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Hi!
Like I promised, i bring you the story i think is fitting for Christmas time.
It is unusual because it tells of a goodness of a simple man, which is today very rare, so rare many of us believe it doesn’t exist. but i believe it’s true.
the article is written poetically, and i’ve made effort to translate it as it is.
the pictures are random, not depicting the character, instead they serve to see ho the oxen and yoke are looking. a few notes before reading:
Vilovo brdo – faerie’s hill
Bistrovina – bristar – clearomorika – a pine-like tree, tall and big
opanak, pl. opanci – a type of traditional rural footware, usually made of skin, they are distinctive from both shoes and boots. maybe mocasines would be the closest word, although it’s not exactly describing them.
ITALIC – my explanations
the main ch’s original title would be rabadzija, which describes a person owing a wagon and pair of working animals, horses or oxen, and transporting anything needing transport, from hay to building material, and plowing, for a wage.
maybe freighter, but he doesn’t own a company. also, freighters don’t till the land for a charge. although it’s narrower in meaning, i translated it “teamster”.oxen he has are used for logging, and these are traditionally the biggest and heaviest of oxen.
story
The good man Vjekoslav Matijević
He is a simple, and in this contemporary time, somewhat completely unusual man, that Vjekoslav Matijevich of Vilovo. as if the dear Lord… that night in which Vjekoslav was born, stopped by the cabin and gave him the whole who handfuls of goodness (instead of one for good people). And later Vjekoslav, as it is well known and told in long nights round Christmas time, didn’t keep his goodness for himself, but gave it full out, to neighbor and stranger alike, as much as he could, and he still has a bag full of that goodness, and he gives it away to whomever he meets on the paths of Bistrovina (mountain?), or up in the Tops (m…), or in the creeks and fields in Vilovos.
http://www.rts.rs/upload/storyBoxImageData/2009/03/01/201364/volovi.jpg
Maybe its is because he was born under the Bistrovina hill, where no evil soul has been born, and from which both the stars, the Sun, and the Moon are closer than from anywhere else on Earth, or maybe because he is from good (upright), ancient stock, you can see goodness in him as soon as you look into his soul, and he, as he was born, so he will die.
As if the Lord hadn’t given him a right to choose that night, to grow old like others in the village, to become a Scrooge in goodness, Vjekoslav is considered their equal by everyone in the village, so everyone sees a friend in him both when it’s time to play ball (soccer), and to hitch the oxen and go with the working party to get firewood or hay.
Battle for saving the oxen
And, though he only started his seventh decade of life, what isn’t much for Vilovo and old folk from his vicinity, for a long time there are stories about Vjekoslav and his goodness in his, and neighboring villages. To pass through all them further would be futile, because for Vjekoslav it is normal, he lost the right to be any different a long time ago.
Whenever someone in the village needs something, they always run to Vjekoslav’s, and he, as far as it’s known, never turned anyone down or did anyone harm. Except maybe – to himself. I myself (the writer) remembered Vjekoslav after unusual circumstances, it is some 20 years now, and i still remember it as it was yesterday. With nothing better to do, as usual, i took a walk on Bosanje mountain, … when from the dark, ancient forest under me, I heard bellowing of oxen. Distant, heavy, bellowing that sent chills up the spine and raised the hair on the head.I reluctantly set down the slope, between the trees who pierced the sky and forbade the sky and clouds. Down there, in Deep creek, from which the trees block the sky and often sun rays, there was again that terrible bellowing, sound hitting from side to side.
For a few moments nothing else but that terrible roar was heard, which rang all around, as if dragons were fighting down in the abyss. Not before long, two holes later, in the middle of the creek, among the roots of a huge omorika tree left half barren by the stream, I saw a teamster and two oxen. The off ox was stuck among the tree roots, and nigh ox was hanging on the other end of the yoke. The earth under the off ox was crumbling, and there was a load hitched to the long chain, a 15 meter long omorika trunk, the driver, a big man, with a cap soaked in sweat, in this situation, with his shoulder under the side of the yoke, just by the horns, he pushed up with all his power and tried to get himself and his steer from that horrible tangle-up.All I know is that under his right knee there was a rubber boot, and above the rubber torn pants and a bloody knee, and on the left foot, which he stuck out front on the omorika root, there was a soaked woolen sock… In that moment it seemed that the unfortunate man’s spine would snap like a straw, and that he’ll stay stuck between the yoke and the tree.
