FLASH
Shkruar nga Pamfleti
Rarely ever and nowhere, the date November 25th, locked under the armpit the neighboring dates: November 24th and 26th, where all the feats and the life of the photographer's colleague were hidden: Ndoc Kodheli - Shkodran full of kindness of Kola and Pina. Since we unanimously called him the ambassador of Shkodran humor in Tirana and all Albanian speakers beyond Tirana...
He died in 1989. 1989 was the year that collected and listed only bad things for Ndoc Kodheli. All of a sudden for Ndoc, the saddest day and days of his life began. On 19.4.1989, a gracious "organization" started with "service" in Berat. A car with license plate TR 03155 took the "enemy of the people" on "holiday" to the hotel in Berat...
It was the vehicle that had 55 stamped on the front, this legal number... that sent tremors into the minds of Albanians... Ndoc was assigned a separate room. And, graciously, they asked him to sign a document... With some diabolical underlining, which Ndoci thought were strange tricks... The next day they changed Ndoci's room. To avoid the side of the city. It was a room facing south. Where the sound of the river would help. When the magicians would continue to practice their craft... So much so, under the grip of the trap, it was hard to endure...
They asked Ndoci to sign a document in hand... I don't know what the document contained, I don't even know if Ndoci signed under what was written... I don't know much about the outcome of that four-day gurgle, wearing the "tourist" mask. ... I know what it looked like after the "service"... of Berat. A sadness of Ndoc, a silence beyond laughter, away from the driven humor that was never usual for him. A spiritual and physical decline, with wounds and bruises under the clothes, that the family took care of for days and weeks.
Now he was talking only to himself: ... they just said: "eggs are expensive...", what exaggeration or humor is there here, when really, as everyone knows, the price of eggs went up... I just said: "...herds graze on the asphalt!" - Kushedi... what you said to the peasant was not made up differently - to push the sheep in the grass square, because they are not photographed on the causeway?! This should be it?! But what humor can be created here?! What humor or untruth can there be, when they said recently that in the "Enver Hoxha Museum", expenses were made...
But I might have said it, as the truth always pushed me... In fact, that summer (1989), there was a rumor that didn't seem so barren... Ndoci was sick, and at a glance, it seemed plausible. They told him that the disease would be diagnosed and maybe he would be treated there, abroad... They also told him to go to one of the offices of the Foreign Ministry for more clarification. And Ndoci did so. Kolaj - the official told him, it's up to us to take care of the master... But, let them dare to ask for an enlargement and retouching of a family photo... Even this Kolaj... the fortune-teller told him... And adversity took away his courage and strength...
The master "cooked" it, and the master took it to his office. After that, the saying was raised by the daughter... They were told that you have gone like a goat to the butcher... They were told that Ndoci did not accept the salary offered. This extension of opposition, medemek, gave rise to the contradictory, even comparative saying: "...in the 'Enver Hoxha' Museum, expenses have been made...". They were told about this that the gurgle was not started by the interlocutor, but by the office mate, for fear that if the gossip came out, he would also suffer... That's how it happened, which was common in many cases...
But we don't know if it was exactly true this time. Because, no matter what we said or what was said... Ndoci proved nothing. When the investigators told him in the questioning, that: "... you son of a bitch, did you assassinate Lenin!?"... Ndoci said with all the strength he had left: ... yes, this is completely true... I pushed Franja Kaplan... – at the end of August 1918... to spill his guts in the men's square... But, you didn't have a cof... you came back to my path, took a black dog with seven devil souls...
Now it's not Franja, but still... the day will come, with my hand I will kill again... I know where you are. Kavajsia artist Kristina Koljaka decorated the basuret and placed it in the courtyard of the Art Gallery. It's waiting for me there! I will not leave without calcifying the vein. "Huh… you even have the guts to make fun, huh?! No, I'm not kidding! I'm telling the truth... I killed Lenin!... The only fault I have... If you don't believe it... erase this from your notes too!".
... on the contrary, they did not delete anything... The file swelled so much... that it could hardly be held... The Secretary of the Party of Region No. 4 placed it in front of him, sitting in the middle of the podium, facing the hall full of "Agricultural Propaganda" collective, or employees of The relevant Ministry. To "exemplify"... or judge the "enemy of the people" - Ndoc Kodheli... It was a strange event... a big surprise, for the innocent defendants there... With the innocent defendant Ndoc Koledhi at the head. "Oh God!... What have I done, oh God?!... How bad have you been for three quarters of your life?!... Now, in the husband's manhood?!". And, the artist of humor... of kindness... and photography... Ndoc Kodheli, never found out what evil he did... Just as no one found out with what document the Secretary of the Party had inflated the file, to inflate the brains as well of the present tense.
