Djuro Maricic

NA LISTI Od 04.8.2010.g. /
LISTED SINCE August 4th, 2010
among leading European magazines:

All Rights Reserved
Publisher online and owner:
Sabahudin Hadžialić, MSc
Sarajevo & Bugojno,
Bosnia and Herzegovina

MI OBJEDINJUJEMO RAZLIČITOSTI...
WE ARE UNIFYING DIVERSITIES

Đuro Maričić, Žažina, Lekenik Turopoljski, Hrvatska

ĐURO MARIČIĆ, diplomirani inženjer, književnik, društveni i sportski radnik, humanista, rođen je 13. novembra 1934.g. u Hašanima, kod Bos. Krupe, BiH, od oca Petra i majke Danice, rođene Banjanin. Četiri razreda osnovne škole završio je u Hašanima, nižu trogodišnju realnu gimnaziju u Bosanskoj Krupi, višu realnu gimnaziju u Zagrebu. U Zagrebu je l962.god. diplomirao na Elektrotehničkom fakultetu, slabu struju, gdje je nakon toga studirao i Ekonomske nauke i završio l966.g. Školu stranih jezika, Njemački jezik. Govori Engleski, Ruski i Njemački.

Kraće vrijeme se bavio naučnim radom, izučavao prelazne pojave u tehnici mjerenja i regulacije, pa nastavio raditi kao Projektant i Samostalni projektant mjerno regulacionih uređaja u energetici i procesnoj industriji. Među ostalim projektirao je automatiku na prvoj automatiziranoj SM-peći u Jugoslaviji, l966.g., u Željezari Smederevo.

1.X 1966.g. zaposlio se u INA - Rafineriji nafte u Sisku, gdje je u Odjelu za instrumentaciju radio kao Nadzorni inženjer, Inženjer za instrumentaciju pa Tehnolog pripreme.

1968.g. specijalizirao je kod firme Perkin & Elmer u Überlingenu, u Njemačkoj Laboratorijske analizatore, a l977.g. kod firme Honeywell, u Engleskoj, u Readingu, kod Londona, specijalizira elektronski uređaj za vođenje industrijskih procesa TDC 2000, a zatim vodi grupu stručnjaka iz Rafinerije na istu specijalizaciju, te vrši preuzimanje te visoko sofisticirane opreme, koja se montira, prvi put u svijetu, u INA rafineriji nafte u Sisku. To je istovjetna elektronska oprema kao ona u američkom Hjustonu za lansiranje raketa, samo prilagođena za industriju.

Iz INA rafinerije nafte u Sisku otišao je, u ratno nevrijeme, u mirovinu, 1. X 1992.g., i sada živi nedaleko Siska u selu Žažina i bavi se književnim radom.

Maričić je niz godina bio, uz svoj redovan inženjerski posao, aktivan društveni, kulturni i sportski radnik, pokretač mnogih sportskih i kulturnih aktivnosti u Sisku i drugdje. Između ostalog pismom listu "Krajina" u Bihaću, 30.novembra 1973.g. inicirao je književnu manifestaciju ĆOPIĆEVE STAZE DJETINJSTVA, suradnik je Leksikona pisaca Jugoslavije, kojeg izdaje Matica srpska u Novom Sadu, ... Njegovim zalaganjem, u Samačkom domu Rafinerije, ova je ustupila prostor sisačkoj Narodnoj knjižnici i čitaonici, u Prvoj ulici; Rimskoj, a ujedno je spriječio da se prodaju prostirije stare knjižnice, u Kranjčevićevoj ulici, gdje je sada smješten Dječji odjel.

Humanizam je opredjeljenje Đure Maričića. Kao dobrovoljni davalac krvi dao je krv 5O puta, učestvovao na više dobrovoljnih radnih akcija, primio niz priznanja, diploma, plaketa za aktivnost u raznim kulturnim, sportskim i humanitarnim organizacijama.

Sport i šah u životu Đure Maričića igraju značajnu ulogu. U Zagrebu je jedno vrijeme vodio rukometni klub "Dubrava" i bio aktivni šahista u Šah. Klubu "Grafičar", a u Sisku je osnivač Šah. Kluba INA, Šahovskog saveza Siska, Šahovskog saveza za Baniju, Kordun i Liku. Dugo godina je bio član Upravnog odbora, kasnije Predsjedništva šahovskog saveza Hrvatske i predsjednik Predsjedništva Šahovskog saveza Hrvatske u razdoblju 1984 - 1986.g. Pokrenuo je i uređiva BILTEN Šahovskog saveza za Baniju, Kordun i Liku, Bilten Šahovskog kluba INA i Istočne hrvatske šahovske lige.

Maričić je međunarodni šahovski sudac i pored brojnih šahovskih turnira sudio je na pet šahovskih olimpijada : 1980. g. na Malti, 1982. i 1988. u Solunu, 1986. u UA Emiratima, 1990. g. u Novom Sadu.

Osnivač je Literarne sekcije U Rafineriji, 1969. g., koja je kasnije, 1971. g., formiranjem Kulturno, umjetničkog društva “Ivan Goran Kovačić”, čiji je i on jedan od osnivača, ušla u njegov sastav, a kasnije prerasla u Književni klub. Jedan je od osnivača Aktiva pisaca u Sisku, koji je djelovao više godina u Sisku u periodu 1980-ih i razvio plodnu suradnju sa književnicima iz Banje Luke i Rijeke. Maričić je sve vrijeme bio njegov tajnik i pokretač njegove aktivnosti.

Kao podpredsjednik SIZ-a za kulturu u Sisku (samoupravna interesna zajednica), 1972.g., ponovo je pokrenuo časopise RIJEČI (za odrasle) i KURIR (za djecu), koji su prethodne godine ugašeni. KURIR je za njegove putopise dobio Republičku nagradu.

Književnim radom počeo se baviti kao srednješkolac, kada je l954.g. dobio nagradu grada Zagreba za esej "Idejna i estetska analiza Početka bune protiv dahija". U studentskim danima na konkursu zagrebačkog "Džepnog magazina" za kratku priču "Vukovi" dobio je drugu nagradu. Nakon teškog studija i zaposlenja u INA Rafineriji nafte u Sisku počinje se intenzivno baviti književnošću, posebno onom namjenjenoj djeci. U rukopisu za taj uzrast ima više od 7OO pjesama, za odrasle više od 500.

Pored poezije piše kritiku, prozu, putopise i aforizme. Surađuje ili je surađivao u preko 4O listova, časopisa, Radio i TV - stanica na prostoru bivše Jugoslavije : SMIB, Modra lasta i Radost ( Zagreb), Galeb i Bijela pčela ( Rijeka), Kurir (Sisak), Zmaj, Poletarac i Vitez (Beograd ), Neven (Novi Sad), Vesela sveska i Male novine (Sarajevo), Putevi i Glas (Banja Luka) i td.

Objavljene knjige ·         TETA BEZ AUTORITETA, Jedinstvo, Sisak, l977.

·         ZBOGOM ESMA, Jedinstvo, Sisak, 1980.

·         BALADA O 7 PRIJATELJA, samostalno, Sisak, l985.

·         ŽENA PORED RIJEKE, ljubavne pjesme za odrasle,

·                                                 Drugari, Sarajevo, 1989.

·         LOV U SAHARI, Knjigoplast, Beograd, 1997.

·         1O LUDIH DJEČAKA, Knjigoteka, Beograd, l998.

·         RASLO U JAJETU PILE, izbor, Prometej, N. Sad, 2002.

·         PLAVI DRUM, pjesnikov izbor,      Vitez, Beograd, 2004.

·         PRIČE O ŽIVITINJAMA, za djecu i odrasle, MGM,

·                                                                           Sisak, 2007.

·         IZABRANE PESME I PRIČE, za djecu, Vitez,

·                                                             Beograd, 2008.

·         KAPI HLADNOG SRCA, aforizmi, Vaso Pelagić,

·                                                                     Banja Luka, 2009.

·         KAKO RASTU DJECA, pjesme za djecu,

·                                                                 vlastito izdanje, 2010

·         GENIJALNI PAS SITI, roman,D@M, Žažina, 2011.

·         ŠAH I STIH, pjesme, Rijeka – Žažina, 2011.

·         DJETINJSTVO U KNJIGAMA, kritika književnosti za

·                                                             djecu, vl. Izdanje, 2012.

BALKANSKA TRILOGIJA:

·         DJEČAK SA SUNČANIH BRDA, roman, vl. iz., 2012.

·         DJEČAK POD SRETNOM ZVIJEZDOM, rom, v.i.,2012.

·         DJEČAKOVA SRETNA ZVIJEZDA, roman, vl. Iz., 2012.

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Tišina trenuka

Iskustveno sadržajan i misleno pronicljiv, pred nama se otvara svijet suvislih namjera Đure Maričića.

"Detalj je bog!", rekoše stari, mudri zapisi. Poslije njih dolaze opisi, kreacija mogućeg. I, kao creschendo sopstvenih namjera tu je priča Đurina, da stvori mozaik novih vidika. Od ptice, preko mazge, guske, pijetla, i dalje, do psa, mačke, hrčka, goveda i riba, ali i do... čovjeka.

U susretu opisa toplih nadanja, pred nama je potok čudnih nakana. Usmjeren rijeci suštine. Usmjerene nama.

I našoj sudbini. Tišine trenutka. Ljudskog? Da li?

Riječ urednika

Sabahudin Hadžialić
03.9.2012.

The moment of silence

Empirically meaningful and reflectively astute, in front of us opens up a world of coherent intention from Djuro Maricic.

"Detail is a god!" Said the old, wise records. After them comes the descriptions, creations of possible. And, as crescendo of his own intentions, there is Đura's story, to create a mosaic of new horizons. From birds, over mules, geese, roosters, and further, to dog, cat, hamster, cattle and fish, but also to...humans.

In meeting with the descriptions of warm hopes, in fornt of us is a stream of strange intentions. Aimed towards river of essence. Directed to us.

And our fate. The moment of silence. Human? Is it?

Editor's word

Sabahudin Hadzialic
03.9.2012.

PRIJATELJSTVO S PTICOM

          Pored ulice, na boru, u djeda Petrovom dvorištu, tamo gdje su grane najgušće, kos je sagradio gnijezdo. “Izvrsno! Tu niko neće primijetiti moje ptiće”, mislila je luda ptica.

          Međutim, djeda Petar je uočio česte letove kosovice, pažljivo je zagledao krošnju i ugledao gnijezdo. Ptica je ležala na njemu. Gleda djeda kosovicu, ona uplašena posmatra njega i vidi mu na licu dobrodušan osmijeh. Uvjerena je, u ovog čovjeka može imati puno povjerenje.

           - Neka ovo bude naša tajna - namignu ptica djedu.

           - Samo ti lezi. Niko te ne smije uznemiravati dok si na mom boru.

           - Držim te za riječ - uzvrati mu ptica pogled pun povjerenja. - Ima nešto novo. Očekujem mlade, postaću mama - povjerila se kosovica djedu.

           Djeda nije izdržao, odao je tajnu svome malom prijatelju Daliboru, komšiji, čija je kuća bila s drugu stranu ulice, nasuprot djedovoj.

          -Ti misliš, Dalibore, da me samo ti voliš, a mene i ptica voli - pohvali se djeda dječaku i povede ga da vidi gnijezdo.

          Dalibora je mučila radoznalost, morao je pogledati ptiće, ali to nije bilo lako ostvariti, ni ptica ni djed nisu smjeli znati za to. Vrebao je i uhvatio priliku. Kad je djeda otišao po podne malo prileći i ptica odletjela po hranu za ptiće, Dalibor se uspio nekako uzverati na smolavo stablo, teškom mukom se provukao kroz gustiš granja i zavirio u gnijezdo. Već sasvim opernatila tri ptića su zijevala da im se ubaci hrana u kljunove, u otvorena crvena ždrijela. Dalibor je bio zadivljen.

Kratko je posmatrao ptiće, zatim je spuzao sa stabla.

          Kad je majka vidjela kako joj je sin smolom umazao hlače i majicu, pobjesnjela je i dobro izdevetala dječaka, nije se to dalo oprati, morala je baciti odjeću. Ali Daliboru nije vrag dao mira, želio je često gledati ptiće. Došao je na glupu ideju, premjestio je gnijezdo na najniže grane bora.

          Vratila se kosovica sa hranom i zaprepaštena gnjevno je izbacila ptiće iz gnijezda, ko se to tako budalasto poigrava s njenom dječicom? Sva izvan sebe jurnula je prema djedu koji je ležao u hladovini na poljskom krevetu i čitao novine. Nakostriješeno klupko perja svom silinom, kao ispaljeno tane, udarilo je u novine i izbilo ih djedu iz ruku. Zaletjela mu se - kandžama i kljunom u oči, cvrčala je i kreštala, cičala i vrištala. Djed se očajno branio, a ptica je kao poludjela nasrtala da mu izgrebe oči.

          - Budalo stara, što si to napravio? Zar se tako poštuje naš dogovor? – činilo se djedu da ga ptica
pita i optužuje.

           - Šta je, šašavico jedna, što se događa s tobom, jesi li poludjela? – uzviknuo je djeda. Jedva se odbranio od napasti. Pošao je do gnijezda da vidi o čemu se radi, što se dogodilo i odmah mu je sve bilo jasno čim je vidio ptiće u travi i premješteno gnijezdo.

- E, Dalibore, Dalibore, zavadi ti meme s pticom - uzdahnuo je djed Petar.

           Sad su djed i kosovica morali zajedno čuvati ptiće od mačaka. Djed ih je hranio pšenicom, mrvicama kruha, davao trešnje bez koštica. Uspio je opet nekako zadobiti povjerenje sumnjičave majke.

           Ptići zavolješe djeda, bezbrižno švrljaju oko njega. Jedan se radoznalo zagledao u unutrašnjost kuće, ispituje predvorje, pa odluči ući unutra. Skok po skok, pređe četiri stepenika i evo ga unutra. Dalje sa zanimanjem razgleda – vrata desno, hodnik lijevo, a stepenice odlaze negdje gore u potkrovlje.

  Djed sa svog kreveta posmatra malog radoznalca. A on, skok po skok i pođe uz stepenice.

  - Milorade, Milorade! -
Pozva djeda unuka koji je učio gore u sobi. Momak proviri kroz prozor.

  - Pogledaj, jedan ptić ode gore uz stepenice. Budi pažljiv da ga ne uplašiš.

           Otvaranje vrata prestraši ptića, on jurnu natrag kriješteći:

       - Upomoć, upomoć! Dave me, majčice mila, spasi me! Gotov sam, jaoj, jaoj !

          Prevrćući se, izbezumljeni mališan, pokušavao je poletjeti, saplitao se i teturao, panično glavinjao prema dvorištu. Bijesna ratoborna ptica, žučljivo i prgavo, poleti na djeda, jurnu mu pravo prema licu sa isturenim kandžama:

           - Opet si zabrljao! Budalo stara, nisu moji ptići nikom za zabavu! Djed i ptica jedva su se pomirili. Ptići porastoše i odletješe bez pozdrava, a majka ostade. Sve do kasne jeseni motala se po dvotrištu, crnila se njezina nemirna sitna skakutava grudvica na zelenoj travi, ispod voćaka.

