Thats as may be, but I have, was Stefans unassailable reply. Then keep them to yourself. It was the first time in his whole life that Bako had spoken to his father in such a manner. Rational thought had deserted him completely. His head was burning in an inferno of thoughts, a deluge of thoughts. His father was probably still talking, but Bako was not listening to him any longer. He was in a world of his own, the world he had left behind just a few weeks ago, the world of Paulina and Bako.

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His father picked up a metal jug, swung it at him and stuck his son on the cheek, crying: Beware a parents curse! Stop, stop, God witnesses all! Vera said in a pleading voice, stupefied by her husbands reaction. No foreigner is going to get any of what Ive built up with my own sweat and blood, said Stefan firmly. I dont want anything! I can start from scratch, Bako returned. The blow had not hurt him, what really pained him were his fathers words and the fact that the family was falling apart before his eyes. If you go on like this, you wont even make a start, Stefan warned him unfeelingly. God gives us life and strength. Let me say this: I will always love and respect you as my father, but I am staying with Paulina, Bako responded, now calm again. Stefan left the room in a rage, slamming the door shut behind him. Bako had known that his father would react badly, but even in his darkest dreams he had not expected this. He could not understand why his parents, who had always done everything they could to pave his way to a better future, should now stand between him and his happiness. He too left the room, wiped the blood from his cheek, and held a handkerchief to his face, then put on his shoes and walked down to the lake. He sat there for a long time, seeking answers from the sky, the stars and the wind. But they were mute in the face of his questions.

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Chapter Thirty-One Paulina was excited after the reunion with her parents, brothers and friends. She couldnt stop talking to them. The days were too short to see everybody she wanted to share her experiences with. However, Paulina felt that she was disconnected from the community she had left two years ago. It seemed to her that nothing had changed there, unlike Paris, which was always in a state of flux. She had gotten used to that dynamic lifestyle, and this static existence bothered her. But those she loved and who loved her gave her a sense of belonging. After a few days and against her better judgment, she spoke to her mother about her relationship with Bako. Rita only bit her lower lip, and said nothing. But that night all the cards were out on the table. So youve found yourself a Christian boy, eh? David, Paulinas father, sounded as if he had prearranged his speech with Bakos father. To be perfectly honest, he found me. Worse still. You know you are betrothed! shouted the father. These are customs we should break with, Paulina replied firmly. I hope to God we never will. Rita answered through her teeth. You cant live my life for me! Paulina cried. And your children will be baptized into their church? her father said, almost to himself. They believe in a man of our faith, responded Paulina. They believe in the prophet, not the Messiah, said her mother. It comes from the same source, said Paulina. I dont see what weve achieved with our traditions. It doesnt matter what weve achieved, what matters is walking the right path. Rita was furious. And who determines the right path? The sacred books! If we had followed what they truly preach, the world wouldnt be in such misery. Do not blaspheme against God. Her mother tore a piece of her clothing; it was an old custom, a rite that mourned the passing of the dead, or the banishment of someone from the family. Paulina broke down. She had taken it relatively calmly until she saw her mother tearing her clothing. In this case, Paulina was the black sheep, the anomaly that had to be removed. She could not understand why this was happening, and even less that it was being done by her parents. In her world, love was set above all else, and everything below it ought to obey its unwritten laws. Paulina wept uncontrollably.

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Without a word, she left the kitchen and went to her own room. Nobody, except her youngest brother, came to see her. Paulina, exhausted from crying, only fell asleep at the first hours of dawn. She slept for a long time.

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Chapter Thirty-Two The night looked like a painting, a masterpiece of black velvet skies and blazing stars. The city was slowly settling down to rest. September was one of the most beautiful months in Paris, during which the city remade itself in earth tones; light and dark yellow and reds. Not only was this to be seen on the trees and the lawns but even on the asphalt and the earth itself, which reflected the same hues. Street-sweepers were powerless, they waged an eternal loosing battle against the leaves, which, once swept away, were quickly replaced by nightfall. Roses were just giving their last blooms, enriching the variety of autumnal shades. The chatter of tourists slowly gave way to the clamor of students. It was to this atmosphere that the young lovers returned after their summer vacations. They were overjoyed at seeing one another after almost two months. When they made their way to the Seine, kissing and embracing, they both brought a bundle of letters they had received. Huddled close together they sat through the afternoon, the sunset and the twilight that followed without saying very much. Bakos short utterance Lets go, broke the silence hanging in the chilly air. In that quiet they sought to forget their ordeals. They did not even want to admit to themselves all that had happened, much less to confess to each other what they had undergone. But when they found themselves naked between the sheets of their bed, all the barriers fell. I didnt pass your parents test? Bako surmised. Not really, but that doesnt have anything to do with us. Id like to think so. But a parents blessing is always welcome. I know. Im not going to wait for it to claim my happiness. Thats the way I love my princess, he said, kissing her gently. And how did I fare? Paulina asked curiously. Not so well, he said, displaying the scar on his face. Great. So were one-one. Without any further explanation she could guess what had happened. Everyone has his own life and his own way of looking at things. And I am standing by mine. Thats why I love you, my prince. They surrendered themselves to the night, wanting to be alone with their love. Hungry for one another, they made love slowly and gently. Bako awoke very early in the morning. Paulina lay asleep in his arms. Bako stroked her back and felt a crease on her skin made by the covers. Wanting the mark to disappear, he kept on stroking. Paulina breathed deeply, sleeping soundly in his arms. When he felt that her skin was as smooth as it usually was, he too fell asleep.

