“THERE ARE NO OTHERS. JUST ME” (standard:drama, 3716 words)
Author: Art by Assiliym	Added: Oct 30 2006	Views/Reads: 3187/2279	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A story about the national Bulgarian hero Vasil Levski

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

enough, he would probably be lying dead with his scull smashed. "What 
are you waiting for," Haji Ivancho screamed to the guards. "Get the 
scoundrel under control, damn you! What help are you, standing there 
like logs!" Four guards rushed towards the Apostle and pounded him with 
the stocks of their rifles. "Fucking giaour!" "You dare attack the 
Great Pasha! The gallows for you!" "Dirty giaour! Wait until we lay our 
hands on you!" The Deacon curled up, struggling to protect his face. 
"That's enough," Shakir Bey stood up. "We need the giaour alive, not 
dead!" Gritting their teeth, the guards stepped back. "Scoundrel!" Ali 
Chaush gazed viciously at the infidel. "My time will come..." The 
Deacon struggled to his feet and looked firmly into his torturers' 
eyes. "Tell me," Ali Saib Pasha went on, standing at a safe distance, 
several steps from the Apostle. "What was in the instructions of the 
Central Committee and in the papers you distributed? Is it true that 
you are instigating the subjects to rebel against the sultan?" The 
Deacon gave the Pasha a disdainful look. "What sultan? The sultan is 
the master of the faithful, not of the slaves." "What did those papers 
say," shouted Shakir Bey, waving triumphantly a sheet of paper. "You 
think we're stupid, do you?" You think we haven't got those papers?" 
"The papers I got from the Committee were sealed," the Apostle answered 
simply. "I don't know what was in them." "Oh, didn't you?" Ali Saib 
Pasha smiled mockingly. He had regained his composure and the 
supercilious look was back on his face. "You probably don't know the 
members of the Central Committee, either." "No I don't. I have a bad 
memory for names." "What about friends?" Haji Ivancho stood up and went 
to the Apostle. "Everyone's got friends, you have to admit. Who was 
hiding you? Didn't you have friends in those places you went, weren't 
you meeting with anyone?" "There are no others. Just me," the Apostle 
said firmly. "It is all my fault." "Is it?" Shakir Bey beckoned Ali 
Chaush to come closer. "Tell the executioner to get the irons ready... 
He'll have plenty of work tonight." "When he sees the irons, he'll 
change his tune, "Haji Ivancho put in. "He'll cough up his mother's 
milk." Levski straightened his back and rattled his chains. "You can 
kill me but you cannot exterminate a whole people! Europe watches!" 
"Europe..." Ali Saib Pasha smiled mockingly and spitted on the floor. 
"Europe... has no say here. No one can deliver you from the gallows, 
rebel! Bring in the defendants," he shouted to the guards. Levski felt 
a chill in his heart but his face remained as hard as stone. Not a 
wince. There was a clatter of chains and the defendants filed into the 
room. A long chain was attached to their ankles, and another to their 
arms. Some of the jury members stood up to take a better look at them. 
"So these are the wild rebels?" Shakir Bey laughed. "So, you've decided 
to destroy the empire, ah?" "And you boasted that you were stronger 
than the Cossacks?" Haji Ivancho came closer to take a better look at 
them. "And where's that strength of yours?" The last prisoners filed 
into the room and the guards slammed the door behind them. They dragged 
their chain with a clatter that filled the hearts with hopelessness and 
a sense of doom. "Well, where's your strength now," Haji Ivancho 
repeated. "You conspired against His Majesty the Sultan, and now you're 
standing here, down in the mouth. Why are you so silent?" One of the 
prisoners straightened his back and spit in Haji Ivancho's face. 
"Traitor! It is because of your like that we're suffering under Turkish 
yoke!" Haji Ivancho's face was furious. He jumped like a viper that 
been trodden upon. "Traitor, ah? At the gallows you'll be dancing like 
a scalded rooster. Then we'll see who's the traitor!" Haji Ivancho 
muttered something under his nose and returned to his seat. "Well, 
Deacon," Ali Pasha went on. "I thought I might refresh your memory. Do 
