Comrade Zylo From His Post example essay topic

1. Everything had become clear. That slender curtain of doubt was torn. Araniti was officially informed that he was to be promoted to the post held by comrade Zylo. The people congratulated him for the new post, expressing their pleasure with a lot of praise. Araniti, self-controlled and as always cold-blooded, thanked them and left with his eyebrows knitted.

Comrade Zylo was handing over his dossier, explaining the instructions and plans. He was trying to be calm and friendly. He did not want to have any new conflicts with this tough person in these last moments. Conflicts in these cases are of no utility; they only cause trouble. Hence, the advice he was giving to Araniti was careful, well-thought-out, and tactful. How careful was comrade Zylo!

He could have left without giving any advice and without showing so much care. Nothing! I am leaving! Good luck, Aranit, in your future job waiting here for you! But no, comrade Zylo could not leave without advising the new clerks.

He was tormented about how things would go in the place he had directed himself, in the place where he had put so much effort, had shed sweat and left a part of his mind. After having done all the hand-over to Araniti, he called me and told me to prepare a short speech, that he would deliver at the cocktail party organized in the reunion hall to honor him as he left his post. He told me where I had to concentrate and added: -I want it to be sketched around only four or five topics, and then I will extend it myself as I speak... -Ok, comrade Zylo, -I said. Then, he took down from the shelves the books he had brought from home and those he had checked out from the library, put them on the table, sighed deeply and said: -So many years, Demk"e, so many years! A man feels sorry to leave his job!

... It is not little effort we put in this, it is not little sweat we shed! Comrade Zylo called the cleaning lady and showed her the books. She understood. She should take the books to his house a few at a time, because they were a lot. Most of them were in a hard cover, thick, in foreign languages and the rest were in the mother tongue.

When the cleaning lady went out, he looked at the books moved. - Demk"e, I could have left them to Araniti, but he does not know these languages and would keep them only to decorate the shelves. But I had never liked to see the book as a piece of furniture. The book does not fall in the category of usual belongings. It seeks to move.

If you leave it there, sedentary, you commit the worst sin ever and deserve a curse for it. Do you understand, Demk"e? -It is like that, -I said. -If I leave them to Araniti, I will destroy him, because he will be cursed.

I am not a believer. I believe only in books. But let us understand each other: there are books that can never be trusted. Comrade Zylo shook his hands off the dust of the books and papers he was taking out of the drawers. Holding his hands away form the suit he was wearing, he stared at the walls of his office and the table in the shape of a big T. -How many debates have we had at this table! But why have we had so many debates, Demk"e?

In vain? For the sake of work, of progress! Afterwards he sat on the chair. He held his beard on the palm of his hand and looked out of the window. These were the moments when comrade Zylo was thinking and I did not dare break the thread of his thoughts. And what other thoughts could comrade Zylo have, besides those for the future of the sector he had directed for such a long time?

But the thread of those thoughts was interrupted by the phone ring. -Alo! Araniti? -Araniti has his own office, dear friend.

I am Zylo Kam beri! - and he put the phone down shaking his head. -I recognized him from his voice-he told me. -It is Zaim Avazi, the imitator of Xhibilet Xhibiletov. I am really sick of him. Well, Demk"e, well! Comrade Zylo stood up and put the chair in its place.

-However, Demk"e, work on the topics about the preservation of the cultural monuments. Remind Aranit of this! That problem should be addressed. He was being called to go somewhere and he was getting ready to go out. I also had an appointment with Bakir to decide upon the cocktail we were organizing for the conduction of comrade Zylo. 2.

Bakiri came by my house. We talked for a long time about comrade Zylo and about Araniti, for the one who was leaving and for the other who was coming. I was feeling ease in my soul. It seemed as if I had got rid of a heavy burden I had been holding on my shoulders that tormented me for years.

I had the confidence that I would get rid of the reports and would deal with something better and more useful. I showed this feeling to Bakir, and he, like me, hoped that I would get rid of that boring burden. But I felt something else. I had got used to comrade Zylo. He was a strange person for me and I was feeling sorry to get separated form him. It is surprising but I felt sorry.

Bakiri laughed at this feeling but believed me. At the same time I both accepted and rejected the character of comrade Zylo. This was a mixed feeling. In general I was duplicating the others and myself. I wrote reports.

Another second person was reading them in front of the people. That second one in fact was me, but without my body. This second one was holding the speech for me and tried to convince me. Eh, I was holding a speech to myself!

... But what is more surprising, listening to this second one, I believed that they were not my words, but his. And once, in a conference, like a madman, I said: "This expression is very good!" I forgot it was mine. Do you know? I had got used to this way of living and became nervous when I did not have to write reports and speeches for the others. And so, the promotion of Araniti now to substitute comrade Zylo made me happy and sad at the same time.

"Araniti knows how to write the reports himself, -I was thinking. -And me, what will I do?" -You go and work in a newspaper, Demk"e! -Bakiri advised me as we were standing in front of my house. -This is what I have thought, -I told him. - You can even write novels, -he said without irony at all. -I am afraid I would fill in the sentences with expressions from speeches-I said and trembled.

