PUTOVANJE U DEKALEND

Putovao: Svetislav
Zabelezila: Olivera Jelkic

    Kad je moj deda bio mali, sve je bilo drugacije, cini mi se lepse, romanticnije, slobodnije i prirodnije.
    Kad je moj deda bio mali, deci su pripadale reke, ritovi, poljane, sume, prostranstva, gnezda na najvisim vrhovima drveca. Deci su pripadala duga, topla leta, sa svilenom prasinom na drumovima i zime sa visokim bozicnim snegovima. 
    Kad je moj deda bio mali, deca su imala voce u tudjim bastama, imali su parce hleba u komsiluku, bose noge i puna srca.
    Doduse, nisu imali cokolade, ali nisu za njima ni zalili, jer jednostavno, verovali ili ne, oni nisu ni znali sta je to cokolada.
    Deca tada nisu imala angine, bronhitise, antibiotike, ravna stopala, a mozda i jesu, samo nisu znali da ih imaju.
Kad je moj deda bio mali, deca su imala detinjstvo.
    Moj deda nije sebican. On mene svake veceri vodi na putovanje po svom detinjstvu. Posto znam sve detalje, sve vrbake, plicake i cestare, bare i trstike, livade, sumarke i proplanke, sasvim sam siguran da sam  i ja bio sa njim, u zemlji njegovog detinjstva.
    Ako ti nemas dedu, ili ako ne zivis sa dedom, ako, mozda, tvoj deda nema vremeplov, evo, ja cu ti, kao svom prijatelju, pokloniti deo te lepote. Moj deda je veliki. Hajde, da ga podelim sa tobom, pa da svi imamo dedu.
Sedi pored mene u dedino krilo, pa da zajedno putujemo u Dekalend.
 