you know any of these bandits?" "No I don't," smiled Levski. "I have 
nothing to do with enemies of the empire. I don't know any of them." 
There was a whisper among the convicts. "Oh my God! It's Levski," 
someone sobbed. "So they caught him, too?" "Levski, ah?" Shakir Pasha 
smiled. "So this is your other name? We heard you could jump as a lion, 
so they called you Levski." "Yes, this is true," Levski admitted. "Some 
jump like lions, others run like deer." Levski looked calmly at his 
fellow prisoners and they felt more courage. They straightened their 
backs and looked into their oppressors' eyes. "You time is coming, 
beasts," Kara Ivan of Kovacha cried out. "Russia will..." He could not 
finish because the guard slammed his rifle on his face, and he 
collapsed on the floor. "You'll speak only when you're asked a 
question," Ali Chaush barked. "Damned giaours!" "Take a good look at 
them," Shakir Bey went on. "Don't you know any of them?" "No," said 
Levski firmly. "I never met with anyone; they did not trust me." That 
Haji Ivancho could not swallow. "Listen," he put in, "we don't care 
about those who rejected you; we want to know about those who gave you 
shelter!" "There were a few guys but I can't remember their names," the 
Deacon shrugged. "Honestly, I can't." "You don't remember anyone, ah?" 
The Turk signed to the two guards who grabbed the Deacon by the arms 
and dragged him along. "What about this one? Or that one over there? 
You don't know him, either?" "No," shook his head the Apostle. "I don't 
know anyone here." Tears were rolling down the defendant's cheeks. Some 
were sobbing. Poor souls! They would gladly sacrifice their lives for 
the Apostle, but instead he was sacrificing his life for them! What a 
noble soul! Somebody back in the row could not stand it any longer and 
sobbed aloud like a child. "God," someone moaned. "I can't stand this 
any more. Please take my life!" Ali Saib Pasha turned towards the voice 
and smiled menacingly. "Your time will come, don't you worry. You will 
all be flying like birds. Each and every one of you. And your beloved 
Deacon goes first!" "You can take his life," shouted Kara Ivan bravely, 
"but nothing can erase him from the memory of the Bulgarian people!" 
"If you love your leader so much, you'll be right next to him at the 
gallows! Tomorrow morning, early..." and he made a gesture showing 
clearly what would happen to them. "Pasha efendi," Haji Ivancho spoke 
uncertainly, "we need to find out all about the rebels' plans. What 
if..." "Haji Ivancho is right," added Shakir Bey and stood up. "The 
infidels won't get away so easily. As for the gallows, it can wait a 
while." "So be it," snapped Ali Saib Pasha. "You have six days to get 
what you can out of them. And don't waste time. His Majesty the Sultan 
is impatient..." "Sure, Pasha," Haji Ivancho bowed and the jury members 
stood up. "We'll continue tomorrow at dawn." "What happened? Did you 
get anything out of him," Shakir Bey asked, coughing. The smoke was 
irritating his eyes and he was nearly crying. "Nope," shook his head 
the executioner. His name was Sali the One-Eyed, he came from the wild 
Tatar tribes in Asia Minor. A long time ago he had lost an eye and was 
since hating the whole world. "They're all very brave the first day..." 
Sali waved the red-hot irons. "The next day, though, they can't stop 
talking." "Hurry," frowned Shakir Bey. "The Grand Vizier only gave us 
six days. If the rebel gives away his cronies, His Majesty the Sultan 
will make me pasha..." "And what shall I get?" grinned Sali the 
One-Eyed, revealing his uneven yellow teeth. "A piece of gold for every 
rebel he gives away!" "May Allah give you health and a long life!" The 
executioner threw himself in the bey's feet and chattered on: "May 
Allah bless you with sons..." Five days had passed since the beginning 
of Levski's trial. The executioner had tried all he could think of: he 
had driven splinters under his nails, he had torn his flesh with 
red-hot pincers, he had pulled him on the metal table, he had even 
placed a wreath of thorns on his head that made him look like Jesus, 
but the damned man said nothing. As if he was made of stone... 