I trembled and got goose bumps for a reason. There I was, confronted with the reality of writing stories in order to bring back the old times when I used to write short stories and sketches with my childhood friend Adem Adashi. When I read my attempts two or three days after, I got sad. The phrases were colorless, the words came one after the other like un elaborated bricks. They were words from reports. My Zenepe too, when she read it, was disappointed and said that it would be better for me not to write short stories, because I had forgotten.

She said this with such a pity, because some time ago I used to write very well and gave hopes of becoming a good writer. Adem Adashi used to write worse than me at that time, but now numerous critiques and articles about him are published. My literature peers, surprised, ask me why I abandoned literature so early. -You can write, Demk"e, - Bakiri repeated with good will. -You think? -I asked.

-Yes, I do-he said. I squinted. -You told me some years ago, as if you were laughing, that if you put down on paper all the actions of comrade Zylo, you would have a very good narrative story, -Bakiri said. Something similar to anxiety invaded me. This resembled the starting point of creation. I felt I had tried it years ago, when I used to write tales and stories.

"Adem writes stories while you weave reports", the voice of Zenepe came into my mind, as it constantly repeated these words to me when I sank in the official phrases in the middle of the papers. -Adem Adashi will see how it should be written, -I said. Bakiri opened his eyes. -What are you saying, Demk"e? - he asked. -I will begin to write, -I answered. I wanted to stay for a long time with Bakiri, but I had to prepare the last speech of comrade Zylo.

And so we had to say good night to each other and I headed home. Zenepe was knitting and the knitting needles seemed as if they were running. This run seemed to greet me. Zenepe followed them with her eyes in order not to make any mistake and to forget to greet me... In silence, I took my plate and began to eat.

-Is it about promotion? -Zenepe asked. I got it, that was about comrade Zylo. But I did not know anything. I knew only he was leaving his post. -I have not yet heard anything, -I said.

I ate and then got the papers. I put them in front of me, as always, lit a cigarette and began to write. Zenepe was looking at me just with the corner of her eye. I wrote down a phrase and then moved my head away to see it form a distance, as if I wanted to be self-delighted with my calligraphy. -Rumor has it that Araniti is strict but competent. His reports, will he write them himself?

-It is possible, -I answered without lifting my eyes form the paper and without interrupting myself from the sentence I was writing. -It would be good if he wrote them himself. You got tired... -she said. -I should also do some things... However, the reports are a common production. It is not meaningful if only one person writes them, because the thoughts would then suffer from subjectivism, -I said keeping my eyes at the paper.

For a moment Zenepe did not say anything. Her knitting needles were dancing at the folk music on the radio. -Eh, you are used to reports, Demk"e, and you feel sorry to get separated from them. I can sense that you feel sorry. I would feel the same if I were to be separated from the knitting needles. It is enough for me to have a little thread to begin to knit and relax.

For you it is enough to have a little thread of report and you start to knit reports... You are used to it, Demk"e, you are used to it! -she sighed. I left the pencil on the paper; I left it like a cut oak tree over a white stone that can be seen form the top of a hill if seen from above. -How do you know that I feel sorry?

-I asked her. -I know it Demk"e, I know -she said in a very sad expression of her face. I did not answer. I got the pencil again and went on writing. The letters were lined one after the other like the chopped tree trunks in a filed.

When I was a child I used to go with my father in the fields and see the grooves. They were long. And it smelled like soil. In fact the paper did not smell like ink but it seemed so to me. I am not a person without imagination and I can write, but I am not lucky.

Who was the first to inject me with the virus of reports? Yes, yes! The First was comrade Shemshedin. He infected me. Then came comrade Zylo and comrade Q... -What are you writing?

-Zenepe asked. -The last speech of comrade Zylo, -I said. -Where will he deliver it? -she asked again. -At the cocktail, -I replied. -When?

-Tomorrow in the evening-I said. -Eh! -Zenepe said. -Tomorrow I was thinking of going to see a piece from the theater of Korca.

It is now a week that it has been here in Tirana. -We can go after tomorrow. -It leaves Tirana after tomorrow, -she said with regret. -Then, go alone, -I said.

The phone began to ring. - Demk"e, don't promise! -she cried out when I wanted to answer. -Yes, Demka... Good. How are you? ...

Kleopatra? ... Zenepja? ... Doing the housework... Yes.

Where will you deliver it? ... How? ... The price from the theatre of Korca will be discussed? You will deliver the speech?

But I have not seen it. (Zenepe tells me with gestures not to accept). But Kleopatra, your husband is a writer! Comrade Adem can help you... What?

... He has gone to a production work? Where, in Skr apar? Micro Karapataqi and Zaim Avazi also could help you...

They are critics, they know! When do you need it? ... After tomorrow in the morning?

... Well Kleopatra, I will try... No problem! Once again I was persuaded by others. This tendency of mine to succumb to the pressures and favors asked by others remains one of the biggest weaknesses of my character and has brought me much disgrace.