          Jednog dana na žutocrvenom listu trešnje razočarani djeda, ožalošćen, pročita poruku:

           “Bilo je lijepo. Ipak smo se slagali. Šteta, moram seliti! Zima mi duva za vrat. Ne mogu ovdje ostati, ubila bi me hladnoća. Ako bog da, vidjećemo se na proljeće!”

.............

                 SAVRŠENI PAS ČUVAR

          Siti je ponešto slična vuku. Bila je šest mjeseci stara, a već prilično krupna. Na tržnicu u Sisku vodio sam je na lancu. Ona se bunila protiv takvog poniženja, sigurna da je sasvim pametna, smatrala je da joj je dovoljna samo ukrasna ogrlica sa brojem, da bude malo nakinđurena, jer ona je pseto sa vrlo razvijenim osjećajem za ponos. Voljela je da je pustim s lanca pa da slobodno švrlja u mojoj okolini i da ona pazi na mene, a ne ja na nju. Ta, pobogu ona je pas čuvar, njoj je čuvanje u genima, a ne meni! Međutim, propisi su propisi, zakon je strog i umjesto ukrasne stavljao sam joj na vrat metalnu ogrlicu sa oštrim bodljama, koje su bile okrenute prema vratu i lancem sam uspijevao da je zadržim ako bi pogrešno shvatila da nam od nekog prijeti opasnost, jer u tom slučaju ona bi se neustrašivo, kao uragan sručila na protivnika.

           Na tržnici prodavač Žika bio je poznata ličnost, on se ponosio svojim ugledom i pomalo se pravio važan, jer njegov radni staž na tržnici bio je mnogo duži nego mnogih od nas koji smo tih ratnih dana, pritisnuti siromaštvom, tu uz njega tražili mogućnost neke dodatne zarade. Žika je bio iskusan prodavač, ranije je radio u prodavnici cipela, no kad je ta trgovina propala on se pokazao neuništiv, tržnica ne može propasti, sada prodaje gljive, banane, narandže, najskuplju robu koja uvijek ima svoje kupce. Žika je dobro zarađivao, mnogo bolje nego u prodavnici cipela. Svi smo mu zavidjeli!

          Ja sam bio ponosan na Siti, jer ona zaista krasno izgleda, a i mnogi su je na tržnici hvalili i zbog ljepote i zbog pameti. Žika mi je zavidio zbog Siti, nije volio da se ja i pas šepurimo kao paunovi pred njegovim očima pa mi predloži:

          - Hajde da ja odglumim kao da ću te napasti da vidimo kako će taj tvoj pas čuvar reagovati.

          Njegov prijedlog zvučao je podrugljivo i omalovažavajuće, ja sam se osjetio povrijeđenim, Siti je to dobro razumjela, bila je dresiran pas, zarežala je i pokazala Žiki oštre očnjake. I nju je potcjenjivao, a ona nije to podnosila.

       Ona je dosta dobro razumijevala ljudski govor, što ovaj čovjek nije znao, on je bio uvjeren da su psi gluplji nego što jesu, pa se nije ni obazirao na njeno upozorenje.

Ja sam znao da je kuja plemenite pasmine, holandski čuvar, ali ni ja nisam dovoljno poznavao pse i njihove vrste, mislio sam da Siti čuva samo kuću, stado ovaca i tako nešto. Uhvatio sam je čvrsto za ogrlicu.

    Žika je bio dobar glumac, odjednom njegovo lice se izobličilo, na njemu se pojavio prijeteći izraz, zamahnuo je rukom prema mojoj glavi. U zao čas, Siti je munjevito reagovala. Nije se obazirala na bol od bodlji ogrlice koje su joj se urezale u vrat, skočila je prema Žikinom vratu da ga uhvati za grkljan. Skok je bio silovit, povukla je i mene za sobom. Koristeći svu snagu uspio sam se održati na nogama i nju tek toliko zadržati da ne dosegne provokatora, a on, iznenađen i šokiran, prestravljen, uzmaknuo je u zadnji trenutak ispred njenih pobjesnjelih zuba da mu se ne zariju u vrat. Bilo je to tako naglo i nekontrolisano da je porušio dva stola iza svojih leđa i pao među njih.

           - Hvala ti prijatelju! Spasio si me! - pridigao se Žika sa poda i dotjerivao odijelo na sebi. - Pas ti je savršen čuvar! - zadihano je govorio, još uzbuđen i u šoku, svjestan da se upustio u nepromišljenu avanturu. - Evo, već sam pobijelio kao ovca, a nisam ovo doživio niti bih vjerovao da mi je ovo neko ispričao, da pas tako može braniti svog gospodara.

           Za Siti je ovo bila nova lekcija školovanja. Odmah je shvatila da je ovo bila šala na koju je nasjela, prevarili smo je i ona je sjela do mojih nogu i postiđeno oborila glavu. Prethodno mi je uputila prekoran pogled, bilo joj je neugodno, kako sam je mogao tako nasamariti? Njen gazda pa se tako bezobzirno poigrao s njom. To je neoprostivo! I zaista nije mi oprostila. Nikada je više nisam mogao prevariti na taj način, od tada oslanja se samo na svoje unutrašnje nepogrešivo čulo, sama odlučuje kada i koga treba napasti, kada stupiti u akciju.

           Nisam Žiki rekao da sam kupio knjigu o dresuri pasa i da već četiri mjeseca radim na tome da moj pas bude što pametniji. Što da mu i govorim, on mi ionako ne bi vjerovao. Međutim, mi smo radili, Siti je bila izvanredan učenik, a ja sam se trudio da proniknem u psihologiju psa i da budem što bolji učitelj.

          Kad je Siti navršila osam mjeseci života, završilo je njeno školovanje, istovremeno kad i njen fizički i psihički razvoj, bila je odrastao i zreo pas. Postala je snažna i pametna. Pametnija je od pola sela, govorili su susjedi. Malo je niža i lakša od njemačkog ovčara, ali je mnogo skladnije i čvršće građena. Ja sam joj, kad smo često izlazili u prirodu, šutirao tenisku loptu, a ona je kao luda trčala za njom i donosila mi je, neumorno smo plivali, bacao sam joj loptu što dalje u rijeku, a ona je žurno išla po nju i tražila da to opet i opet činim. Nakupila je snage za dva psa, bila je jaka kao medvjed!

    Ipak ostala je uz sve to lijepa i elegantno građena, svjesna svoje ljepote i pameti. Ono što mi se posebno dopadalo kod nje, nije se oslanjala prilikom obračuna sa drugim psima na snagu nego prije svega na pamet, inteligenciju i brzinu reagovanja. A to brzo reagovanje, refleks, vježbali smo svakodnevno, uporno i ustrajno. Ja sam joj pokraj same glave oštro bacao tenisku lopticu, a ona se s nevidjenom upornošću trudila da je munjevito uhvati. I uvijek je tražila da do besvijesti ponavljamo tu vježbu, instinktivno je osjećala da će joj ta brzina u davežu s drugim psima biti veoma važna.

          Siti je imala svoja poimanja o pravima pasa. Ako pas ima svoje dvorište ona je to cijenila i poštovala, to je njegov teren i ona nikad nije zalazila tamo. Izvan ograde dvorišta ona se mogla slobodno šetati i dozvoljavala je to i drugim psima, nije prisvajala tu teritoriju, smatrala je da je tako skrenula pažnju drugim psima da i ona polaže pravo na to zemljište, kad bi na njemu pronašla, namirisala njihovu mokraću i ona bi se pomokrila uz njihovu oznaku. Međutim, drugi psi su uglavnom bili vezani i rijetko su izlazili izvan svojih dvorišnih ograda. To im, naravno, nije bilo drago pa kad bi vidjeli kako Siti slobodno švrlja oko mene po tim zajedničkim terenima oni su gnjevno lajali na nju, tjerali je i prijetili joj. Ona se nije nervirala zbog toga, strpljivo je podnosila njihove prijetnje, nije lajala na njih, bezbrižno i izazovno, pred njihovim očima samo bi čučnula i .stavila svoju oznaku. Tako, neka se zna! Onaj ko ne poštuje tu oznaku mora u borbi s njom odlučiti čiji je to teren. Nije režala, nije se ni na kakav način oglašavala, ona nije voljela mnogo galame, samo bi joj se, na hrbatu, iza vrata, a kada je više razljute onda i duž kičme, opasno nakostriješila ona najsvjetlija i ona nešto tamnija siva vučja dlaka. I podigla bi joj se iznad očnjaka gornja usna, otkrila bi te strašne zube i pokazala ih protivnicima. Jao onome ko ne bi razumio to upozorenje! Jao mu dovijeka!

           Kad idemo u trgovinu ona zahtijeva da ide s nama. Vezani psi u komšijskim dvorištima bijesno laju na nju, oni koji se slobodno kreću divljački naskakuju na ogradu, reže i prijete joj da će je rastrgati, a usput i mene zajedno s njom, jer ja sam njen gazda i zaštitnik koji joj dozvoljava da se kreće po terenu koji oni svojataju. Siti njuška i pažljivo ih posmatra, traži njihove oznake da uz njih i ona postavi svoje. Osobito su agresivni psi susjeda Ećimovića, jedan njemački ovčar, drugi zlatni rot river. Dva su pa hrabre jedan drugog, osjećaju se jači kad su dvojica. Oni najčešće slobodno, nevezani lunjaju dvorištem.

           Moja snaha u poodmakloj trudnoći, samo što se nije porodila, pošla je u trgovinu. Odjednom Siti se podigla sa svog ležaja i ne da joj da ide sama. Već dvije godine kuja neće da ide u dućan, jer je ne puštamo da ulazi unutra, pas je, nije red da se mota oko hrane, drugi ljudi ne gledaju na to lijepim očima. Međutim, kuja je sada vrlo odlučna! Što joj je, šta se događa? Zašto sada odjednom zahtijeva da ide? Zgledamo se, ništa nam nije jasno. Pa, hajde, neka ide, ona sigurno zna zašto je sada toliko odlučna.

I odoše njih dvije.

Naiđoše pokraj kapije susjeda Ećimovića. On je otišao nekud traktorom i ostavio dvorišna vrata širom otvorena. Njegovi psi poludješe kad ugledaše Siti i snahu, kao pobjesnjeli jurnuše iz dvorišta, kao da su već mjesecima čekali ovu priliku. Zlatni se ustremi na snahu, a Nijemac na njezinu čuvaricu. Siti je reagovala mimo njihovih očekivanja, munjevito se sručila na Zlatana, ugrizla ga prije nego što se on uspio snaći, strelovito se okrenula i već je bila na zbunjenom Nijemcu čiji je bolan skik uplašio već ionako prestravljenog Zlatka na njegovom bijegu u dvorište. Nije stigao pobjeći, Siti ga je sustigla prije nego što je umakao kroz kapiju i još jednom ga krvnički ugrizla za bedro, a onda se opet ustremila na Nijemca koji je takođe bježao. Čekaj malo, junačino, vidjećeš na koga si krenuo, kako ti to napadaš mirne prolaznike! Podvijena repa prznica je bježao, ali previše sporo. Raspomamljena Siti osvetnički ga je sustigla i žestoko ugrizla. Još jedan skik njemačkog ovčara rasjekao je tišinu i on se obreo u svom dvorištu, u sigurnosti. Tamo Siti ne ulazi, to je njegov teren, nije sporno, to mu priznaje!

...........

                              JELINA GUSKA

        Te zime svi Budimirovi dječaci su imali lukove i strijele. Po čitav dan trajala je jurnjava za vrapcima, švrakama, vranama i golubovima. Ptice bi prhnule s krova ili gole crne grane voćaka prije nego bi bile ubodene čavlom bacača izbačenog sa luka. Dječaci, progonioci nesretnih ptica bučno su se veselili, sve je vrilo od radosne dječje graje kad bi nečija strijela okrznula makar pero neke ptice. Taj strijelac mnogo bi dobio na ugledu među dječacima. Ja sam kao vjerno tužno pseto pratio tu sretnu lovačku družinu, goloruk, žalostan, kao vojnik bez oružja, željan da pokažem svoju streljačku sposobnost, ali nisam imao s čim, nisam imao luk i strijelu! Nije dolazilo u obzir da nekog zamolim da mi posudi oružje jer su ga svi čuvali kao dragocijenost, toliko ga voljeli da ga ne bi ni bratu dali ni na kratko vrijeme. Ni za tren!

        Pored toga čim bi im se pružila prilika dječaci su odapinjali svoje strelice kao da se natječu ko će prvi, nosila ih je strasna želja da pogode pticu prije nego što to pođe za rukom nekom drugom i slava pripadne njemu.

       Predveče potpuno promrzli, mokri i umorni, vratismo se kućama. Ulova još nije bilo! Tuga me nije napuštala. Molio sam svoga velikog brata od strica, Iliju, da mi napravi luk i strijelu. Imao je zlatne ruke, ali je mrzio svaki rad, ravnodušno je nastavio kunjati, kao sova, u toplom zapećku, moj luk i strijela bili su mu deseta briga!

       Uputih se Budimirovima, Uroševi sinovi, Đuro i Branko, stariji od mene, bili su kao i njihov otac, odlični majstori. U promrzlim ručicama nosio sam čavao, žicu i uvoštenu špagu. Naravno, snašao sam se, odvezao sam jedan od crijepova na krovu kuće, isčupao čavao iz letve i uzeo žicu kojom je crijep bio privezan. Da je otac znao za tu snalažljivost svog sina dobro bi mi isprašio tur. Crijep sada nije osiguran i snažan vjetar ga kao igračku može zbaciti s krova! Srećom, roditelji ne znaju za mnoge mudrosti i nestašluke svoje djece.

     Suvonjav, crn kao ciganin, vrlo ozbiljan dječak, šest godina stariji od mene, Branko, pristade da obavi majstorske poslove. Materijal je bio tu, još je nedostajao štap za luk i moj majstor mi dade sjekiricu, uputi me u šumarak Ginjac da usiječem prut, bio je siguran da ću ja odabrati dobar ljeskov materijal.

      - Pazi da ne izgubiš sjekirče, - prikriča mi on, - ćaća će uškopiti i mene i tebe! – kao žive vatre bojao se oca, čuvenog seoskog drvodelje, koji je brižljivo čuvao alat.

       Kad sam skrenuo od prtine koja je vodila do izvora, kroz cjelac, propadao sam u snijeg do pojasa, ali sam se odlučno probijao prema rubu šume gdje sam znao da ću naći pogodan ljeskov prut. Pažljivo sam birao koji izboj najbolje odgovara za luk i moj majstor je bio veoma zadovoljan njim. Još zadovoljniji i sretniji bio sam ja kad sam uzeo u ruke svoj luk i strijelu. Iz zahvalnosti bio sam spreman učiniti sve što bi Branko zatražio od mene samo da mu se odužim. A ubrzo mi se ukazala prilika.