The off ox moved again, the yoke squeeled, the hitch chain was strung, and that driver-martyr was lifting, with his shoulder, both the yoke and his ox, clenched his teeth from exertion, the bow pins squeeled under his force…
Under his feet was the creek, the nigh ox was coughing, his neck stuck in the yoke, and made heavy sounds like he was choking, the animal was suffering, as was that man… and that human giant in those moments seemed like some mythical hero fighting the sea monsters on the deck of a sinking ship. I don’t know how long that horrible scene lasted and for how long I stood there as bewitched behind an omorika trunk, terrified,not showing myself.
I don’t know if that was all as i tell it, all I know is that the load hitched (with a nail) to the chain got loose, and the off ox got free from the roots, as did the teamster, fell back on the soft moss cover and breathe out, and that the nigh ox, in the yoke, broken, a few feet further, collapsed on his knees with eyes bulged out. I recall that driver told me, when I came closer – My oxen nearly died – and in that moment big tears ran out of his eyes…
Smile in the rain
Years later, in Vilovos, when I told some acquaintances what I saw in Deep creek with my own eyes, and asked about who that teamster could be, most of them told me, without a lot of thought, it all seemed to them like it was Vjekoslav, leaving only a remote possibility of it being somebody else. They told me he was good to everyone, only not to himself, cause he’ll some day, in the forest, stuck like that in the yoke saving his oxen, get killed. He could, they told me, push his shoulder under a wooden wagon with a full load of pre-threshed barley straw and so get himself or one of his neighbors out of trouble.
further I was told rarely anyone in the village called Vjekoslav by his real name, instead they called him Vjeko (a casual abbrevation of his name), or Vjekica (an endearment, till. meaning Little Vjekoslav). and this sort of nickname wouldn’t be strange for Vjekoslav, hadn’t it been given to a man with back as big as the widest omorika trunks in Bosanje, and fists as big as wooden showels used to “blow up” the grain to de-husk it in autumn. about him and his sometimes abrupt nature (though only towards himself) stories are told which have since become mythical. weather they are true or not, few know, but they are told and transmitted to younger folk.
It so happened, one story goes, that Vjekoslav tried patiently and zealously for over half an hour to get a young steer, weighing, some say about 550 pounds an acting up, back to the stall. In the crucial moment, the steer charged at him, and Vjekoslav instantly grabbed him by the horns and – smacked him against the meadow. After that the steer, obviously seeing his master is now serious, stood up and walked straight in the stall alone.
I met Vjekoslav coupe of times after we were aquainted. Once in Nova Varošica, he flew down the village in his mocasines, holding a little nylon bag with some coffee and sugar. He was hurrying on the bus, but he stopped for us to greet each other and inquire about health and family (as it’s a polite custom there). He stopped there on the street, his mouth forming a big smile, took down his cap as if I were a priest, and gave out his hand (for a handshake), and there was more warmth, heart and simplicity in this gesture than I’ve ever seen anywhere else. We met after that, again in Bosinje. Rain was pouring down, and he came on the way, leading his oxen after him, both he and them soaked to the skin.
He stood there in the puddle, stopped, and in that rain again made a big smile, and gave his huge hand, threw the halter chains over his underarm, and asked me how my family was doing, all that time water pouring down his cap and cheeks… that’s why I look forward to every Chrismas Eve. And that’s why I hope I will that day by the church in Vilovos get to see Vjekoslav in whom there is more goodness than I’ve ever seen or witnessed, and which is so rare in this world.
written by:
z. šaponjićhope you liked it, even if it was long!
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