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Kicho Pela

2025-04-29 18:48:00, Satire Boris Miska

Kicho Pela

He had not climbed the ladder of that institution for years, since he was transferred to one of the well-known farms in Tirana. He had worked there for no less than six years, and just when he was very close to his dream of becoming director of zootechnics, he was transferred.

Today he was wearing a new suit, paired with a blue tie.

In his hand he held the envelope with the order signed by the head of the Democratic Party branch for the capital, Mr. Safet Mëzeshta.

He would deliver that letter to the personnel office, and behind it, a veneered door would go up one floor and say: "Directorate of Zootechnics."

Mr. Safet had taken care to draft the order in the most convincing way possible, emphasizing that: Kiço Pela came from persecuted classes and, for his outstanding contribution to the overthrow of communism, deserved to be appointed to that high position.

He had calculated everything down to the smallest detail, but he had never thought that he would be exchanged inside the ministry with Telo, his brother-in-law, who was coming down the stairs with his head hanging and his face gloomy.

-Oooo, you here, he spoke to her ironically, acting like he was ignorant!

Telua clenched her jaws and God knows how she held herself back from digging her nails into the throat of that guy who never stopped plotting.

They had kicked him out the back door with the motivation "as incompetent" and transferred him to the base, and now he was triumphantly returning to the main door of the Ministry of Agriculture, not as a simple specialist, but as director in place of his sister, Vera's husband, who had so complicated his life.

Telo gave him a contemptuous look from head to toe and continued descending to get out of that stifling environment as quickly as possible.

He took a deep breath as soon as he faced the fresh air, then slowly let it out as if he wanted to vent that pent-up anger that he had almost unleashed on his brother-in-law.

He was by nature controlled, measured, and had never allowed himself to get out of control.

He remembered the moment years ago when he found Kiço in the lobby of a Tirana hotel and after hearing from the hypocrite's mouth those words that only he should say, he had come very close to his unpainted face and said:

-I know how you like it, I'd give you a good tree, but whatever, we're here in the lobby!!

With that, he had forgotten, even though he had convinced himself that Kiço Pela did not deserve more than that much attention. After all, he loved him because he was Vera's brother, with whom he had married and had two children.

He was now on the street, outside the doors of the ministry, standing on the sidewalk without determining where he was going.

The new chief of personnel had just communicated to all directors of the department, without exception, their dismissal from duty and their transfer to assistance as a result of the reform.

The motivation had been dry: 'reasons for reform' with the aim of leaving no path to address the court from which one could seek justice.

On the third floor, Kicho Pela stood leaning on the window ledge, watching with excitement the departure of Telos, which he did not need and for him did not pose any problem.

In the days of December, Kiço Pela was among the first to eagerly climb the alleys of the Student City, where unthinkable changes were ablaze.

It wasn't enough for the crowd to cheer and raise their two fingers, but the smell had prompted him to enter the hall, where writing was done, talking, where the papers were divided, where signatures were signed.

-Who are you?, a young man, a student, was addressed, who acted as the keeper of a protocol where the name of each initiator, profession and the reason why they hated the regime were recorded.

"I'm Kiço Pela," he addressed the young writer in a deep voice.

-I come from a patriotic family, from the persecuted classes, exiled to the village, outside Tirana.

-Write... and with his finger he had approached the student so close to the sheet that he was ready to snatch his pen, hot as day, in his thirst.

-Interned for political reasons, sister married to a man with a bad biography, because an uncle had been with the National Front.

He remembered the time when he had fabricated the biography and insisted that Vera break up with Telua!

-How far-sighted you have been, I praise myself and he returned to sit in the chair of the director of zootechnics, the very position that his sister had boasted of years before;

I know my skills, today I am a simple specialist, why not aim higher!!/ CNA