     Porodica Budimir bila je mnogobrojna. Braća Uroš i Jovo živjeli su u obiteljskoj zajednici, Uroš je imao šestero, Jovo petero djece. Uroš, mrk, ozbiljan dugajlija, bio je starješina, gazda, a žena mu, Jela, suha kao bakalar, stroga gazdarica. Od domaćinstva se odijelio treći brat, Dušan, sa četvero djece. Dobio je najgore njive, livade i šumice u kojima nije bilo pravog drveta, živio je vrlo siromašno, pozajmicama od seljana do nove žetve prehranjivao je svoju dječicu. Mržnja članova porodične zadruge, koji su živjeli u izobilju, prema izdvojenoj familiji, bila je velika.

       Posebno je bila omražena Dušanova žena, Marija, ona je bila izvor svih svađa, stalno je gunđala zbog nepravedne podjele imanja i podgrijavala mržnju svoje djece i supruga prema njegovoj braći i svemu onome što je njihovo, ona nije ni s kim od rodbine razgovarala, i Dušanu je zabranjivala da razgovara s braćom.

Njezina mržnja bila je zvjerska. Oni su živjeli u skromnoj bajti, staroj kući, već prilično dotrajaloj, pokrivenoj šimlom, dok su kuće mlađe braće bile zidane i pokrivene crijepom. I na odjeći njihove djece vidjelo se da su sirotinja, bila su prnjava i slabo obučena, selo se s njima izrugivalo.

       Dušan je bio najstariji brat i po običaju trebao je biti glavar porodične zadruge, a žena mu prva ženska ličnost gazdinstva. Porodica je zaključila da nijedno od njih nije sposobno za ta čelna mjesta. Dušan je bio spreman da to razumno prihvati, ali Marija to nije mogla podnijeti. Pod njezinim pritiskom oni se odijeliše. Među doseljenim Ličanima u Podgrmeč to je bila velika bruka da muž posluša ženu kod tako važnih pitanja. Porodice Budimira bile su izvrgnute ruglu.

       Kuće su im bile jedne pored drugih, članovi porodica su se susretali svakodnevno i svaki susret podgrijavao je međusobnu mržnju. S roditelja netrpeljivost je kao zaraza prelazila na djecu, ali ona su se igrala zajedno i u igri se dobro slagala, a mrzila su stričeve i strine kao i sve ono što pripada drugom gazdinstvu.

       Mi djeca smo se jako plašili mršave Budimirove gazdarice Jele, Uroševe žene, koja je za pojasom ili u rukama stalno nosila terkiju sa svežnjem ključeva. Ta uska kožna traka služila joj je pored ostalog i za batinanje neposlušne i nevaljale djece, odrasli su nas stalno plašili Jelinom terkijom tako da smo je dobro poznavali i strahovali od nje.

       Kad je Branko dogotovio luk i strijelu izađošmo na dvorište da isprobamo oružje. Po snijegu su bile rasute kokoši i guske. Svaka porodica je dobro poznavala svoju živad. Avlije nisu bile pregrađene pa se živad mješala, složna, ne obazirući se na rodbinsku mržnju među ljudima.

       Ispred Brankove kuće, kao ispred svoje vlastite, debela šargopirgasta kokoš njegove omražene strine Marije, zajedno sa peradi porodične zadruge, kljucala je zrnje kukuruza što ga je Jela upravo bacila. Branko nije mogao podnijeti bezobrazluk strinine koke, činilo mu se da ona čak vrijednije od njegovih kokošiju skuplja zrnje. Kad je primjeti u njemu sve uzavri od gnjeva, javi mu se osjećaj kao da to strina Marija brzo pronalazi njegov kukuruz i trpa ga u torbu da ga odnese svojoj kući. Očigledna, drska bestidna krađa!

      Ja sam držao u rukama polunapet, spreman luk sa strijelom i pogledom tražio neku pticu, makar i vrapca, kokoši i guske nisam ni zapazio.

      - Navrni de ovu kokoš, - zarežao je Branko i odlučno mi pokazao rukom na nju. Reče mi to kao oficir vojniku, kao majstor šegrtu.

      Ja željan da mu se odužim, da mu platim za obavljeni posao, zbog luka i strijele moj ugled među dječacima je naglo porastao, brzo napeh luk čitavom snagom. Koka, ta lijepo ugojena domaća ptica, kad Branko ispruži ruku prema njoj, osjeti što joj se sprema, kao da je vjetar ponese poče bježati pomažući se zamasima krila, i ja, umjesto nje nepogrešivo posred glave pogodih veliku, kao snijeg bijelu gusku, kojom se Brankova majka Jela osobito ponosila. Guska, koja se nalazila iza koke, nije stigla ni da se pomakne. Troma blesača!

     Zbog svoje zahvalnosti nađoh se u velikoj opasnosti. Čavao strijelice udario je gusku u jedno oko, a na drugo provirio van. Smrtno ranjena, oborena snažnim udarcem, ona se koprcala, u žestokim bolovima okretala se u čevrntiju, trzala se, motala se u krug. Trzaji su postajali sve slabiji, njezin se život gasio!

      Jela istrča iz kuće, ali ja sam bio brz kao mungos! Nikakav strah me nije mogao spriječiti da ne dograbim svoju strijelu i, kao zvijer, jurnem kroz kapiju. A tu je već bila sloboda. Dolje, prema mojoj kući vodio je 200 metara dugačak strm put na kojem smo mi djeca uglačali stazu za sankanje. Moji gumeni opanci bili su kao stvoreni za spust niz klizavu kosinu. Čučnuh i nikakva Jela ni terkija, niko živ me nije više mogao uhvatiti. Napustih gusku, Branka i njegovu majku, ostavih Budimire i njihove nerazumne odnose.

    Zavukao sam se pod krevet i sa strahom očekivao da Jela dođe sa svojom terkijom i da na mojoj stražnjici naplati smrt svoje lijepe ponosne guske. Ali Jela nije dolazila, shvatila je da je to bio samo stjecaj nesretnih okolnosti ili joj je Branko uspio objasniti da u svemu i on ima debeli dio krivice.

     Ja sam taj dan jedini imao uspješan ulov, ali nažalost lovinu nisam smio ponijeti kući i razveseliti majku. Ipak bio sam zadovoljan – jedna Jelina guska nikada više neće psikati za mnom i prijetiti da će me ugristi za guzicu dok se odrasli članovi Budimirovih obitelji smiju mom strahu i poniženju.

      Brzo sam zaboravio zahvalnost prema Branku i njegovu omrazu koju je nesretna guska platila glavom. Kod kuće sam odmah upao u divnu zabavu, moj umni brat stričević, Ilija, osam godina stariji od mene, braco zlatnih ruku, jedva je dočekao da isproba moj luk i strijelu. Sa otvorenog prozora, iz tople sobe, on je iskušavao kako daleko strijela može odletjeti, a ja sam mu služio kao lovački pas, samo, umjesto lovine, poslije svakog izbačaja po dubokom snijegu prelazio sam 50 metara i donosio natrag strijelu.

     Krasno smo se zabavljali moj brat Ilija i ja. Nikako da se dosjetim pa da isprobam kako daleko ja mogu baciti strijelu, a on da ide po nju. On sigurno ne bi pristao na to, odrasli se s djecom igraju samo onako kako to oni žele.

.....

            DJEDOVI   PJETLOVI

          Jednog dana stiže u našu kuću iz Zagorja mljekarica Bara, donese dva sasvim mala pileta i reče mom ocu:

          - Gospon Petar, pri vam je dvor, a na njem ničeg živog ni. Sem vam prinesla par cvergli, kad porasteju oni vam društvo budeju.                                                                                                     Cvergli su kokoši sitne ukrasne pasmine. Pilići brzo porastoše. Pokaza se da nisu Jurek i Katica, kao što Zagorci nazivaju bračni par tih kokica, nego dva brata, prekrasna pjetlića, potpuno jednakog izgleda kao da su jednojajčani blizanci.

Svi su se divili njihovoj ljepoti! Osnovnu tamnocrvenu boju njihovih tijela, mjestimično, skladno iznijansirano, prošaralo je bijelo, smeđe, zeleno i crno perje, a svako pero blistalo je kao lakovano. U odnosu na tijelo, kresta i uresi ispod brada, isticali su se svijetlocrvenom bojom. Rep, kočoperan, prekrasan buket tamnocrvenih, bijelih, smeđih, zelenih i crnih pera, sa strogom mjerom i rasporedom koji zadovoljava najbolji umjetnički ukus. A niz noge im se gaće spustile do zemlje, kao najljepše, od raznobojne kože, pletene kicoške čizme, sa ukrasima od mesinga i obojenih kožnih pertli. Bijele rese gaća rasule im se po prstima nogu.

       Priroda ne može ljepše pijetlove stvoriti!

       Ponosio se djeda Petar svojim pjetlićima, volio ih je i mazio kao unučad. I oni su njemu nesebično uzvraćali ljubav i brigu: bili su mu privrženi i odani, išli su za njim kao vjerni psići, slijedili ga u stopu. A kada bi stali, odjednom bi, kao po dogovoru, gromko, veoma čistim melodičnim glasovima, složno zakukurikali, pokazali svoju sreću i zadovoljstvo što su zajedno sa djedom Petrom.

      Ujutro, kada djed Petar doručkuje, pjetlići skoče na prozor i pozdrave ga glasnim kukurikanjem. Znaju oni da to djea Petru čini veliko zadovoljstvo.

      Preko dana, za vrijeme vrućine, djed Petar iznese poljski krevet na dvorište, pa čita i odmara se u hladovini trešnje. Pjetlići mu skoče na ramena, okrenu se prema istoku i tri puta zapjevaju, zatim to učine prema jugu, zapadu i sjeveru. Prolaznici zastanu, gledaju ih, čude se i dive im se. U podne takav isti program izvode na dvorišnoj kapiji, pri čemu jedan stoji na jednom, a drugi na drugom betonskom stubu. To je program za susjede i radoznale prolaznike.

      No, dogodi se nesreća! Jednog pjetlića na ulici zgazi auto. Preživjeli brat mu nikad više nije zapjevao. Svi smo bili veoma utučeni, a više od smrti pjetlića lomila nas je tuga i nesreća onog drugog, preživjelog. On se prestao radovati i djedu Petru, niko ga nije mogao razveseliti, ništa ga nije moglo obradovati. Umirao je od žalosti! Djed Petar je šmrcao zajedno s njim i prikrivao suze od nas i od njega. Tuga je zavladala na našem dvorištu, ugnijezdila se u našoj kući, nismo mogli da je se riješimo. Tugovale su i komšije.

      Jednog dana susjeda Božica dođe u kuću djeda Petra i donese u ruci šargopirgastu hromu kokicu, cverglicu. Žutosmeđa neugledna kokica s ujednačenim bijelim piknicama, jednolično, pravilno rasutim po cijelom tijelu, bila je iscrpljena od tuge i rana. Auto je zgazio njenog pjetlića, a nju ozlijedio.

     - Evo je, Petre, tebi, ne mogu je gledati tako žalosnu, uginuće od jada. Ako budu zajedno, možda će živnuti.

      I doista, dogodi se čudo. Djeda Petrov ljepotan, Jurek, živnu, vrati mu se prijašnje raspoloženje, oporavi se i ponovo poče veselo pjevati kao što je nekada. Da čudo bude veće, šepava kokica sasvim ozdravi, nije više hramala.

       Radostan život vratio se na djeda Petrovo dvorište! Još ljepša, živahnija pjesma, sretna, zanosna, opčinjavala je prolaznike, razveseljavala komšije. I djedu Petru se vratilo prijašnje raspoloženje.

......

                  CAR   GOVEDA

      Dikonja je bio naš šareni vo s bijelim i mrkim kolutima po leđima, bokovima i grudima. Imao je jak vrat, snažna prsa, šiljate rogove i čvrsto čelo obraslo kovrčavom oštrom dlakom iz koje su prijeteći gledale krupne probadajuće oči. Ratoboran, divlje naravi, stalno je tražio kavgu s drugim volovima ma gdje se susreo s njima na pašnjacima, na svom ili njihovom terenu. Ja sam ga se bojao, nisam ga smio pomilovati kao druga goveda, a ni on nije volio maženje, kao da se bojao da bi zbog toga izgubio nešto od svog visokog ugleda kod goveda. A njegov autoritet nije bio mali i on se stalno brinuo da ga održi na što višem nivou.

      - Dikonja! Jesi li poludio? - vikao sam bespomoćno na njega dok je on kao orkan rogovima raznosio plast bilo čijeg sijena, kao neukrotivi uragan poigravao se njim, izazovan i prkosan, pravi ratnik, car u goveđem carstvu!

      Kada bi se moje stado našlo na pašnjaku s drugim stadom, Dikonja je odmah, bez kolebanja, tražio da se borbom riješi pitanje – ko je sada tu vol broj jedan, ko je gospodar, kome se svi moraju pokoravati i poštovati ga kao cara u tom malom goveđem carstvu.

      Kratak dodir čelima, manevri rogovima, samo dotle dok on ne procijeni protivnika i ne smisli trik kako će ga nadmudriti, a onda zastrašujući neočekivan potez i prestrašeni borac je bježanjem tražio spas. Kidao je pred šiljatim rogovima kao pred kugom, ali, spreman na taj kukavičluk, Dikonja bi munjevito priskočio i, kao obilježje poraza, otparao mu krvavu masnicu.

       Dikonja nije bio zadovoljan samo s predajom, obavezno je morala biti i masnica, to je bio kao nekakav žig na potpisanu predaju, pečat kojeg su kao sramno uvjerenje mogla vidjeti sva goveda. Korida je završena! Tu je i ovjereno uvjerenje. Zna se ko je vladar!

       U borbi s Dikonjom njegovi protivnici nisu imali nikakve izglede, jer on je bio vol s visokom inteligencijom, mnogo više je koristio pamet nego snagu, tu je bila njegova ogromna prednost. Tehnika, lukavost i trik, time je oduševljavao nas čobane, promatrače borbe. Ja sam osobito bio ponosan što je sredio Budimirove volove Garonju i Sivinju. Bio sam zadovoljan kao da sam ja u hrvanju pobijedio stariju braću Pere i Bogde, od kojih sam često dobivao batine. E, Dikonja svaka ti čast, osvjetlao si obraz porodici! Sad mi je divno pri srcu!

       Svagdje, gdje je Dikonja dolazio na ispašu, tražio je bez odlaganja da se utvrdi ko je od volova tu gazda. Ne znam zašto mu je to bilo važno, ali nije htio nijednu travku otkinuti i pojesti dok se to pitanje ne riješi. Tako je bilo i prije njegove tragedije.

      Poslije velikog rata, moja tetka Boja Ljubojević se vraćala na svoje zgarište. Kuću su joj ratnici spalili, supruga ubili, ostala je s tri sinčića mojih godina. Pođosmo na selo Vranjsku, iznad Bosanske Krupe, da joj u proljeće uzoremo zemlju. Dok su se volovi odmarali i pasli, u dolini iznad grada, Dikonja je među govedima počeo zavoditi svoj red. Silovito je bukao, rušio je rogovima obalu, rikao i prednjim nogama bacao urušenu zemlju preko svojih leđa, tražio je protivnika zastrašujućim izazovom. Rika je odjekivala u sklopu doline, valjala se prema gradu niz dolinu Krušnice, dohvatala kuće okolnih sela rasute po brdima, talasala se nad bregovima, udolinama, njivama, pašnjacima, livadama i šumarcima.

