The Christmas Race

When the frozen flatland soil puts on the snow garment, that bridal
gown of the new year and new hopes, a serene quiet makes its pres-
ence in the purged air and in the life of the village or in the hearts of
the peasants. The endless canvas of neatly packed crystals renders the
already unbounded stretches of farms still more limitless and in an
odd fit of the forces of change brings it closer to the rest of the world.
The vast immaculate snowy coat shared by so many people and places
takes the human tribe back to the point of self-purification, repentance
and meditation. Summer solstice craves for the fuel of oblivion, sweat-
ing and hard work in the villages of Vojvodina or any other farming
region that complies to the whims of the continental weather. Sun and
dry winds combine with domesticated plants to soak in the best of
energy from laboring hands. When winter comes bodies are invited to
heal and engage only within the limits of the chores that would keep
them from getting stiff and lazy.
There is more time for socializing, merry making, story telling,
evening get-togethers or numerous other activities that lend the peas-
ants joyful opportunities to strengthen the friendship and other col-
lective bonds and make the whole village community feel the pulsa-
tions of benevolent forces emanating from land, dark muddy waters of
the canal below the thin hood of ice or air bathed in the feeble Sun that
strews its purple glow across the haze of chilly mornings. Fields are left
to doze under the long traipsing shadows of the nights while light and
cheering warmth is sought within family circles and neighborhoods.
If the elderly persons set the pace of busy summer living children lend
the main tone in winter life of the village. It is the magic of winter that
transforms the dusty roads and common place toil of summer into the
kingdom of fairy tales clad in draperies of frost and snow.
The street where Nikola’s grandparents lived was often the scene
of numerous events, inventions and activities throughout the year.
In the late 60’s the village streets were at the mercy of weather and
often changed from a trail of finest ash like powder dust to a road of
sticky mash of black mud that stuck to the farm wagon wooden wheels.
Wintertime used to close the season of summer changes by placing the
road into the chains of ice and snow. Nikola and his elder brother used
to spend winter holidays in the village and children from the neigh-
borhood and the cousins across the street used to play from dawn till
dusk. Rainwater that had gathered in puddles by the road furnished
the perfect temptation of sliding surfaces. Bands of pink steaming
faces queued up in a cloud of cheers and joyful screams and soon their
tireless bodies turned into darting arrows. Slides were soon polished to
the sheen of mirrors which was embarrassing to the elderly people who
watched their every step even on snow-covered pavements.
To make up for the complete lack of slants and slopes in a flat
countryside, children often joined hands, spades, old buckets or even
caps to fashion a snow hill. The army of biped ants toiled and panted
under loads of snow as the white pyramid was emerging amid the
frozen desert. The heaviest individuals were assigned the sweat-driv-
ing task of ramming the snow by stomping atop the growing hill and
often falling into its belly to their waists. One side of the snow hill was
extended streetwise for thirty or so yards to form a toboggan while
opposite of it a stairway was carved into the pyramid for easy access
to the top.
Many laborers were wet all through after hours of such play-work
which neither caused their concern nor incited them to go home.
Young blood and restless excitement soon performed their work of
drying or at least warming up their clothes and boots.
When completed, the snow toboggan was a masterpiece of local
architecture and modeling and it boosted the pride of the Medurich
Brothers Street. Even the elderly enjoyed the sight of it and at least it
was visible and easy to shun which was not the case with the slides
on the pavements. The kids from neighboring streets would join the
endless sliding and laughing game which made the toboggan look like
a gigantic revolving and vapor-spurting caterpillar. The joyful hubbub
resounded in the chilly air and seemed to bounce back from the frozen
firmament, rendering the scene of the game powerfully local and cozy.
About lunchtime the shrill voices of chronically overworked moth-
ers or grandmothers sounded their nervous calls and the scenery of
general excitement and endless commotion changed to one of lonely
fumigating glossy toboggan and temporary peace. Sunshine was at its
best at lunchtime and the sides of the snowy playground facing south
and west would soften their armors in the short untimely thawing
spill. When children resumed their playful activities sliding down the
toboggan went a bit slower due to their full bellies and retarding forces
of the melted snow. This however did not subtract from their enthusi-
asm and fervor to surrender to the inner calls of playfulness and so-
ciability that no vagaries of weather or calamities of fate could hinder.
The highlight of winter delights, however, was the Christmas
horse-race. Most households had horses in the before-the-tractor era
and it was customary and conducive to the health of horses to give
them an opportunity to have exercises during winter season. Niko-
la’s cousins had a beautiful chestnut-skinned stallion by the name of
Fitzco. He was tall and quite far from the category of sturdy fat working
horses, but of a rather quirky and whimsical character. An ideal horse
for sports but untrained and lacking the power of upbringing which
brings control of energy. Now Nikola was eager to take place in the
Christmas race, but his aging grandfather could not help him much on
that point since he had an equally aging and quite lazy barrel-shaped