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Chapter Thirty-Three Far away in Ohrid, Bakos parents were consumed by anxiety. Vera showed what was troubling her more openly, whereas Stefan hid his distress deep within himself. They had not talked about it (the problem) since Bako left, but it was visible in their faces that something was gravely troubling both of them. After a couple of weeks she could not stand it any longer, and as they sat at the table after dinner she began talking quietly: We are losing our son. If he goes on like this, it might be better to lose him, replied her husband unwaveringly. If you carry this any further, we will never see him again, reiterated Vera stressing the last phrase. While he goes against my word, I dont want to set eyes on him. Dont talk like that. I know how much you love him. I love him more than anything, but Stefans strength gave out. He covered his face with his hands. Youre putting conditions on your love? No, but But what? If he doesnt obey you, youll stop loving him? No. So why are you pushing him away from you? Because I dont know any other way, said Stefan, with a sob. The discussion continued, but not in spoken form. Both of them knew that something needed to be said, but neither uttered a word. Vera was torn between love for her husband and her son, and suffered in silence. Even though she agreed with Stefans objection on the surface, deep inside herself she remained convinced that she should not stand in the way of her sons happiness. Very often she dreamt of Bako, and even more often she held silent conversations with him. She even started writing letters to Bako, a thing that had been her husbands privilege before, and posted them unbeknowst to Stefan. Sadly, the letters traveled only in one direction. She did not want Bako to reply, for fear that her husband would find out about their correspondence and see it as the two of them working behind his back. Bako had, in fact, replied to all his mothers letters, but kept them in a folder, meaning to deliver them by hand on his next visit home. The letters meant a lot to him. After what hed heard from his parents, he felt like a fish out of water. The letters were the essential water that not only brought him back to life but also revived the relationship he had with Vera. It was a relationship between a son and his mother, built up with a great deal of love and care which, as the years went by, took on additional features such as respect, assistance and mutual sympathy. Vera was the final criterion of truth to which the young mans problems were presented. For her, her son was her son regardless of what he might have done. His association with a girl from another religion wasnt a reason to stop loving him.

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He had built a similar relationship with his father. Stefan was proud of his firstborn son, ready to do everything within his power to help him along his chosen path. When Bako had expressed the wish to study in Paris, his father had not raised any objections, although he had looked upon him as the natural heir to the empire that he had build up from scratch. Stefan firmly believed in education. Unfortunately, the relationship had turned sour after his sons last visit. All of a sudden there surfaced differences in the way that the two of them looked at the world, from minute details to global matters, and each of them was disappointed in the other. It was hard for Bako to see his father, who had been his idol, in a completely different light. There is nothing worse for a young person than disillusionment. These are very sensitive moments when a young man could stray onto undesirable paths. Fortunately Bako had a solid foundation and would not buckle. Stefan saw his sons actions as a personal attack. He asked himself where he had gone wrong in his sons upbringing. For him tradition meant more than anything else. All was subordinate to it. Even the most fundamental unit of existence - love - was secondary in importance to tradition. Stefan had forgotten the strength of the love he had felt for his wife, which had once shaken him to the core of his being. That love was later channeled into tradition, where adoration was secondary. It was not that he did not care for his wife, but that he had allowed the outside world to shape his affection for her. And the world did not allow for unconditional adulation, preferring that all things be mediocre. But love is one of those few things that does not allow itself to be average. Their relationship had gone on, and the two sons were born. Stefan had got what he wanted but was not giving his lifelong partner what she wanted or needed. Vera has grown accustomed to this arrangement and had channeled her emotions, her concerns and her devotion towards her children. They seemed for all intents and purposes a devout couple, but in reality they were part of a vast army of unsatisfied couples, hungry for real love.

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Chapter Thirty-Four Some twelve hundred miles to the north a similar drama was being enacted. Although they were not in contact with each other, Paulinas parents, just like Bakos parents, were waging a war over the fate of their child. They had begun their discussion almost as soon as Paulina left. You see how our daughter toys with our heritage, spoke the mother angrily. I think she is in love, responded David. Considering that the father was a rabbi, it was expected of him that he would put up a more fiery opposition, but he put himself completely on his princes side. Over the years it had become clear to him that the division of humanity based upon religion was an unfounded, unnatural thing, stemming only from the over-dogmatic interpretations of holy writings. Unfortunately, he was neither willing nor permitted to preach this inner transformation in the synagogue. He felt like he had betrayed humanity. On one hand there was the complex worldview which he could so clearly comprehend, but on the other was the modest income which he brought into their home. The problem with Paulina had manifested itself as a vent into which he could release the steam of his frustration. If he could not openly announce what he now understood, then he had to privately express his beliefs. And where his dearest was concerned, there was not a force in the world that would stop him from being on her side completely. This has nothing to do with love. Rita would not budge an inch. What do you mean? In our traditions, love is secondary. No. Love is supreme. Traditions are created, but we are born with love. You just keep supporting her, and our grandchildren will be baptized in their church. In the name of my love for her, I am prepared to accept anything. He would not only accept anything, but would also uphold her decision with his last breath. David was happy that his descendants had climbed up one rung on the ladder of consciousness, another step up the rugged slopes of knowledge. Well, I am not and I never will be. Even at the price of her love? David asked, unbelieving that a mother could toy with her love for her daughter. The traditions are stronger than I am. Thats just what you think. It was a great mockery, the fact that religion had brought them together. David had been a young rabbi in the synagogue that Rita had gone to. Life had once more

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ironically played with its star actors. In this case, the same thing that had brought them together now threatened to split them apart.

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Chapter Thirty-Five Somewhere near the geographical center of these two domestic conflicts, Bako and Paulinas relationship deepened until it symbolized unconditional love. The whole university had heard about them. Even the professors knew that, when they went missing, they would certainly be either on their stone triangle in the middle of the Seine or in their love-nest, Bakos apartment. Seeing how serious their relationship was becoming, Kiril moved out of the apartment. They remained in touch, seeing each other often, as Bako could never forget just how much Kiril had helped him when he first arrived in Paris. A short while later Paulina moved into the apartment. Living together put not the slightest blemish on their relationship. They studied together, walked together, went to performances - it would be much more difficult to list the things that they did not do in each others company. In such companionship, three years passed.