       Odjednom je sijevnuo plamen i začuo se strašan prasak. Dikonja je zapeo rogom za žicu i aktivirao poteznu minu. Iz minskog polja nisu bile povađene sve opasne eksplozivne naprave. Mi djeca smo se šćućurili preplašeni kao da je u neposrednoj blizini grom opalio. Nastala je mukla tišina u kojoj se nije čuo ni najtiši zvuk. Kad smo se pribrali nije se više čula ni Dikonjina izazivačka rika. Pogođen parčetom mine, u trbuh, car goveda je žalosno stajao svjestan da je to kraj, da mu se život gasi. Brzo smo ga odvezli u klaonicu.

      Poslije toga danima sam osluškivao hoće li se začuti poznata draga rika, izazov drugim volovima, ali nad stadom je nepomično stajala mrtva tišina, usidrena kao magla u dolu koju vjetar ne raznosi. Nisu se oglašavali ni drugi volovi ni krave, i oni su osjećali taj bolni gubitak, nestao je njihov vođa, nestao je pravi car goveda, kojeg su se svi pribojavali, ali su ga i poštovali. Tugovali smo zajedno ja i stado!

                   PONOS MAČKA AZRIJELA

      Pred trodnevno putovanje dođe Vera kod nas, u vikendicu. Iza nje, kroz visoku travu, skače šareni crno bijeli mačak. Azrijel! Dosad nikad nije dolazio. Lukavko predosjeća da će ostati sam pa traži dobrog novog prijatelja, staratelja, starih prijatelja nije ni imao!

      Udvornički, mačak se zavuče pod moju stolicu i poče se češati o moje noge, umiljava se. Spustim ruku da ga pomilujem, on to prihvati zadovoljno, sa podignutim repom provlači mi se ispod dlana, mazi se i sretan prede, dodvara se. Pogledam Azrijela. On me pažljivo promatra. Kad vidje u mom pogledu iskrenost odmah, bez oklijevanja, skoči mi na koljena, ugnijezdi se u krilu, leže i nastavi s naslađivanjem presti. Zadovoljstvo ga je potpuno ispunilo.

Vera otputova s penzionerima na izlet, mogla je mačka ostaviti na čuvanje sinu, ali nije htjela opteretiti njega i snahu pa ga je ostavila kod vikendice. Azrijel je imao mogućnost da kada to poželi uđe u kuću i da kad mu se prohtije izađe na dvorište. Ostavila mu je hrane i vode da može bez oskudice poživjeti tri dana do njezinog povratka.

      Sutradan mi dođosmo u vikendicu kad evo nam mačka, odmah stiže u posjetu. Čitavo vrijeme dok sam radio oko voćaka Azrijel se nije odvajao od mene. Odlučio je potražiti novog gospodara, boljeg od Vere, ona mu se jako zamjerila, ostavila ga je! Nije joj mogao oprostiti!

      “Prijatelji smo!” mislio je macan. “Našao sam pravog druga.” Glupi mačak, zar se prijateljstvo stiče preko noći, poslije samo jedanog viđenja?

      Počesmo se spremati kući. Azrijel priđe autu i kad ja otvorih vrata on pokuša ući, on bi s nama kući! Nisam mu to mogao dopustiti. U stanu, dok smo mi na poslu, nema nikog, djeca su u školi, mačku bi bilo dosadno, ne bi mogao u šetnju. Bio bi sužanj u zatvoru, o tome on ne razmišlja, traži samo ugodnosti, sanja toplinu domaćeg ognjišta, nekog ko će se brinuti o njemu, očekuje nježnost.

- Ne, ne! Ne možeš s nama - rekao sam i zatvorio   vrata kola.

- Povedi me, molim te! – kao da mi je govorio dok se žalio bolnim glasom, čudnim, kakav nisam nikad čuo kod mačaka.

- Ni govora! – bio sam odlučan.
- Već sam proveo jednu noć u ovoj pustoši. Užasno je biti sam. Ja nisam divlja mačka! – Gleda me u oči, preklinje. Razumijem ga, ali ne popuštam, ne zna on s kakvim bi se problemima suočio.

- Za dva dana dolazi ti gazdarica! Izdržaćeš! –
Upalio sam motor kola.

     - Srce ti je od kamena! Sam sam u ovim brdima, daleko od ljudi, ostavljen - slušam zdvojno mjaukanje.

     Pokrenuo sam kola. Azrijel se pope na hrpu pijeska uz nedovršenu kuću, i začuo sam strašan jauk napuštene životinje koja je od svoje situacije pravila mnogo veću dramu nego što je ona stvarno to bila.

      - Gdje li je samo naučio ovaj plač? Sjetih se, gazdarica mu stanuje blizu groblja, tamo je mogao čuti jadikovke i jecanje, jaukanje za pokojnicima.

      - Bože! Plače kao malo dijete. Čuješ li? –
reče moja žena jako potresena.

      - Nevjerovatno! Prvi put čujem kako mačka jauče -
rekoh dotučen.

      Sutradan dođoh sam na imanje. Otvorio sam kapiju i uvezao kola pred kuću. Odjednom sam ugledao Azrijela kako preskače ogradu i kao poludio, s neviđenom odlučnošću, jurnuo je od Verine kuće, pravocrtno je presjekao moje imanje i nestao kroz kapiju. Nije me ni pogledao! S neizmjernim prezirom, s ponosom uvrijeđene i ozlojeđene ličnosti, zamakao je u šumu, izgubio mi se iz pogleda.

“Gadovi! Mogu ja i bez vas”, dao mi je do znanja.

Petnaest dana nesretni Azrijel nije dolazio kući, nije se javljao ni nama ni Veri. Bili smo sigurni da je nastradao, da ga više nikada nećemo vidjeti. A onda se ipak pojavio, vratio se natrag svojoj gazdarici Veri. Njegov ponos bio je slomljen. Težak život učinio je svoje. Olinjao, pregladnio, iscrpljen i jako omršavio, nije ga bilo za prepoznati, ponizno je mjauknuo, javio se mekim glasom Veri, kao da traži, kao da moli da ga opet primi. Glad ga je prisilila na poniženje!

     Nikada više nije mi Azrijel došao u posjetu. Iznevjerio sam ga! Nisam drug kakvog je tražio! Dva poniženja bila bi previše za njegov ponos.

......

                    DRAMA U MORU

       Krajem augusta, u praskozorje, stajao sam na palubi broda i tužan opraštao se s morem. Nećemo se vidjeti 11 mjeseci! Promatrao sam tamna leđa Brača, utonule dolce između slonovih leđa brda, i ljupke uvale u koje su se stisnule bijele đinđuve seoskih kuća i malih gradova, skromno građene, sa dušom malog dalmatinskog čovjeka čije življenje nije nikad znalo za obilje i raskoš.

       Gledao sam hrapave bijele stijene ispucale od sunca, vjetra i hladnoće, čije su se žedne usne doticale sada tihog mora, ljubile se s njim, mirno srčući njegovu vodu. Ta slana voda za vrijeme njenih raspomamljenih bijesova, ljeti rijetkih, zimi učestalih, upornošću prirode, kroz maglu brojnih miliona godina izgrizala je stamene stijene. I danas, kao bračni drugovi, kopno i more sad se ljube da bi u jednom momentu zapodjenuli nepomirljivu svađu, žestoku i burnu sve dok se emocije potpuno ne isprazne i ne stišaju, dok ne dođe do tihog mirnog suživota u kojem se nakuplja nova količina goriva za nastavak neshvatljivog obračuna čiji su rezultat oštri utori, brazde i ugrizi na kamenu.

Opraštao sam se sa mnogo sjete i neke tihe boli od tog dragog krajolika. Pogled mi je milovao tu bijelu ogrlicu stijena koja opasuje otok kao biserna struka djevojački vrat. Još je bilo prerano, tek se očekivao izlazak sunca, i te stijene na kojima sam se najrađe kupao, još nisu blistale onom čarobnom očaravajućom snježnom bjelinom od koje u uzbuđenju dah zastaje, a srce narušava svoj ritam otkucaja. Nigdje voda nije tako lijepa i čista kao na otocima! Nigdje nema tako lijepe igre svjetla i plave prozirne bistrine u kojoj se nazire i vidi morsko dno, stijene, šljunak, trava, ribe. Posebno je čarobna ta igra svjetla i vode uz stijene koje se blago spuštaju do mora, a onda kad ga dotaknu, naglo, okomito se ruše nekoliko metara u dubinu. Tu osjećam kao da se kupam u djevičanski čistoj vodi i ništa mi ne može zamijeniti to uživanje u kupanju. Sad sam se osjećao tužno zbog ovog povratka u Panoniju, dugo, dugo ću čekati da ponovo vidim tu akvamarinsku boju morske vode, tu igru sunčanog svjetla uz stjenovitu obalu koja očarava najuglednije slikare sanjare.

        Brod se odvojio od Brača i zasjekao vodu Bračkog kanala, nanišanio prema Splitu. Iza masiva Mosora, tamo prema Makarskoj, gdje se on spaja sa Biokovom, u samom prevoju, kao da dolazi sa bojnog polja, promalja se krvav kružni odsječak velikog crvenog sunca. Njegovo svjetlo obojilo je rubove mrkih oblaka. Tamo kao da se upravo smirilo ratište, umorili se raspamećeni iscrpljeni vojnici. Sve se brzo mijenjalo. Naša zvijezda se uspinjala i poprimala svoju uobičajenu boju i veličinu. Slika je sada bila druga, manje zanimljiva, pratili su je letovi i nepodesna muzika, krikovi galebova.

       Na vidiku je bio Split! Tornjevi novih četvrti, izmaštani snovi građevinara i arhitekata. Rasli su soliteri, grad i Marijan. Bili smo pred prljavom lukom, brod se spremao uploviti u pokvarenu vodu, zaobilazio je lukobran i ulazio u toplu bijelu pitomu školjku luke. Pozdravljala nas je drevna draga, za srce mi prirasla Dioklecijanova palača sa bogobojažljivim tornjem crkve Svetog Duje, kojeg je vrijeme jačanja religije usadilo ovdje i devastiralo carske dvore, kao da se htjelo osvetiti omraženom caru kršćanskom krvniku.

      Odjednom tišina se raspala! Parobrod se nagnuo, svi putnici su kao stoka nagrnuli na lijevi bok. Požurio sam tamo, progurao sam se kroz svjetinu do ruba lađe da vidim što se događa. Pred mojim očima odigravala se mala surova drama prirode, koja za nejačkog cipla nije bila mala, radilo se o njegovom životu. Morski pas, dug metar i pol, progonio je malog cipla, dugačkog svega dvadesetak centimetara. Kao da ga već dugo traži, nasrnuo je da ga proguta. Za doručak!

Prestrašeni cipal je kao metak jurio cik–cak. Strijeloviti startovi kao da ga iz puške ispališ, stane djelić sekunde, a zatim promijeni smjer gibanja. Čim mu se raspomamljena neman približi, spremna da ga lapi, bjegunac u drugom smjeru munjevito odleti. Lomi se putanja cipla! Kako on izvjetri, tako raste gnjev progonioca i odlučnost da mu stane na rep. Zvjerski bijes je svake sekunde sve veći, krvoločnost sve žešća. Morski pas, manje spretan, trom nasrtao je veoma brzo, svaki trenutak je bio bjeguncu za repom. Kad pomisliš gotovo je, cipal, veoma koncentriran, vine se visoko u vazduh, nestane ispred nosa progonioca, natprirodna sila ga izbaci iz vode. Skače kao skakavac! Kad se proždrljivac prući iz vode, dovitljivi bjegunac je već u moru.

       Izmjenjivali su se bijegovi u vodi i visoki skokovi u zrak. More se pjenilo kao uzavrelo. Divljački nasrtaji razbojnika nisu slabili. Tvrdoglava upornost, moć nemani i očaj žrtve nisu se smanjivali. Morski pas je s fanatičnom odlučnošću nastavljao progon kao da mu željeni plijen po njegovoj nepogrješivoj logici obavezno pripada. Ko će se prije umoriti?

Konačno, snalažljivi cipal je našao rješenje. Šmugnuo je ispod broda, progonilac je zaronio za njim i više ih nismo vidjeli. Kao da je neko treći progutao obojicu! Da li je osvetoljubivi bjegunac, kad je smrt postala neizbježna, pod njezin žrvanj povukao i progonioca? Možda ih je oba samlio propeler broda? U uzburkanoj pjeni iza broda ništa se nije moglo vidjeti osim podivljale vode uzavrele od snažne rotacije elise i zanošenja broda, njegovog mekog bočnog približavanja pristaništu.

.....

                  M A Z G A broj 127

        Mazgu Đuliju vojnik, konjevodac, Pijetro Kolina, upoznao je u talijanskoj vojsci kad su ga prisilno regrutirali Musolinijevi fašisti 1939. godine i poslali u Etiopiju da sudjeluje u osvajanju ove afričke zemlje i njenoj kolonizaciji. Musolinijevi planovi nisu se ostvarivali kao što su to njegovi generali zamišljali, etiopska plemena, ujedinjena pod vodstvom cara Haile Selasija, pokazala su se vojnički nepobjediva. Poražena Dučeova neborbena armija, demoralisana i iscrpljena, povlačila se prema lukama gdje su je čekali brodovi da je vrate u Italiju.

       Noć u planinama bila je gusta. Kolona Pijetrove brigade, umorna, sporo se kretala cestom niz kanjon rijeke Artas. Pijetro je jedva nazirao obrise stražnjeg dijela tijela svoje Đulije i na njenim leđima natovarena dva teška mitraljeza “Maksima. ” Već dvije godine oni su nerazdruživi, Pijetro brine o timarenju i ishrani mazge, a ona nekad više, nekad manje poslušna, dosta ćudljiva, nosi teret koji joj vojnici natovare na samar. I sad su tu u ratom iscrpljenoj          koloni vojnika, konja, mazgi i zaprežnih vozila, s jednom jedinom nadom da će sretno stići do luke Džibuti, ukrcati se u brodove i vratiti se u njihovu lijepu pitomu Italiju.

      Dolje, duboko u uskoj stjenovitoj klisuri Artasa, čuje se jak šum vode koja se lomi, poskakuje niz stijene, baca se u ponor.

      Pijetro, izmučen dvogodišnjim ratovanjem, osluškuje taj šum, ali kao da mu na jedno uho ulazi, a na drugo izlazi, on mnogo više pažnje obraća cesti usječenoj u strme stijene, drži se njezine desne strane, dalje od ponora, svjestan da onaj ko klizne dolje prema rijeci neće ni u mrtvačkom sanduku stići u Italiju. Niko u ovoj pomrčini neće ni pokušati izvući njegovo polomljeno tijelo, a možda to ni po danu ne bi bilo moguće, jer bi ono završilo u podivljaloj rijeci i ona bi ga kao slamku ponijela na svojim zapjenjenim valovima, izlomila ga i istrgala na komade koje ne bi bilo moguće ni pronaći ni pokupiti u ovoj divljini, zabačenoj planinskoj pustoši, gdje se samo orlovi strvinari osjećaju ugodno.

