And so the first day passed—in curiosity, conversation, looking around, visiting places, and the arrival of villagers. Then came the discussions about the work that awaited us. The grass had to be mowed, the grain harvested and threshed, firewood for the winter gathered from the mountain, and tools and worn-out parts of the hayrack and stable repaired.
The day was long and full, while evening brought a sense of calm.
We gathered in the house around the table, which was barely large enough for everyone. Dinner was simmering on the koza stove, which had been burning all day, filling the room with enticing aromas.
Hunger overcame fatigue.
We ate almost without a word, accompanied only by the clear, lively sounds of spoons and forks.
After dinner, Grandpa lit his pipe, looked at us through the smoke and began to speak.
Stories and memories flowed.
There was something about everything—about people and events in the village, hunting stories, and even stories from the war that had recently ended.
The conversations continued late into the night in the flickering light of the kerosene lamp.
I listened while sitting on the third rung of the ladder, trying to catch our two cats, both excellent hunters. Unaccustomed to being handled or having their tails pulled, they would angrily snort, bare their teeth with a hiss, and try to scratch me with their sharp claws.
I quickly realized that they did not enjoy this game and that it upset them. After being warned by a few drops of blood on my hand, I lost my desire to play as well.
The night was complete.
The sky above Vrebac was filled with stars, and apart from the moonlight, there were no lights in the village.
The scene was as natural as it was unreal.
Could it really be possible that there were no lights to illuminate the roads, apart from the moon, which could shine brilliantly and cast the sharp, elongated shadows of trees and houses, disappearing among their branches and the dense, thorny bushes surrounding the roads and yards?
The cold, and the shivering brought by waves of icy air sweeping down from Velebit, drove me back into the house.
I would crawl into bed, trembling from the cold, covered with a quilt, a woolen blanket and a colorful woven blanket. As I warmed myself, I would gradually fall into a deep, restorative sleep, with nightmares in my head and strange dreams, my final thought being:
When will morning come, and what will it bring?
But there was one thing I knew.
It would be unusual—and full of play and adventure.
Željko Narančić