Two guards were holding Levski on both sides. He was exhausted from the
torture and could hardly stand on his feet. "Well, rebel," spoke Ali 
Saib Pasha, "you look a little discouraged?" The Apostle's grey eyes 
flashed for a second, but he said nothing. "Still resisting like a wild 
cat?" Haji Ivancho went up to him and inspected him with contempt. "Why 
are you so obstinate? Tell us who your cronies were, and save yourself 
more torture." "I can't promise much," spoke Ali Saib Pasha, "but I can 
promise you a quick death..." "I am not afraid to die," the Apostle 
spoke quietly. "I am betrothed to Bulgaria. We can never part." "Take 
him out of here," waved Ali Saib Pasha and straightened his golden 
epaulets. He could be sitting on a soft pillow in Istanbul, drinking 
sherbet with the Sultan and the empire's noblest men, and instead he 
had been sent there to deal with the damned rebel... "Let Sali make 
some more effort." It was the end of the week, and the ex-grand vizier 
was sick and tired to death. He decided firmly to put an end to the 
ridiculous trial. Despite all torture, the damned rebel had not given 
away a single name, and all they had achieved was to become 
laughing-stock in the eyes of the guards and the jury members from 
Sofia. Ali Saib Pasha stood up and coughed dryly. The room became very 
quiet and everyone waited impatiently. "Nothing but the gallows," spoke 
the chief prosecutor and looked mockingly in the Apostle's eyes. "Now 
you can finally marry your fiancée, your Mother Bulgaria." "Pasha 
efendi," Mehmed Salih stood up uncertainly. "Our court is not 
authorized to sentence the defendants to death. Only the Svishtov 
Criminal Court..." The other jury members jumped up and supported him 
loudly. Ali Saib Pasha ignored their protest and went on reading: "The 
court including: chairman and chief prosecutor, Ali Saib Pasha, 
ex-grand vizier and chief commander of the land forces of His Majesty 
the Sultan, and the members: Shakir Bey, Mayor of the General Staff of 
His Majesty the Sultan, chief investigator; and Haji Ivancho 
Hajipenchovich, member of the State Council and personal friend to His 
Majesty the Sultan, president of the jury, having taken into 
consideration all evidence..." Ali Saib Pasha stopped for a second to 
signal to the guards to bring in the defendants, and went on: 
"...reached the following conclusion. Under Articles 55 and 56 of the 
sheriat, for conspiracy, the penalty is unanimously: death! Under 
Article 65, for robbing the imperial treasury at Arabakonak and killing 
three guards - also death! Under Article 174, for conspiracy against 
His Majesty the Sultan - death! The execution will be carried out upon 
confirmation from Istanbul." Ali Saib Pasha put the paper on the table 
and turned to the Deacon. "Is there anything you want to say?" "If I 
lose, I only lose my own life; if I win, the whole people wins!" the 
Apostle declared proudly. "My only regret is that I'll never see 
Bulgaria liberated..." "Take him away..." waved Ali Saib Pasha. He was 
bored by the obstinate Bulgarian. One could never cope with them. Too 
bad he was an infidel. With a few like him the Sultan could conquer the 
world... 