Iza zavoja šum vode se pojača, Đulija poče strići ušima, obuze je sumnjičavost i ona stade. Odbila je da dalje ide.

- Gija, Đulija - podviknu Pijetro Kolina, ali mazga se ne pomače ni za milimetar. Znao je Pietro što bi to moglo značiti. Nije lako mazgu udobrovoljiti, kad se ona uzjoguni postaje patološki tvrdoglava, glava joj je kao od kamena! A možda i malo tvrđa.

Vojnici su naletjeli na Pijetra, a on na mazgu. Čule su se njihove psovke i dobacivanja, gruba i prostačka, vojnička. Neko mu je davao dobronamjerne savjete, neko posprdne, uvredljive.

Pijetro prođe ispred Đulije, uhvati je za ular da je povede, ali to je malo vrijedilo, nikakav vjetar nije mogao propuhati njezinu glavu, niko nije mogao znati zašto ona odbija poslušnost.

Odozdo iz kanjona sukljala je hladnoća kao da je dolje nekakav divovski rashladni uređaj. Nebo je bilo osuto bezbrojnim zvijezdama, koje su večeras izgledale bliže nego ikada.

Psovke umornih vojnika postadoše nervoznije, šale masnije i vulgarnije, padali su mnogi prijedlozi kako da se mazgu prisili na poslušnost. Nijedan nije bio dovoljno pametan i Pijetru prihvatljiv, mnogi su bili sasvim glupi.

       - Zapali joj papir ispod repa - dobaci neko.

- Zapali, zapali! – prihvatili su ostali vojnici.

Pijetro je znao da se ne može procijeniti kakve će to imati posljedice, no morao je natjerati mazgu na poslušnost i on prihvati ugurani mu papir u ruke, zapali ga i podnese Đuliji pod rep. Opečena životinja jurnu naprijed. Rušila je vojnike ispred sebe, oni su se sklanjali ispred pomahnitalog živinčeta, pravili joj prolaz i ona se izgubi prema čelu kolone, Pijetro je nije mogao stići.

Prošlo je pet godina od tog događaja. Mnogo toga proživio je mladi Pijetro Kolina. Izbio je Drugi svjetski rat, Musolinijeva Italija kapitulirala je pod snažnim pritiskom saveznika, koji su se iskrcali na Siciliji i sada nezadrživo napredovali prema sjeveru, Nijemci i one fašističke Dučeove talijanske jedinice, koje se nisu predale, trpile su poraz za porazom i postepeno se povlačile prema sjeveru. Tu su ih u planinskim krajevima, u područjima obronaka Alpa, čekale već jake jedinice talijanskih partizana da im spriječe povlačenje prema Njemačkoj.

      Partizanska brigada “Garibaldi” dobila je zadatak da zaposjedne položaje u dolini rijeke Adige u području iznad grada Trenta i spriječi povlačenje Nijemaca za Austriju. Hladan, umjereno jak vjetar duvao je sa Alpa niz dolinu rijeke, na njegovim talasima glasovi, zvukovi, svaki malo jači šum spuštao se prema gradu i logorima Nijemaca, šibao uši stražara. U gustom tijestu noći tiho se kretala kolona partizana. Ispred Pijetra Koline tapkala je njegova mazga Žeraldina, jedva je nazirao obrise njene pozadine, samara i oružja natovarenog na njezina leđa. Oči su mu već svikle na ono malo svjetla koje se odbijalo od tucanika rasutog po putu. Gore lijevo znao je da su mračne strme stijene planine, lijevo, negdje dolje u dubini uske doline, bučno se valjala nabujala Adiga, osjećao je to, nazirao se samo put i ništa više.

      Žeraldinu je Pijetro dobio pred samo deset dana, stigla je iz divizijske komore, nije još stigao upoznati je, ništa nije znao o njezinoj naravi, karakteru, njezinoj mušičavosti. Kad je ona stala na putu mislio je da je najbolje biti prema njoj pažljiv, obazriv, uljudan, izbjegavati svaku grubost.

       - Idemo, Žeraldina, žurimo! - Blago je spustio dlan na njezinu pozadinu, iznad repa. Bio je to mnogo više znak nježnosti i prijateljstva nego udarac. Mazga je prema tom izrazu drugarstva ostala sasvim ravnodušna kao da nije ništa ni čula ni osjetila

      - Idemo, draga, žurimo. –
konjovodac je blago rukom gurnuo životinju.

      Žeraldina se usidrila, kao zabetonirana oduprla se ukočenim prednjim nogama o tlo, odlučno je dala do znanja da o bilo kakvoj poslušnosti neće ni da čuje. Do prijateljstva joj nije bilo stalo.

      - Udri je - doviknuo je tiho vojnik iza Pijetra.

     - Gdje ti je štap - procijedio je kroz stisnute zube drugi vojnik.

       - Ništa od batina, ne pomaže tu batina - rekao je Pijetro uvjerljivo. Poznavao je on dobro mazge.

      - Batina je iz raja izašla! – čulo se nečije nervozno mišljenje.

      - Životinja ima svoju ličnost, ne treba je vrijeđati - štitio je Pijetro svoju Žeraldinu. - Hajde, draga, moramo se žuriti - blago je naslonio ruku na njezinu pozadinu i nježno je gurnuo.

      Izgledalo je da je mazga gluha i neosjetljiva, ona se ustobočila, ukopala u mjestu i ni makac! Neće pa neće. Pjetro nije znao što se dešava, umoran nije mogao sjetiti se doživljaja u Etiopiji. I tamo se nalazio u klisuri rijeke, ova noć je ličila na onu, ovaj trenutak je mnogo podsjećao na taj davni događaj, okolnosti su bile slične, mnogo toga nalikovalo je na davnu prošlost. Mahinalno je pošao naprijed da za ular povede mazgu, mislio je da će ona poći za njim. Iznenadio se.

Pijetrovo iznenađenje začas se pretvorilo u šok i tešku neobičnu nesreću, stradanje kakvo niko nije doživio ni čuo za nešto slično. Žeraldina se propela na zadnje noge i prednjim nogama počela mlatiti konjovoca. Udarala ga je i gazila dušmanski, kidisala je na njega kao na ljutog protivnika, oborila ga i nastavila lupati ga kopitama, mljela ga je, nastojala ga dotući, usmrtiti ga. Vojnici su bili zaprepašteni, trebalo je vremena da se snađu i obuzdaju pobjesnjelu životinju. I kad su je udaljili od zgaženog Pijetra, ona je još pokušavala da im se otme i dovrši ono što je naumila, ubiti ga.

      Teško povrijeđenog Kolinu prebacili su u divizijsku bolnicu, slomljena mu je lijeva noga u natkoljenici i desna ruka u podlaktici, napukla tri lijeva rebra, po tijelu je imao mnogobrojne podljeve krvi od udaraca kopitama. Nakon tjedan dana došao je njegov komandir čete Antonio Trapatoni posjetiti svog vojnika, s njim su bili i Pijetrovi najbolji prijatelji Ugo Bianchi i Nikolo Darneli. Našli su ga u gipsu i zavojima, jedva su ga prepoznali. Bio je zamišljen, teško je govorio, tek se počeo oporavljati, nije bio raspoložen za razgovor. Još je bio u depresiji, bezvoljan, utučen i iscrpljen.

- Za desetak dana bit ćeš već mnogo bolje, kaže doktor, - reče mu kapetan Trapatoni ležerno. – Doći će neko da te posjeti.

- Nešto bih te zamolio, Ugo - obrati se na rastanku prijatelju, tihim glasom nesrećni Kolina. – Molim te otiđi u komoru, pronađi mazgu Žeraldinu i pogledaj njezin broj kojim je označena, vjerujem da ona to ima.

U narednu posjetu Trapatoni je poslao Uga Bianchija. Sada je Pijetro izgledao pristojnije, živnuo je, boja mu se vratila u lice, glas mu se mogao prepoznati. Vratila mu se snaga. Ugo se obradovao kad ga je vidio, shvatio je da mu se prijatelj brzo oporavlja, za nekoliko mjeseci opet će biti zajedno.

- Reci mi, molim te, da li si vidio oznaku na Žeraldini? - upita Kolina prijatelja prije nego što su se rastali.

- Ah, da, vidio sam, na sapima ima utisnut broj 127. Dlaka joj je oko njega već gusto izrasla, prekrila ga je i jedva sam ga pronašao.

- To sam i mislio - gorko se osmijehnu Pijetro Kolina. - To je moja mazga Đulija, ona iz Etiopije. Ja sam nju zaboravio, ali ona je mene zapamtila! I nije mi oprostila. Pet godina je nosila u duši želju za osvetom i uspjela je da je ostvari. Sam bog joj je pomogao da se opet susretnemo i da joj se pruži zgodna prilika. Životinje nikad ne opraštaju.

I Ugo je sa velikim zanimanjem saslušao Pijetrovu priču o mazgi koja ga je unesrećila.

..........

                       DOKTOR MAČAK

      U proljeće, 1984. godine, dobio sam bezopasnu, čudnu kožnu bolest za koju nije bilo lijeka. Moja bujna, nekad crna kosa, sada već dobro prosijeda, na lijevoj sljepoočici počela je sasvim bijeliti, povelik bijeli krug ukazao mi se iznad sljepoočice. U početku nije me to nimalo zabrinjavalo, ali postepeno se ta bolest, bjelina u obliku poširoke trake, počela penjati uz glavu, kosa mi je postajala šarena i javila se u meni bojazan, zebnja o nakaznosti, a zatim je brižnost počela poprimati sve veće razmjere. Moj nemir je rastao!

      Činilo mi se da sam neka vrsta gubavca i da me ljudi počinju s čuđenjem gledati. Doista, nikad nisam vidio da se nečija ćuba šarenila! Prijatelji su me zapitkivali što se to dešava, a ja im nisam znao ništa odgovoriti. Ni sebi! Jedina utjeha bila je - ništa me nije boljelo. Volio sam da se sviđam mladim ženama, a zar se neki šarenac može nekom svidjeti? I zar duševna bol nije bol?

Odlučih obratiti se specijalisti za kožne bolesti, liječniku, on je završio visoke škole, on nešto mora znati o tom oboljenju, on mi sigurno može pomoći. Doktorica me pažljivo pregleda suzdržavajući smijeh i napisa mi recepte. Morao sam nekim smrdljivim tekućinama, vrlo neprijatnog mirisa, svaku večer masirati kožu na oboljelim mjestima. Problem je bio u tome što sam to mogao raditi samo pred ogledalom i nikad nisam mogao to obaviti kako treba pa sam se morao za pomoć obratiti ženi, a ona je alergična na mirise. Ne znam da li joj je to možda dojadilo i o čemu je razmišljala, možda je mislila da me je bog kaznio zato što volim i druge žene i možda je, dok me je liječila, molila boga da me ne izliječi.

      Dojadila je ta rabota meni i ženi, a rezultat je bio bijedan! Dapače, ukazala mi se jedna nova bijela krpa, sad na vrhu glave, a zatim i na zatiljku, sva tri bijela koluta bila su povezana užim bijelim stazama. Izgleda, bog je uslišio ženine molbe, ako mu se ona molila. Neki đavo je najašio na mene i nije se skidao, ne zna sjahati. Da bi bilo još gore, pisac sam, i da bih popularizirao svoju knjigu “Balada o 7 prijatelja, ” morao sam često nastupati na književnim priredbama i čitati svoje pjesme pred đacima po Sisku, Baniji i Zagrebu. Književnik šaren kao krava, kako vam to izgleda? Može li se on svidjeti djeci ili nekoj nastavnici? A u svakoj školi nađe se poneka ljepotica. Ja se nisam usuđivao ni da je pogledam, a nekmoli da joj namignem!

Javio se novi strah. Bojao sam se da mi kosa na mjestima tih bijelih krpica ne počne opadati, tako nepravilno na zakrpe. Svaki ćelavac u odnosu na mene bio bi ljepotan. Ali, na sreću, kosa je i dalje bila jednako gusta i zdrava, samo na mjestima traka i kolutova bila je iznimno bijela, presijavala se i blještala, zakrpe su stajale na mojoj glavi i neumoljivo se polagano, sasvim polako širile.

Pozvan sam s grupom pisaca, članova Književnog kluba Kulturno-umjetničkog društva “Ivan Goran Kovačić” iz Siska na nastup u školi “Joso Marijanović”, u Viduševcu, kod Gline. Tamo su imali i fotografa koji nas je snimio. Na fotografiji se sasvim lijepo vidi moja šarena glava, snimak je u boji, ovjekovječene su moje ružne zakrpe.

       Liječnici više nije imalo smisla ići. Liječi me već skoro dvije godine bez ikakvih rezultata. Pomirio sam se sa sudbinom, ostat ću šaren ili, budem li imao sreće, kosa će mi sasvim pobijeliti. Samo to mučenje trajat će dugo, dugo, jer bolest je sporo napredovala, vrlo sporo.

      Sreća me u životu nikad nije sasvim napuštala. Ako je nekad i zaboravila na mene, sjetila bi se na vrijeme svog miljenika. U zimu, na drugi dan Nove 1986. godine, pođoh sa ženom kod svog dobrog prijatelja, Ljubana Bajića, u Petrinju, da njemu i njegovoj ženi Ankici, čestitamo praznike. Njih dvoje su imali čitavu malu farmu domaćih životinja. Dvorište je vrvilo od mačaka, pasa, pataka, gusaka, svinja i kokošiju.

      Uđosmo u toplu kuhinju, zasjedošmo oko stola. Razgovaramo o koječemu. Na stolici pored peći drijema veliki sivi, dobro uhranjen, stari mačak Marko, moj spasilac. Češće sam bacao pogled na njega, želio sam da mi sjedne na koljna i da ga malo mazim. Primijetio sam da i on pokatkad otvara desno oko i krišom promatra mene. Bio sam mu okrenut lijevom stranom, mogao je dobro vidjeti bijelu traku na mojoj glavi. Malo, malo i Marko bi otvorio desno oko i pogledao me. Između mene i mačka uspostavljena je neka podsvjesna komunikacija. Kao i sa mnogim životinjama i sa mačkom sam se dobro razumio. On je osjetio da sam mu dobar i iskren prijatelj, da ga istinski volim. Kad to osjete, životinje ljubav uzvraćaju sa još većim intenzitetom i iskrenošću.              Odjednom mačak je sišao sa stolice i skočio mi na lijevo koljeno. Ljuban i Ana su počeli vikati na njega, ali sam ih ja smirio i počeo maziti macana. On je preo sa velikim zadovoljstvom. Maženje kratko potraja, jer se mačak uz rukav moje debele vunene veste pope i sjede mi na rame i poče mi lizati kožu na sljepoočnici. To je ražestilo Ljubana i Anu, kakva nepristojnost, kakvo nepoštovanje! Počeli su se derati na Marka, ali ja sam osjetio da se nešto čudno događa, smirio sam domaćine, a macan je nastavio započeti posao. Ta on je imao moju suglasnost, što se drugi tu miješaju? Njegov oštri jezik upijao se između moje guste kose u kožu, kao da je čisti od nečeg, kao da turpijom vadi neke nevidljive nametnike iz nje. I vadio je! Jezik mu se pedantno penjao duž staze uz moju glavu, ispružio se na zadnje noge i prešao na kolut na vrh glave pridržavajući se prednjim nogama, grleći mi glavu. Zatim je sredio kolut i na mom potiljku.

