Dusk was slowly descending over the town. The rain had finally stopped, but the sky was still covered with heavy gray clouds.
It was Friday, the last day of November.
Even though Maya was cold, she still wandered around persistently. For a while, she walked along the trail by the Yser River. Her gaze wandered distractedly over the dry reeds in the murky water, over the sunken arable fields on the other shore, and over the silhouette of the windmill on the horizon. At some point, she decided to head towards the old town center. She would visit the earthen rampart, erected around the town over seven hundred and more years ago, on another day.
Blowing into her hands to warm them up a bit, Maya remembered the words of the landlady, Christina. “It’s always been that way in this neighborhood. In late autumn, it rains for days. Then the moisture starts to creep in insidiously, you get the impression… From all sides. And the mold… Because of it, it seems to you that every dish has some strange ‘metallic’ taste, as if the food is prepared in a tin bowl,” Mrs. Christina complained more than once. At the same time, she would shake her head in displeasure.
She was a large woman of indeterminate age, with broad hips and a protruding chin, and also the owner of a three-story house on the coast. Maya’s mother rented a studio from her in the attic, small and modest, of about thirty square meters. “The studio is bright, besides it has a balcony and a magical view of the surroundings and the Yser River. Such a view is rare in our town.” That’s how Christina praised the cramped space under the roof in front of Jasmina. Jasmina just smiled and took the key. The only thing that mattered to her was that she and her daughter could live decently there.
Maya entered the winding tangle of streets of the oldest settlement in town. She noticed that the roads were paved with cobblestones. And every house was well-preserved, although the plaques on the facades indicated that they were built a long time ago, some during the Renaissance, the others during the Baroque or Neoclassicism periods. Maya liked the antique charm of those houses, such as a wonderful three-story building on the corner of one of the many intersections. There was no plaque with the name of the first owner, the style, or the year of construction. Looking at her, she muttered, “It must be that Flemish Renaissance style that Professor Madeline told us about… ”
She started medical school that September, hoping to become a nurse, like her mom, Jasmine. In addition to core courses, she also chose the Creative Workshop Retreat as an elective course. She was attracted by a sentence she read in the school program: “You don’t have to be an artist to be creative.” It turned out that Maya wasn’t wrong when she chose that subject. Full of enthusiasm and goodwill, Madeline spoke to her students about art and, among other things, about the styles of architecture in their town.
The facades of the old buildings were painted in warm and bright colors. With dusk, they looked somewhat stern, even sad, to Maya. And rich! Everything exuded abundance and prosperity. Maya didn’t understand why Mrs. Christina kept complaining. About everything, most of all − about her bitter fate.
She lamented that day as well, at the very dawn, during their brief encounter in the lobby.
Maya and her mother left the attic apartment early that morning. Maya went to school, Jasmine to the hospital. In the lobby, they ran into the owner of the house and, in passing, exchanged a few words about the cold weather and the dull rains. The woman’s voice — as well as her curls and the dress that swung, or perhaps even more, the bare feet in slippers with pink bows — made Maya laugh. She managed, admittedly with an effort, to control her laughter and maintain a conciliatory expression on her face.
The anteroom was lit by a muffled, milky white light from the ceiling. Maya looked up. It was only that morning that she, for the first time, noticed that a luxurious gilded bronze chandelier hung on the hand-painted ceiling. She looked down at the moment when Mrs. Christina exclaimed, “To the south! We should go to the south! The Mediterranean is there… The sun and the warm sea are there!” At the same time, she raised her eyebrows, half excited, half nervous.
In the dim morning light, this sharp and robust woman suddenly began to walk in place. Maybe, Maya thought, to mimic an escape to the warm south. The lobby instantly became the great stage of Mrs. Christina, on which she played her new pantomime.
Confused by something aggressive in the behavior of the middle-aged owner of the building, a new thought occurred in Maya – she and her mom came from the south! From the small town on the Bojana River, which flows into the Adriatic Sea, which is again part of the Mediterranean Sea. The two of them went from the south in search of a special place from Mom’s dreams. In the hope that this place existed. Believing that they would find that place…
Maya first heard about this imaginary place when she was little. She was… eight? Or nine? She wasn’t sure.
“I often dream of living in a city where I feel good,” Jasmine admitted to Maya. It was summer, and the two of them were getting ready to rest. In the silent room, the peace of the evening was disturbed by the barely audible murmur of the stream from the nearby grove.
Jasmine went on.
“I close my eyes and… I dream that I’m free! And that there’s no prejudice, especially against women. There’s not even a ban! There are only open possibilities… In my dream, I know that such a life exists; you just have to find it… And that feeling while I’m dreaming it all! It is so captivating! Well, it’s all like a beautiful secret!” It was with some special inspiration that Mom said it, so after, she fell silent.
She didn’t mention why she was sad or what she was suffering from. She didn’t even mention the day when Luka, her husband, was found by the side of the highway in a wrecked car… The difficult years after Luka’s death… She also didn’t mention that she suddenly found herself in the spotlight after the tragedy. Everyone felt that it was their duty to follow her, to evaluate her, to comment, and often loudly condemn her behavior. Jasmine struggled with the knowledge that everyone in town had their eyes on her.
The summer night freshness was still coming in through the open window. With the inaudible breeze, the surrounding shadows moved, too. The thoughtful Jasmine added in a muffled voice, “I’d like to see the day when I don’t have to justify myself by saying: It was just a dream.”
In saying this, she sighed deeply and thereby disclosed her fear. Perhaps from the grey infinity of time. Perhaps from an evil doom that has the power to turn any dream into an illusion. Despite her education, a belief in the power of inexplicable forces continued to exist in Jasmine.
