detail from: KRK Art dizajn

The award-winning story by Jelena Krtolica from Portalibris competition - Serbia at the turn of the centuries.

The mother of Kujundzica

24. May, 1905. Tomorrow is the Day of Salvation. In Lazar everything is ruined. Stirred blood, and heart, and thoughts. Static on the outside, trapped on the inside. Isn't that a premonition? What did the young Chetnik leader Todorovic feel on Good Saturday, on Čelopek, so he said that he felt the proximity of death, and after the battle, while they were enjoying the taste of victory, his body was brought by chetniks on cross rifles? The forest is always the same. Indifferent. High canopies of the forest, banging can be heard in the distance as if century-old trees are stretching. A stream saturated with May rains strongly roars and brings the sounds to the dark womb of the forest. Lazar also faints with him. He strains his vision in the dark, it seems to him that Asker red fes are swarming among the trees. It's like all the pursuits they've evaded have reached them, here, the proximity of the Great Father. Oraovac is close by. It's close to home. So close that he can smell his mother's bread. Only Stana's bread smells like that, he would always recognize that smell.

Podrimlje sleeps under them, it is a quiet hour before the dawn. If the Turks catch him here, retaliation will be terrible. It's going to shake the whole village. He feels a chill climb up his spine. The same way he felt as a pupil of Prizren theology, when a shout would rush down the city's cobblestone: "Ljumaaa is coming! '' and then there is a noise from the closing of the shutters, lids and gates, and then there is suffering. Turks and Serbs equally fear the Ljumlje, Arnaut, villain rifle. All those undercover listen to the gunshots and he has chills up his spine. Nothing was scarier than that exclamation, until now. Now he is feeling a lot of restlessness. Maybe it's a premonition.

But his blood is equally boiling. Like then, when as a teacher in Kicevo he heard from people about suffering. About Bozinčet's crucifixion. How much people longed for unification with Serbia! How many requests were sent to Prince Milan from Macedonia, with signatures of national champions, signed as the most genuine and true old Serbs, from the cleanest and most rooted Serbian country. Turks also intercepted the messengers and torturedly killed everyone who signed. And that cry, moaning, in front of the Berlin Congress, when five thousand souls signed on Vidovdan and Rista Cvetković, Bozinče, swore over the communion that he would take that paper of life and fate and not let it fall into the hands of the Turks. But, someone flew from the gathering on horse to the Turks and Bozincet between Skopje and Kumanovo and they met ambush. While Turkish bullets were tearing his body, Bozinče was tearing the paper with his teeth and swallowing it, shooting with his other hand. Turks crucified him on four telegraph poles and scattered him, to take pieces of paper out of his womb. Six souls whose names they read from it were dying in torment in prisons. Lazarus remembered and how Zlate prayed for the rest of his soul. On Good Friday, while the barley was still clapping, he approached the metropolitan with a lit wax and asked to serve him a riddle.

"I want to die because I can be Bulgarian," he said. He was asked, by blackmail and intimidation, to recognize himself as Bulgarian and exarchist. He was the founder of the first school in Slatina. The bishop sang and wept. Tomorrow, the peasants brought to the village a heavy sack that they found hanging on a tree. Everything that was left of Gold was in it.

It's 1903 then. , after the Ilinden uprising, came that woman, Nadezda Petrovic, brought humanitarian help. Lazar asked if they could use that money to buy weapons. They needed that more than bread. She looked at him with piercing blue eyes, she saw in them love and suffering. That woman had something pristine in her, what her ancestors took from Kosovo when they moved, that sacred, unshakable and suffering. She said - Buy, there will be more money.

He met Voja Tankosić, who was dressed in a peasant's gun, was a companion to Nadežda and another woman from the Kolo of Serbian Sisters. He also met Savatij Milosevic. They got on a quick note. That's when his journey began. And here he is now, in this forest in his native Podrinje, with Savati and five other Chetniks trying to transfer to Porec via Sara. But there are Turks like ants. Angry by the defeat at Čelopek they are chased like bloodthirsty wolves.