ZATOCENICI NA OSTRVU LUBENICA

    Kada sam bio u Dekalendu, moj deda i njegovi drugari su po godinama bili moji vrsnjaci, tako da smo se lepo druzili. Vodili su me svuda sa sobom, u sve pustolovine. Divno smo se provodili. 
    Jednoga lepog, letnjeg dana, pozeleli smo da jedemo lubenice. Medjutim, u selu nije bilo pijace niti samousluge. No, neko se ipak  dosetio:
    Deda Njora je imao bostan uz samu sumu. Bio je to jedan od najlepsih i najurednijih bostana  u kraju, sa najkrupnijim lubenicama i najmirisnijim dinjama. Deda Njora ga je danonocno cuvao i bio je na njega vrlo ponosan. Imao je pudarsku kucicu na najvisem delu njive i ispred nje je uglavnom provodio dan sedeci na klupi u hladu ispod stare visnje.
    Tu je, da bi vreme brze prolazilo, duvajuci kroz trsku u vodu smestenu u isusenoj tikvi, pravio  mehurice, sto je proizvodilo zvuk. Ovu radnju su nazivali "brbotanje". Od toga nije bilo nikakve koristi, a ni stete. Tek, da se prekrati vreme. To su radili i drugi, uglavnom stariji ljudi, a "brbotanje" se smatralo zamenom za pusenje, ili  pretecom  pusenja. 
    Nocu bi deda Njora spavao, a posao pudara-cuvara bi preuzimali psi, koji nikome nisu dali da pridje  lubenicama.
    Deda Njora je bio namcor i nije imao mnogo razumevanja za decu i njihove skromne prohteve. Izgledao je vrlo robusno i kod dece je izazivao strah. U toku leta je nosio sesir, ciji je obod  popustio od starosti, pa je bio malo okrenut nadole. I leti i zimi je na sebi imao kozuh i suknene pantalone, dok je na naogama nosio drvene klompe, koje su bile cetiri-pet brojeva vece nego sto treba, pa ih je, da bi ih lakse savladao, u njih stavljao slamu, kako ga klompe ne bi zuljale. Prilikom hodanja, slama bi se razilazila okolo noge i izvirivala iz klompi, pa bi to davalo poseban utisak sto je kod nas, dece, izazivalo strah.
    Njegova pojava je vrlo podsecala na strasilo koje se nalazilo na sred bostana. A kako i ne bi, kad je strasilo bilo odeveno deda-Njorinim starim, iznosenim odelom, na glavi je imalo njegov stari, odnosno jos stariji sesir, a iz nogavica je strcala na sve strane slama kojom je strasilo bilo napunjeno, sto je podsecalo na deda Njorine klompe, punjene slamom. Jedina razlika je bila u tome sto strasilo nije "brbotalo", a Deda -Njora jeste.
    Strasilo je imalo ulogu da plasi kopce, koji su  kljucali dinje, a Deda-Njora je imao ulogu da  plasi decu, koja su  volela da uberu po koju lubenicu. Uzgred, moram da priznam, da mi nismo bili bas ravnodusni ni kada smo prolazili pored strasila, mada smo znali da nam ne moze nista. Iskreno da kazem, plasili smo ga se mozda jos vise nego deda Njore.
    Uz sve to, u bostanu su bili i psi. Pulin je obicno lezao uz kolibu, dok je Bojtar imao svoje mesto u debeloj hladovini na drugom kraju njive.
    Pored citavog ovog obezbedjenja, ipak smo odlucili da se  prikrademo bostanu, kad deda Njora zadrema u hladovini i kada se psi umire. Odlucili smo da, za svaki slucaj pridjemo strasilu sa ledja, da nas ne bi primetilo, jer  nismo bas bili sigurni da nece potrcati za nama. 
    Polako smo se priblizili prvom redu lubenica, medjutim nas cilj, najveca lubenica,  je bila  negde oko sredine bostana. Prikradali smo se na kolenima i laktovima. Glave nismo dizali. Gladali smo u zemlju i puzili. Puzili smo tako polako, sve dok umesto sitne, okopane zemlje, nismo pred sobom ugledali drvene klompe iz kojih je strcala slama. Bio je to, niko drugi do deda Njora, licno.
    Stao nam je dah. Niko nije smeo ni da se pomeri. Bili smo uhvaceni na delu. Nije bilo sanse ni da pobegnemo. Bio nam je suvise blizu. 
    Uhvatio nas je za okovratnike kosulja i negodujuci i mrmljajuci  neke psovke poveo nas je ka kolibi. Od straha nismo ni vikali, ni plakali, jednostano nismo znali kako da reagujemo. Cekali smo da vidimo sta ce se dogoditi.
    Sve nas je potrpao u svoju kolibu i zatvorio vrata. Mi smo se skupili jedan uz drugog, a on je vezao vrata nekim kanapom i mrmljajuci i dalje, smestio se na svoje omiljeno mesto na klupi  u hladovini. Prethodno je pozvao svoje pse cuvare i posadio ih ispted vrata kolibe. Oni su shvatili  svoju ulogu i legli su ispred praga. 
    Nismo mogli da verujemo da se nalazimo u zatvoru, ali nismo mogli nista ni da ucinimo. Bili smo zatocenici deda Njorinog "zamka na ostrvu lubenica". Bas kao u bajkama. Deda Njora je u ovom slucaju bio div, njegova pudarska kucica je bila zamak, a mi zarobljeni odmetnici. Psi su u ovom slucaju bili azdaje koje bljuju vatru, mada je nama deda Njora vise licio na azdaju. Nedostajalo nam je samo carobna ptica, koja bi nas spasla iz zatocenistva.
    Deda Njora je zaspao dubokim snom. Kada bi nam on bio jedina prepreka, mi bi smo lako odvezali kanap koji je pridrzavao vrata i pobegli. On nas ne bi mogao stici, jer smo mi bili mnogo brzi od njega. Medjutim, problem je bio u psima, koji su na svaki nas pokret rezali. Nismo smeli ni da se pomerimo u kolibi, a kamoli da se priblizimo vratima. 
    Prolazilo je vreme. Sunce se polako pomeralo ka zapadu. Cinilo nam  se da smo zatoceni citavu vecnost. Pokusavali smo da smislimo plan za bekstvo, ali uvek bi nam se  isprecili psi kao prepreka. Medjutim, njih nismo mogli  nikako da oteramo ili pomerimo.
    Ipak, smislili smo pakleni plan: Bacicemo im kosku  kroz prozorcic na zadnjoj strani kolibe,  psi ce poceti da  se  otimaju  o tu kosku i mi cemo pobeci na drugu stranu. Ali i ovaj plan je imao nedostatak. Koska. Nismo imali kosku.
    I tako dok smo tuzili za slobodom i za koskom, pored kolibe, na svega par metara od nasih cuvara, munjevitom brzinom  protrca zec. Psi skocise, zalajase i pojurise za njim iz sve snage. Deda Njora se trgao iz dubokog sna i potrca i on u pravcu iz kojeg se cuo lavez.
    Za to vreme, mi smo odvezali vrata i brze od bilo kojeg zeca, brze od munje, brze od svetlosti, pobegli smo iz zatocenistva na drugu stranu, dok se za nama dizao oblak prasine, koji nas je, kao dimna zavesa stitio od pogleda  pasa, sve dok nismo bili na bezbednoj udaljenosti. Popeli smo se na jedno drvo i posmatrali sta se dogadja u bostanu. Poslednji od nas je do drveta stigao Djokica. U rukama je drzao lubenicu, koju je u trku ubrao i poneo sa sobom.
    Eto tako, ulogu carobne ptice je ovoga puta odigrao, obican, sumski zec, a mozda on i nije bio obican. Mozda je on zaista bio carobni zec.