Time went by. Jasmine never mentioned that evening again. However, Maya didn’t forget it. In her childish daydreams, she saw her mother begin to live the life she dreamed of.
Six years later, when the two of them arrived in the small town on the banks of the Yser River, Maya’s first thought was: “It’s good… We found that place.”
On that last November morning, while she was standing in the hall with her mother, Maya realized she had made a mistake. The small town on the banks of the Yser River was not the place they were looking for. It was a twist of fate that made her sad. She turned to her mother to see how she felt. Mommy’s pale face looked like she had just taken a bite out of a sour apple. Jasmine always reacted that way when she faced some great discomfort. “That’s it,” Maya concluded. “What a sad turn of events.”
Mrs. Christina didn’t notice any of that, nor Jasmine’s pale face, nor the fact that Maya pulled back a little, suddenly serious and filled with astonishment. She raised her plump hand in greeting and, with swift steps, unexpected for her weight, headed for her room.
Looking after her, filled with turmoil and unrest, Maya slipped her hand into her jacket pocket. There she looked up for pieces from her lost home (they were fragments of the past, which she kept jealously):
⸛ A small, painted mermaid statue of baked clay, very faded with age and use during play.
⸛ Mini clogs, handmade, Maya got them as a gift from her father for her sixth birthday.
⸛ The mother-of-pearl shell, which Maya found in the sand, on the shore of the Bojana river.
⸛ A jade bracelet, a gift from Grandma Masha for her birth.
As soon as she touched her precious childhood treasure, Maya breathed a sigh of relief.
Maya has stopped. Should she come back? No, she decided. An empty apartment was waiting for her. And Mom’s shift ended in a couple of hours. Although she was tired from school, she kept walking.
She was irritable and tense. She was tormented by restlessness. There was also an old, eternal bitterness (that everyone still saw her as a girl, despite the fact that she was fourteen years and five months old, plus a few more days). When she added to that the indifference of adults, and the misunderstanding of her peers… She was so sad that her heart ached.
The streets in that neighborhood held memories of a life that had been there long ago. Until a moment ago, Maya was very interested in that. At that moment, listless and gloomy, she looked ahead.
At the bakery, she turned right onto a small, steep street. The light from the street lanterns reflected off the cobblestones, still wet from the rain. Illuminated windows were lined along the road. Up there, on the edge of a gentle bend, the contour of the church could be seen.
An abundance of light suddenly entered Maya’s field of vision. She raised her head. It was the light from a nearby bar that spilled onto the cobblestone. From the middle of the road, she could see the interior of the cafe through the large panoramic window. On the board above the window, it was written: The Majestic Café.
Without any reason, more out of a desire to pass the time faster than out of curiosity, Maya approached the cafe. Her breath immediately clouded the window. She wiped the glass with her sleeve and put her hands in her jacket pockets. A stern expression appeared on her face.
She began to look around the long room. The furniture was old, but preserved. The white marble fireplace stood out in particular, very ornate and ostentatious with floral patterns. Maya would not be surprised if it were made back in the days of the famous Flemish painters, Jan Van Eyck and others, about whom Professor Madeline taught at school. Even though it was cold, there was no fire burning.
It was Friday, a night for going out and having a good time, but there were not a lot of visitors at the Majestic Café.
A man and a woman, in their early thirties, talked quietly while leaning towards each other. Their heads were almost touching. And his palm was on her palm. Her lush, feminine breasts, in a tight sapphire blue dress, rapidly bloated and lowered. Maya felt intuitively that the woman was unhappy about something. At the end of the hall, a gray-haired man with a mustache read Het Laatste Nieuws, The Latest News. In front of him, in the shadow of the newspaper, was a glass of brandy. The pudgy bartender was leaning against the bar with his elbows. Bent over, he solved crossword puzzles. Occasionally, tormented by the uncertainty of how to fill in the empty squares in the crossword puzzle, he played with his pencil. “Perhaps it seems to him, as he turns the wooden pencil between his fingers, that it will be easier to find the word he is looking for,“ Maya surmised.
She looked down at the window. How many uncommon ornaments were there! The red plush curtain covered the left wall of the window. At the bottom of the curtain were pages of yellow sheet music, scattered without order. Someone had sprinkled dry rose petals on the written melodies. A couple of porcelain dolls were also on display, their clothes made of satin and lace… There were also vintage wooden boxes for chocolates. Maya managed, with strain, to read the lid of the largest box: Antique Boisselier’s Chocolate Box. In the right corner of the window, closer to the door, there was a small wooden easel with a plaque. On the plaque, it said in gold letters, ”Taste a slice of history at the oldest cafe in town.”
Maya smiled. It was an interesting piece of information for her.
And then Maya visibly twitched. She saw an owl, obliquely, on the right side, closer to the wall. She didn’t expect to see a wild bird, which someone was keeping as a pet, in the historic city district.
Seeing Maya, the owl stopped cleaning her wings. She also tilted her head a little to the side. The conspicuous circle of feathers around her eyes accentuated the stiffness of her gaze with which she looked at Maya.
It was a small bird with a large, broad head, no taller than two palms. Her body was covered with downy soft feathers, chestnut-brown in color, streaked with dark freckles. The owl held onto a thin stick with long, sharp claws. There was a chain on one leg. The owl was tied to the stick with that chain. On the floor, around the bar holding the stick, there were remains of undigested food, bones, feathers, and fish scales.
The owl continued to peck at her wing with the tip of her beak. It was only at that moment that Maya noticed that the bird, so gentle and fragile, like a velvety-soft cloud, was not cleaning her feathers. The owl persistently hurt herself with her beak.
