Albania, as if in an attempt to bring it back. On one wall and on the bar’s round central pillar were black-and-white photos of world-famous actors, and a few from socialist-realist movies.
Noel’s was both in the centre of the city and in a slightly secluded corner, and its semi-basement premises could be passed unnoticed, although the wooden door opened onto a well-known street of old Tirana, where some of the leading state institutions in Albania’s brief independent history were situated. Immediately opposite the entrance was the gate to the former Royal Palace, faced with white marble. For most of its history, this had been the Palace of Pioneers, because King Zog was forced to flee from the invading Italians shortly after it was built, and after the war the communists had turned it into an institution for the education of the children of Tirana. To the right of the palace and adjacent to its yard was the mansion of the feudal Toptani family, one of the few Ottoman-style houses remaining in the city. This house still contained the Institute for the Preservation of Public Monuments, as it had in communist times. Next came the Academy of Sciences, a royal residence in the time of the monarchy, and a little further on was the Parliament, a 1950s building in the Soviet neoclassical style. To the left of the Royal Palace was the National Art Gallery built by the dictator in the 1970s.
Noel’s side of the street also had plenty of buildings that had made history. On the right was the National Theatre, built by the Italians during their occupation, where the Albanian language was first spoken on the stage in the capital. A little further down was the Interior Ministry, which retained not only its former function, but also its frightening aura invoked from the time when it had been one of the main links in the chain that bound the country in 50 years of communist dictatorship. To the left of Noel’s and less than 50 yards away, was a building that had just started to make history, the headquarters of the ruling anti-communist Democratic Party, the PD.
***
The story was that the proprietors had been unsure what to call the bar. Their first idea had been ‘The Milky Way’, after the street’s nickname in communist days. This was not because of some imaginative association with the stars above, but because here the citizens of Tirana had stood in line before dawn to buy a bottle of milk or yoghurt from the dairy. However, this unpleasant memory was put aside and the name ’Noel’s’ was chosen. Most people thought that this was the name of the proprietors’ son, but his close friends knew that the name recalled the democratic movement of 1990, which had started at Christmas-time.
The bar’s location, special atmosphere, cheap snacks, and good-quality spirits attracted the most diverse clientele in all Tirana, from leaders of the governing PD and police officers from the Interior Ministry, to members of the nascent opposition to the ruling party, which had emerged from divisions in the democratic movement. Actors from the National Theatre came after performances, as did artists working on exhibitions at the gallery, members of the Academy, and journalists. There was also the solitary figure of Robert Shvarc, the famous translator of German Jewish origin, who continually argued with those who sat down at his table if they said çifut for Jew, a word that, he insisted, should be buried along with communism and replaced by hebre.
***
Qorri had reason to be worried as he descended the stairs to Noel’s. During the last two or three months there had been disturbances in Tirana following the bankruptcy of one of the large pyramid scams. On several occasions, crowds of people who had lost their money had waited for hours at the counters of the offices where they had made their deposits. When they received nothing, they had taken to the streets in fury to protest. But there they had encountered the rubber truncheons of the police, who had orders to disperse them immediately. The confrontations were becoming increasingly violent, and it was now a tangible fact that the entire machinery of the State, the police, the secret service, the State television, the prosecutor’s office, and the courts had all been put on an emergency footing to prevent these outbursts of rage. Suspicious groups of plain-clothes forces had also been seen in the city, and were said to be militants of the PD, mostly from the same region as President Berisha. These thugs dispersed the crowds with particular savagery. Demonstrations in the main squares had been forbidden and people trying to organise gatherings were pursued and arrested. Finally the government, in its efforts to prohibit assemblies, had decided even to cancel the football championship.
It was true that most of these people acted spontaneously and without any political motivation, out of despair at the loss of their money. The opposition was fragmented into several parties, of which the largest was the former Communist Party. So far they had confined themselves to denouncing the State’s acts of violence, but the government was increasingly concerned at the prospect of the opposition giving a political direction to the citizens’ anger. So every State television news broadcast included interviews with people calling for the maximum punishments for anyone causing disturbances, and the courts were handing out prison sentences to anyone ‘endangering the country’s stability.’
Qorri was an outspoken opponent of the government himself. After his release from his political imprisonment just before the first multi-party elections in March 1991, he had become secretary of the Albanian Helsinki Committee. In this role, he had been quick to criticize human rights violations by the new government, which was composed of communists who had turned into anti-communists led by Sali Berisha, a one-time party secretary. As a journalist Qorri had consistently urged opposition to Berisha’s authoritarianism. With things as they were, words had the power to spur people into action, and the most incisive articles were in the newspaper Koha Jonë, for which Qorri wrote.
Recently, more high-level government people had been coming to Noel’s, amongst them even the police chiefs who had crushed the demonstrations. The courteous proprietors smiled at everybody and did their best to preserve the atmosphere of the early ‘90s, when the bar first opened. Even the police chiefs didn’t look as if they had just come from state business, but seemed to be there only for leisure, taking a break from a spot of lucrative trafficking. But recent events were bound to make their impact even here. Qorri’s table and the police officers’ tables were now islands that did not communicate except through the owner and his wife, who passed from one to another to serve them. At one time, Qorri would join a table if he saw one of his friends from prison, even if he now worked for the police. Hard times were not easily forgotten. But the distance between them had now increased, and when his fellow-prisoners now shared a table with other people, they preferred not to take notice of one another. Common enemies and dangers had brought them together in the communist prison, but their common hope of freedom had now evaporated and they were no longer looking at a common future. They were now in opposing camps, and their enemies were each other.
***
Qorri entered and looked around the crowded bar with its thick fug of tobacco smoke. In one corner there were police officers, and beyond them some young actors from the theatre. Shvarc was at a small table against the central pillar of the bar along with Dita, a fair-haired young actress who admired the famous translator.
At the bar’s most privileged table in a distant corner, was Dashamir Shehi, the Deputy Prime Minister and a leader of the Democratic Party, who had a serious taste for brandy.
Qorri found a group of friends at the table closest to the door. There was the painter Edi Rama, who was visiting for a few days from Paris, where he had a scholarship, accompanied by his wife Delina, whose resonant voice radiated energy; the painter Lad Myrtezaj; the actor Artan Imami with his wife; and the beautiful singer Rovena Dilo. They had all been part of the anti-communist movement at the start of the ’90s but had now broken with the governing party. Besides Rovena, they had all signed a petition composed of intellectuals who were against the rigging of elections that had taken place the previous year, after which the opposition deputies who joined street protests were beaten up in Skanderbeg Square.
Qorri took off his three-quarter-length coat, his scarf, and the beret that he wore tilted on the back of his head. The buzz of the conversation was about