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Chapter Thirty -Six 1933 When they stood side by side, it was difficult to say which of them was better looking, the bride or the groom. Bako wore a perfectly tailored suit, Paulina a white wedding-gown adorned with pearls. Both of them looked like the living incarnations of fashion photos. Their faces beamed with happiness, and the day mirrored their joy. An azure sky stretched overhead, embroidered with little white clouds towards the horizon. Paulinas dress danced in the soft breeze in time with her wavy hair, and the pearls glittered in the sunshine. Each time she moved a different set of pearls caught the light. Many people had been invited to the wedding, and all of them accepted with pleasure the invitation to be present at the wedding of Jazins first-born son. Among the guests there was a small group of Paulinas relatives and friends. I feel as if Im at a strangers wedding, said Bako, smiling as he stroked her hand. The cool air had raised goose bumps on it. Why? she asked, enjoying his touch. Because I wasnt involved in the preparations. You couldnt have been even if youd wanted to, she said, making excuses for him. I know. Your masters degree was more important than anything else. And now I feel guilty. The smile had vanished from his face, and he stopped his caress. For what? The ones who didnt want to see us married arent here. He was thinking above all of his father, who had passed away the previous year, a few months after Bako had announced his marriage. The same was true of Paulinas mother, who had died a month after Stefan. These events scarred them both, and deeply. The deceased had disapproved of their childrens marriage until the very end. After Stefans death, Vera had, in graduated steps, changed her attitude from half-concealed disapproval to eventually acceptance of her sons marriage. David had supported Paulinas decision wholeheartedly. Both living parents had given their blessing. Why are you worried about that? What if my thoughts have power? His reply came with a glassy stare. Paulina noticed that his mind seemed to be elsewhere. The power you are afraid of is possessed only by One, replied Paulina in a calm and comforting voice. I hope that is so. Otherwise my thoughts would trouble me for the rest of my life, said Bako, speaking from a seemingly great distance.

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Why does any of this bother you? You have what you want. Bako kissed her gently on her beautiful rosy cheeks. Lets dance.

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Chapter Thirty-Seven 1936 The hues of the lake mingled; endless variations of the primary colors swirled in the water. Night slowly overtook the horizon. Shops were being closed, and shopkeepers getting ready to go home, counting money and giving thanks to the fruitful day. Paulina, too, was ready to leave her practice when Petar came. If you hadnt been here, wed have lost our children, Petar said, his voice heavy with gratitude. Remember this, Petar; while we play at being doctors, God carries out His duty. God is indeed great, but you help Him in His works. Without you, wed have had to take them to Bitola. I know, and Im happy that Im here. I cant tell you what it means to me to see children around town smiling at me, she said, with a child-like smile on her own face. We are all happy that destiny has brought you here. At that moment Bako came in. He was surprised to see Petar. Cmon, Petar, can I see my wife for a little while? Bako said jokingly. Bako, I was just telling the doctor that an angel had sent her to us. Even angels need a bit of rest. I know. What do I owe you for yesterday, doctor? Nothing. Ive brought you some fresh trout and some home-made yogurt. Petar said, opening his bag and handing them the fish wrapped in a white cloth and the yogurt in a clay jar. Petar exchanged goodbyes with both of them and went home. As soon as he had closed the door, Bako embraced Paulina, kissing her cheek. He told her that one of his business partners was expecting them for dinner. She insisted on going home to change, but he persuaded her that she looked beautiful just as she was. Although they had been married for three years, their union was anything but typical. It seemed as if one could not exist without the other. They had no children, having decided to wait. And the two of them constantly acted like a couple of newlyweds. Although many would have given a lot to have a relationship like theirs, there were still a lot of people who gossiped about Bako and Paulinas behavior, which was characteristic of such a situation. When people do not have what they would like to have, the easiest thing to do is to gossip about those who do. Bako and Paulina were aware of the envy surrounding them; but paid it no attention. The couple knew that once they had passed through the struggles of their early

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relationship, everything would be easy. They had married so that they could work together, not toil separately.

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Chapter Thirty-Eight 1949 The court was packed, and the air hung heavy and lifeless over those who had come to watch the proceedings. The hearing had reached its climax. Today the witness central to the case, Bako Jazin, was to testify. On his testimony depended the course and the outcome of the entire trial. The state prosecutor had brought criminal charges against the captain of the boat and two of his assistants for causing the death of a sailor while Bakos boat was being raised. Public opinion sided with the state prosecutor, who was asking that the maximum sentence be passed on the Captain. The sight of the sailors shattered widow and the two orphans was a daily reminder of the tragedy. Bako entered the court-room walking slowly, looking neither right nor left. He maintained this fixed gaze as he took his seat in the witness box. Although almost everything had been taken away from him and he no longer had the power or the prestige that had been his only a few years ago, he still commanded respect among the community. Maybe that came from the fact the he personally honored people, regardless of their material possessions or their social status in life. Even the government officials who had redistributed his wealth, admired him. The court could not come into session because of the uproar in the room. The judge brought his gavel down sharply. It took three loud cracks for the impassioned conversations among the public to come to a close. Order in the court! the Judge called out loudly and tersely. Let the prosecution speak. The customary procedure for the swearing-in of a new witness followed. Bako sat, relaxed, in the wooden chair which creaked at his slightest movement. He answered all the questions put to him. And then came the crucial one. So, you confirm under oath what you stated in your written evidence, namely that you did not suggest to the captain that he should double the cables? asked the prosecutor. Yes, said Bako still staring at the opposite wall. A dead silence filled the courtroom. No one could believe their ears. And then everyone reacted. The sailors widow covered her face with her hands and sank into total silence. She probably heard nothing of the rest of the proceedings.