The trail of blood stunned Maya. And she covered her lips with her palm.
Maya’s gaze rested on the injured wing. She watched as a new drop of blood appeared at the edge of the wound, then glided down the owl’s wing and flew to the floor. There, on the boards, the drop dispersed into a multitude of red spots.
And some restlessness took hold of the gray owl. The evening fell, and she, for the umpteenth time since she was bound, tried to break free from the chain and fly. When she did not succeed in that, she began to walk anxiously, up and down, and down and up, from one end of the stick to the other.
Maya looked at the guests. No one paid attention to the small wild bird in the corner of the hall. This didn’t surprise her. Even as a child, she noticed that adults easily hurt those weaker than themselves.
She decided to go home. She glanced over her shoulder at the owl once more. She went back to her wound. She was still picking at the bloody tissue with her beak… Maya suddenly broke away from the window of the Majestic Café. She walked with a quick step, feeling the growing temptation to run… She kept on, but now she was racing…
Breathing heavily, Maya climbed the stairs to the attic. There was silence in the studio. She was upset. Everything irritated her. She could only lie on the bed and watch the shadows on the ceiling.
When she saw her mother, she was happy. She jumped up and immediately started talking about her walk and her sudden discovery.
While preparing dinner, Jasmine listened carefully to the story about the gray owl and the chain with which she was bound. She knew her daughter. Maya had been bringing home injured animals since she was a kid. Once, it was a squirrel caught in a trap. The second time, it was a sparrow with a broken wing. Maya also found a hedgehog with a thorn in its paw, and the marten whose ear had been taken off by a bullet. The two of them would heal the injured animals and then go their separate ways. Maya was already fourteen; she had started to change and become more mature, but she still kept that wonderful, almost childlike, sincere attachment to everything and everyone who was in trouble.
At some point, Maya asked for help “in freeing the poor bird,“ so she said. The irritation in her voice gave away how upset and angry she was. Jasmine looked at her daughter in a way that seemed to indicate that she was acknowledging the laws of fate.
“Everything is different here,“ Jasmine announced quietly. “The owl from the Majestic Café has an owner. Someone to take care of her. Remember! There’s no trespassing on other people’s property. Breeding tips are not shared and their decisions should be respected.”
“But that owner won’t let her fly,“ Maya objected. “Birds do that, don’t they? They fly.“
“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about it,“ Jasmine said regretfully. Her voice took on a soft undertone. And a special tenderness lit up her face.
Maya looked at her mother, first surprised, then with doubt. And the blush covered her face. She looked down. She didn’t want to show how angry she was, much less how ardently she wanted to rebel and protest… to resist. She also wanted to shout, loudly and boldly.
As she set the plates on the table, Jasmine moved as if lost. Her expression was tinged with surprise, but also mild fear – both about tomorrow and about possible temptations or undeserved suffering.
“Try to understand, darling.“ Jasmine imploringly tried to reach her daughter. When Maya turned and approached the window, she fell silent. And the hand in which she held the spoon remained in the air for a while.
Leaning her shoulder against the wall, Maya watched the landscape in front of her. A cold wind blew across the plain. The very sight of that force made Maya shiver with uncertainty. On the nearby square, between the frenzied willow branches, a bust of a famous poet could be glimpsed. At that moment, Maya could not remember the poet’s name.
The wind also dispersed the clouds. After three days of rain, the blue sky brightened. The stars were shining. The young moon was glittering. The reflection of the crescent moon swayed on the surface of the Yser River.
All that turmoil, commotion, and whirling in nature suited her mood. She sighed. She missed her father so much at that moment that she felt a pain in her chest.
Difficult times came for Maya.
She slept restlessly that night. She was waking up, falling asleep, and constantly tossing and turning. Sometime before dawn, she got a high temperature. With the fever came various visions. In the first, she was in a room she didn’t know. There was an owl chained to the wall. Everything in that scene was blurred… Everything quickly disappeared…
In another vision, she was on the street. The bartender from the Majestic Café was running after her. Maya wasn’t sure what he wanted from her… The cobblestones she was
running on were slippery, and Maya was afraid that she would fall… The wind brought a cloud of fine dust from somewhere. The dust obscured Maya’s view. Suddenly, she slipped and started falling, deeper and deeper… Then Maya felt like throwing up. She woke up and vomited.
After that, she fell into a dreamless sleep. When she opened her eyes with great difficulty, Maya saw her mother’s worried face above her.
While she was recovering, Maya made a decision. She wouldn’t leave the gray owl to remain bound. Her mom warned her, that’s true, but… In Maya, everything rebelled. What she set out to do, she put into action.
First, she started scouting the cafe. She needed to figure out how to get into the cafe without being noticed. She was lucky. She quickly discovered another door in the back. That discovery made her happy. She was coming home from scouting like a thief, as if she were preparing to rob a bank, after which she would hide from the law. It was an exciting feeling.
Removing the chain from the leg of the trapped owl required a tool. She would go ask Mrs. Christina, was the first thing Maya thought. She went down to her ground-floor apartment, knocked on the door, ready to say that she needed a tool for a school assignment. Instead, when Mrs. Christina showed up, she just said her mom needed a tool to cut metal. Strangely enough, Mrs. Christina didn’t ask any unnecessary questions. She brought the tool bag and muttered, “Give the tools back quickly.” Standing and watching the apartment door close, Maya noticed a large fire in the fireplace behind Mrs. Christina.
That morning, Maya woke up early. Pretending to be asleep, she waited for her mother to get ready for work. When Jasmine’s footsteps got lost in the corridor, and silence came, Maya stood up. She got ready quickly and, quietly, on her tiptoes, descended to the ground floor. She ran through the streets, holding the metal cutting shears tightly.
