28.
Zoran Siriški

The Christmas Race

nag. What else remained for him to do but traipse pensively across
the street and solicit for the fiery steed from his quite outlandish and
taciturn cousin Milosh. Angels must have sat at the old man’s shoul-
ders that day for he instantly nodded his long bald head with a joyful
glimmer in eyes that was as rare an occurrence as winter shower. The
very next instant Nikola was rushing hippity-hoppity in and out of the
stable while his uncles groomed after Fitzco. Soon his tall hindquarters
shone like moon from the obscurely lit stable and sensing excitement
in the air he fretted and neighed long greetings of the approaching
action and fresh air.
The scene of Christmas races was the village commons, a large
tract of land where sheep and geese grazed in summer, located just
across the railroad. When Nikola arrived riding in the saddle and
shining with pride, tens of peasant boys were darting to and fro on the
powerful well-fed quadrupeds of their choice. A hundred-or-so peas-
ants, mostly younger people, were standing along the racetrack ready
to cheer their favorites.
There were no formal requirements or strict rules in the race and
all one had to do was line up at the start and cover about a mile of the
racetrack. The winner was entitled to a big roasted turkey which would
as a rule be eaten up by all contestants in the end. The snow was falling
from the gray chilly sky in fluffy patches of all possible shapes. Fitzko
stopped of his own accord then sniffed the air through the wide open
shaky muzzle. He resembled experienced people fighters who closely
study their rivals before plunging into a duel.
When the riders and horses were lined up for the start it was still
snowing. This was certain to slow down the horses but at least the race-
track was not slippery. An elderly peasant with a face as red as traffic
light raised a large whip into the air and shouted ‘Ready everyone?’
which was answered solely by a tense silence of excitement. The whip
in the dexterous reddish hand whizzed through the air and its leather
ribbon swooped with a clap. The horses seemed to be released from
a huge spring that had held them frozen calm up to that instant. The
riders started yelling in torrents of excited words and spilling showers
of urging shouts which mixed with the gallop to produce a real pell-
mell of steaming bodies. Clouds of snow flashed here and there under
busy shuffling and pounding hooves and when lending onto the spec-
tators’ cheery warm faces and necks started billows of screaming,
laughter and hectic snow-shedding gymnastics.
Nikola promptly made his way to the fore line as Fitzco seemed
to have obtained a pair of wings in the gigantic zooming snowball of
noisy riders urging their steeds to flee through sweat and snow. There
were only two or three riders ahead of them for about a horse’s length
and the first half of the racetrack was nearing. The thud of the wild
herd was getting drowned in the distance while the snow grist from the
heavenly millstone was thickening into real blizzard. At the turning
point where the first part of the racing track ended Fitzco propelled his
elegant body just behind the first rider on a young dark-skinned mare.
A bit of shoving ensued as the mare was making its sudden recoil, her
black shining body rampant like a load of quick silver spurting into the
air and the rider almost reclining and clutching to her wet main. This
was irritating to the sinew-breaking point for the quirky Fitzco so he
made an abrupt halt by planting his hooves into the snow then plucked
his legs out in a dancer’s pirouette and gave into a frantic gallop as
if a cheetah was biting at his tail. ‘First, I’m first’, Nikola thought as
the initially vague possibility and hope was dawning towards real-
ity. The panther-like mare, however, loomed just behind them like
their shadow. This irritated Fitzco to the point of foaming and all of
a sudden his four legs seemed to double and triple which made him
look like a prehistoric centipede. The snow spurted in a jet behind his
busy limbs and Nikola grabbed firmly at his mane from fear of falling
out of the saddle that almost hovered above the horse. Bouncing like a
ball and hesitating to utter any more commands, for the possibilities
of this fairy horse seemed to lack boundaries, Nikola triumphantly
zoomed across the finishing line and through the shower of cheers.
For some time it was not easy job stopping this steed-gone-wild and
it was only the whistles and shouts of his master’s sons that managed
to hold Fitzco down to the track of reality and submissive tranquility.
Nikola was glowing with happiness and pride as other riders and
peasants shook hands with him. Although living in town, he sur-
passed them on this point at least. Now the roast turkey was waiting
for them at a popular village guesthouse and they headed towards it
while sharing excitements and the highlights of a rewarding winter
day in the country.

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Слични текстови


Mirko Palfi
The World of Canals

Bojan Ratkovic
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Pedja Ristić
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даље

Људи говоре је српски загранични часопис за књижевност и културу који излази у Торонту од 2008.године. Поред књижевности и уметности, бави се свим областима које чине културу српског народа.

У часопису је петнаестак рубрика и свака почиње са по једном репродукцијом слика уметника о коме се пише у том броју. Излази 4 пута годишње на 150 страна, а некада и као двоброј на 300 страна.

Циљ му је да повеже српске писце и читаоце ма где они живели. Његова основна уређивачка начела су: естетско, етичко и духовно јединство.

Уредништво

Мило Ломпар
главни и одговорни уредник
(Београд, Србија)

Радомир Батуран
уредник српске секције и дијаспоре
(Торонто, Канада)

Владимир Димитријевић
оперативни уредник за матичне земље
(Чачак, Србија)

Никол Марковић
уредник енглеске секције и секретар Уредништва
(Торонто, Канада)

Уредници рубрика

Александар Петровић
Београд, Србија

Небојша Радић
Кембриџ, Енглеска

Жељко Продановић
Окланд, Нови Зеланд

Џонатан Лок Харт
Торонто, Канада

Жељко Родић
Оквил, Канада

Милорад Преловић
Торонто, Канада

Никола Глигоревић
Торонто, Канада

Лектори

Душица Ивановић
Торонто

Сања Крстоношић
Торонто

Александра Крстовић
Торонто

Графички дизајн

Антоније Батуран
Лондон

Технички уредник

Радмило Вишњевац
Торонто

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