Olivera Jelkic
 

..

JOURNEY TO GRANPALAND

Traveled: Svetislav
Recorded by: Olivia J.

    When my grandfather was a little boy everything was different; it seems to me somehow nicer, more romantic, freer and more natural. 
    When my grandfather was a little boy, rivers, marshes, fields, forests, open spaces, nests on the highest treetops belonged to children. Children also owned long, hot summers, with silky dust covered roads and winters with high Christmas snowdrifts. 
    When my grandfather was a little boy, children had fruit growing in the gardens, which belonged to others, peace of bread in the neighborhood, bare feet and hearts filled with joy.
    Indeed, they had no chocolate and never longed for any simply because, believe it or not, they didn't even know what was the chocolate.
    In those days children never took antibiotics, never had sore throats, bronchitis, or flat feet (or maybe they just didn't know that they had).
    When my grandfather was a little boy, children had a childhood. 
    My grandfather is not a selfish man. Every night he takes me on a journey through his childhood. Since I know all the details of every willow grove, all of the shoals and thickets, puddles and reeds, meadows, forests and clearings, I am quite sure I've been there with him in the land of his childhood. 
    If you don't have a granddad, or if you don't live together, and if, perhaps your granddad doesn't have a time machine, well, I'll be happy to give you some of that beauty, since you are a good friend of mine. My granddad is a big man. Let me share him with you, so we can all have one.
    Sit next to me in my grandpa's lap, so we can go on a journey to Grandpaland together.
    When I was in Grandpaland, my granddad, his friends and I were all of the same age, so we became good friends. They took me everywhere with them, to all of their adventures. We had a lot of fun together.
It was something like this:  
 