       Kad je završio posao pažljivo se spustio niz moj rukav i koljeno pa ponovo zauzeo svoje mjesto na stolici uz peć i nastavio drijemati kao da se ništa nije ni dogodilo. Uskoro je moja kosa na pobijeljelim mjestima počela poprimati svoju prirodnu boju. Za tri mjeseca nestala je bijela traka i kolutovi koje je povezivala.

      Morat ću ispričati doktorici, specijalisti za kožne bolesti, kako me je izliječio moj prijatelj mačak Marko, ako ona do tada ne pročita ovu istinitu priču. Toplo ću joj preporučiti još jednu specijalizaciju, ali ovaj puta kod doktora mačka Marka.

......

                    HRČAK U KAVEZU

       Postalo je popularno imati kućnog ljubimca! Mi nismo imali nikakvog iskustva sa tim životinjama pa prije nego što nabavimo noja, žirafu ili slona, odlučili smo početi s nekim malim živinčetom, nabavili smo hrčka. Bio je šaren, svjetlosiv sa bijelim pjegama, nešto dulje dlake nego kod miša, ali meke, meke kao duša. Zaigran, imao je u kavezu kolut koji se okretao dok je hrčak po njemu trčao kad je bio raspoložen za igru. Malo veći od poljskog miša, hranio se sjemenkama, posebno suncokretovim, i uživao je da ga neko od nas uzme na dlan, nasloni na grudi i miluje ga drugom rukom.

To milovanje postalo mu je kao neki dnevni obred kojeg je redovito izvodila navečer moja žena, Neda. Ja sam mu za to vrijeme očistio kavez, stavio novu prostirku i staru hranu zamijenio svježom. Nakon toga hrčak je u kavezu veselo trčao po svom kolutu, skakutao, izvodio svoje vragolije. Bila je to zabavna predstava za nas, činilo se da nam je on za sve što smo činili za njega bio zahvalan i da on tu svoju zahvalnost na taj način izražava.

Desila se velika promjena u životu porodice i životu hrčka. Došli su godišnji odmori, žena i djeca su otputovali na more, mjesec dana, a ja sam imao velikih obaveza u voćnjaku pa sam hrčku mogao posvetiti premalo pažnje. Navečer, kad umoran dođem kući, uredio sam mu kavez, zamijenio hranu i vodu, i to je bilo sve. Maloj dragoj životinjici, potpuno nedovoljno, ona je počela tugovati, nije više bilo ni traga njezinom veselju i uživanju.

       Prošlo je dvadeset dana prije nego što sam ja primijetio da je hrčak potpuno promijenio svoje ponašanje. Pažljivim promatranjem ustanovio sam da su mu se oči zamutile, svjetlo se u njima gasilo, njegov život se topio kao snijeg u proljeće! Nazvao sam ženu i porazgovarali smo o tome što se dešava. Međutim, ni ona nije znala što je uzrok oboljenju našeg ljubimca, ni kakve mjere treba poduzeti da bi on ozdravio.

    Dva dana prije povratka porodice sa mora opet sam razgovarao sa ženom, hrčkove oči su bile toliko mutne da u njima nisam nazirao tragove života. Dan prije povratka porodice s mora hrčak je uginuo. Navečer sam našao njegovo malo hladno tijelo u kavezu, skupljeno, skvrčeno od čemera i tuge.

      Nabavili smo novog hrčka. Bio je sasvim isti kao prethodni, njegova kopija, kao da mu je brat blizanac. Uskoro je imao isti režim života kao i njegov prethodnik i dogodilo se kao i prije, odlazak porodice na more i hrčak je prije svoje smrti izdržao isti broj dana kao i naš stari miljenik, a onda uginuo. Lakše bi podnio glad i žeđ nego uskraćeno milovanje, ljubav na koju smo ga bili naučili.

Našoj tuzi i razočaranju nije bilo kraja, danima smo bili snuždeni, nije bilo veselja u našoj kući. Potrajalo je mnogo vremena dok se svjetlo života nije počelo vraćati među nas. Nismo više nabavljali kućne ljubimce, odustali smo od hrčaka, od nojeva, žirafa i slonova. Životinje kad se naviknu, traže stalnu, svakodnevnu ljubav, a mi im to, za vrijeme godišnjih odmora, nismo mogli pružiti.

In English language:

from the book STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS, Xlibris, New York, 2011.

Friendship with the Birds

Grandfather Peter had a pine tree in his yard. A blackbird had built a nest on the tree. Excellent! Here no one will notice my birds, thought the crazy bird.

However, Grandfather Peter had noticed the frequent flights of the blackbird and so carefully looked at the nest on the tree. The bird was lying on it. Upon seeing Grandfather, it got scared, but then became happy to see him smile. ‘Let this be our secret, bird.’ Grandfather winked. ‘Only you sleep. No, you should not bother until you’re on my pine.’

‘I’ll hold you to your word,’ he replied, looking at the confident bird. ‘There is something new. I expect the young will become a mom,’ he confided to the blackbird. ‘Santa was not served,’ he said, revealing the secret of his small

Caliber friend and neighbour, whose house was across the street, opposite grandfather’s. ‘You think, Dalibor, that I love only you? I also love the birds.’

Then grandfather took him to see the nest.

Dalibor was tormented by curiosity; he had to look at the birds, but it was not easy. He wanted neither the bird nor grandfather to know about this. Like a thief, he seized the opportunity one day. When grandfather went in the afternoon to take rest, the little bird flew by and looked for food for the birds. Somehow Dalibor managed to come near the tree. Tentatively, he went through a thicket of brush and peeped into the nest. Three birds were being fed by its mother; food was being put into their open red throats.

Dalibor was amazed to see all these. He briefly looked at the mother bird, then the three little birds slept.

When Dalibor’s mother saw resin smeared on her son’s pants, she got mad and beat him, not to give clean, it had to be thrown away. But Dalibor did not give the devil peace and told his mother,’I would often watch the birds’. He came to the silly idea to move the nest to the lowest branches of the pine.

Blackbird returned with food and was stunned to see the change of place. It became angry and wondered who would have moved the her nest. Who are so foolishly playing with my children? All the rush amazed grandfather, who was lying in the shade of the Polish bed and reading a newspaper. Bristly ball of feathers, with the intensity of a fired bullet, hit the newspapers and broke them from the hands of grandfather. She flew at him—the claws and the beak in the eye—screeching, shrieking, squealing, and screaming. Grandfather desperately wanted defence, but the bird crazily attacked him, scratching his eyes.

‘Old fool, what did you do? Is it the way that you comply with our agreement?’ It seemed to grandfather that the bird accused him.

‘What is it, stupid one? What happened to you? Are you crazy?’ exclaimed grandfather. He could hardly be defended from the attack. He went to the nest to see what the reason was. After seeing what had happened, it became clear; he saw the bird in the grass and moved the nest.

‘Dalibor, Dalibor, divide your meme with a bird?’ He sighed. Now grandfather and the blackbird had to keep the birds from cats. Santa fed them with wheat, breadcrumbs, and cherries without stones. He managed to somehow win back the trust of the suspicious mother bird.

Birds fell in love with grandfather and nonchalantly loitered around him, worrying about nothing. One gazed curiously into the interior of the house, examined the court, and decided to go inside. Jump by jump, it crossed the four steps and then it was inside. He looked at the sight inside with interest—the right door, hall to the left, a staircase going up somewhere in the attic, and so on.

Grandfather was watching all this from his bed, little curious. ‘Milorad Milorad!’ he said, jumping and leaping, and went up the stairs. His grandfather used to teach his grandson up in the room. The guy peeped through the window.

‘View, one nestling went up the stairs. Be careful. Do not to be afraid.’

Opening the door, afraid of the birds, he rushed back, screaming, ‘Help, Help! Save me, dear Mother, save me! Almost alone, woe, woe!’ Rolling over, frantic toddler, trying to take off, tramped and tottered, panic staggering towards the yard. The angry bird, splenetic and grumpy, flew to grandfather and rushed right at his face with protruding claws. ‘Again, you screwed! Old fool, my bird is not for anyone for fun!’ Grandfather and the birds could hardly be reconciled. The little birds flew away without saying goodbye, but the mother bird stayed. One autumn, the mother bird was strolling in the yard, restless and jumping as a small blob on the green grass, under the fruit trees.

One day there came a message from the bird for the grandfather. Disappointed and saddened, he read the message: ‘It was nice. However, we agree. Too bad. I have to move! Winter blows to my neck. I can’t stay here. I would be killed by cold. God willing, it will be seen in the spring!’

.....

Perfect Watchdog

Siti was somewhat similar to wolves. She was six months old, and already quite large. I led her on a leash to the market in the Sisak city. She protested against wearing the leash. She was quite clever, Siti was sure that is quite clever, thought that it was sufficient only decorative necklace with number, to be a little tawdry. She was a dog with a highly developed sense of pride. She loved to stroll free to take care of me. She’s watchdog; she should keep watch over me, not me! However, regulations are regulations. The law is strictly ornamental, and so instead of putting her neck on a metal necklace with sharp spines, which were towards the back of the chain, I managed to keep it around it. There is a danger after she mistakenly decides that for us from a danger man or animal.

It might be possible that it irresistibly rushed to the opponent. The market vendor, Zika, was a celebrity. He was proud of his reputation. His tenure at the market was much longer than many of us who had those war days, plus the poverty there with him looking for the possibility of some additional earnings. Zika was an experienced salesman, and he had previously worked in a shoe

shop. But when that market collapsed, he proved indestructible. Markets can fail. Now he sells mushrooms, bananas, oranges, and the most expensive goods, which always has its customers.

Zika earned well, much better than in the shoe shop. We all envied him! I was proud of the unconscious, because it really looked magnificent, and many are on the market and praised the beauty and the mind. Zika envied me because of the unconscious and did not like that I and the dog strut around like peacocks before his eyes. ‘Let me feign as if I will attack to see how this will react to your watchdog,’ He proposed.

His proposal sounded mocking and disparaging, I felt hurt. Siti understood well; a trained dog is a dog, plus the hoya showed sharp fangs. As she was underestimated, she did not tolerate it.

She quite well understood the human speech, which this man did not know; he was convinced that dogs are dumber than you are, so we need not heed to her warning.

I knew that this bitch was of a noble breed, a Holland keeper, but I did not sufficiently familiarise with dogs and their kind. I caught it firmly for a necklace.

Zika was a good actor. Suddenly his face distorted; he appeared in a threatening expression and swung his hand towards my head. To his ill lick, Siti rapidly responded. He did not heed to the pain of thorns that the necklace gave on her neck but rose by Zika’s neck to take him to the larynx. I jump furiously and withdrew. Using all the strength I managed to keep on my feet. He, surprised and shocked, was disappointed and moved back at the last moment in front of her rabid teeth. It was so sudden and uncontrolled that she destroyed two tables behind her back and fell upon them.

‘Thank you, friend! You saved me!’ Zika stood up from the floor, trying to clean himself. ‘The dog is your perfect keeper!’ he spoke breathlessly, still excited and shocked, realising that he had let himself in mindless adventure.

‘Behold, I have already turned white like a sheep, and I experienced this, nor would I believe that this is an apology, so that the dog can’t defend his master.’

For Siti, this was a new lesson. He immediately realised that this was a joke in which he fell, and that we did wrong, and so she sat down beside my feet and bowed his head, embarrassed. My husband wantonly played with her. This was inexcusable! I really did not forgive me. Never I could cheat in this way; Since then relies only on its internal infallible sense, alone decides when and

whom to attack, when you take action.

I never said to Zika that I bought a book on dog training and that the past four months I was working on it. What do I say to him? He did not believe anyway. However, Siti was an outstanding student, and I tried to penetrate the psychology of dogs, and I was a better teacher.

When Siti was eight months old, she completed her schooling, and she developed physically and mentally; she grew up to a mature dog. She became a strong and smart dog, smarter than half the village, said the neighbours. She was a little lower and lighter than the German shepherd, but she was much more harmonious and more tightly constructed. We often went out. We played with the tennis ball, and she ran like crazy for it and brought it to me. We swam tirelessly. I threw her the ball away into the river, and she promptly went to fetch it and asked to do it again and again. The accumulated power of the two dogs was as strong as a bear!

Apart from being beautiful and elegantly built, they had brains. The speed of response was great in them. We practiced this rapid reflex reaction every day, consistently and persistently. I threw a tennis ball, and she tried to catch it; it was the unseen persistence.

I always asked to repeat the unconsciousness of that exercise, and she felt instinctively that her speed in fighting with other dogs was very important.

Unconscious has its own understanding about the rights of dogs. If the dog has its own garden, it would value it and respect it. Outside the fence, she could freely walk around and allow other dogs to enter in. It seized the territory, held that so drew the attention of other dogs that she is entitled to land, when they found on him, myrrh their urine and it be urinated with their label. However, the other dogs were related, and rarely came out of their courtyard outside the fence. They were, of course, not so pleased when he saw how Siti strolls freely around me at the common ground they bark angrily at her, forced and threatened her. She did not lose her nerves, therefore, is patiently endured their threats, not bark on them, carefree and challenging, before their eyes only and would squat and put her mark. So, let it be known! Anyone who does not comply with this designation must fight with her to decide which is the terrain. Not cut, not in any way, advertise, it is not like a lot of noise, just think she is, at the ridge behind the door, and when more angry then along the spine, her hair becomes dangerous bristle, brightest and it is somewhat darker gray wolf hair. I lifted her above the canine upper lip, revealed to his terrible teeth and showed them the opponents. Woe to him who would not understand the warning! Woe to him forever!

When we go to the shop, she demands to go with us. Related neighbourly dogs in yards barking furiously at it, those who freely jumping savagely on the fence, cut and threatened her that he would pull apart, and she and me along with it, because I’m her boss and her protector, which allows mobile on the ground that they claim. Siti muzzle and carefully considered, to search their bookmarks with them and they set up their own. Particularly aggressive dogs Ečimović neighbor, a German Shepherd, another golden river rot. The two are so brave for one another, they feel stronger when the two men. They are usually free, loose yard hen harrier.

My brother’s wife in an advanced pregnancy, only it’s not a baby, went in the store. Suddenly Siti is lifted from their beds and do not give it a go myself. Already two years bitch do not want to go to the store because it is not let to enter in, the dog is not scheduled to be shuffled around food, other people do not look at this beautiful sight. However, the bitch is now very determined! As it is, what happens? Why now suddenly required to go? Looked, nothing we have not been clear. So come on, let go, she must know why it is now so determined.

I went out two.

Passing next gate Ečimović neighbors. He went somewhere tractor and left gates open wide. His dogs fools when they saw Siti and daughter in law, as mad run from the yard as if they were for months waiting for this opportunity. Goldy run straight on the daughter in law, and Germany’s at her keeper. Siti reacted by expectations, is suddenly fallen on the gold, then bit him before he managed to cope, she turned swiftly and was already on confused the Germans, whose sore afraid scream already afraid Goldy on his run into the yard. Not arrived to escape, was caught up with him unconscious before he escaped through the gate, and once again bitten by a murderer for the hip, and again run to the Germans who also fled. Wait a minute, lionhearted, you will see on which you started, how are you attacking peaceful passers-by! Bent tail spitfire fled, but too slowly. Infuriated Siti vindictive he was caught up and severely bitten. Another squeak German shepherd cut her silence, and he found himself in his backyard, in safety.