Savatije quietly approached him and said with a smudged face:

"The shepherd saw us. We have to go, they will bring the army quickly. "

Lazarus stares at Savati, then at the asleep young men under the trees. On the edge of the forest among the trees the sky rose.

"Let's go, until it dawned" - he said to Savatije and quickly woke up the others. Soon, in the silence of the dawn, silhouettes were coming down the slope over the first paternal houses on whose chests were rattled by crossed reds.

They slammed on the door of Arnaut Lanja Ukina's tower. They've known each other. He will take them to hell. He told them to get comfortable, to put down the weapons. Lazar looks at him and squeezes the gun pipe, his fingers turned white.

"Don't play with anger, Abolish it" said Savatije quietly and gave a sign to the others to climb the tower. They observed a flat field that was spreading sunlight. Their rifles were ready. You could only hear their breathing and rare birds. Morning still, like before the accident. Not long later, Savati's watchful eyes saw the Arnauts leaking toward the tower, the tiny sleeves tingling into the dark gap beneath their sights. They nod their heads to the others, they gave up their guns.

The day was moving on, the sun was shining and it was about to set. Seven on the tower, under it more than a thousand - Arnaut and Askera. Occasional moans and creak of cars that take corpses away. And so until dusk, until the Arnauts crawl into the tower, hidden in shadows and thirsty for blood. Bullets flew through the floor from Das and burst into the flesh of Lazar. Crucified Bozinče quickly flew through his thoughts, and dismembered Zlata, the chills from the shouts "Ide Ljuma", neighbors who disappeared without a trace when he was a boy. And his apartment. He smelled his mother's bread. He looked at Savati, blood was running down his face and he seemed to smile. Today is Ascension Day, remember Lazarus and cross yourself.

The Arnauts have burned down the tower. Two surviving Chetniks jumped out of the tower, right in front of the military rifles. And then came the silence.

While they were turning over the bodies of the killed Chetniks, someone saw Lazar and shouted:

"This is Kujundzic, from Oraovac! "

Army commander approaches, measures Lazar's corpse. He should have been taken to his village, so that his own people would recognize him. But this neighbor recognized him. He sent Arnautin to Lazar's apartment.

The mother stood like a petrified stone, her eyes did not touch Lazar.

“Talk up, old lady. Do you see your son here? '' pie is the Asker commander.

"No" she replied, without blinking.

"You see, you see, come closer, embrace your baby that you breastfed" - said Arnautin, a neighbor, and they spit at her feet.

Stana with their heads held high, jumped over the corpse of Lazarev and quite near the ear of Arnaut calmly said:

"I would love to have given birth to such a hero! "

Arnautin looks at her and is healed, he shrinks and lifts Lazar's head. Lazarus' eyes were open.

"Look, blue eyes, your eyes, Shkija! "

Stana looked at him incessantly, until he looked down. Finally the military commander fired her. It's getting dark, nightbirds were singing from the distance.

The old woman moves away from the tower slowly, with her head held high, and only when she no longer felt their glances on her back, she accelerated her walk and faster, almost running, stumbling, falling and getting up, reached the forest. She didn't even realize that Lazarus under the same trees was looking towards the village and felt the smell of its bread. The mountain was desolate, gloomy. It's gone be quiet and quiet. Quietly, so they don't hear the killers. She fought with her fists in her chest and cried without a voice. She looked at the dark forest around her as if she was waiting for judgement, as if waiting for punishment, because she gave up her son. But, she didn't give up on him. How would you? She was just protecting the village from slaughter.

The whole night the mother silently confessed to the forest her unhappiness. The barley is worse. Nightingales didn't sing that night. Not even at dawn a hair speaks. Everything went quiet, only the worse barley was gloomy. In broad daylight, when the sky was rustling among the trees, an old woman with blue eyes kneeling steadily under the trees.

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