Agolli's manuscripts about his father, grandmother and childhood

Some parts selected from the narratives of the great writer Dritëro Agolli, reveal to us almost every unknown secret of his life. They are intimate accounts of the events that happened within the family, which after his death seem to take on a special value. The last memories, left in manuscript, starting from the writer's childhood, were discovered by the daughter Elona Agolli herself.

Dritëro Agolli's hand did not stop writing until the last day, even though it had begun to tremble due to poor health. The great writer passed away on February 3, 2017, but two years after his absence, the unknown manuscripts give us a special sign of communication. Sometimes they are the completion of impossible interviews, or of words that have not found the right time to say them.

Today, this magical touch with the still unpublished manuscripts of Dritëro Agolli brings to our eyes some unknown sides of his family's origins in Menkulas of Korça. Dritëro Agolli tells about the day of his birth, which is impossible to separate from the wounds of the two world wars, which left traces even on the threshold of his house.

In these selected parts, it is revealed that the life of the writer, since his birth, is inextricably linked with the fate and history of the country.

In a part of the manuscripts, which Elona Agolli titled "Parts from Dritëroi's confessions about father Rizai and his grandmother", here is what the writer wrote:

"My father was a heavy, gloomy and, above all, very angry man. He rarely talked about his life. Even when he was about to say something, he was short: 'I was there too; there were many; two lights flashed; they were killed; let's go'. Only the grandmother told the events at length. But you couldn't believe her either, as she gave the true events the form of fairy tales. The point is, I don't believe that the Greeks had put his head on a scaffold and wanted to cut it off. Having on the one hand few real facts from my father and on the other hand many imaginary facts from my grandmother, I have been spared in describing this piece of my life. Yes, the grandmother was strange. When I told her how brave she was after being mine, when the Greeks had caught her sleeping, she replied: 'Well, the lion sleeps, because he is not afraid. Have you ever seen a rabbit sleep? The rabbit is never caught asleep. The rabbit does not sleep because it is afraid. Why do you sweat when you sleep? You sweat because you are afraid. He who is not afraid, sleeps and does not sweat. Rizai is not one of those men who sweat in his sleep, he sweats in the fallow, there on the ground and does not sweat on a white sheet. My grandmother was strange. She turned everything upside down, both the bad and the good. Even when she heard someone complaining of illness, she would say with her hands up to the sky: 'Oh, Haxhi Bektash Veliu, it's a good thing that nothing hurts in my body, because if it did, I wouldn't trust you either!'

It is known that the writer told the story of his name and birth even when he was alive in a general way, while in the last years of his life, it seems that he had decided to write his biography even more fully. This is how the day of birth is narrated in the two manuscripts listed below:

"They say that I was born near the morning, on Tuesday, October 13, of the year I was born a little above (1931). If I had been the son of a rich merchant of Korça, my birth would have been noted on the pages of a city newspaper. But in our house, in the village of Menkulas, there was a thick notebook with a leather cover, where the names of those who were born and those who died were recorded. My name was also there. I regret that this notebook was lost during the Second World War, having survived the first. The writing there was a mixture of Arabic, Greek and Latin letters. This notebook was called 'Mezhuma' and was kept in my grandmother's chest. When the Germans entered the house, in the winter of 1944, their pirate collaborators looted the grandmother's chest with other loot, accompanied by her useless curses. A week after my birth, my grandfather got on his horse and set off for Kuči t Devolli farm, some twelve kilometers away from our village. There he met Baba Ahmet, a short man with a black beard and a white crown surrounded by a green band up to the top; a learned man, who knew Turkish, Italian and French, since, as they said, he had been in France in the mines of Lyon and had come into contact with French culture, especially with that of the Enlightenment. The grandfather told him that a grandson had been born to him, and father Ahmeti himself should name him. Grandfather rides, father Ahmeti rides, and both at home, in Menkulas. According to the mother, it was a dinner that would never be forgotten. A table as big as a sheaf was laid, with all the good things..."

One day these manuscripts of Dritëro Agolli are expected to appear in a separate book, according to a conversation with his daughter, Elona. In the meantime, a voluminous book with memories of contemporaries, writers, poets and friends of Dritëro Agolli is being prepared to be launched on the market, which will make the great Albanian writer even closer and known to his readers. /Albania/