There were very few people on the streets. Maya reached the old city center and the Majestic Café quickly. She approached the back door cautiously and stood behind the pillar. She was expecting someone to show up. Soon, the kitchen attendant unlocked the door and went outside to light a cigarette. When he finished his cigarette, he went back inside. The door was left unlocked. Maya entered the cafe quietly.
The large room with the tables was still dark. The light only burned in the kitchen. Maya quickly reached the bottom of the hall, put a cloth over the owl’s head, and, carefully, so as not to injure the owl, cut the chain. Some sweet and sour smell filled Maya’s nostrils. She paused, smelled the air, and then looked at the food on the floor. An unpleasant odor spread from the food, which the owl had spat out the previous evening. Maya took the owl and left the place quickly.
Maya stopped at a nearby park. She felt a strange desire to, for once, pet the owl. But the owl immediately bristled, so that her right hand remained at a sufficient distance from the sharp beak. She tried again and managed to pet her. She felt a wonderful softness under her palm. “Fly away…” Maya said in a muffled voice.
The owl was still clinging to Maya’s hand. She looked at Maya confused, or so it seemed to Maya.
“Come on, fly! Find the forest and your tree,” Maya said in a somewhat sharper tone. The bird didn’t react.
Armed with tenderness and ferocity, Maya detached the sharp claws from her left hand. Drops of blood appeared on her skin, but Maya paid no attention. The owl seemed to understand that movement. She opened her wings and flew away. Looking after her, Maya was breathing fast. The gray owl was getting smaller and smaller… Soon it was just a dot… And that dark dot in the blue sky disappeared. Maya laughed.
Suton se polako spuštao nad gradom. Kiša je konačno prestala da pada, ali nebo je i dalje bilo prekriveno teškim sivim oblacima.
Bio je petak, poslednji dan u novembru.
Hladnoća nije smetala Maji da luta unaokolo. Neko vreme se šetala stazom pored reke Izer. Njen pogled je rasejano lutao po suvoj trsci u mutnoj vodi, po potopljenim oranicama na drugoj obali, i po silueti vetrenjače na obzorju… U nekom trenutku odlučila je da krene ka starom gradskom jezgru. Zemljani bedem, podignut oko grada pre sedamsto i više godina, ona će obići nekog drugog dana.
Dunuvši u šake da ih malo zagreje, Maja se prisetila reči stanodavke Christine. „U ovom kraju oduvek je tako. U poznu jesen kiše padaju danima. Tada vlaga počne podmuklo da navire, imaš utisak… sa svih strana. I memla… Zbog nje ti se čini da svako jelo ima neki čudan ‘metalan’ ukus, kao da se hrana sprema u posudi od lima“, ne jednom se poţalila gospoĎa Christina. Pritom bi i nezadovoljno zavrtela glavom.
Bila je to krupna ţena neodreĎenih godina, širokih bokova i isturene brade, uz to i vlasnica trospratne kuće na obali. Majina mama od nje je iznajmila studio na mansardi, malen i skroman, od tridesetak kvadrata. „Studio je svetao, uz to ima balkon i čaroban pogled na okoliš i reku Izer. Takav pogled je retkost u našem gradu“, tako je Christina hvalila pred Jasminom taj skučeni prostor pod krovom. Jasmina se samo nasmešila i uzela ključ. Njoj je jedino bilo vaţno da ona i ćerka tu mogu pristojno da ţive.
Maja je zašla u krivudavi splet ulica najstarijeg naselja u gradu. Primetila je da su ceste popločane kaldrmom. I svaka kuća je bila dobro očuvana, iako su ploče na fasadama ukazivale da su sagraĎene davno, neka u doba renesanse, druge u vreme baroka ili neoklasicizma. Maji se dopao starinski šarm tih kuća. Poput divnog trospratnog zdanja na uglu jedne od mnogih raskrsnica. Na njoj nije bilo ploče s podacima o imenu prvog vlasnika, stilu i godini gradnje. Razgledajući je, promrmljala je:
− To mora da je taj flamanski renesansni stil o kome nam je pričala profesorica Madeline…
Ona je tog septembra krenula u srednju medicinsku školu u ţelji da, poput njene mame Jasmine, postane medicinska sestra. Pored stručnih, izabrala je i izborni predmet Kreativna radionica kao odstupnica. Privukla je rečenica, koju je pročitala u programu škole: ”Nije potrebno da budete umetnik da biste bili kreativni”. Ubrzo se pokazalo da nije pogrešila. Puna poleta i dobre volje, Madeline je svojim učenicima zanimljivo pričala o umetnosti, izmeĎu ostalog i o arhitekturi u njihovom gradu.
Fasade starih zgrada su bile obojene toplim i svetlim bojama. Sa sutonom, one su Maji izgledale nekako strogo, čak i setno. I bogato! Sve je odisalo obiljem i blagostanjem. Maji nije bilo jasno zašto se onda gospoĎa Christina neprestano ţali. Na sve, najviše na svoju gorku sudbu. Jadala se ona i tog dana, u samo svitanje, u njihovom kratkom susretu u predvorju.
Maja i njena mama rano su tog jutra izašle iz stana na mansardi. Maja je krenula u školu, Jasmina u bolnicu. U holu su naletele na vlasnicu kuće i, u mimohodu, razmenile par reči o hladnom vremenu i dosadnim kišama. Glas te ţene, posebno njene lokne i haljina koja se njihala, ili – moţda još više – bose noge u papučama s roze mašnom, nagonili su Maju na smeh. Ona je uspevala, istina s naporom, da smeh obuzda i sačuva pomirljiv izraz lica.
