FLASH
Shkruar nga Besart KadiaHis books will speak! They will speak beautifully and proudly, and I am sure that a Swiss woman will be talking to Kadare in the wagon of great silence.
In the age of the advent of consciousness about the big world, writers were introduced to us. The literature book of the early 90s for elementary schools was an amalgamation of many authors who seemed to come from another world.
Bardhyl Londo, whose daughter was in my class, lived a few buildings away from us in Vorri Bom. Dritëro Agolli, who was a Mankulari boy, as well as my grandfather, whose brother often visited us at home. The generation I belonged to read these authors as strangers, while for me they were to some extent tangible and alive. I also knew their stories and how they enjoyed their economic difficulties.
While with Ismail Kadare from Girokastri, there was no connection between us. His name was so high and distant that it seemed like an independent institution of the Albanian language. I hadn't heard about his presence at birthday parties or family parties. I hadn't heard any common story from either my father or my grandparents. And therefore, for the mind of a child, Kadare was not normal, arrogant, elitist, and moreover, with all that fame, he should not be alive!
Today, my way of thinking reminds me of that American child who wrote to Anjstan who was surprised that he was alive to teach him at school, where the latter wrote back: I'm sorry to disappoint you and I'm still alive.
The years flew by and a few months after I had finished my marathon of 18 years of schooling, I had to accompany Kadare from Friborg in Switzerland to Zurich.
Here I was, 24 years old, in front of the author who, as a child, I assumed was no longer in this world. Obviously, I didn't tell him what I thought about him, but I knew about the disagreements with Agolli and sweetly opened up the conversation about him. The way he explained it to me, I felt complete respect for him as a person and as a writer.
But according to him, the women were the weak point that had left. With this interpretation that he gave me, he seemed alive and with a worldview like any man or man in this world. And then he broke away and found the opportunity to elaborate and test with himself but loudly in front of an anonymous young man some of his theses about the history of Albania and the future of Kosovo.
They were interesting theses and the essence was the need to raise the heads of modern Albanians based on the still unknown depth of our past. After about 30 minutes of conversation, he wanted to share the mastery of the Albanian language and its use by ordinary people. And where better than with a bracelet:
In Vlora, an African with bushy hair was walking on Lungo Mare. A young Vlonjat approaches him and asks him: Oooo darkness! You combed your hair with dynamite!!!
And for three or four minutes he repeated the word darkness and with a smile enjoyed how people used the language. He saw it as a power of communication and intelligence that not all peoples used so freely.
Because according to him, the strength of our people is in the magic of the language and the desire to shape it in different contexts and to speak it as much as possible.
And at this exact moment someone approaches us on the Swiss train and coldly asks us not to talk anymore because that car was the car of complete silence. Communication was not allowed.
The surprise in his eyes was like that of a child when his favorite toy is taken away. Barbell. How could time and life pass without exchanging words with each other. A few seconds later he was taken away and asked us to stand somewhere further away so as not to give up the power of the Albanian: he wanted to speak Albanian!
And maybe one day I will tell this story to my daughters, as children told me about other Albanian authors. And His books will speak! They will speak beautifully and proudly, and I am sure that a Swiss woman will be talking to Kadare in the wagon of great silence.
Lini një Përgjigje