There does not fall unconscious, to his court, not disputed, that he recognizes!

Fear!

......

Jela’s Goose

That winter all the Budimir boys had bows and arrows after an entire day of chasing sparrows, magpies, crows, and pigeons. Birds would fly off from the roof or the bare black branches of the fruit trees before they were stabbed by the nail throwers. The banished boys noisily rejoiced. The shooter got a lot of reputation among the boys. I followed like a dog, truly sad that a happy hunting party were eager to demonstrate their shooting ability. But I had a moment—I had a bow and an arrow! It was not an option to ask a gun because he kept all the precious ones; he loved them so much that he would not even give his brother a short time. Not for a moment!

In addition, as soon as they were given the opportunity, the boys lost their arrows as to who would compete first, carried by the passionate desire to hit the bird before it went to another hand, and the glory belonged to him.

Before the evening completely ended, wet and tired, they returned to their houses. The catch was not made yet! Sadness did not leave me. I begged Uncle Elijah that we make a bow and an arrow. He had a golden arm, but he hated every work and indifferently continued to droop as an owl. My bow and arrow were his tenth career!

The Budimirs, Uros’s sons, George and Branko, elder to me, were like their father, and they were great masters. In the frozen arms, I carried the nails, wires, and the strings. Of course, I found my way. I drove one of the tiles on the roof of the houses, uprooted the nail, and took the wire that was attached to the tile.

That the father knew of the resourcefulness of his son’s good to me spanked.

Tile has not been secured and a strong wind it as a toy can throw off the roof! Fortunately, parents do not know much wisdom and fetch their children.

Branko was a thin, dark as a gypsy, and a serious boy, who was six years elder than me. He agreed to perform the master operations. The materials were there. A stick bow was still missing.

My master gave me the hatchet, and I went to the grove Ginjac and cut off rod. He was sure that I would choose a good hazelnut material. ‘Take care not to lose the axe,’ he advised me. ‘Cacao will spay you and me!’ As a live fire, he feared his father, the famous village carpenter, who had carefully guarded his tools.

When I turned from there to make a path through the snow that led to the source, through a deep snow, I collapsed in the snow. But I firmly pushed to the edge of the woods, where I knew I would find a suitable hazelnut twig. I carefully chose which best suited the discharge of a bow, and my master was very pleased with it. I was more satisfied and happier when I took up his bow and arrow. For thanksgiving, I was ready to do everything. Branko asked me only that he be seized. And soon we were offered the opportunity.

The Budimir family had many members. The brothers, Uros and Jovo, lived in a family community; Uros had six children and Jovo had five. Uros, a grim and a serious tall man, was the boss, and his wife, Spruce, dry as a cod, was a strict mistress. The family members were divided. Dusan had four children. He was the worst. He was very poor. He got wood from the fields, meadows, and forest. They took loans from the villagers. Hatred of the family members of the cooperative, who lived in abundance, according to the isolated family, was great.

Especially, the most hated was Dusan’s wife, Mary; she was the source of all strife. She constantly complained of the unfair division of property and stirred up hatred of her children and husband to his brothers and all that was theirs. she is not with any of the relatives interviewed, and Dusan was forbidden to speak with the brothers. Her hatred was beastly. They lived in a modest old house but rather worn-out, covered with wooden boards, while the younger brothers of the house had brick-and-tile roof. And the clothing of their children was poor, and they were worn-off and poorly trained. The villagers ridiculed them. Dusan was the eldest brother and, as usual, was to be the head of the family community, and his wife was the first female figure. The family had concluded that neither of them were capable of the head position. Dusan was willing to accept reasonably, but Mary could not stand it. Under its pressure they separated. Among the immigrants in Podgrmeč, it was a great shame to hear the woman’s husband with such important issues. The Budimir families were exposed to ridicule. Their houses were next to each other, and the family members often met every day, and every encounter stimulated the mutual hatred. The parental hostility infected the children exceedingly, but they played together.

We, the children, were very frightened by the thin Budimir landlady, Uros’s wife, Jela. She used to keep a bundle of keys in her hands. She used a narrow leather strip, among other things, to beat the disobedient and corrupt children. The adults were afraid of Jela’s string.

When Branko made bow and arrow, he came out of the garden. The chickens and geese were scattered in the snow. Every family was very familiar with their poultry. The yards were reconstructed, so that the fowls mixers,united, ignoring the kinship hatred among people. Branko’s front of the house, as well as in front of his own, thick chicken multicolor his hateful aunts Mary,along with the family poultry cooperatives, boiling the grains of corn which he ate just threw. Branko could not tolerate in silence uncle’s coca, he felt it even more valuable than his hen gathers beads. When he notices it all boils over with rage, told him the feeling that Aunt Mary soon finds his corn and relegates it to the bag that he carried to his house. Apparently, brazen brazen theft! I stretched my hands with the bow and arrow, with a view to seek a bird, even a sparrow. The chickens and the geese did not even notice.

‘Please drive this chicken out,’ said Branko. He had his hand firmly on her. He said to me as a soldier, an officer, the master of an apprentice, ‘I desired that he be taken, to pay him for work done, the bow and arrow, because my name among the boys has risen sharply.’ When Branko stretched out his hand towards the hen, feel what she is preparing as if the wind takes fled assisting wing strokes, and I, instead, in the midst of the head hit hen mistakably large, white as snow geese, which are Branko’s mother dishes especially proud. Goose, which was located behind the coca, did not get to move. Slow stupid!

Because of my gratitude, I found myself in great danger. The arrows struck the goose in one eye. Mortally wounded and brought down by the powerful blow, it trembled in intense pain and rotated in circles. It became weak, and its life extinguished!

Dining ran from the house, but I was fast as a mongoose! No, I’m afraid he could not grab his arrow and rushed through the gate like a beast. And there it was already free. Down to my house ran a 200-metre-long steep path on which we children went for sledding. My rubber footwear was perfect for descending down the slippery slope. I squatted down. I could no longer catch him.

Geese had left, and his mother, Branko, Budimir, and I left.

I was stuck under the bed and feared that the expected dishes would come. But the dishes did not come. He realised that it was just an unfortunate concurrence of circumstances or he would have explained everything, and he had a thick part of the blame.

I was the only one that had a successful day of fishing, but unfortunately, I was not allowed to take their prey home to cheer his mother. But I was satisfied—Jela’s goose never hissed at me and threatened to bite me in the ass while the adult family members of the Budimir were my fear and humiliation. I quickly forgot, thanks to Branko and his hatred. At home, I immediately fell into a wonderful party. My brother, Elijah, eight years elder than me, brother golden arm, was hardly waiting to try my bow and arrow. With the open window, from a warm room, he was tempted by how far he could fly an arrow, and I served him as a hunting dog, instead of prey; after each throw in deep snow, I’d crossed the fifty metres of area and brought back an arrow. My brother, Elijah, and I were very glad. Do you think of that and to try how far I arrow, and he can go after her. He surely would not agree to this, adults with children playing just the way they want it.

.....

Grandfather’s Cockerels

One day, coming into our house from Zagorje milkmaids, Bara brought two very little chickens and said to my father, ‘Mr Peter, in your yard, there is nothing living on it. If you offer a couple Cvergli, they would grow up the chickens. The Cvergli have a small decorative breed. The chickens quickly grow.’

Jurek and Cathy were two beautiful cocks, and they were twins. All admired their beauty. Primary dark red colour of their bodies, in places, in accordance, nuanced, multicoloured, with white, brown, green, and black feathers, each feather shining like patent leather. In relation to the body, their hair was combed under the chin and stood out in lighter colour. They were spry with a beautiful bouquet of dark red, white, brown, green, and black feathers and with strict

measures and a timetable that met the best artistic taste. A number of their pants legs lowered to the ground, as the most beautiful, of different colours of leather, knitted trim boots, decorated with brass and coloured leather shoelaces. White pants fringed their feet and toes. Nature could create beautiful roosters!

Proud of this, Grandfather Peter stroked the cocks; he loved them and cuddled them as if they were his grandchildren. And they rendered selfless love and care: they were devoted and loyal to him, and they went after him like a faithful puppy. They had loud, very clean melodic voices and crowed cock-a-doodle-do, showing their happiness and satisfaction.

In the morning, when Grandfather Peter was at breakfast, the cocks jumped to the window and greeted him with loud cock-a-doodle-doo. They knew that it gave Grandfather Peter a great pleasure.

During the heat of the day, Grandfather Peter was in the garden bed, reading and resting in the shade of cherry. The cocks jumped on his shoulders and then turning towards the east sang three times, and it did so turning to the south, west, and north. Pedestrians stopped, looking at them, wondering and admiring them. At noon, that same program ran on the back gate, where one stood on one and another on the second concrete pillar. It’s a curious thing to the neighbours and passers-by.

However, an accident happened! One cock was stepped on by a street car. The surviving brother never sang after that. Everybody was very dejected. The other cock was broken down with sorrow and misfortune of the other. He ceased to rejoice, and Grandfather Peter also could not cheer it up; nothing could surprise him. It was dying of grief. Grandfather Peter was also very much in sorrow. Grief gripped the backyard, in the west of our house. The neighbours mourned too.

One day a neighbour came to Grandfather Peter’s house and brought in his hand a spotted, lame Cvergls. It was the hurt cock that was trampled by a car. “Here it is, Petar. You can’t look sad, dying of grief. If you stick together, maybe it will buck up”.

And indeed a miracle happened. Grandfather Peter’s beauty, Jurek, returned to good mood, recovered, and then began to sing merrily as before. The lame cock completely healed, no longer limping.

Joyous life returned to Grandfather Peter’s garden! More beautiful, lively song were heard in the garden. The neighbours and passers-by cheered up and became happy. Grandfather Peter returned to his earlier good mood.

.....

Cattle Emperor

Dikonja was our coloured ox, with white and brown patches on his back and hips. He had a strong neck, powerful chest, and pointed horns, and his forehead was covered with curly hair. He had sharp, large, piercing, threatening eyes. He was of belligerent and wild nature, constantly looking out for aggressors wherever he went. I was afraid of him. I was not allowed to fondle him like I did the other cattle, and he did not like to be cuddled, as if afraid to lose something because of its high reputation among the cattle. He had authority over the cattle.

‘Dikonja! Are you mad?’ I yelled at him while a hurricane on the horns of published throughout the haymow anyone as intractable hurricane played with him, challenging and defiant, a warrior, in bovine car empire!

When they found my sheep on pasture with the other herds, Dikonja immediately began to act as the master, to whom everyone must obey and respect as a king in that small cattle empire. With a brief touch of their foreheads, they maneuver their horns, unaware of the opponent, trying to outwit him, and then with an unexpected move, they frighten him, and the opponent

flees. But Kida had sharp horns and scratched Dikonja’s body. Dikonja was not satisfied with just surrender. He fought back. Soon the bullfight finished. There was also a certified certificate. It was known who the ruler was! In the fight with Dikonja, his opponents had no chance because he was of high intelligence; he was huge too, which was a great advantage. This technique, finesse, and the trick delighted us shepherds, who were observing the struggle. I was particularly proud. which is arranged Budimir oxen Garonja and Sivonja. I was pleased as I am in the wrestling beat older brothers Pero’s and Bogdan’s, of which I have frequently received beatings. Hey, Dikonja every honor you, you are the pride of the family! Now it is wonderful at heart!

My aunt, Boja Ljubojevic, had returned to her house. Her house was burned three years ago, which killed her husband, and now she stayed with my son. She went to the village Vranjska above Bosanska Krupa, to work.

We rest while oxen grazed in the valley and Dikonja would heard the cattle. Suddenly there was some noise, a violent noise. There were flames and tremendous bang! The house started to fire. Dikonja’s horn had stuck in the wire and detonated a landmine tripwire. From the minefield were picked up all dangerous explosive devices. The children crouched, scared. Then there was dead silence; not a sound was heard. Dokonja was dead; he was struck by a piece of mine, in the abdomen. We quickly drove him to the slaughterhouse.

After that I listened for days the familiar roar of my dear Dikonja. All the other oxen felt this painful loss of their leader. They had respected him a lot. We mourned together, and I drove on!

Pride of Cat Azrijel

Vera came to our house. She brought with her a black-and-white cat, Azrijel! At first, he never came near us. After a few days, he became familiar with our place. One day he jumped and went under my chair and began to scratch my leg, pleasing me. I stretched out my hand to caress him; he accepted it happily, with

raised tail, purring. He watched me carefully. When he saw the sincerity in me, without hesitation, he jumped on my knee and sat on my lap, delighted.

Vera was getting pension. She did not want to burden her son and daughter-in-law with the cat, so she left him here with us. Azrijel freely moved in and around our house. She left him food and water whenever she was away. Azrijel did not separate from me. He had decided to seek a new master, better than Vera, who really complained a lot. Friends we are! thought the cat. I’ve found a true one. Whenever we went anywhere in the car, Azrijel would also come with us; when I open my door, he first enters.

When the children were in school, he was bored. He would feel like a prisoner in the jail. He would yearn for comfort, warmth, and tenderness from us. ‘No no, you can’t come with us,’ I said and closed the car door. He would behave as if he said, ‘Take me too, please!’ ‘No way!’ I was determined. ‘I have already spent one night in this desert. It is terrible to be alone. I am not a wild cat!’ He would look into my eyes, pleading. I understood.– ‘For two days you come, landlady! Persistence!’ I started the car. ‘Your heart is of stone! I’m live in the hills, away from people!’ he seemed to say, desperately meowing.

One day I heard a terrible cry. ‘Where is he?’ ‘Why is he crying?’ I remembered that his landlady lived near the cemetery, and he could hear the lamentation and sobbing, moaning for the dead. ‘God! Crying like a little kid! Do you hear?’ I said to my wife, very shaken. ‘Unbelievable! The first time I’ve heard the cat crying,’ she said.

The next day I came to the estate. I opened the gate and parked the car in front of the house. Suddenly I saw Azrijel jump the fence, like crazy, and disappear through the gate. ‘Glad! I can do it without you!’ he seemed to tell me. It had become fifteen days, and Azrijel did not come home. We were sure that he was injured. Then, however, he appeared, and came back to his landlady, Vera. His pride was broken. The hard life had made him feel like that. Shabby, starving, and exhausted, he was not recognised; he humbly meowed and seemed to ask Vera to receive him again. We were glad it was forced to humiliation!

Drama in the Sea

In the late August dawn, I stood on the deck of a ship and a sad goodbye to the sea. We will not see eleven months! I watched the dark back of Island Brač, sunk between the little valleys elephant back hills and charming coves in which to pressure the white pearl farmhouses and small towns, modestly built, with the soul of a small Dalmatian man whose life had never been known for the

abundance and luxury. I watched the rough white walls of the waters of the sea,

cracked from the sun, wind, and cold. This saline water during its angry rage, rare in summer, winter, frequent, persistent nature, through the fog of many millions of years chewed a Solid rock. And today, as a spouse, land and sea now love to at some point begin irreconcilable strife, violent and turbulent emotions until completely empty and quiet, until there is a quiet peaceful coexistence in which the accumulation of new fuel for the continuation of incomprehensible calculations which are the result of sharp grooves, furrows and bite marks on the stone. He result of sharp grooves, furrows and bite marks on the stone.