Predsoblje je osvetljavala prigušena, mlečnobela svetlost s tavanice. Maja je pogledala uvis. Tek tog jutra je, prvi put, primetila da na rukom oslikanom plafonu visi luksuzan luster od pozlaćene bronze. Spustila je pogled u času kad je gospoĎa Christina uskliknula:
− Na jug! Treba beţati na jug! Tamo je Mediteran… Tamo je sunce i toplo more! Pritom je i obrve podigla, poluuzbuĎeno, poluţivčano.
Na mutnoj jutarnjoj svetlosti, ta britka i robusna ţena najednom je počela da korača u mestu. Valjda, i to je pomislila Maja, u nameri da oponaša beg ka toplom jugu. Predvorje je u momentu postalo velika pozornica gospoĎe Christine, na kojoj je ona igrala svoju novu pantomimu.
Zbunjena nečim agresivnim u ponašanju sredovečne vlasnice zgrade, u Maji je sinula nova misao – pa mama i ona su došle s juga! Iz gradića na reci Bojani, koja se uliva u Jadransko more, koje je opet deo Sredozemnog mora. S juga su njih dve pošle u potragu za posebnim mestom iz maminih priča… U nadi da to mesto postoji. S uzdanjem da će to mesto i pronaći…
Maja je prvi put čula za to imaginarno mesto kad je bila mala. Imala je tada… osam? Ili devet godina? Nije bila sigurna.
„Često sanjam da ţivim u gradu u kome se dobro osećam“, priznala je Maji njena mama. Bilo je leto i njih dve su se spremale na počinak. U utihloj sobi, mir predvečerja remetio je jedva čujni ţubor potoka iz obliţnjeg šumarka.
Jasmina je nastavila.
− Zatvorim oči i… sanjam. Da sam slobodna! I da nema predrasuda, posebno prema ţeni. Nema ni zabrana! Postoje samo otvorene mogućnosti… U mom snu, ja znam da takav ţivot postoji, samo ga treba naći… I taj osećaj dok sve to snivam! On tako opija! Ma, sve je to nalik prekrasnoj tajni! − s nekim posebnim nadahnućem je izgovorila mama, pa je ućutala.
Nije pomenula zašto je tuţna, niti zbog čega pati. Nije pomenula ni dan kad su Luku, njenog supruga, pronašli kraj magistrale, u smrskanim kolima… Teške godine posle Lukine smrti… Ona nije spomenula ni da se posle tragedije najednom našla u središtu paţnje. Svako je smatrao da ima pravo da je prati, procenjuje, da glasno komentariše, često i osuĎuje, njeno ponašanje… Jasmina se teško borila sa saznanjem da su oči svih u gradu uprte u nju.
Letnja noćna sveţina je i dalje nadirala kroz otvoren prozor. S nečujnim povetarcem pokretale su se i okolne senke. Zamišljena Jasmina je dodala prigušenim glasom: − Volela bih da dočekam dan kad neću morati da se pravdam rečima: „Bio je to samo san.“
Izgovorivši to, duboko je uzdahnula i time odala svoj strah. Moţda od sivog beskraja vremena. Moţda od zle kobi, koja ima moć da svaki san pretvori u iluziju. Uprkos obrazovanju, u Jasmini je opstajala – pritajena i dobro zapretena – vera u moć neobjašnjivih sila.
Vreme je prolazilo. Jasmina nikada više nije pomenula to veče. Maja to letnje veče ipak nije zaboravila. U svojim detinjim sanjarenjima, ona je videla svoju mamu kako počinje da ţivi
ţivotom o kome je snivala… Kad su njih dve, šest godina kasnije, stigle u gradić na obali reke Izer, Majina prva misao je bila: „Dobro je… Pronašle smo ono mesto.“
Tog poslednjeg novembarskog jutra, dok je s mamom stajala u holu, Maja je shvatila da je pogrešila. Gradić na obali reke Izer ipak nije bio mesto za kojim su tragale. Bio je to obrt sudbine, koji je rastuţio. Okrenula se ka mami da vidi kako se oseća. Mamino bledo lica je izgledalo kao da je upravo zagrizla kiselu jabuku. Jasmina je uvek tako reagovala kad bi se suočila s nekom velikom neugodnošću… „To je to“, zaključila je Maja. „Kakav tuţan preokret.“
GospoĎa Christina ništa od toga nije primetila, ni Jasminino bledilo, ni da je Maja – najednom ozbiljna i puna neke zapanjenosti – malo uzmakla. Podigla je punačku ruku u znak pozdrava i brzim koracima, neočekivanim za njenu teţinu, krenula je ka svojim odajama.
Gledajući za njom, puna nemira i nespokojstva, Maja je uvukla ruku u dţep jakne. Tu je potraţila komadiće iz svog izgubljenog doma (bili su to fragmenti prošlosti, koje je ona ljubomorno čuvala):
⸛ Mali kip sirene od farbane pečene gline, veoma izbledele od starosti i dodira tokom igre.
⸛ Majušne klompe, rukom izdeljane, Maja ih je dobila na poklon od oca za šesti roĎendan.
⸛ Sedefnu školjku, koju je Maja pronašla u pesku, na obali reke Bojane.
⸛ Narukvicu od ţada, dar bake Maše za njeno roĎenje.
Čim je dodirnula svoje dragoceno blago iz detinjstva, Maja je odahnula.