Në çudinë e madhe, të gjithë u shtangën… mbetën me veshë e gojë harruar, heshtur dhe hapur… – përveç nja dy a tre të kurdisërve që “recituan” shëmtuar ç’ju kishte zhgarravitur çakërdisja djallëzore… Edhe pse pati plot të tjerë që u shprehën me sinqeritet se nuk e njihnin Ndocin me këto të këqija… Ata që e kishin sajuar kurdisjen i mbyllën veshët… Ditët shpejtuan me ç’qe kurdisun. Edhe me rikurdisje bëmash që gjasme shtoheshin në ajri, ngase s’i nxente më dosja… Me urdhër enkas nga Drejtoria, u “qendis” pika “Ç” e nenit 98 të kodit të punës… Dhe Ndoc Kodheli u përzu… u shty disi tutje… Siç qe bërë “zakon” të parandodhte zymtia në prag furtune.
Fotografi i vlerave në artin e fotografisë u caktua të montonte arka rrushi, hone tutje nga Vora, në NB “17 Nëntori”… Kështu! Dhe eci përshpejtimi… Sosi papritur gurgulenë e çudisë… Ndoci u sëmur rëndë. U shtrua ngutshëm në spital. Dhe vdiq… Vdiq më 26.11.1989. Le ta themi edhe këtë: …mbase, ndër vdekjet e fundit kështu të jetësisë moniste… Pati dyshime edhe themnaja për këtë vdekje…
Shumëkush, nënzëshëm a zëshëm, vetëpyeti dhe pyeti: “… Kush e vrau Ndoc Kodhelin?! Siç qe bërë e zakonshme: trysnia e jetës “made in Enverizëm”… frika pat sajuar edhe ligjësitë e pashkruara… vetëm nja dhjetë të afërm a fisnorë… e varrosën Ndocin gjinofqar… Përfshirë edhe nja dy punëtorë të shërbimit të varrnajës”… Lulet që munguan qenë shëmti e stërvinë e shpirtrave të sajuar…që i polli trysnia…
Shikuat në paradë të imazheve brenda këtij shkrimi, edhe piedestalin pa shtatore. Shkruar në ballinë dhe përanash me turlisojshe… Është piedestali që mbajti mbi kurriz nja mbi 40 vjet, shtatoren e Leninit të rusëve. (40 vjet, ka thonë Zoti, që duhet të durojnë “robtë” e shkretë, për tu shembun e keqja… për t’u gdhi nryshe…më thoshte gjyshi…s’di tamam përse…)
Që e vrava unë Leninin…Ndoci e tha burrnisht… mbase, ngase, ashtu e donin ata(?!) Se… kushedi mendësinë e hilshme?! Ama, unë nuk shoh “vdekje” në imazhet e mbërthyera zotshe nga maestro Ndoci. Shoh plot art e bukuri në qindra imazhe shqiptare – edhe përtej gjuhës shqipe… Shoh jetësi të nënshkruar gjallshëm për në përjetësi… E në pati ndonjë pishmanllëk që s’e di, ia hoqa unë merakun Ndocit. Nja pak javë ase muaj më mbrapa, e fotografova unë piedestalin e shtatores… I tjetërsuar për nja ca ditë. Për të hovur ngopjen e shpirtrave rinorë… dhe ngushëlluar disi fanatikët e pagdhendun…
Piktori Robert Guci tregon “shakanë” e fundit të Ndocit. Kur po grupoheshin për në mbledhjen e “gjykimit”… “shokë, në kolektivin tonë kemi zbuluar një armik të popullit… Hajdeni t’ia marrim frymën!”, ndërsa fërkonte duart dhe nënqeshte pa siklete… Më saktë: me siklete të përzëna për gjithsa hoqi… Ngase, shpirti i Ndocit, i gatuar papro me brumë mirësie, nuk përqafi kurrë asnjë grimcë ligësie… Por, gjinof!… U shemb në grackën e zhgënjimit. U shemb për së fundi…
He was admitted to "Mother Teresa". And he died. A full 63 years and two days. Be silent forever. Ten or thirteen relatives painfully escorted him to his last home... Later, nothing was said about him... As far as I know, there was nothing written... The family members fled to Italy... The proud and "large" flowers of death on the hunchback of brown soil of Sarra, dried up without any renewal... And, Ndoci, cooked only with dough of kindness and the gas of humor... as if it was forgotten...
Who killed Ndoc Kodheli?! Why?!/ Memoria
Lini një Përgjigje