CAPTIVES ON THE WATERMELON ISLAND

    It was a nice summer day and we felt like eating watermelons. The village had neither a marketplace nor a store but someone came up with an idea how to get some.
    There was an old man we all knew as The Old Grumbler who had a melon patch by the edge of the forest. It was one of the neatest and tastiest looking melon patches in the area, with the best smelling melons and the biggest watermelons we've ever seen. The Old Grumbler was very proud of it and guarded it day and night. He had a vineyardist's cabin on the highest plane in the field. He used to spend most of his days sitting on the bench under the old cherry tree in front of it.
    Sometimes, in order to make time fly faster, he created bubbles by blowing through a reed into a dried squash filled with water, thus producing a funny sound. The entire operation was called "gurgling". There was neither use nor harm out of this; it just helped him to kill the time. Other people, mostly older men, did it, too, and gurgling was considered to be a substitute for smoking or it's precursor.
    During the night, The Old Grumbler would sleep and vineyard guard's job was taken over by dogs, which wouldn't let anyone come even close to the watermelons.
    The Old Grumbler was very grumpy, and didn't have much understanding for children and their modest needs. He was a robust man and children were very afraid of him. During the summer he wore a worn-out hat with it's brim bent down, and all year round he wore a sheepskin coat and trousers made of heavy cloth. On his feet were oversized clodhoppers in which he would put straw to prevent them from pinching. Straw would spread around his feet and emerge out while he was walking, so it created a special effect which roused fear to us, children.
His appearance resembled very much to a scarecrow he had placed in the middle of the melon patch. And how couldn't? The scarecrow was dressed in The Old Grumbler's, worn-out old clothes, and had his old hat, even older than the one on his head. Straw emerged from its trousers, which looked exactly like that from The Old Grumbler's clodhoppers. The only difference between the two of them was that scarecrow never gurgled.
    It was scarecrow's job to scare away the sparrow hawks picking on melons and The Old Grumbler's to scare away the children with similar ambitions. Although I must admit that we weren't indifferent to scarecrow's appearance either, even though we knew he couldn't harm us in any way. Frankly, we were probably even more afraid of the scarecrow than of The Old Grumbler himself.
    On top of all that the melon patch was guarded by dogs, too. One was the sheepdog that liked to lie in front of the cottage and the other was a mixed-blood puppy whose favorite place was in the dark shade on the other end of the melon patch.
    Even this strong security couldn't keep us away. Nevertheless we decided to sneak in when The Old Grumbler fell sound asleep in the shade and the dogs calmed down. Just in case, we decided to reach the scarecrow from the back so that it shouldn't notice us, because we weren't quite sure that the scarecrow wouldn't to come after us.
    Slowly, we managed to reach the first row of watermelons; however, the biggest one from the middle of the melon patch was the target. We were sneaking on our knees and elbows, with our heads down, looking to the ground while we were crawling. We were crawling, slowly, until the Old Grumble's straw-filled clodhoppers suddenly showed up in front of us. It was The Old Grumble himself.
    We were paralyzed by fear. Caught in the act with no chance to escape. He was too close. He caught us by the collars and took us to the cottage, muttering oaths under his breath. Fear prevented us from shouting and crying, we simply didn't know how to react and just waited to see what was next to happen.
    He pushed us into his cottage and closed the door. We huddled together in the corner and he tied the door with a piece of rope. Then he called his guard dogs, ordered them to lie down on the doorstep, and then returned to his favorite place on the bench in the shade, murmuring all the time.
    We just couldn't believe that we were imprisoned, but there was nothing we could do about it. We were captives of The Old Grumble's "castle on the island of watermelons". Just like in fairytales only in this case the role of the giant was played by The Old Grumble, the cottage was the castle, and we were imprisoned outlaws. Dogs were fire-breathing dragons, although The Old Grumble himself looked more like a dragon. All that was missed was a magic bird able to rescue us from our captivity.
    The Old Grumble fell sound asleep. If he had been our only obstacle to freedom we would have had easily untied the rope that held the door and ran away. He wouldn't be able to catch us since we were faster than he was. However, the dogs presented a much bigger problem. They would bark on the slightest moves we made so we weren't even able to move around the cottage, not even get close to the door.
    As the time was passing, the sun was slowly moving towards the west. To us it seemed like we had been in captivity for ages and the dogs had thwarted every effort to make a getaway plan since there had been no chance of driving them away from the door.
    However, we came up with a cunning plan: we should throw a bone through the back window, the dogs would then start fighting over it so we would be able to escape the other way. But this plan, too, had a defect: the bone. We had no bone.
    And while we were longing for both our freedom and the bone, a rabbit flashed by the cottage, just a few yards from our guardians. The dogs jumped, started to bark and chased it in full speed. The Old Grumble woke from sleep and started running in the direction from which the barking was heard. 
    Meanwhile we managed to untie the door and escape the other way, faster than any rabbit, flash, or the speed of light. While we were leaving our prison a cloud of dust formed to protect us from the dogs' eyes, just like a smoke screen. We climbed a tree and then, from a safe distance watched what was happening in the melon patch. Little George was the last who reached the tree. In his hands he was holding a watermelon which he had grabbed on the run and took with him.
    That is how the role of the magic bird was played by an ordinary rabbit from the forest, well, perhaps it wasn't that ordinary after all. Perhaps it really was a magic bunny.

Olivera Jelkic
Translation: Marina Milutinovic
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