Maja je zastala. Da li da se vrati? Ne, odlučila je. Čekao je prazan stan. I mamina smena se završavala za par sati. Iako je bila umorna od časova u školi, nastavila je da hoda. Bila je razdraţljiva i napeta. Mučio je nemir. Tu je bila i stara, večna gorčina (što je još uvek vide kao devojčicu, uprkos tome što je imala četrnaest godina i pet meseci, i još koji dan). Kad tome doda ravnodušnost odraslih, i nerazumevanje vršnjaka… Bila je tako tuţna da je osetila kako je nešto boli oko srca.
Ulice u tom kvartu čuvale su uspomene na ţivot koji se tu vodio. Do maločas, to je jako zanimalo Maju. U tom trenutku, bezvoljna i tmurna, ona je gledala ispred sebe. Kod pekare je skrenula na desno, u neveliku strmu ulicu. Svetlo s uličnih fenjera odbijalo se od oblog kamenja kaldrme, još uvek mokrog od kiše. Osvetljeni prozori nizali su se duţ puta. Tamo gore, na obodu blage okuke, nazirala se kontura crkve.
U Majino vidno polje najednom je ušlo obilje svetlosti. Podigla je glavu. To se po kaldrmi rasula svetlost iz obliţnjeg lokala. Ona je sa sredine ceste mogla kroz veliki panoramski prozor da vidi unutrašnjost kafića. Na tabli iznad prozora pisalo je Majestic Café.
Bez nekog povoda, više iz ţelje da joj vreme brţe proĎe nego iz znatiţelje, Maja je prišla kafiću. Njen dah je odmah zamaglio prozor. Rukavom je obrisala staklo, pa je ruke uvukla u dţepove jakne. Neki strog izraz se pojavio na njenom licu.
Počela je da razgleda dugu odaju. Nameštaj je bio star, ali očuvan. Posebno se izdvajao kamin od belog mermera, jako kitnjast i razmetljiv, s cvetnim šarama. Maju ne bi začudilo da je napravljen još u doba poznatih flamanskih slikara, Jan van Eyck, Jan van Ajk-a, i ostalih, o kojima im je predavala profesorica Madeline u školi. Iako je bilo hladno, u kaminu nije gorela vatra.
Bio je petak, veče za izlaske i zabavu, ali u Majestic Café-u je bilo malo posetilaca. Muškarac i ţena, u ranim tridesetim godinama, tiho su razgovarali pognuti jedno prema drugom. Glave su im se skoro dodirivale. I njegov dlan je bio na njenom dlanu. Njene bujne ţenstvene grudi, u uskoj haljini safirno plave boje, ubrzano su se nadimale i spuštale. Maja je intuitivno osetila. Ţena je zbog nečeg bila nezadovoljna… U dnu sale, prosedi muškarac s brkovima čitao je Het Laatste Nieuws, Najnovije vesti. Pred njim je, u senci novina, bila čaša rakije… Deţmekasti barmen laktovima se oslonio na šank. Tako pognut u pasu, on je rešavao ukrštene reči. Povremeno, mučen nedoumicom kako da popuni prazne kvadrate u ukrštenici, poigravao se olovkom. „Moţda mu se čini da će… dok prevrće drvenu olovku meĎu prstima… lakše doći do reči koju traţi“, pretpostavila je Maja.
Spustila je pogled na izlog. Koliko nesvakidašnjih ukrasa je tu bilo! Crvena zavesa od pliša pokrivala je levi zid izloga. U dnu zavese su poţuteli notni zapisi, razbacani bez reda. Neko je po zapisanim melodijama prosuo suve latice ruţa. Izloţeno je i par lutaka od porcelana, njihova odeća je od satena i čipke… Tu su i starinske drvene kutije za čokoladu. Napregnuvši se, Maja je uspela da na poklopcu najveće kutije pročita Antique Boisselier’s Chocolate Box… U desnom uglu izloga, bliţe vratima, stajao je mali drveni štafelaj s pločicom. Na pločici je zlatnim slova pisalo: ”Osetite delić istorije u najstarijem kafiću u gradu”.
Maja se nasmešila, njoj je to bio zanimljiv podatak.
A onda se Maja vidno trgla. Iskosa, s desne strane, bliţe zidu, ugledala je sovu. Ona nije očekivala da u istorijskoj gradskoj četvrti vidi divlju pticu, koju neko gaji kao kućnog ljubimca. Ugledavši Maju, sova je zastala u čišćenju krila. Malo je i glavu nakrivila u stranu. Upadljiv pernati okvir oko očiju još više je isticao ukočen pogled kojim je gledala u Maju. Bila je to malena ptica s velikom i okruglom glavom, ne viša od dva dlana. Telo joj je bilo prekriveno paperjasto mekim perjem, kestenjasto-smeĎe boje, prošarano tamnim pegama. Sova se dugim i oštrim kandţama drţala za tanku palicu. Na jednoj nozi je bio lančić. Tim lančićem je sova bila vezana za palicu. Na podu, oko šipke koja je pridrţavala palicu, leţali su ostaci nesvarene hrane, bilo je tu kostiju, perja i krljušti ribe.
Sova je nastavila vrhom kljuna da kljuca po krilu. Tek u tom trenutku Maja je primetila da ta ptica, tako neţna i krhka, nalik baršunasto-mekom oblaku, ne čisti perje. Sova je uporno kljunom sebe povreĎivala.
Krvavi trag je zapanjio Maju. I dlanom je prekrila usne.
Njen pogled je počivao na ozleĎenom krilu. Ona je pratila kako se nova kap krvi pojavljuje na obodu rane, pa kako klizi niz krilo, i leti ka podu. Tu, na daskama, kap se raspršila u mnoštvo rumenih mrlja.
