Sunday Story/ Letters out of the envelope

2023-12-03 14:56:00, Opinione Agim Xhafka

Sunday Story/ Letters out of the envelope

Dawn Xhafka

That town was so quiet and with such loving people that anyone who went to work would pass by there and suspect that a family lived there. Many in number for this denomination, but so close and respectful to each other that they really resembled branches of a tribe. There were no quarrels, fights, arguments. Even on the street, it was spoken in a low voice and respectful words towards each other prevailed. In this environment, Telo, the post office manager, was going to work. He greeted passers-by, smiled until he opened the office door. It was understood that this post was like a small agency. Besides Telos, Irfani, the distributor of letters and documents, also worked there. They didn't even have cleaners in organic. The office was given a broom and a cloth on Saturdays sometimes by Telos's wife, sometimes by Irfan's wife. But this morning would bother Telo badly, very badly.

- They stole the package of letters that we were about to send and the package of letters that the mail car brought last night, boss, - Irfan scolded him.

Telo held on to the door, sat down slowly and his thoughts were rolling like those chestnuts he roasted yesterday in the pan with holes and instead of pouring them into the plates on the table he stumbled to its corner and the grains rolled on the floor of the living room. living room He was reluctant to notify the police, they would say, this is a wool mail, they steal people's letters. He thought it would be fatal to inform the center, maybe they would fire him. He put his head in his hands and began to pray. He was not that much of a believer, but at that moment he was promising God that he would not leave any ceremony in the church or mosque without being present. In this storm of thoughts there was a knock on the door. He did not manage to enter when a middle-aged man appeared in front. Telo was scared, don't be one of those who was waiting for a letter and would ask the fatal question, can you give it to me now that I have been waiting for it for days! But no, it was quite the opposite. The middle-aged man was holding two mail trunks together. The ones they had stolen in the morning.

- I found them at the door of the city hotel, - he said. - The postman must have forgotten them there. He drank coffee or some brandy and this is how the bad happens. Thank goodness they have the post office logo on them and they don't get lost.

He left them on the table and ran away. At that moment, Telo and Irfani embraced, became one, connected to each other like the braids of Marjeta, the girl from the boutique next to the post office. In this excitement, filled with tears of joy, they opened the trunks. To organize and distribute them as soon as possible. But the evil that came to them in the morning was not shared. The letters were inside, but when they were laid out on the table, a surprise was seen. All were without envelopes. A pile of papers written with pen, pencil, typewriter, computer, but no envelopes. It seems that the one who paid them was a maniac of stamps, he only needed them. They were terrified. It would have been better if they had not found them because now they would be in front of the accusation, they had opened the letters and read them. So the privacy of the citizens was affected. Telo put his head in his hands again. Now she wanted to cry and cry hard.

- Yes, we can buy envelopes at any chancellery, - Irfani told him. - We put the letters inside and take them home.

Telo didn't care, but after a few seconds it didn't seem so worthless. But the first difficulty came up.

- Yes, we don't have the addresses and names of people, Irfan!

- Yes, we know all the residents, boss!

So they started reading the letters. Telo began:

-Dear Mom. Boll lives in London, it's been a year, so come because nephew Erion and niece Ola are waiting for you...Bujari's dog that she sends to mom. Mark it, we have an envelope!

When they finished with the first letter, Irfan took a letter from the table:

- Dear Mary. I told you that I will divorce my wife for you, but hold on a little longer. You are still in the second month of pregnancy...

It didn't go any further than together with Telo they shouted in one voice:

- Wow, Goni, the theater director!

They had often seen him with Mary, but did not believe they were in a relationship. That's all it took and they both began to say nice things about Olga, the director's friend. Or is she not beautiful, kind, calm, an exemplary teacher... But the task wanted them to start the letter. They put the names on the envelope and grabbed another letter on the table. It was Telo's turn:

-Dear father, I am writing to you with shame, I am in prison in Spain. That's how my life went. I did not hear you…

Telo did not continue. It's Ladi, that nice guy. He was almost in tears. Yes, Irfan did not let him drown in this ocean of emotion. It began with the next letter:

- Mr. Commissioner, I want to file a complaint. Every day, Bajrami brings two minor girls to his bar and uses them as prostitutes. But with customers from other cities. I'm Zyhdiu, but anonymous please.

Telo and Irfani were left speechless. Facing each other with teary eyes almost as if frozen. At the Bajram bar, they drank coffee every day. They also had family celebrations and celebrations there. His saliva became bitter, they didn't know if he was swallowing and spitting out bile. Then they read full of joys, sorrows and wonders. As well as stunt defamation. Read and be confused, read and be happy, read and be surprised. The climax was the last letter. He was sent by Sofia, the oldest in town, who had become a great-grandmother many, many years ago. She asked the municipality to intervene in a big fight between her sons and daughters. They all wanted to take it to their homes, and this begged the mayor to make a chart with a stamp and signature on who would keep it, otherwise blood would be knee-deep in her tribe.

- It's lucky that we ended it with Sofia, with this letter full of gas, - said Telo and put his head in his hands again. He was thinking a lot, rather he was reflecting a lot. How did it happen that in one day that peaceful, so loving, so good city was destroyed in his brain. As if a psychopathic earthquake hit us, he gave himself up. Then he turned to Irfan. He saw that he had arranged all the papers. Inside envelopes and with full addresses on top. He was getting ready to distribute them.

- How did this happen to us, Irfan? Where did that city go that we lived so happily?

As if to calm him down, Irfan spoke in vain, but not in vain:

- Yes, the city is like the weather, boss!

-How is the weather?

- Yes, there are sunny days, but there are also cloudy days. There are also rainy days, snowy days, and downpours. This is a blessed life, it is not a book that you write as you wish.

And he ran away with the dingaz bag of papers stuffed in envelopes. Yes, he returned in a second. To say:

- There are moments when it rains and the sun falls at the same time. We tried it, didn't we?!

Irfani jumped on the bike and flew through the city streets whistling.