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The prosecutor bit his lip. He had not anticipated this turn of events. The whole case had been based on oral evidence, because that was all that existed. Although Bako had been involved in the raising of the boat, he had not been an official member of the crew and therefore none of his suggestions, comments had been part of the written evidence so far. But there were so many witnesses on the side of the prosecution that the prosecutor had been certain that Bako would side with them too. The judge showed no emotion on his face, but he twiddled his pen rapidly and nervously. It was a strange time, when ghosts of the past mingled with those of the present. A dangerous time, as well, when open expression of opinions was sometimes a matter of life and death. A time when the country found itself at a crossroad in world politics. Was it a conscious decision and bravery on the part of the nations leadership to leave the Warsaw Pact, or had it been an orchestrated resistance? No one knew, and nothing would be known in the near future. Whatever the case, people lived in fear. Many disappeared without a trace. Although this trial was talking place in the courtroom and had no political connotations, people reacted cautiously. We have statements from several witnesses who heard your conversation just before the raising of the boat, the prosecutor continued, not wanting the trial to drift onto uncharted waters. How could they have heard me when we were standing on the captains bridge? There are witnesses who claim that you warned those in charge during the phase of preparation about a possible overload of the cables, stated the prosecutor, trying to rerail the unexpected wreck. Do you have written documentation to that effect? Bako asked, playing his ace and knowing the answer. A life has been lost, said the prosecutor. He knew no such documents existed and was trying to appeal to pity. And this will bring him back? Bako asked quietly. You are not here to ask questions, but to answer them! the prosecutor shouted, momentarily losing control. I apologize. Are you aware that you are under oath? asked the judge, wanting to frighten the truth out of him. Yes, I am, Bako replied calmly. We are here to deliver a decision regarding the lawsuit against the captain on the grounds of unprofessional conduct, said the judge in an official tone, wanting to push back into familiar territory. I am aware of that, and I am trying to help to the best of my ability. For the moment we have no further questions, said the judge, grinding his teeth. The court fell into chaos. Paulina sat still and looked straight in front of her, while the captains lawyer sat back contentedly. During the trial he had grown close to Bako and they had become friends. Although from a different background and much younger,

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he could not escape Bakos charisma. They had long conversations about the case. But their talks often transcended mundane legal matters and they sat late into the night discussing philosophical issues and life in general. The clamor in the courtroom peaked, and the judge once again had to use his gavel to restore order. Does the defense have any further questions for the witness? No, the defense counsel answered shortly. The jury will deliver their verdict this afternoon, announced the irate judge, pounding his gavel unnecessarily.

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Chapter Thirty-Nine Why did you take his side? Didnt you say? You told me yourself that you had warned him, said the sailors widow, in floods of tears. One family has been broken. Shall we break another? answered Bako. Try to think of it in a broader context. There in no black or white. Then where is the justice? asked the widow, her arms spread towards the sky. Not on earth, he responded, looking towards the horizon. They fell silent, sitting on Bakos terrace. The sunset and the rising wind announced the imminent nightfall. The widow had come to talk to him after the announcement of the jurys decision that there was insufficient evidence to convict the Captain. After the first hearing there had been a further trial to which the prosecutor brought a team of experts from the capital, in an attempt to reverse the decision. But this was to no avail. The struggle between David and Goliath had ended in a clear victory for the weaker side. In addition to the Captain and his assistants, who were acquitted, the chef beneficiary was the young defense lawyer who was appointed as an advisor to the Ministry of Justice. What am I going to tell my children? asked the widow, as if waking from a dream. Telling them will be the easy part. Give them as much love and attention as you can. Thats what theyll be needing the most. Bako said, staring at the last rays of the sun. How will I bring their fathers hand back into their lives? Thats not possible. And it would be no more possible if we had put a man in prison. But at least justice would have been done. Justice lies in the strength of our forgiveness. Its easy for you, standing on the sidelines, to forgive. In this case I was trying to do good to both sides. I know that, said the widow with understanding. Deep inside herself she understood, but she still could not escape from the narrow view of justice through which she viewed the proceedings. Do you still have savings? he asked her, bringing the discussion to a close. Yes. She knew what he was referring to. Bako took a few gold coins from his pocket and pressed them into her hand. Its always good to have a bit more. They remained on the balcony for a long time, silently watching the coming of night. It was the evening chill that separated them. They did not waste many words in farewell.

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Chapter Forty 1939 Midnight was long past, and Bako and Paulina were exhausted beyond all reason. They were discussing the fate of Paulinas father. Both were successful in their professional lives. Bakos winery was thriving, and Paulinas practice was also flourishing. But the war had started, and she was worried about her father. In the name of our love, let me go and help your father, Bako pleaded, kneeling on the bed. I am the one he needs, Paulina averred, staring empty at the mirror. The madness has already begun. Theres still time to get him out. Well have to send him to America. You think that this will affect the whole of Europe? Paulina asked, not wanting to believe that the war would have such wide-reaching effects. Well be lucky if it stays in Europe, said Bako prophetically. Dont be such a pessimist. Realism and pessimism have nothing in common. And there it stopped. They had reached no agreement, made no decision. Bako laid his head on her breast, listening to her heartbeat. Paulina laid her hand over his other ear. Time stood still, all other sounds vanished, and the only thing that existed was the rhythmic beating of her heart. This was their favorite position, when each of them gave themselves to the other. He listened to her life, to the sound of her heartbeat, and gently stroking his head she drank him in. Tired by the long, hard day and their even more exhausting conversation, they fell asleep in one anothers arms.