"Move, giaour!" Ali Chaush poked the Apostle in the ribs. "Where are you
taking me?" the Deacon asked. "Remember what I told you a few days ago? 
My time has come. Now we'll see you swinging!" Levski stood up and 
staggered. Exhausted by the torture and the wound, he felt like a very 
old man. "So you can't stand on your feet, ah?" Ali Chaush mocked and 
pushed him into the rug-covered cart. "Get in, fucking giaour!" The 
driver lashed the feeble old jade and the wooden cart creaked along. It 
was very early in the morning. Even the stray dogs were nowhere to be 
seen. Ali Chaush wrapped himself up in his overcoat and signalled to 
the soldiers to follow the cart. Damned giaours, they were capable of 
anything. The sultan's court had left Sofia with explicit orders: the 
news of the terrible rebel's death ought to meet them in Istanbul. Ali 
Chaush was to carry out these orders. The wooden cart arrived in a 
small square with a solitary gallows in the middle and a long rope 
swinging. "Get out," ordered Ali Chaush. "It's show time." The soldiers 
stood in two rows around the square, and waited. The priest came out of 
the cart first, followed by Levski. He was still in chains - even at 
the execution site the Turks were terrified by the awe-inspiring rebel. 
The Deacon looked around, sighed and a tear rolled down his face. To 
whom was he leaving his enslaved country? He pulled himself together 
and walked towards the gallows. The two guards who were supporting him 
on both sides gaped. Where did his tortured body found the strength to 
do that? The executioner had crushed his bones, but there he was, 
walking resolutely ahead! "Jesus! Jesus Himself!" the priest Todor 
murmured. He crossed himself and followed the Apostle. His shoes were 
immediately full of snow and mud. His eyes were red; it was evident he 
had been crying. He was supposed to be giving the Apostle courage, but 
it was the Apostle who was giving him courage... 

Levski climbed the wooden steps and stood at the platform. Sali the
executioner grinned and took of his chains. He then slowly placed the 
loop around his neck. Slowly, enjoying every second of it... 

Once again he was disappointed. The Apostle's face remained stone-hard.
"Off you go," said Ali Chaush and kicked the barrel. "God save Bul..." 
was all the Apostle of freedom managed to say... 

Weep, Mother Bulgaria! This is a tragic day! Your beloved son is dead!
"Somebody's coming!" The rebel stared ahead but the blizzard was 
blinding. "Let the guards come into the pass. We'll hit them from both 
sides, as we decided. And remember! The Apostle of Freedom is there!" 
"Levski himself taught me how to cut down the Turks," someone boasted. 
"I'm ready." "Let those bastards come," a huge man stood up. "I'll 
strangle them with my bare hands." His friends called him the Old 
Nikola, and he was known to have strangled seven Turkish soldiers with 
his bare hands and buried them in his yard. "There's just one man," 
someone spoke anxiously. "Could the Turks have guessed about the 
ambush? I can't see any cart or guards!" "Don't shoot! It's me!" the 
rider shouted. The blizzard nearly muffled his voice, but his comrades 
recognized his bearskin hat. "Stoyan Karpela of Sofia. What the hell is 
he doing here?" The rebels rose, sensing something bad had happened. 
Stoyan Karpela jumped off his horse and fell to his knees, throwing off 
his hat. "God bless the Apostle's soul," he sobbed. "Levski is dead..." 
He sobbed desperately. "God, why are you punishing us!" The Old Nikola 
looked up to the sky. His eyes were full of reproach. "Why did you take 
away our Apostle!" The rebels who had hoped to free the Deacon were 
paralyzed by the sinister news. One of them threw his rifle in the snow 
and curled up, hiding his face. Tears streamed down his cheeks. 
Suddenly, something miraculous happened. A tear fell on the deep snow, 
and turned into a snowdrop. "This is a sign of God," Nikola said and 
made the sign of the cross. "Tell everyone that God has not abandoned 
the Bulgarian people. There is hope..." "The Deacon did not die for 
nothing. Rest in peace, Apostle. Your work will be continued," another 
rebel added, still sobbing. It was the 17th of February, 1873. The same 
night, the Apostle's body vanished from the gallows. The priest Todor 
and a few rebels stole it and buried it secretly. When they told the 
commanding officer Osman Pasha the following day that the rebel's dead 
body had disappeared, the pasha just waved: "Doesn't matter. Let them 
bury him. In a month or two he will be forgotten" He was wrong. The 
Apostle lived on. As long as there is a living Bulgarian, as long as 
anyone speaks Bulgarian, he is immortal. Forever. For he is in each and 
every one of us. Each of us carries a fraction of the Apostle of 
Freedom! "He who dies in the fight for liberty Shall never die..." 

© Siromah, February 17, 2003: 130 years after the death of the greatest
of all Bulgarians 


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