I neki nemir je obuzeo sivu sovu. Veče je palo i ona je, po ko zna koji put od kada je vezana, pokušala da se otkači od lanca i poleti. Kad u tome nije uspela, uznemireno je počela da hoda, gore-dole, i dole-gore, od jednog do drugog kraja palice.
Maja je pogledala goste. Niko nije obraćao paţnju na malu divlju pticu u uglu sale. Što je nije iznenadilo. Još kao mala, ona je primetila da odrasli s laakoćom povreĎuju slabije od sebe. Odlučila je da poĎe kući. Još jednom je preko ramena bacila pogled na sovu. Ona se vratila svojoj rani. I dalje je kljunom čačkala po krvavom tkivu. Maja se naglo otrgla od izloga Majestic Café-a. Koračala je gipkim brzim hodom, osećajući sve snaţnije iskušenje da potrči… Trkom je produţila dalje…
Teško dišući, Maja se penjala stepenicama ka potkrovlju. U studiju je dočekala tišina. Bila je uzrujana. Sve je razdraţivalo. Mogla je samo da leţi na krevetu i posmatra senke na tavanici. Kad je ugledala mamu, obradovala se. Skočila je i odmah počela da priča o svojoj šetnji i nenadanom otkriću.
Pripremajući večeru, Jasmina je paţljivo slušala priču o sivoj sovi i lančiću kojim je bila vezana. Poznavala je ona svoju ćerku. Maja je odmalena donosila kući povreĎene ţivotinje. Jednom je to bila veverica uhvaćena u zamku. Drugi put vrabac sa slomljenim krilom. Našla je Maja i jeţa s trnom u šapi, pa kunu kojoj je metak odneo deo uha. Njih dve bi izlečile i, potom, pustile povreĎene da poĎu svojim putem. Maja jeste ušla u četrnaestu godinu, počela je da se menja i postaje zrelija, ali ona je i dalje u sebi čuvala onu divnu, gotovo detinjasto iskrenu privrţenost prema svemu i svima, koji su u nevolji.
U neko doba Maja je zatraţila pomoć „u oslobaĎanju jadne ptice“, tako je ona rekla. Razdraţenost u njenom glasu je odavala koliko je uzrujana i ljuta. Jasmina je pogledala ćerku pogledom, koji kao da je odavao da ona priznaje zakone sudbine.
− Ovda je sve drugačije – tiho je saopštila Jasmina. − Sova iz Majestic Café-a ima svog vlasnika. Nekog ko se o njoj brine… Upamti! Ne upada se na tuĎi posed… Ne dele se saveti o uzgoju… Poštuju se tuĎe odluke…
− Ali, taj vlasnik joj ne dopušta da leti – usprotivila se Maja. – Ptice to rade, zar ne? One lete. − Bojim se da mi tu ništa ne moţemo da učinimo – rekla je Jasmina sa ţaljenjem. Njen glas je dobio neki mekan prizvuk. I naročita neţnost joj je osvetlila lice.
Maja je iznenaĎeno, potom upitno pogledala mamu. I rumenilo je prekrilo njeno lice. Spustila je pogled. Ona nije ţelela da pokaţe koliko je ljuta, još manje koliko ţarko ţeli da se pobuni i protestuje… Da pruţi otpor. Ţelela je i da vikne, i to snaţno i otresito.
Dok je na stolu postavljala tanjire, Jasmina se kretala kao izgubljena. Na dnu njenih očiju je bilo iznenaĎenosti, ali i blagog straha – kako od sutrašnjeg dana, tako i od mogućih iskušenja ili nezasluţenih patnji.
− Pokušaj da shvatiš, mila… – molećivo je Jasmina pokušala da dopre do ćerke. Kad se Maja okrenula i prišla prozoru, ućutala je. I ruka u kojoj je drţala kašiku na čas je ostala u vazduhu. Oslonjena ramenom na zid, Maja je posmatrala predeo pred sobom.
Preko ravnice je duvao ledeni vetar. Već sam pogled na tu silinu naterao je Maju da zadrhti od neizvesnosti… Na obliţnjem trgu, izmeĎu pomahnitalih grana vrbe, nazirala se bista slavnog pesnika. Maja u tom času nikako nije mogla da se seti pesnikovog imena… Vetar je rasterao i oblake. Posle trodnevnih kiša, modri svod se razvedrio. Sijale su zvezde. Blistao je mladi Mesec. Odsjaj mesečevog srpa se ljuljuškao na površini reke Izer.
Sav taj meteţ, i komešanje, i kovitlanje u prirodi odgovaralo je njenom raspoloţenju. Uzdahnula je. Toliko joj je u tom času nedostajao njen otac da je osetila bol u grudima.
Nastupili su teški trenuci za Maju.
Tokom te noći nemirno je spavala. Budila se, padala je u san, neprestano se prevrtala. Negde pred zoru dobila je visoku tempraturu. S groznicom su došle i razne vizije. U prvoj, ona je bila u sobi koju nije poznavala. Tu je bila i sova vezana lancem za zid. Sve je u tom prizoru bilo zamagljeno… Sve je brzo i nestalo…
U drugoj viziji ona je bila na ulici. Barmen iz Majestic Café-a je trčao za njom. Maja nije bila sigurna šta on ţeli od nje… Kaldrma po kojoj je trčala bila je klizava i Maja je strahovala da će pasti… Vetar je odnekud doneo oblak sitne prašine. Prašina je zamračila Majin pogled. Najednom, ona se okliznila i počela da pada, sve dublje, i dublje… Maji je tada došlo da povrati… Probudila se i povratila je…
Nakon toga utonula je u san bez snova… Kad je s teškom mukom otvorila oči, Maja je nad sobom ugledala mamino zabrinuto lice.