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Chapter Forty-One 1946 The shelves of the Red Cross contained the fates of many. Each cardboard box, identified with a name, held the remains of a life lost in the chaos of the most cruel war ever seen by humankind. The luckier ones had someone who would come and take care of their remains. The less fortunate remained where they were, gathering dust on those metal shelves, awaiting the day when they too would become part of the refuse left in the wake of the war. Bakos breath showed in the cold air like white steam against the blue hues of the early morning. As soon as his train arrived he had rushed impatiently to the place where he would meet his soul-mate. Even though he had not slept a wink in the freezing compartment of the train, his eyelids did not drop for a moment. I was notified that the remains of Paulina Jazin are here, he announced in one short breath. Fill out this form, said the Red Cross worker with no hint of emotion. I just want to get her remains, he protested, unwilling to wait. And I just want to help you. Fill out this form, the man replied, shrugging. In the end, faced with reality, Bako sat down and began to fill in the form. Even his pen was cold, and refused to write. He scribbled on the back of the form, trying to get it to work. It felt very strange writing her name. Subconsciously he believed that the whole world should know about their relationship and that there was no need for this formality. He wrote slowly, watching the letters form under his hand. When he was done, Bako got up from the bench and handed over the form. Were you her husband? asked the worker, now intrigued. As there was no pressing work to be done, the Red Cross workers used their time to look at the photographs and documents accompanying the remains. It was as if the war had killed their moral code too, and it did not occur to them that they were intruding on the privacy of hundreds of dead men and women. Paulina was their favorite, and was considered the best looking in their collection. They had all been waiting for the moment when her husband would turn up. Yes, why? said Bako, taken aback by the question. You look like a strange couple. The man replied calmly. Bako carefully took the belongings packaged in the cardboard box with her name on it, and exiting the building, said to himself, Strange is a good word. Thank you.

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With the box under his arm, he headed for the graveyard he had noticed on his way to the Red Cross building. The graveyard was, paradoxically, the natural place for a remembrance of his loved one. He took a seat on an empty bench, opened the box, and pulled out a random object. It was her comb. He stroked it, and it felt like touching her hair. He looked at the pictures inside, they were mostly of Bako and Paulina. The letters were next. He started reading the first one he saw. things are going from bad to worse. What I did was so far from what I expected to do that I find it impossible to write about. You were right; I should have stayed by your side. However, I still plan to save my family, whatever it may cost me. Even though you already know this, I have to tell you a few things. I am terrified that I might lose your love, that you might be falling in love with another woman. Because without you and the light of your love, this planet would be the coldest and darkest place in the universe. We never questioned what we had together; we defended it like our last bastion. What I have with you is the only thing left; my last refuge. Nothing can stop me from coming back to you. Always yours, Paulina Bako rose and started walking. The pain in his heart wouldnt let him stay seated. He bent over and stroked the ground of the cemetery and, crying, spoke quietly. I thought I would never see you again. I know that you are waiting for me there, just as I am waiting for you here. I came to say farewell. Everything you had to say was in your letter. For better or for worse, the balance exists, unchangeable, timeless. Love is the only thing worth living for and it is the pinnacle of people existence. I am happy that I achieved those heights and that our discovery of them remained untaintedwe stayed on the true path. An altered path, has many dark twists and turns, and all but the strongest drop from exhaustion before finding the true one again. Most people remained blinded by the wrong values. I thank you for the love you gave me. I will always be with you. For the first time he fully grasped that she was dead. Although he had seen the foreshadowed outcome all these years, and particularly in the last three, he had always cherished a grain of hope, keeping it alive within him and somehow convincing himself that nothing dreadful could happen to her. He had hoped against hope that Paulina would appear on his doorstep from somewhere out of the blue, that something similar to the reunions he had read of in the newspaper would happen to them as well. But the war did not divide people into good and bad, not did it determine their destinies on that basis. People died without order or reason, some for an ideal, some under compulsion and some for no reason at all. The souls of the dead lingered here and for a long time it seemed that the only order left in the world was the passing of days and seasons.

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Chapter Forty-Two 1949 Three years had passed since Bako unpacked the box, and it had finally dawned on him that they were no longer together, or at least not physically. Often, he sat on the shores of the lake, alone, where they had used to sit together. He watched the waves and the days come and go. And yet, he could not, in the deepest level of his mind, understand that she was not there, next to him. From time to time, he would buy a ticket to the boat that was no longer his, and now ferried tourists around the lake. If he could not sit in the captains cabin, he would go to the prow and watch the boat slicing the calm waters of the lake, or he would sit cross-legged at the stern, listening to the monotonous chugging of the engine and contemplating the wake left by the propeller. His closeness to Paulina had not diminished over the years. The passage of time had brought him a profound inner peace. His sister-in-laws pregnancy was one of the few good things that happened for Bako in that period. After a long time he began to feel joy in his life again, and his belief in good was renewed. A turning-point came when in the spring his first niece was born. His brother had come to the house, shouting: Bakooo! Ive got a daughter! Bako ran down the stairs and into his arms, as excited as if he himself had had a child. He could not hold back his tears. They hugged one another for a long time. The elder bother felt that now the family tree would continue, no matter how cruelly determined destiny seemed to hack away at its roots. Lets go. They are waiting for us at the restaurant. Ive told the people there already, said the younger brother, bringing Bako back from his thoughts. This must be celebrated! said Bako, joyfully. Restaurants and cafes are the only places where happy and miserable people can be seen at once, those who are drunk and those who are sober, those who are in love and those who have been crossed in love, the young and the old, the fair and the unsightly; all these polarities can co-exist over a drink. Tonight, it was a gathering of happy people; various relatives and friends were already there, and the band was playing when the brothers arrived. It was a perfect night for celebration. The stars, could be touched at a whim, and a soft breeze cooled the brows of the musicians. Bako took his place at the central table and called for a toast as soon as he sat down; his joy was radiant. I havent seen Bako drink for a long time, Petar noted. Neither have I, agreed his friend in amazement, downing his own drink and calling for another. His niece means a lot to him.