- Demk"e, Demk"e! You could not refuse even Kleopatra! Oh, my Demka, how will it go further with you? -said Zenepe in a crying voice. - I cannot Zenepe, -I said. - You like these things, Demk"e! -Zenepe said and she stood up to go to the bedroom.

3. Comrade Zylo was standing by the main table. Araniti and Bakiri were sitting on either side of him. The tables were decorated with cognac bottles and candy. In other words, the party was modest as comrade Zylo had ordered. Nothing excessive could be seen on those tables.

He was wearing a gray suit and a grass-green tie. He smiled time after time, but on his face these smiles seemed like pain, and a light melancholy on his features gave him a noble appearance. Sometimes he turned his face toward Araniti and smiled at him without any envy for taking his post. Araniti was standing as always. His thick and black eyebrows seemed as if they covered his eyes and gave him a gloomy look even in these warm moments. First, we drank a little, two or three glasses that seemed to be related to the purpose of the party.

We were clinking the glasses and saying in an unconscious way "Cheers, cheers!" A kind of fake joy seemed to surround us that in fact was a yellow boredom. In order to get over this crisis that happens often in the prologues of organized parties, we had cognac. Then the crisis was over and we were enjoying it. Good mood comes like a river when it rains a lot. The rain-cognac fell in our stomachs and so the good mood went out of its borders and gushed around. Then we began to get up form our tables and clink our glasses with the glass of comrade Zylo.

He was patting us on our shoulders saying: -I am pretty sure that each of you can become a director! You have grown up in my eyes as employees with potential skills and values! Cheers guys! One of my aims has been that from this working center should come out only skilled employees with future perspectives. For example, Demka has been noticed for his skill, and as a prophet, determined our destiny and could tell the stairs in the social pyramids that we could pass.

Bakiri, as a chief of the professional unions said some words about comrade Zylo, wishing him success in his new duty, about which none of us new, because as it might be possible it was not yet determined. Then he went to hug comrade Zylo. Comrade Zylo was moved and tears came into his eyes. And we understood that he was on the verge of crying. Finally comrade Zylo began to speak. He took out of his pocket the bunch of written letters, the bunch I had prepared.

He put it in front of him and said: -I knew, brothers, that I would get moved this evening and I would not be able to connect the words, so that is why last night I put down in a letter two - three notes so to make it easier. This is natural. We are people with feelings and emotions, however strong we might be in our character. I am going away at a time that excellent results have been achieved in all the fields of life -and he pushed away the bunch of written papers and went out of the text. He took a little pause and gazed at us. -Let us leave away the official ties!

Let tears come into our eyes; let us not speak bad things and bitter words! I wrote this speech in vain. Let us speak what our heart feels. -Yes, that is right! -said comrade Taqi. Araniti hung his head down, on the surface of the table, trying to hide. Taqi smiled.

He looked at comrade Zylo in a strange way. Bakiri smiled like a culprit, as if it were him who impeached comrade Zylo from his post. Comrade Zylo got his handkerchief out and wiped his forehead. -Brothers, I always wanted the best for you and have tried my best for your future. I am going away, but I am not leaving you.

My heart and my mind will be among you. As I said, I am going, but I am going sure that I have left everything in your hands. When you need me, come to me and I will not spare anything. I will help with my modest thoughts for every complicated problem you might face and for which you may seek a solution. Don't be shy! Come to me, as if in your office, as if at your home!

The shadow of my new post should not frighten you. Enter without any shame in my office. I will tell all the watches and guards not to give you any problems, -and comrade Zylo again wiped his forehead with the white handkerchief. Taqi looked and then he hit me with his elbow and said: -If I did not have my children, comrade Zylo would climb to the top. But he is such a modest dear! To go to him as if we are going to our homes!

... Araniti by this time had become completely dark in his face. He knocked his hands nervously on the table. I was afraid he would interrupt comrade Zylo and say something brutal. But he was silent with his face like a big cloud over the Dati mountain.

-Brothers, -comrade Zylo went on, -let us drink this glass to good fortune in your work and to the new post of comrade Araniti! All the glasses were raised. All the chairs moved. The hall was filled with wishes. In the throat cognac was poured and the in the mouth the candies cracked. At that moment something happened that touched all of us.

The door opened and a child with flowers entered. It was the youngest daughter of our Taqi, of him who carried the respect. The child went toward comrade Zylo and began to recite: As many stars there are in the sky As many rays the sun has Let so many joys be In your new post We burst in applauds. The little girl gave the flowers to comrade Zylo and hugged him. Comrade Zylo could not control himself any more. As he hugged the girl he cried.

He was defeated by his emotions. Taqi began to cry too, hiding his head behind my back. Only Araniti stayed like a statue carved brutally in a rock. He looked at Taqi with an anger he could not hide. -Ah, in such cases, we cannot control the tears, brothers! -said comrade Zylo and took some candies and gave them to the girl. After this burst of such a great emotion, it was difficult to stay.

So we drank for the last time and hugged comrade Zylo. He went out with the fresh flowers and the clean tears in his eyes.