Dok se oporavljala, Maja je donela odluku. Ona neće ostaviti sivu sovu da i dalje bude vezana. Njena mama je upozorila, to je tačno, ali… U Maji se sve pobunilo. Što je naumila, to je počela da sprovodi u delo. Prvo je počela s izviĎanjem oko kafića. Trebalo je da otkrije kako da uĎe u kafić, a da ne bude primećena. Imala je sreće. Brzo je u zadnjem delu kafea otkrila još jedna vrata. To otkriće je obradovalo. Vraćala se kući iz izviĎanja kao neki lopov, kao da se priprema da obije lokal, ili, bolje, neku banku, posle čega će se kriti od zakona. Bilo je to uzbudljivo osećanje.
Za skidanje lančića sa noge zarobljene sove bio je potreban alat. Pokušaće kod gospoĎe Christine, bilo je prvo što je Maja pomislila. Pošla je do njenog stana u prizemlju, zakucala je na vrata spremna da kaţe kako je njoj potreban alat za izradu makete, i da je to školski zadatak… Umesto toga, kad se gospoĎa Christina pojavila, samo je kazala da je njenoj mami potreban alat za sečenje metala. Začudo, gospoĎa Christina nije postavljala suvišna pitanja. Donela je torbicu s alatom i promrljala: „Vratite alat brzo.“ Stojeći i gledajući kako se vrata apartmana zatvaraju, Maja je iza gospoĎe Christine spazila veliku vatru u kaminu.
Tog jutra Maja se rano probudila. Pretvarajući se da spava, sačekala je da se mama spremi i poĎe na posao. Kad su se Jasminini koraci izgubili u hodniku i kad je zavladala tišina, Maja je ustala. Brzo se spremila i, tiho, na vrhovima prstiju, spustila se u prizemlje. Na ulici je potrčala. Makaze za sečenje metala čvrsto je drţala uz sebe.
Na ulicama je bilo malo ljudi. Maja je do starog gradskog jezgra i Majestic Café-a stigla brzo. Oprezno je prišla zadnjim vratima i stala je iza stuba. Očekivala je da se neko pojavi…
Ubrzo je radnik iz kuhinje otključao vrata i izašao napolje da zapali cigaretu. Kad je cigaretu dovršio, vratio se unutra. Vrata su ostala otključana. Maja je tiho ušla u kafić. Velika sala sa stolovima i dalje je bila u mraku. Svetlo je gorelo jedino u kuhinji. Maja je brzo prišla sovi u dnu sale, stavila je preko sovine glave tkaninu i oprezno, da ne povredi sovu, isekla je lančić. Neki sladunjav i kiselkast miris ispunio je Majine nozdrve. Ona je zastala, omirisala vazduh, tada je pogledala hranu na podu. Neprijatni miris se širio iz hrane, koju je sova ispljunula prethodne večeri.
Maja je uzela sovu i brzo je napustila lokal.
Maja se zaustavila kod obliţnjeg parka.
Osetila je čudnu ţelju da, bar jednom, pomiluje sovu. Ali, sova se odmah nakostrešila, tako da joj je desna ruka ostala na dovoljnoj udaljenosti od oštrog kljuna. Pokušala je ponovo i ipak je uspela da je pomiluje. Pod dlanom je osetila divnu mekoću.
− Beţi… – prigušenim glasom je rekla Maja.
Sova se i dalje drţala za Majinu ruku. Gledala je u Maju zbunjeno… Ili se Maji tako učinilo… − Hajde, leti! NaĎi šumu i svoje drvo – kazala je Maja nešto oštrijim tonom. Ptica nije reagovala.
Naoruţana neţnošću i silovitošću, Maja je odvojila oštre kandţe od svoje leve ruke. Kapi krvi su se pojavile na njenoj koţi, ali Maja nije obratila paţnju na to.
Sova kao da je razumela taj pokret. Otvorila je krila i poletela.
Gledajući za njom, Maja je brzo disala. Siva sova je postajala sve manja… Ubrzo je bila tek tačka… Pa je i ta tamna mrlja na plavom nebu nestala. Maja se tiho nasmejala.
DRAGANA KRŠENKOVIĆ BRKOVIĆ plays with the conventions of narrative, time, space, and traditional art forms. Her work engages with questions of memory, gender, and identity within the context of patriarchal history and the power of culture. She is also interested in exploring the role of ancient heritage in the alienation and loneliness of modern individuals. She is the author of three novels, two story collections, nonfiction works, and fairy tales. Her fiction has appeared in October Hill Magazine, Bosphorus Review of Books, The Hooghly Review, TOPIC: literature – culture – context, Buchkultur, Sarajevo Notebooks, Blesok, ARS, Lingua Montenegrina, etc. She has been awarded fellowships by various cultural institutions, including Apexart (NYC), Art OMI: Writers (NY), UNESCO (Rhodes), Goethe-Institute (Leipzig), HHH (California & Washington, D.C.), KulturKontakt Austria (Vienna), OeAD-GmbH (Graz), among others. She is a member of the Montenegrin PEN Center and the Montenegrin Association of Independent Writers.
PROF. DR ALEKSANDRA NIKČEVIĆ BATRIĆEVIĆ lectures in American Literature and British History and Civilisation teaches special literature courses (Feminist Literary Theory and Criticism, American Women’s Poetry, literature of NYC, Irish and Scottish women poets and prose writers) (University of Montenegro). She is the author of texts on Anglo-American literature and is a translator of literature and literary theory. She has edited and translated many books published in Montenegro, Greece, and the United Kingdom.