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As the night wore on, Bako drank like a sailor. Wine relaxed him slowly and in stages. Starting with his feet, the hands, the body, and last of all the head. He began to feel the exhilaration of being alive. His joy was endless; he asked the musicians to play his favorite songs, made conversation and simply enjoyed himself. This new side of him resembled the old Bako of ten years ago, and most people had not seen him in this vein for a long time. When the first rays of light appeared, announcing the new day, he climbed onto the stage to address the guests: My dear friends, relatives and perhaps some strangers. I am a bit drunk from the wine, but I am more drunk from happiness. Today my first niece was born. God did not grant me children of my own, but wishes are not always granted in the way we expect. May her path in life be as clear and open as the sky above us. Bako spoke slowly, and in a hoarse voice. The guests slowly began to leave, and night flowed smoothly into day. Bako and his brother were the last to leave. His brother went to bed, and was soon fast asleep, snoring. Bako stayed, to see off the night and welcome the new day. He sat on the terrace, watching the sunrise. Without warning, he felt all the weariness brought on by the sleepless night and the alcohol circulating in his bloodstream. Slowly, he got up and went to bed.

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Chapter Forty-Three The winter was bitterly cold and people stayed indoors. It was one of those rare winters when snow covered the lakeshore. Usually the winters were mild; the lake modulated both summer and winter, creating a micro-climate. Even the eldest of the city could not remember such cold and snow. The city looked as if it had been taken out of a story book; with houses clustering on hills, creating narrow winding by-ways between them, and every snow-covered roofs chimney leaking smoke. The city looked as if it had sunken into a wintry dream. Bako was gazing through his window, noticing how the city looked even more romantic through panes of fogged glass, when his brother entered. Bako, Id like to have a chat with you, he said gently. Im listening. Bako laid down the book he had been reading and leaned back on his bed. Ten years have gone by since Paulina passed away. Bako knew exactly where the conversation was going and leapt from the bed as if scalded. Abandoning his recently relaxed tone, he said: If you think you have found me a bride, we can stop this discussion right now. But youre still young! This is the prime of your life, his brother said reasonably. Can we not talk about this, please? Will you be able to live with the thought that youve no family, no children? I have a family. You are my family. Your children will be my children. Yes, but Theres no but. I stay with Paulina. You cant stay with a dead woman. She is not dead for me. I dream of her every night, Bako replied in a calmer voice. Thats why you need a living woman. Enough. He left the room, slamming the door behind him. Bako went downstairs and poured himself some tea, warming his hands on the cup. Then he climbed upstairs again and re-entered his room, but his brother had gone. This exchange had ended like all others. Neither of them would give an inch. His brother could not believe that a man could live on his own. Bako, on the other hand, was amazed that nobody, not even his closest relative, could understand him. Only Kiril supported his choice to spend the rest of his life without a companion, perhaps because he had witnessed their love in the time of its blossoming, and when it reached full power. It was unfortunate that time had not allowed it to reach its zenith.

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He had remained in regular contact with Kiril through letters and postcards. They had not seen each other for several years, but their closeness remained undiminished. He put his cup by the windowsill. The foggy window quickly cleared from the heat, giving the appearance of a raising curtain. Seen through the wet window, the world was weird and distorted; its colors became twisted and strange, its forms became otherworldly and unreal. Bako sat on his bed, watching the hot and cold air ripple across the window in a cold, wet game.

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Chapter Forty-Four 1953 These were happy years for Bako, despite the universal poverty that the Jazin family felt. War had left desolation in its path. The new society was trying to find its feet, but pressures both internal and external hampered its progress. Sara, or the Little Princess, as they called Bakos niece, and the news of another baby brought joy into the Jazin household. Bakos niece was growing up, and he cared for her as he would for his own daughter, pouring all his love on her. They walked together along the shore, played together, enjoying her first steps and her first words jointly, and took delight in life together. As she grew, their interaction became more interesting. A week before her fifth birthday they were walking through the city and went to their usual place for their ice-cream. As soon as they had sat down the ice cream appeared on the table, the owner knew exactly what they would order Bako, chocolate and hazelnuts, his niece strawberry and raspberry. Before she started her ice-cream, Sara asked her uncle, in a serious tone of voice: Can you see God? I dont know, said Bako briefly, puzzled. He wondered where that question had come from. I can see Him. My eyes can see invisible things, his niece went on. Would I be able to see him? No, its only for me. Why do you ask me this? wanting to get to the bottom of it. God put water on my friends head when he was in church, explained the girl. Now the whole discussion seemed to make more sense, but he still could not work out where Gods visibility or invisibility came from. They sat at the table, talking of other matters until the last drips of ice-cream were gone. Then they got up, she took his hand and they set off to go home. They were both happy and contented: the niece because she had clear advantage over her uncle in being able to see God when he could not, and Bako because the person holding his hand meant everything in the world to him.

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Chapter Forty-Five 1970 Spring was parading its superiority over other seasons of the year; natures wilder side was awakening, bringing crisp air and a warm sun. Bako, sat on his balcony and breathed in the new season. He had stopped working at his store. His brother was now in charge of the business, while Petar had become a full-time employee, and quite irreplaceable. Bako felt that it was better this way. It was not that he couldnt or didnt want to work. Quite the opposite. He missed the social contact with people, but he wanted to help Petar, who had three children in his family. Bakos own needs were modest. The only thing he spent money on was books, and he was building up a formidable personal library. His train of thought was interrupted by someone knocking at the front door. He went downstairs and saw an official from the city council standing on the threshold, who said: The Mayor invites you to his office. Ill be there as soon as I can. All right. Ill convey your message to the Mayor. The official left and Bako went upstairs. As he was getting ready, he thought about the invitation. Whenever he went out Bako was well dressed. Now neat and tidy, he sat out along the cobblestone to the City Hall. From a distance he could see the Mayor, waiting for him outside the building. As soon as he came near, the Mayor approached him, embraced his cordially and asked: Do you know why weve invited you here? I dont know, but whenever Ive been invited to speak with authorities, they take something from me. The Mayor laughed at the cynical comment and, while climbing the stairs to his office, he said: For a change, were going to offer something. Well of course. Every barrel has its bottom. They sat down in the Mayors office, which had an impressive view of the lake. The Mayor opened the conversation in a sentimental vein. Bako, I owe you a great deal. You helped my family when things were hardest for us and we had lost our father. That is why I have used all my influence to return to you a small part of what was once yours. You cant return my boat to me.

