Read Online The Way of Muri by Ilya Boyashov - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ilya Boyashov
Ads: Link
between the two men left on the mountain had become more like a random exchange of words than genuine communication. Without listening to the other, each of them held forth at length on his own obsession. The technician complained endlessly about the old generator, while Patić kept insisting that he would show those Belgrade intellectuals – it was just a matter of time.
Meanwhile their food started running out. Finally, one evening, they shared the last spoonful of coffee. There was still some barley drink left, though not much.
‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Patić. ‘You’ll see! The explosion will be visible from here.’
‘They’re all laughing at us,’ said the technician, who wasn’t one for mincing his words. ‘You just don’t want to admit it. I don’t give a damn about your stupid fantasy! We’re lucky, you know – no one’s thought of searching up here yet. But sooner or later they will, and how will your delusions help us then? You’re Catholic, and I’m Muslim. You’re Croatian, I’m Albanian. There’s an explosive mix for you! Do you think the Zagreb Muslims will show any mercy to a Catholic? Your lot won’t waste any time laying into me, either, and the Serbs will hack both of us to pieces… Anyway,’ the technician pointed out miserably, ‘I seem to remember you predicting the same thing this time last year. So where is it, this miracle of yours?’
‘Let me tell you the story of Robinson Crusoe,’ answered the astronomer. ‘This poor, shipwrecked sailor spent ten years building a boat from the strongest wood he could find. Heworked on it day and night, dreaming that he would finally be able to leave the island he had come to hate.’
‘I couldn’t care less about your shipwrecked sailor!’ exclaimed Mirko.
‘Just listen,’ Patić replied solemnly. He was preparing for his next shift, pulling on his sheepskin coat and fur boots. ‘When Robinson had finished building his boat, he discovered that he’d built it too far from the shore. It hadn’t occurred to him that it would be too heavy for him to drag to the ocean alone!’
‘You and he have a lot in common,’ declared the technician.
‘So Robinson began to roll about on the sand, throwing handfuls of it over himself. He pulled all his hair out in despair, crying, “Why, Lord?” He had experienced the greatest shock imaginable, the equivalent of Job’s despair!’
‘Yes, and we both know the moral of the story,’ interrupted the technician. ‘You must have told me a thousand times.’
‘Finally Robinson grew tired of weeping,’ continued Patić, ignoring the jibe. ‘He grew tired of weeping, tired of seeking explanations, tired of pouring sand over himself, tired of appealing to God… He even grew tired of his own misfortune, and trust me, that’s the final stage of despair!’
‘So he started to build a new boat,’ the technician continued despondently. ‘Out of wood that was growing close to the shore.’
‘Yes! Then he built a new boat!’ declared Patić, at sufficient volume to set the plates and bowls rattling on their shelf. Then he opened the door and almost stepped on an unexpected, and rather bedraggled, guest.
Muri had sensed the imminent drop in temperature that morning, as he made his way along the snowy mountain pass. The wooden hut of the observatory could not have been more opportunely placed. Petko Patić immediately let the cat into the warmth, just as Jacob had done. Once inside, Muri devoured a portion of stewed meat, miaowing in gratitude. Then he padded over and rubbed himself against the astronomer’s bed,but instead of jumping up onto it he curled up on the floor near the stove, determined to enjoy its heat. Patić lingered, keen to make sure their guest was settled, in spite of his excitement at the starry night, the falling temperature and the frost that had already begun to decorate the windows.
The technician wasn’t fooled by the cat’s apparent display of
Meanwhile their food started running out. Finally, one evening, they shared the last spoonful of coffee. There was still some barley drink left, though not much.
‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Patić. ‘You’ll see! The explosion will be visible from here.’
‘They’re all laughing at us,’ said the technician, who wasn’t one for mincing his words. ‘You just don’t want to admit it. I don’t give a damn about your stupid fantasy! We’re lucky, you know – no one’s thought of searching up here yet. But sooner or later they will, and how will your delusions help us then? You’re Catholic, and I’m Muslim. You’re Croatian, I’m Albanian. There’s an explosive mix for you! Do you think the Zagreb Muslims will show any mercy to a Catholic? Your lot won’t waste any time laying into me, either, and the Serbs will hack both of us to pieces… Anyway,’ the technician pointed out miserably, ‘I seem to remember you predicting the same thing this time last year. So where is it, this miracle of yours?’
‘Let me tell you the story of Robinson Crusoe,’ answered the astronomer. ‘This poor, shipwrecked sailor spent ten years building a boat from the strongest wood he could find. Heworked on it day and night, dreaming that he would finally be able to leave the island he had come to hate.’
‘I couldn’t care less about your shipwrecked sailor!’ exclaimed Mirko.
‘Just listen,’ Patić replied solemnly. He was preparing for his next shift, pulling on his sheepskin coat and fur boots. ‘When Robinson had finished building his boat, he discovered that he’d built it too far from the shore. It hadn’t occurred to him that it would be too heavy for him to drag to the ocean alone!’
‘You and he have a lot in common,’ declared the technician.
‘So Robinson began to roll about on the sand, throwing handfuls of it over himself. He pulled all his hair out in despair, crying, “Why, Lord?” He had experienced the greatest shock imaginable, the equivalent of Job’s despair!’
‘Yes, and we both know the moral of the story,’ interrupted the technician. ‘You must have told me a thousand times.’
‘Finally Robinson grew tired of weeping,’ continued Patić, ignoring the jibe. ‘He grew tired of weeping, tired of seeking explanations, tired of pouring sand over himself, tired of appealing to God… He even grew tired of his own misfortune, and trust me, that’s the final stage of despair!’
‘So he started to build a new boat,’ the technician continued despondently. ‘Out of wood that was growing close to the shore.’
‘Yes! Then he built a new boat!’ declared Patić, at sufficient volume to set the plates and bowls rattling on their shelf. Then he opened the door and almost stepped on an unexpected, and rather bedraggled, guest.
Muri had sensed the imminent drop in temperature that morning, as he made his way along the snowy mountain pass. The wooden hut of the observatory could not have been more opportunely placed. Petko Patić immediately let the cat into the warmth, just as Jacob had done. Once inside, Muri devoured a portion of stewed meat, miaowing in gratitude. Then he padded over and rubbed himself against the astronomer’s bed,but instead of jumping up onto it he curled up on the floor near the stove, determined to enjoy its heat. Patić lingered, keen to make sure their guest was settled, in spite of his excitement at the starry night, the falling temperature and the frost that had already begun to decorate the windows.
The technician wasn’t fooled by the cat’s apparent display of
Similar Books