I said goodbye with a lot of nostalgia and a silent pain of this precious landscape. My eyes caressed the white rock that surrounded the island as a pearl on a girl’s neck. It was still too early yet to expect the sunrise, and the rock on which I stood yet shone one magical, charming, snowy whiteness of the excitement that took your breath away, and the heart disrupted your rhythm

of beats. The water near the islands is very beautiful to look at and clean too! Nowhere has such a beautiful play of light and blue translucent clarity, from where you could see the rocks, gravel, grass, fish, and so on, especially the magical play of light and water on the rocks, which slopes gently to the sea, and then when you touch it, suddenly, breaks up vertically a few metres in depth. Here I feel as if I bathe in virgin pure water, and nothing can replace the

enjoyment of swimming. Now I feel sad because of this return to Pannonia. I would have to wait a long time again to see the colour of the aquamarine waters, the play of sunlight along the rocky coast, which captivates the most prominent painters, dreamers. The boat is separated from island Brač and hacked water Brač’s Channel, took aim towards Split. Behind the massive Moser, ther

to town Makarska, where it connects with mountain Biokovo, in the saddle, as if coming from the battlefield, it appears a bloody circular section of the great red sun. His light colored edges of the brown cloud.

There seemed to be just calmed down the front, cut their throats are tired exhausted soldiers. Everything was changing quickly. Our stars took on its normal colour and size. The image was now the second, less interesting, followed by flights to unsuitable musical cries of seagulls.

On the horizon was the Split, towers of new districts, imagined dreams of engineers and architects. We were near the dirty harbor, and the ship was about to sail into the tainted water, avoiding the pier, and went into the small white port. A church of St. Duje greeted.

Suddenly silence fell apart! Steamboat was tilted, and all the passengers, like cattle, rushed to the left side. I hurried there and pushed through the crowd to the edge of the boat to see what happened. A shark, five feet long, pursued a small mullet. It was about to swallow it, for breakfast! The frightened mullet was running zigzag. A gun was shot, and then the direction of the motion changed. The shark kept on chasing the mullet, and the mullet jumped like a grasshopper, running away by its attacker.

All these actions made the sea foam. The stubborn persistence of the monster was not decreased. The shark continued the persecuting its preferred prey. Who would get tired first? Finally, the resourceful mullet found a solution—it slipped

under the ship—and the persecutor dived for him. But both were caught under the propellers of the ship and dead. In the agitated foam behind the boat, there was nothing to be seen except wild water swarming with the powerful rotation of the propeller and the drift of the ship, its soft side approaching the pier.

Mule No. 127

The soldier, horse—breaker, Pietro Colina informed the mule Gulia in 1939 the Italian army in Ethiopia, in Africa. Forcibly recruited by the Italian Fascists and Mussolini sent there to take part in the conquest and colonization of this country. Mussolini’s plans were not realised as they imagined his generals, the Ethiopian

tribes, united under the leadership of Emperor Haile Selassie, who proved to be militarily invincible. Duce’s non-combat army was defeated, demoralised and exhausted, retreated towards the port where the boats was waiting to return to Italy.

Night in the mountains was thick. Column Pijetro’s brigade, tired, slowly moved down the canyon of River Artas. Pijetro and Giulia were inseparable. Pijetro took care of the grooming and feeding of the mules, and Giulia was sometimes more, sometimes less obedient, quite moody, carried the burden laid on her back.

And now they’re here in the war-exhausted column of soldiers, horses, mules and horse-cars, with a single hope that they would happily come to the port of Djibouti, on board the ships and return to their pretty tamed Italy. Down, deep in the narrow rocky gorge of Artas, he could hear a strong noise of water falling down the rock, thrown into the abyss. Pijetro listened to the noise, but it seemed to him to enter in one ear and out the other. He paid much more attention to the road carved into the steep cliff, holding up her with his right hand, away from the abyss, knowing that those who slip down into the river would not be able to come out alive.

Nobody in this eclipse would even try to get his broken body, and perhaps to even a day would not be possible, because it would have ended up in wild river, and Giulia would be as a straw in its foamy waves, broken and torn into pieces.

Giulia stopped a little later. She refused to move.

‘Giulia, go!’ ordered Pijetro Colina, but the mule did not even move an inch. Pietro knew what it might mean. She was not an easygoing mule; when she became stubborn, her head would become as stone! And maybe a little harder.

The soldiers ran into Pijetro and his mule. Insults and comments, coarse and vulgar, were heard. Someone gave him a well-intentioned advice, a parody, offensive.

Pijetro stood in front of the Giulia and took the halter of the lead, but it’s a little true—no wind could blow her head. No one could know why she refused to obey.

The canyon poured out cold air as if it was a giant refrigeration unit. The sky was covered with countless stars. The soldiers became nervous and joked, compelling the mule to obey. No one was smart enough, and Pijetro’s friendly manner also did not work.

‘Light the paper under her tail.’

‘Burn, burn!’ shouter the other soldiers. Pijetro knew he had to get the mule to obey, and he ignited a paper and kept it under Giulia’s tail. The animal rushed forward and became mad. She broke in front of the soldiers themselves, they can shelter in front mad beast, made her pass and she loses the head of the column. Pijetro could not reach her.

It had been five years since that event. After the outbreak of the Second World War, Mussolini’s Italy capitulated under pressure from powerful allies who landed in Sicily and were now rapidly progressing to the north, the Germans and the Italian fascist Duce units suffered the defeat, gradually withdrawing to the north. There they were in mountainous areas and in areas of the slopes of the

Alps, waiting for a strong unit of Italian partisans. Partisan Brigade ‘Garibaldi’ was appointed to occupy positions in the Adige river valley in the area above the town of Trento and prevent withdrawal of the Germans in Austria. Cold, moderately strong winds blew from the Alps down the valley of the river. The partisans moved quietly in the night along the column. In the front, Pietro Colina

tapped his mule, Žeraldina, who was barely in sight, and weapons were loaded on her back. His eyes were already convened in the little light that was hitting the gravel on the road. Top left knowing that the dark steep rocky mountains, right, somewhere down deep in the narrow valleys, rolling noisily to swollen river Adiga felt it, saw the only way and nothing more.

Pijetro got Žeraldina just ten days before, from the divisional chambers. Nothing was known about her nature, character, and her behaviour towards the insects. When she stood in the way, he thought it was best for her to be attentive, considerate, courteous, and avoid any harshness.

‘Come on, Žeraldina, hurry!’ He lightly lowered his hand on her, above the tail. It was more a sign of affection and friendship rather than blow. Mule is the camaraderie that expression remained quite indifferent. Did not react as if they had not heard or felt.

‘Come on, darling, hurry.’ The muleteer slightly pushed the animal with his hand. Žeraldina did not move and stood stiff. She did not obey at all.

‘Beat it,’ said a from behind Pijetro.

‘Where is the stick?’ said another through clenched teeth. ‘None of the beating. The beating does not help,’ Pijetro said. He knew she was a good mule. ‘Flagellation came from heaven!’ someone said nervously. ‘The animal has its own personality. It should not be insulted. Come on, dear, we must not rush.’ Pijetro gently pushed her. It seemed that the mule was deaf and insensitive. It stiffened. Pjetro did not know what was going on. There was a gorge nearby; this night looked much like the distant past. He thought surprisingly that she would go for it.

Pijetro’s surprise momentarily turned into severe shock. Žeraldina began to flail the muleteer, beating him and stomping him, attacking him as an angry opponent. She continued to batter him with her hooves, trying to kill him. The soldiers were amazed.

Colina was then taken to the divisional hospital. His left thigh and right arm were broken, and there were three cracks in his left rib; the body had numerous bruises from the blows of the hooves. A week later, the company commander, Trapatoni Antonio, came to visit his troops. With him were his and Pijetro’s best friends, Ugo Bianchi and Nicolo Darneli. They found him in plaster and bandages and barely recognised him. It was difficult for him to speak, and was not in the mood to talk. He was still depressed, dejected, dispirited, and exhausted.

‘In ten days you will feel much better, the doctor says,’ said Trapatoni casually.

‘You want ask something?’ asked Ugo. ‘Please go to the chamber, find the mule, Žeraldina, and see her number, which I believe she has,’ Pijetro said in a low voice. Trapatoni sent Ugo to go and bring her. Pijetro seemed to come

alive and the colour returned to his face and his voice could be recognised. Ugo was overjoyed when he saw him. He realised that his friend recovered quickly.

‘Tell me, please, if you saw a mark on Žeraldina?’ Colina asked his friend.

‘Ah, yes, I have seen. The rump had a number stamped, 127. I could barely find the number because of her dense hair.’ Pijetro Colina smiled. ‘This is my mule, Giulia, one from Ethiopia. I’d forgotten her, but she remembered me! I did not say goodbye. For five years, she had a desire for revenge and has managed to achieve. God helped her to meet me again. Animals never forgive.’

Doc Puss

In spring, in 1984, I developed a harmless, strange skin disease for which there was no remedy. My rich, sometimes black hair, now well grey, to the left of the temple began to whiten quite. Quite large, white circles appeared above the temples. In the beginning, it did not at all disturb me, but gradually the disease, the whiteness, began to spread; my hair had become more colourful, and I feared

and then began to take care. My anxiety grew! It seemed to me that I was some kind of leper, and people started to wonder. Indeed, I’d never seen such a thing in my life. Friends asked me what was happening, and they did not respond to anything. The only consolation was—I did not hurt anything. I liked that young women like me and do some multicoloured be an appeal? I decided to go to a specialist for skin diseases. There was a doctor, who graduated from high school. He must know something about this disease, and it can certainly help me. The doctor carefully reviewed, refraining laugh, and wrote me prescriptions. I was given some smelly liquid thing, a very unpleasant smell, to be massaged every night in the diseased areas. The problem was that I could only work in front of the mirror, and I could never do it properly, so I need help of my

wife, and she was allergic to fragrances. I do not know whether she might be sick of it and what she was thinking. Maybe she thought that God punished me because I loved other women, and perhaps, while I was undergoing treatment, she prayed to God to heal me.

This work was tiresome, and my wife and the result were miserable! On the contrary, it showed me a new white patch, now at the top of the head, and then on the back; all three white rings were associated with white narrow lines. It seemed God had heard the woman’s asking. Some devil ride astride on me and was not removed, he does not dismount. To make it worse, I’m a writer, and I’d popularized by his book ”The Ballad of 7 friends.” I often had to perform at literary events and read their poems in front of students in Sisak, and Zagreb, Banija. Writer flashy like a cow, how it looks? Can he appeal to children or a teacher? And in every school is found occasional beauty. I did not dare even to look at, let alone to wink at her! Reported a new fear. I was afraid that my hair at the place of white cloth begins to wane, so the incorrect patch. Every bald man in relation to me would be a beauty. But, fortunately, the hair was still as thick and healthy, only in places, and tape reels were very white, sparkled and gleamed, patches were standing on my head and inexorably slowly, very

slowly spreading.

I was invited with a group of writers, members of the Literary Club Cultural and Artistic Society ”Ivan Goran Kovačić” from Sisak to performance in school ”Joso Marijanović” in village Viduševac, near town Glina. They had the photographer who shot us. The photograph is very nice to seamy colorful head, shot in color, have perpetuated my ugly patches.

The doctors no longer made sense and treated me for almost two years without any results. The disease progressed slowly, very slowly. Happiness in my life had never quite deserted. In winter, on the second day of 1986 New Year, I went with my wife at my good friend, Ljuban Bajic. They had a small farm. The courtyard was full of cats, dogs, ducks, geese, pigs, and chickens.

We went into the warm kitchen. We talked about everything. On a chair next to the stove, there was a cat, Mark. I often cast a look at it. I wanted to sit it on my knee and stroke it. I noticed that he sometimes came around and secretly watching me. I was facing his left side, and he could well see a white band on my head. There was established a subliminal communication between me and the cat. He felt that I was his good and honest friend, to truly love. When you feel love for animals, they would love back with even greater intensity and sincerity. Suddenly the cat came down from her chair and jumped on my left knee. Ljuban and Anna began to yell at him, but I had them calm down and began to pat it. She was very pleased. After a few minutes, the cat sat

on my shoulder and began to lick the skin on my temple. This angered Ljuban and Anna. They began to yell at Mark, but I felt that something strange was happening. I calmed them down and let the cat continue its work. His tongue soaked up my thick hair.

That he had my permission, as others that mix? His sharp tongue are absorbed between my thick hair into the skin, as it is clear on something, like rasp pulls some invisible pests out of it. I took out the! Language him meticulously climbed along the track with my head stuck on the last leg and crossed the ring on top of her head holding her front legs, hugging my head. Then he arranged a reel on my neck.

When he finished his job, he carefully climbed down my arm and knee and again took his place on the chair by the stove and went to nap as if nothing had happened. To my amazement, my hair regained my natural colour! I’ll have to tell the doctor, the specialist in skin diseases, that I was healed by my friend, Mark, the cat.

Hamster in Cage

It had become popular to have a pet. We did not have any experience with animals. Before we obtained an ostrich, a giraffe, or an elephant, we decided to start with some small beast, so we got our hamster. He was flashy, light grey with white spots, had slightly longer hair than the mouse, but soft, very soft. It was very playful, and he was put in a cage, in which he would spin when he was in a mood for game. Slightly larger than the field mouse, feeding on seeds, especially sunflower, it enjoyed a lot.

My wife, Neda, fondled him as a daily ritual in the evenings. I would clean the cage and put a new blanket, and then I would replace the old food with fresh. After that the hamster would run happily in inside the cage. It was a fun show for us, and it seemed to us he was very gratefull.

There was a big change in family life and the life of the hamster. During the vacations, my wife and children went to travel on the sea for a month, and I couldn’t look after the hamster well. One day, in the evening, when I came home tired, I looked into his cage, to replace food and water. There was no joy or pleasure; the hamster seemed to be mourning.

It’s twenty days before I noticed that the hamster had completely changed his behaviour. With careful observation, I found that his eyes were blurred, and the light had extinguished. I called my wife, and we talked about what was happening. However, she did not know what was causing the disease of our pet, or what measures should be taken that he would be healed. The day before the family returned, the hamster died. In the evening, I found his little body cold in a cage, collected, shrink with sorrow.

We purchased a new hamster. He was quite the same as the previous one, his copy, as if he was his twin brother. Soon he had the same mode of life as its predecessor, and it happened as before.

It was easier to withstand hunger and thirst but denied fondling, love that we have been taught. Our sorrow and disappointment was not the end, and there was no joy in our house. It took a long time until the light of life did begin to return to us. We had not purchased any pets, and we gave up the hamster, ostrich, giraffe, and elephants. Animals yearn for our love. Animals when they do, seeking a permanent, everyday love, and we to them, during the holiday season, we could provide.

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