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No, not really. But we can make you the harbor-master, the Mayor replied solemnly. Bako was amazed at this turn of events. He has lost all confidence in the new government, and now he saw a stop in the chain of injustice. In an entirely different tone of voice he asked: Does that mean I can sail the boat? Of course, replied the Mayor joyfully. There was profound change in Bakos manner. So it wasnt in vain that the old folks said: As you sow, so shall you reap, said Bako, with a tear in his eye as he hugged the same boy who, many years ago, had said to him: Come and see us again, mister. Both of them remained in an embrace for quite some time. Tears appeared on the Mayors face. To him, Bako was the well-doer who had helped them so much at the time of his fathers tragic death. He had used all of his power to return something, at least symbolically, to Bako. Trying to restore Bakos image had put his career at stake, but the Mayor had remained persistent in his efforts. This made it all worthwhile.

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Chapter Forty-Six Bako was an avid reader. The local library and bookstores had long ago become confining, so he started ordering books from his friends from around the world. Sometimes he was asked to come to the police station or the customs office to explain what he was receiving and why. He had read the sacred books of most religions, but could hardly find any religion in them. Mysticism began to interest him, and the more he read about it the more he realized there was much to learn. Spirituality fascinated him, but few in the city shared his interest and there was only one person in the whole city with whom he could discuss it, the Chief Judge. It was a beautiful spring day. With the Mayors permission he had taken the boat out himself and invited his niece for a cruse on the lake. The old captain offered to navigate the boat, saying, Ill steer and you can enjoy yourself. But Bako wanted to be alone. He and his favorite niece sat in the captains cabin, talking. Be sure to live your life so that at the end of it, you have nothing to apologize for, and no one to ask for forgivnes from. A pure life is priceless, the uncle said. But we all make mistakes. There are different kinds of mistakes. The small ones, we can all usually steer clear of, the medium ones can be escaped by those who are more intelligent, and the crippling ones can only be avoided by the wisest, continued Bako. You think there are different classes of people? I dont. Or at least, it isnt a human separation. It is the way we develop. Then how do we develop into the wisest? Listen to your heart. Follow the moral codes of your consciousness. They both fell silent and listened to the purring rhythm of the boats motor. Then Bako turned off the engine and let the boat glide over the smooth surface of the lake. Only the soft whisper of the breeze was to be heard amid the stillness that surrounded them. They were far from the shore, where both the city and the mountains could be seen. Snow still lay white on the peaks of Galicica, though greenery was spreading over the lower slopes. Not saying a word, they thought over what had been said. Sara, anxious to continue the conversation, broke the silence. Religion provides the moral code. Isnt it wise to follow that? Religion was made for the masses. Im talking about spirituality, where each person has to find his own code. You always respected religion, she said curiously. But not the actions that were performed in its name. You mean the wars waged? Not only that. Look what happened to the churches. You were always a supporter of the church.

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I still support the church. There are a lot of real believers in it. I am talking about the institution that the church has become over the centuries. How did it happen? Power and authority are hard to resist. Again there was a silence. Sara was surprised by this completely new side of Bako, especially concerning the church. He had supported the church with his words, and with his money, in a time when it was dangerous to be affiliated with any religion. Since she had enrolled in medical school Bako had become even more attached to Sara. She reminded him of Paulina and of her perfectionism. Someday she would make a good doctor, dedicated to her patients and their health.

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Chapter Forty-Seven 1979 Oh, Kiril, life has come full circle, Bako spoke softly, embracing his old friend. Yes, were together again, where it all began, Kiril responded gently. They sat in a restaurant; a few feet away, waves lapped on the lakeshore. The two of them had aged, but their spirits were unchanged. Kiril pragmatic, Bako, a romantic idealist. It was obvious that they had been handsome young men. Age leaves its mark, but charm is timeless. Kiril had put on some weight, but that fit with his personality. Bako had remained slim; he had buckled his belt in the same hole since he was eighteen. Their eyes were full of vigor, mingled with the wisdom of experience. Things went the way we wanted them to. You stayed abroad and made money and you managed to stay away from all the unpleasantness we had here. I told you to stay with me. Kiril was, as usual, bestowing wisdom. I know, I know. But I could never do without this view, said Bako, gesturing towards the lake with a sweep of his arm. So you get the view in exchange for all that you lost and all that you endured My only regret is the thought that I might have been able to save Paulina if Id stayed in Paris. I dont think you could have. But theres no point in dwelling on that now although you would certainly have had a more comfortable life abroad. Maybe youre right. Its not a case of whether Im right or not. From my point of view, Id have liked to have you closer to me all these years. But you had to walk the path that you deserved the least, lamented Kiril. Sentimentality overwhelmed Kiril, and a small tear rolled down his wrinkled cheek. His reading glasses magnified to an impossible size. I still have you, my closest friend, even after all these years. Real friendship are not bounded by anything; not time, not space, said Kiril, wiping away the tear. This was the truth in their case. Although they lived far apart, with almost no immediate contact, and different ways of looking at the world, their friendship remained a close one. Every time Kiril visited Ohrid their reunions went far beyond mere cordiality. They would talk for hours on end about anything and everything. If it hadnt been for you, Id never have gotten the boat, Bako said. Kiril smiled broadly and replied:

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Yes, you would. I just suggested where you should buy it. The French would have tricked you. So youre going back to Paris? Yes. Everything I have is there: my wife, my children and my grandchildren, replied Kiril. Do your grandchildren speak Macedonian? Believe or not, they can speak it, read it and write it. Excellent. It worries me, what I see abroad. Our people melt away after the first generation. If we dont do something about it, well vanish off the face of the earth, Kiril said in a worried tone. Weve survived centuries of slavery. Yes, but during that time there was an instinct for self-preservation that was activated. Now that were finally independent, we seem to have loosened up. This is a resilient nation. Maybe, but Both became quiet. They were worried about the destiny of their Macedonia. Many people left young, and never came back. Are you happy here? asked Kiril, breaking the long distance. I am at peace, responded Bako quietly.

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Chapter Forty-Eight Bako took refuge in silence. He talked rarely, and with only a few. Those who came to visit him understood him and were able to remain silent for hours. What was there to say, when everything had already been said? They would depart with only the two words, Good night. Their simple presence spoke more than a thousand words. He spoke to Paulina at great length. In dialogues with her, he would assume her role as well as his own; he knew her so well that he could predict exactly what she would say in any given situation. The only living person he spoke to often was his older niece, with whom he had endless conversations. When Sara entered, Bako was sitting on his bed watching as the red ball of light in the horizon prepared for its rest. You have been very quiet, said the niece, now an accomplished cardiologist. Maybe Ive run out of things to say. That cant be it. Youve always had some wisdom for everyone. People must speak well of the dead. What are you talking about? Sara asked, confused. Bako had never been afraid of death; she feared that moment much more than him. The end is in sight, Bako answered peacefully. The end cannot come. You cannot leave me alone. Do you know why nobody enjoys old age? Not because the body slowly loses its many functions, but because there is no hope. Old age lives in the past; it has no future. When you take away both hope, and a future, the body ages. We age because of ideas, not because of time. Ill be left by myself. You are grown up now. I hope that you have understood everything Ive passed on to you. I have, and I will live by it. That is the most important thing. Many people listen to advice but never use it. You havent told me why youre so quiet. What else do I have to say? I have tried to write down all of my most important thoughts, either in letters or in my journal. An unwritten word is like an arrow without a target. Once secured on paper, they will hopefully find a place in someones soul. Im leaving all of them to you. Dont show them to anybody. When your time comes, give them to your grandchildren, so that they can be published. Why dont we make them known sooner? Some time has to pass. I dont understand, but I will follow your wishes. Always remember this: in the world of silence, the most important ideas of this world were conceived. Never waste your time on empty conversations.

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Are we going to the lake tomorrow? Of course; I always have energy for the lake. Ill meet you in the morning. Sara stood up, kissed him gently on the cheek, and left. The red ball had vanished below the horizon. She had the feeling that Bakos health was deteriorating, but she did not want to admit this to herself, much less to him, for she could not imagine life without him and the conversations with him. Bako, watching the citys lights shimmering on the black surface of the lake, thought over what Sara had said. He wondered if he really spoke so little. If this was true, then what must the people around think of him? It was not that he had ever cared what people thought of him or what was said about him, but still, it came as a surprise to him. Maybe he had come to the stage where words lose their meaning, the time when only stillness and quiet provided answers. He pondered on what life meant the whole of human existence summed up in a four letter word. The absurdity was obvious. The only thing that he did not ask himself, although he should have, was whether he was on the same plane as others were. Those who could not or would not climb the spiritual ladder were not able to comprehend the transformation that their neighbor was going through. Everyone moved within their own trajectory. Bako lived in his own world, and everyone else in theirs. There was a huge difference between the world he inhabited and the most others. Bako was open towards everybody; nobody was judged, criticized or discriminated against. Most other worlds, unlike his, were closed-minded, critically oriented and judgmental.

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Chapter Forty-Nine 2002 Thunder roared again. The rain fell in sheets from the sky. Although she was drenched, Sara kept on running. Her white dress, heavy from the downpour, revealed the lines of her well-kept body. The years she had passed with Bako swirled through her mind. At last she reached the cemetery, found Bakos grave, knelt down before it and placed the keys on the gravestone, whispering, These are yours, uncle. She was breathing heavily, but felt his spirit nearby and went on speaking: Your letters and your diaries are for my eyes only, as you wished. Now I understand your story about the water and the oil. Now I understand that, sooner or latter, the oil really does come to the surface. And in my life too, the oil has surfaced. Love has been seeded in my heart once more. Thank you.

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Chapter Fifty 1938 Bako was standing with his hand on the rudder. Paulina was next to him. They were out for an afternoon cruise. Do you remember the day when I told you we would have a boat? asked Bako. How could I forget? It was that day that I thought that love had taken away your senses, Paulina responded gently. Maybe it did, but it gave me the fire and determination to fulfill your wish, too. Why Didnt you want a boat before? Not really. I wanted to concentrate on producing wine, said Bako calmly. But I remember you saying that the boat was necessary for the export of the wine. Bako hugged her gently, kissed her softly and whispered: The boat was necessary only for you

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Epilogue The inspiration for this novel came from a short newspaper article announcing that the oldest boat on Lake Ohrid, the Macedonia, had been returned to its rightful owners. The underlying motivation behind the book, however, came from the story of my grandfather, Simon Srbinovski, who lost everything in the aftermath of the Second World War. He was declared a war profiteer, even though he never collaborated with the forces of occupation. Nationalization ensued. The state claimed all of his property, property which had been earned not only with his sweat, but also that of his father and his brother. Later my mother was to see some of his household goods in a prominent politicians household. Following that came imprisonment without cause or accusation. And, worst of all, he was blacklisted by the authorities which meant that for many years all opportunities to find suitable employment were closed to him. He had to endure years on the brink of existence during which his family was supported by his wife, before his reputation was restored and he was allocated a job with a minimum wage. He died without reclaiming any portion of what he had lost. His descendants are locked in a battle to reclaim a small portion of their property. I sincerely hope that they will succeed; they are the last to remember what was taken from him. I grew up with my grandfather, but he never so much as mentioned the bitter cup handed to him by destiny. All that I know of his life has been handed down to me by my grandmother and my mother. I wanted his voice to be heard as well as the voices of thousands of honest but wronged people of our country.

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